‘But it is possible?’ Anna wanted to know. Her face was pale and her eyes were anxious. She was covered with cobwebs. Rupert looked at her across the table and felt a stab of longing so acute that it was like a physical pain.
‘As I understand it, anything is possible with the help of the Almighty.’
Anna bit her lip. ‘Please don’t joke about this. It is too important.’
‘Was that a joke?’ Nicola winced and put a hand to her mouth; talking hurt.
‘You should put something cold on that,’ Anna said. ‘I don’t suppose you have any frozen peas?’ As soon as she said it she realised the futility of the question.
‘Frozen peas?’ Nicola looked astonished.
‘If you two could bear to give me the benefit of your undivided attention for a moment,’ Rupert tapped his notebook impatiently, reminding himself of his resolve to keep calm, to avoid any suggestion of conflict, and to watch his language, ‘we might perhaps discuss what we have seen.’ For they had seen everything. Picking their way along dark, slanting passages and negotiating major and unstable minor staircases they had explored rooms that had not been entered for decades; rooms where the walls bulged, where the ceilings had fallen, where the stench of damp and rot and decay was sickly and pungent. They had inspected attic rooms heaped with the detritus of centuries, in some places thick with an accumulation of dust, dirt, and bat and mouse droppings and in others sodden and beslimed as a result of years of missing tiles and rotten beams. In one room, an ancient hip bath, positioned in more optimistic times to catch the drips only to be acknowledged as hopeless and abandoned, was hanging through the ceiling of the room below, the overflow running down its rusted sides having rendering the floorboards soft as a sponge. In the wings of the house some rooms boasted a broken chair or a square of mouldering carpet, with here and there a sad flourish of drapery at the windows, rotting and watermarked and home to a variety of insect life. Not just insects had taken up residence here, but pigeons, bats, rats, mice and even squirrels were the present occupants. The condition of the house had not really shocked him, he had expected as much, but the extent of it had; there was just so much of it. Even with his limited knowledge of restoration costs he could see that it would need the expenditure of millions, rather than thousands, to put it right and now his mind grappled with priorities; with what had to be done and what could safely be left, and how the necessary work could be carried out in an impossibly short time. ‘I suppose it is absolutely essential that you open for Christmas?’ he said. ‘You couldn’t persuade the bank to give you a six month extension so you could open in time for the summer?’
But Anna, remembering Francis Sparrow’s watchful, beady eyes; the way he could unexpectedly change from benevolent to belligerent in the space of a second; the way he had slammed the desk drawer and made her jump, could not even contemplate it. ‘I couldn’t and they wouldn’t. Honestly. I had enough problems getting them to agree to a year.’
Rupert fortified himself with another swallow of Armagnac. ‘Somehow I knew you would say that.’
‘I only need a few rooms to be ready. Just the central section of the house,’ Anna said. ‘I did explain what would be required’.
‘You did.’ Just a few rooms, just the central section of the house – the main section, naturally. As if it was not so much to ask, as if it was a perfectly reasonable request, which, in her own mind, it probably was. Time for some plain speaking: ‘What is required,’ Rupert said heavily, ‘is the complete renovation of the roof. That is the priority. It is the most essential job and it’s going to be incredibly, astronomically expensive; it’s going to cost a bomb.’
‘But do you have to renovate it completely?’ Nicola wanted to know. ‘Wouldn’t it be possible to simply repair the patches where the rain comes in? Couldn’t you just replace the missing tiles?’
Rupert looked at her in exasperation. ‘Nicola, you can’t patch up a roof when the main timbers have been eaten away by beetle. You can’t relay tiles when the battening has rotted away because there would be nothing to fix them to. Nor has the roof ever been felted or insulated and without that, any attempt to heat the house would be useless.’
