by Jenny Kane
Mabel was quiet for a while, before repeating, ‘Thea was good on the television, wasn’t she?’
‘Excellent. A natural, I’d say.’ Bert put a frail hand over his wife’s. ‘Has she done TV in the past?’
‘She didn’t say so. But then she didn’t tell us she was coming to Mill Grange either.’
‘Which wasn’t her fault. An overlooked email is no one’s fault.’ Bert spoke with the infinite patience needed for his wife when her avalanche-style good intentions had been disturbed or gone unappreciated. ‘And she’s going to be stuck with all the jobs you don’t want to do. Four months to get the place open to the paying public is nothing, you know that.’
Mabel gave a single brisk nod. ‘Hot chocolate before bed?’
‘Please.’
‘I’ll make it, if you can work out how to allocate coach seats in such a way as people won’t ignore my instructions and sit where they want anyway.’
*
‘What do you mean you didn’t watch it?’ Tina passed Thea her drink and crashed onto the cushion covered pew near the pub’s open fire. ‘I watched even though I was squeezing water out of the living room carpet at the same time.’
‘I went straight back to work at the manor. No television, remember. How’s your house anyway?’
‘Oh, it’s fine. Landlord’s promised new carpets downstairs and luckily the emergency plumber stopped the flow of water before it reached above carpet level.’ Tina flapped away talk of her domestic emergency. ‘I could find the news on catch-up TV and record it for you if you want to see yourself in action.’
‘Thanks, but no thanks. I doubt I would have watched even if I’d had something to view the news on. I dread to think what I sounded like.’ Thea took a mouthful of wine. ‘At least I didn’t look too much of a disaster after the makeup woman attacked me with her range of brushes. I have no idea what she did, but it seemed to work.’
‘You looked great. You still do, despite the blob of whatever the hell that is on the leg of your jeans.’
Thea absentmindedly rubbed at the stain. ‘I had a quick investigation of the stables when I got back. Probably a bit of paint from one of the old tins stacked in there.’
Brushing non-existent dust off her miniskirt and tights, Tina said, ‘At least you won’t need to worry about clearing the stables alone. After that appeal, you’ll be inundated with helpers.’
‘You think so?’
‘Bound to be. You’ve probably got a heap of emails awaiting your attention from willing volunteers. Hopefully they’ll be a nice chap or two among them. One each if we’re lucky.’
‘I doubt it. I know you like older men, but we need workers all day, which will mean retired folk. I can’t picture you dating an octogenarian.’
‘We could get students wanting work experience over the end of the Easter and early part of the summer holidays, and people on a work break or unemployed folk or…’
‘Or John.’ Thea felt queasy as she put down her wine glass. ‘Do you know why I drink Pinot?’
‘No.’ Tina frowned, thrown by the abrupt change in conversation.
‘Because I know sod all about wine, but I know I like it.’
Tina was confused. ‘And that’s a problem because?’
‘I never try new things. I’m so stuck in what’s safe.’
‘And yet you gave up a job you loved and took this one. A job that’s not even secure.’
‘Not secure?’ Thea sat up a little straighter. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Nothing.’ Tina hid her face in her glass. ‘I just meant that the restoration won’t last forever.’
‘No, you didn’t. The truth, Miss Martin, if you please.’
‘It’s probably nothing.’ Tina crossed and re-crossed her legs before leaning closer to her friend so no one could overhear them. ‘I was in the office at the trustees’ headquarters today. I caught wind of a rumour that the Trust is running out of money. I don’t know what that means for us, or if it’s even true.’
‘I see.’ Thea sighed. ‘Well, if John did see the TV thing and has a mad idea about volunteering, then perhaps I won’t be around for him to hassle me. I think I need another drink.’
‘I shouldn’t have mentioned it. It could be nothing.’
‘Let’s hope it was a case of catching the wrong part of an unrelated discussion, or we could both be out of a job.’