‘I hadn’t thought of it like that.’ Nicola put down her chocolate biscuit and looked at it in regret, as if her ignorance had rendered her somehow unworthy of it. She did not, at this moment, care who Anna was, where she had come from, or what her motives might be. All she saw was the frightening state of Rushbroke Hall, its rotten, stinking beams and bulging walls, the heartbreak of its crumbling brickwork, its overgrown gardens, its broken fences. She saw the monster that was all that remained of the family estate; she saw the millstone and what it represented. Now, at this moment, all she wanted, quite desperately, was for this extraordinarily unexpected opportunity not to disappear. Because if it did, she knew there were no other options. If it didn’t go ahead the future didn’t bear thinking about.
Anna said cautiously, ‘When you say incredibly expensive, what do you mean exactly? Can you be more specific?’
‘I can, but you might wish you hadn’t asked.’ Rupert expected his rough estimate to shock, and shock it did, because when he said ‘at a conservative estimate I’d say it will cost around four hundred thousand,’ both Anna and Nicola looked completely stunned.
‘Just for the roof!’ Nicola exclaimed in dismay. ‘I don’t believe it!’
‘Rupert, that can’t be right.’ Anna was stricken. ‘In any case we don’t have to do the whole roof, do we? Can’t we forget the wings for the present?’
‘Anna, there is no way we can forget about the wings because we need to use them. We need one of the wings for family and staff accommodation, and the other will house essential services; the kitchen, laundry, storerooms and offices; we need to be watertight. All of the chimneys need attention, some can be re-pointed but others are in a catastrophic state and will have to be rebuilt. Whilst the roofing contractors are here with their equipment and scaffolding, it makes sense to do the lot; it would be false economy not to. You also have to remember that the bank will probably want to have their surveyor oversee the work, not to mention English Heritage who will certainly put their bloody oar in. They’ll never agree to anything but a complete and authentic restoration of the roof, I would stake my life on that.’ Rupert looked from one to the other. How little they understood. How clueless they were. How the hell had he got himself into this godforsaken enterprise? He took a large swallow of brandy. ‘And another thing; I don’t think either of you realise what it is going to be like once the work gets under way. The house will become a hellhole. Floors will be torn up, walls and ceilings will have to come down. There will be dust and rubble and plaster everywhere. The noise will be indescribable. We shall have to move Vivian and Lavinia out.’
‘We are not moving them out,’ Anna said sharply. ‘This is their home. It will always be their home. Whatever happens, they stay.’
‘When I say out, I don’t mean completely out, there’s no need to jump down my throat!’ Already Rupert was struggling with his good resolutions. ‘What I was about to suggest is that we move them out of their present rooms into one of the wings.’
‘And I suggest you forget it; we have just looked at the wings; they are not habitable.’
Nicola jumped up ostensibly to put the kettle back on the hotplate. With her back to them she closed her eyes and put a hand to her swollen lip. She had opened her mouth to defend him. She had been about to say: Don’t snap at him. Can’t you see he’s doing his best? He’s only trying to help. But Nicola had learned diplomacy at an early age. Out of necessity she had learned to pick her way carefully across the surface of her problematic family life like a gnat on a pond, stepping neither too deep nor too far, ever ready to fly back to the orderly, comforting world she had created for herself in the stables where, even if other troubled souls awaited her behind the half doors, at least it was within her power (or almost always within her power) to improve the quality of
their lives. Now this sixth sense told her she could not, should not, interfere. That it would not be diplomatic to interfere. Rupert’s jaw tightened. ‘They would be habitable if they were watertight,’ he pointed out. ‘They could be made habitable if the roof was sound. They could actually be converted into perfectly satisfactory accommodation. Anna, if you are going to slam the door on every bloody suggestion I make, we are not going to get anywhere.’
‘Rupert is right.’ Nicola turned back to the table. If she was not able to defend him, then at least she could speak for her family. ‘My parents couldn’t possibly stay in their present rooms with all the work going on around them. At their age they would not be able to endure it. Of course we shall have to move them.’ She poured more Armagnac into Rupert’s eggcup and moved the chocolate biscuits within his reach in an encouraging manner. ‘Tell us what you have in mind.’
Rupert looked at Anna in a questioning manner. ‘Shall I go on, or not?’