‘I really don’t want to think about that. I love my job so much.’ Tina drained her glass and stood up to get some refills. ‘And it seems unlikely they’d hire you and then fire you before the house was restored.’
‘Let’s assume you misheard or heard something that doesn’t apply to either us or Mill Grange. Some things in life, we aren’t meant to know.’
‘True.’ Tina gave a half-smile. ‘Talking of things we aren’t meant to know – I popped into Mill Grange early this morning prior to my inspection of the garden fence. Thought I’d find out how far you’d got with cleaning the bedrooms while you were hitting the paperwork. I went into the attic.’
‘Ahh.’ Thea chewed her bottom lip. ‘I was going to tell you the other day, and then the interview thing came up and…’
‘You’re living on site?’
‘Yes.’
‘And eating stuff out of the box in your room that needs very little cooking, hence leaving no trace in the kitchen?’
‘Yes.’
Tina was quiet for a moment, before asking, ‘Jacket potato with your Pinot?’
*
John scribbled down the contact details written across the bottom of the television screen as if they were the answer to his prayers.
There’d be a few creases to iron out at the office if he were to take time off, but he’d worked very hard to ensure the merger was a success. He deserved a holiday.
John’s gaze fell to the invitation on his designer glass coffee table.
It was time to win Thea Thomas’ heart.
Six
April 8th
Taking refuge in the technological dead zone of the walled garden to the left of the house, Thea stared at the disintegrating greenhouse which rested against the southern wall, pointlessly catching the best of Exmoor’s morning sun. She was supposed to be deciding if it could be saved, or if it would be more cost-effective to have it pulled down. In reality, she was staring blankly into space while an internal battle between her anxieties and common sense took place.
It had been three days since the television appeal had gone out. There had been a follow-up piece by the local newspaper, and ever since, they’d been inundated with enquiries. So far six students were expected over the imminent Easter holidays to help with general cleaning, clearing and tidying, and the seven strong volunteer force of retired personnel had doubled. There had also been dozens of calls and messages asking when Mill Grange would be opening, if school trips could be booked in advance and, in one instance, if the manor could be booked to host a Christmas craft fair that December.
With each new email and fresh ring of the manor’s landline however, Thea’s stomach cramped with apprehension. She should be thrilled by how successful the appeal had been, but with every enquiry the same question shot into her mind; what if it’s John?
‘He’d already have been in touch if he was coming. It’s over. You can relax now.’ Doing her best to believe what she was saying, Thea started to count how many of the Victorian greenhouses’ tiny panes of glass were cracked or smashed. It would be such a shame to have it pulled down, but at the same time, extremely expensive to repair. No wonder the volunteers had left this part of the grounds untouched bar the occasional culling of undergrowth.
Making a few notes so she could talk the matter over with Tina later, Thea faced the garden as a whole. Kicking aside fallen leaves and branches left from autumn, she made out the outline of forgotten vegetable plots and neat square beds which would, she assumed, have been the source of much of the manor’s fresh produce.
An economic crisis thirty
years ago had sent the last of the Upwich family to Australia, and the house into the hands of the Exmoor Heritage Trust. At first they’d only had the funds and time to make sure Mill Grange didn’t completely disintegrate, but then, five years ago, a grant from the Arts Council had come to its rescue. That money – if what Tina had overheard related to them – must be running out. If Mill Grange was going to survive, it needed to start earning money for itself.
Thea checked the time on her mobile: just gone eleven. The members of the board of trustees should have had time to drink their morning coffee, empty their inboxes and be ready to be disturbed by a phone call. Heading to the scullery, Thea felt a sheen of perspiration dot her palms at the prospect of the call she had to make.
Pushing away a childish wish that Tina hadn’t let slip that there might be a funding issue, Thea wondered how to phrase her enquiry. She could hardly ask outright if her job was already in jeopardy. Deciding to start her conversation with the good news that the appeal for more unpaid help had worked well, and that she believed, should all the promised goodwill be forthcoming, they would be ready for the Open Day on 4th August (something she intended to say while keeping her fingers crossed behind her back), she would wing the rest of the conversation.