Anna had not yet recovered from the estimated cost of the roof. It had been a shock, although she was trying not to let it show it had frightened her. It was almost half of her inheritance. She did not trust herself to speak. She nodded.
Rupert flipped over a few pages of his notebook and showed them rough sketches of the ground floor of the east wing. Two pairs of slate grey eyes studied them. Either side of his shoulders, two heads of thick fair hair bent over them. He was aware of nothing but the benefit of their full attention and the need to explain what they were looking at. ‘There should be enough room for a couple of bedrooms, both with a small en-suite here,’ Rupert stabbed the suggested area with his pen, ‘and a good-sized reception room here - we have to remember we need extra space for the piano so this room needs to run almost the entire length of the wing - then we still have enough room for a small study and a decent kitchen. There is already a door into the courtyard so the accommodation would be self-contained. We would have to give it priority because we can’t start on the central section of the house until Sir Vivian and Lady Lavinia are moved, but we could tackle the roof of the east wing first. We have to start somewhere. I can’t see any problems.’ Not here anyway. Not yet.
They were impressed. ‘Well, I think it sounds marvellous,’ Nicola said. ‘It will be luxury living compared to what they are used to. My father will adore it, it will appeal to his sense of adventure and mother will be easy to manage as long as she has her piano.’
Anna said ‘Yes, I’m impressed you remembered the need to accommodate the piano.’
Briefly, their eyes met. ‘I have thought this through, you know.’ Rupert told her. ‘I’m not a complete bloody idiot.’
‘Did I say you were? Please don’t start taking offence at things I have never said.’
How are they ever going to achieve anything if they can never agree? Nicola wondered. She had assumed they were partners. After today she was not so sure. She placed a mug of frighteningly strong coffee in front of Rupert. He winced.
‘When the kitchen is done we’ll have a proper coffee machine,’ Anna promised.
‘When the kitchen is done, I suspect we might even get proper meals,’ Nicola said fervently. ‘That will be a first as well.’
‘Speaking of the kitchen,’ Rupert continued. ‘I have presumed that Nicola would want to live independently and I have included her in the staff accommodation above here, in this wing. We can’t use it for guest accommodation because of the noise.’
‘So the price of independence is being housed above the kitchen and serenaded by the crashing of pots and pans, is it?’ Nicola said ruefully. ‘Thank you very much.’ She moved the biscuits back to her side of the table.
Rupert said, ‘Well, if you are going to be fussy about it...’
‘I am not fussy,’ Nicola said hastily. ‘I am definitely not fussy. Above the kitchen will be fine.’
‘So can we get things moving?’ Anna wanted to know.
Rupert considered. Whatever he thought, however he felt, he could not withdraw his services now. He was committed. Later, if things became impossible, when things became impossible, he would walk away. Perhaps. Maybe. But for now, for better or for worse, he was her promised henchman. What had she said? Call it karma, kismet, fate or God? Call it fucking insanity was nearer the mark. ‘First of all, we need a good clerk of works, someone with a good knowledge of building and renovation works, someone with contacts; suppliers, contractors, workmen; someone with local knowledge. Without a site manager we can’t really go anywhere. I’m capable of being a good second in command, but I don’t have the experience to do the top job.’
‘So how do we find this person?’ Anna wondered. ‘Do we advertise for someone?’
Rupert snapped the elastic on his notebook. ‘No need for that. As a matter of fact, I already have someone in mind.’
TWELVE
‘And another thing,’ said Penelope Lamb, ‘all those old sale catalogues on top of the bookcase. They’ll have to go. If you don’t move them, I shall. I shall put them out with the refuse. I don’t know why you keep them, you never look at them, they just sit there collecting dust and looking untidy. Well, I have had enough of them. I’m telling you, Henry, they’ll have to go. I mean it.’
‘Yes dear,’ said Henry Lamb mildly. Three bags full, dear, thought Henry Lamb. Touch those catalogues and I’ll cut your tongue out. Put them out with the rubbish and I’ll slit your throat. ‘I’ll move them, my darling,’ he promised. ‘Don’t give them another thought. I’ll have them out of your way in no time at all.’
‘I should jolly well think so too,’ said Penelope Lamb. ‘And whilst you are about it, there are those boxes of books cluttering up the utility room. I can’t move in there. Every time I put in a load of washing I bark my shins. Those boxes are a danger and an obstruction and I want them moved…’
‘Where would you like them moved to, dear heart?’ enquired Henry. ‘Just say the word and I will move them to wherever you suggest.’
‘Out,’ said Penelope. ‘I want them moved out. I want them out of this house. I don’t care where they go as long as they are off the premises. If you are going to retire, Henry, we have to come to an arrangement. There are to be no more dusty old catalogues and no more cartons of mouldy old books in this house. I can’t stand it. I hope you understand what I’m saying, Henry; I hope you’re taking this in because I’ve quite made up my mind; no more sale catalogues, no more cardboard boxes, no more piles of musty old books.’
And no more Penelope, thought Henry. String up Penelope. Drown her in the bath. Push her down the stairs. Shatter her skull with a candlestick. Pump her full of hydrogen and float her off into the wide blue yonder. Shoot an arrow from a bow. Pop goes Penelope. With his round face, his large brown eyes and his mop of gingery grey curls, Henry Lamb resembled an ageing Raphael cherub. He smiled sweetly at his wife. Penelope looked away in annoyance.
‘When we move into the flat,’ she said sharply, ‘we won’t have nearly as much space. We shall have to dispose of some furniture. I’m thinking of the big bookcase, Henry. The big bookcase will have to go.’
Henry Lamb looked up from the latest issue of The Bookseller. ‘Sell the big bookcase? I really don’t think I can agree to that, my love. Whatever would I do with my collection?’
‘There won’t be room for your collection in the flat, Henry,’ said Penelope. ‘That’s what I’m trying to tell you. We shall have to downsize. We shall have to dispose of some of our furniture and the big bookcase would be a start. The collection will have to be sold. You will have to send it to auction. Either that or I shall give it to Oxfam.’
‘Give it to Oxfam? You can’t possibly give my collection to Oxfam, my precious darling. The Arthur Rackhams are worth an awful lot of money now, and so are the Aubrey Beardsleys. I’m afraid I should be very reluctant to part with my collection, and as I need somewhere to put it, it does seem sensible to hold onto the bookcase. I feel sure we will be able to accommodate it somewhere.’
‘
Then it will have to be put in your bedroom,’ said Penelope firmly. ‘I won’t be able to accommodate it anywhere else. It’s far too big. It’s monstrous. It doesn’t fit in with my plans.’
‘The bedroom it shall be then, dearest,’ said Henry, who had a few monstrous plans of his own, all of them involving the disposal of Penelope.
‘I would like it understood from the start that when you retire I shall not be doing lunches,’ Penelope said. ‘Breakfast will be served as per usual and dinner will be at the regular time but I definitely won’t be doing lunches or tea. I have to draw the line somewhere. I can’t be expected to spend all day preparing food.’
‘Oh, I won’t be needing lunch,’ said Henry easily, ‘and I never eat at teatime. You won’t have to worry your little head about me, my treasure; I shall be no trouble to you at all.’ The dead have no worries, thought Henry Lamb. Why, one little dose of strychnine in the Earl Grey would only be a kindness. It would be an act of mercy. Lucky, lucky Penelope.
Penelope gave him a sharp look. ‘Now I have to say this, Henry, and I hope you won’t be offended, but when you retire I can’t have you in the house all day long. I’m not used to it. I do need my personal space. I need time to myself. I need to meditate. I need privacy. In the afternoons you will have to go out.’
‘In the afternoons,’ said Henry comfortingly, ‘I shall go to the library.’
‘Two evenings a week I shall be attending adult education classes. I shall be studying Italian and music appreciation. I shall take piano lessons. I may well join the University of the Third Age.’
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