*
‘Isn’t it fantastic?’
Tina danced through the narrow kitchen door just as Thea was reaching for the kettle.
‘What is?’
‘The response to the appeal for helpers of course! The trustees are chuffed to bits. And good on you for calling them to tell them the news. They’re nice people, but sometimes they forget to say obvious things like thank you and well done!’
Thea gave a weak grin.
‘You okay? You don’t have the air of triumph I expected to see this morning.’
‘Tired, that’s all.’
‘Liar.’ Tina slid two mugs towards Thea, suddenly serious. ‘John hasn’t been in touch, has he?’
‘No. To be honest, I think I overreacted on that.’
‘You mean making you uncomfortable enough to be the catalyst that made you leave your job and your home so you could squat here?’
‘Shhh…’ Thea looked round in case one of the volunteers was within earshot.
‘Don’t worry, only Mabel and Diane are here, and judging from the direction the stench of vinegar is coming from, I’d say they were in the dining room.’
‘Oh hell! I think I’m becoming immune to the smell; I hadn’t even noticed.’ Thea groaned. ‘The aroma of acetic acid hanging around each moveable item in the place for months is all we need! Why the hell does Mabel add vinegar to every cleaning solution going?’
‘It’s that book she’s got.’
‘Book?’ Thea added a second spoonful of coffee beans to the grinder.
‘One of her grandchildren bought her a book about cleaning and conservation for her birthday a few years back. It expounds the virtues of using vinegar as an effective, non-corrosive and environmentally friendly cleaning agent. Mabel has sworn by it ever since, and I’ve always opened a lot of windows in her wake.’
‘I’m not sure about the non-corrosive bit, especially considering the quantities she uses.’ Thea shook her head. ‘What’s wrong with using warm water and bicarbonate of soda? It does the job and doesn’t make the house smell.’
‘Do you really want to tackle that issue now, when you’ve got her playing nice?’
Thea felt her shoulders sag. ‘It might not matter anyway.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’ll tell you in the garden. I want your opinion on the greenhouse.’
*
Tina stood next to Thea, her ankle boots sinking beneath the undergrowth, uncaring that her tights were slowly soaking her from the ankle up as she regarded the dilapidated greenhouse.
‘Common sense tells me to have it pulled down, but the historian in me wants to restore it. I need you to give me the businesswoman’s eye.’
Laughing at the notion of being considered a businesswoman, Tina waded closer to the accumulation of metal and glass. ‘Sometimes I hate the money side of this job. Can’t you imagine it in all its former glory? Rows of small lead-lined glass panels running the length of the wall, with tomatoes and cucumbers and suchlike protected beneath. Grape vines climbing the supporting wall and the sun reflecting off the entire building. It would have been stunning.’
‘You old romantic, you,’ Thea teased. ‘But I know what you mean. Even now, with its rather ghostly Miss Havisham edge of decay and neglect, it has a majestic beauty about it.’
Tina dug her phone from one of the many pockets that covered the oversized parker she wore. ‘I’ll make some notes and we’ll get a quote. Restoring it might be unrealistic, but if we find out how much it would cost to replace the glass and any remaining leadwork with a safer, but authentic looking alternative, then we’ll know we at least tried to save it.’
‘Before it’s pulled down anyway.’
‘Probably.’ Tina held up a measuring tape she kept in another coat pocket. ‘Do you have the measurements for the greenhouse anywhere, or do we need to play with my ever-present tape measure?’
‘I have them in the office.’ Thoughtful, Thea added, ‘Seems everyone in the area wants Mill Grange to work out and open to the public.’
‘Of course they do. This is a hugely important place to the locals. Many of them have lived in Upwich their whole lives; they have family who worked in the mill or ancestors that worked in the manor or on its grounds.’
Thea nodded. ‘That’s why it’s going to be hell telling them.’
‘Telling them?’
‘After you told me about overhearing that discussion about the Trust being short of money, I couldn’t sleep. I decided I’d better fish for information.’
Tina’s happy glow dimmed, ‘Oh hell…’
‘They haven’t said anything to you?’
‘I’ve been on the road between sites. I haven’t been back to head office today. They don’t do bad news by email or phone unless they are certain the signal won’t give out halfway through the conversation or the email won’t get lost in the weird Internet ether we have around here.’
‘Makes sense. Anyway, I called the trustees to tell them the work is on track for 4th August. I told them how much future interest there is in the manor being hired for event hosting and school trips and stuff.’
‘And?’
‘I spoke to Grant Davies, the guy who interviewed me. He passed me onto Malcolm Ware.’
‘The head trustee.’ Tina groaned. ‘That can’t be good.’
‘He was very nice about it, but the bottom line is, if we can’t turn the manor around so it can open to the public on time, without any additional expenditure, then the house will have to go to private sale.’
‘What!’ Tina’s smile disappeared in a puff of indignation. ‘Did he say someone was interested?’
‘He claimed not. He seemed rather embarrassed by the situation. Said they’d made a mistake with the figures and had rather overreached themselves.’
Tina blanched, ‘God, I hope it wasn’t my figures that were wrong!’
‘If you presented them with the same figures you showed me after I took the job, then it wasn’t you. I checked your estimates in case we could shave some money off here and there. You were spot on across the board. That means we can kiss this greenhouse goodbye, as well as anything extra we could have done.’
‘Such as?’
‘I was considering opening the mill up to have workshops in there on Open Day. People spinning wool, felt making, and so on.’
‘That would have been good. You could have made money for the house from classes as well.’
‘Exactly.’ Thea turned to Mill Grange and admired its granite stonework. ‘This would make a fabulous home. I can imagine the Christmas parties… but it’s so big.’
Tina started to pace. ‘Hang on, did Malcolm say it might be sold if you couldn’t do this in budget, or that it wa
s definitely going to be sold?’
‘Just that we needed to do the job within budget and on time. But you know how slim the chances of that are.’ Thea kicked at a ball of weeds. ‘I feel so guilty. Part of that budget must be going on my wages, yet now I’m here nothing has changed. I’m supposed to assist with the renovation and speed it up. In fact, because of me being a drain on resources, it may never open to the public at all.’
‘This is not your doing. Come on.’ Tina started to walk towards the kitchen. ‘I need to take these soggy boots off and make a call to find out precisely what the situation is. In the meantime, you go and find Mabel. Why don’t you see if you can rescue a few ornaments from a lifetime of smelling of salt and vinegar crisps?’
Seven
April 8th
Thea followed the scent of vinegar along the main corridor from the scullery, past the kitchen and into the dining room.
The eighteen-place mahogany table had been covered with three thick protective cloths. Across its surface, lined up in precise regimented rows, were Toby Jugs, Hummel figurines, an assortment of vases and umpteen snuff boxes of different shapes, sizes and provenance.
No allowance had been made for their fragile state or, in the case of some of the vases, their extreme age and value. Each piece had been treated to a robust dip in one of Mabel’s vinegar and washing up liquid bath concoctions. As Tina had told her the ladies had arrived only two hours ago, and had now left the room; they’d obviously worked at a speed which focused on finishing the task quickly rather than safely. It was enough to make a member of the National Trust cry.
Wondering if this uncharacteristically careless zeal was in direct response, perhaps even a childishly deliberate one, to her declaration that time was short, Thea shoved open a couple of the stiff sash windows. Adding ‘wax the window runners’ to her ever-growing to-do list, she wrenched back her shoulders. It was time to stop dancing around like a nervous schoolgirl. She’d been given this position because she was good at her job. Her hatred of confrontation was going to have to be dumped fast if she didn’t want Mill Grange and its contents to dissolve beneath Mabel’s rubber gloved hands.