by Jenny Kane
‘As if!’ Thea stuck out her tongue playfully, adding, ‘Just make sure you have someone who can rescue you if you need to. I’d offer, but I’d probably be in the wrong place in the house to get your call.’
‘Don’t worry; my housemate has my back on this.’
‘Off you go then. Enjoy your silver fox.’
Ten
April 8th
As soon as Tina had gone, Thea dashed upstairs to her room. Casting aside her curiosity about Tina’s dating experiences, and vowing to ask her about them soon, she forced herself to focus on the matter in hand. If she was going to show Shaun around, she didn’t want to do so looking as if she spent the day wading in compost. Her jeans were still damp from her earlier walk in the gardens, and the cloying denim sticking to her legs was doing nothing to improve her mood.
Stripping off, Thea stuffed her work clothes in a corner to be dealt with later, and tugged on her final pair of clean trousers and her warmest jumper.
Ruffling her hair into slightly less of a nest state, she risked a glance in the mirror. Accepting she’d been better off not knowing how tired she looked, Thea dashed downstairs so she didn’t miss the expected knock on the front door.
Sitting at the foot of the stairs, resting her pad on her knees, Thea started to write another list. Not one for the improvement of the house and grounds, but one for herself.
She urgently needed to discover where the nearest launderette was, and then she had to start house-hunting. If Tina had stumbled across her bolthole, it was only a matter of time before one of the volunteers did. Although Thea had been careful to keep the attics off the areas of the house and grounds that required attention, she couldn’t guarantee Mabel wouldn’t ride roughshod over those plans.
The knock on the door came at exactly five o’clock.
Suddenly nervous, Thea gripped her list to her chest and opened the door to find Shaun Cowlson running a reverential hand over the stone mullion running round the doorway.
‘Mr Cowlson, how good of you to come.’
‘Shaun, please.’
She nodded. ‘Thea. Would you like to come in?’
‘I’d be delighted.’ Shaun’s trademark giant stride crossed the Mill Grange threshold with puppy-like exuberance. ‘To tell you the truth I’ve wanted to have a nose around this place ever since I came across it on a listed properties website years ago. I’ve never been in the area long enough to make the necessary plans. Then I saw you on the local news. It felt like providence.’
‘You saw me on the TV?’
Shaun flashed Thea a grin. ‘I told you on the phone I did, and very professional you were too.’
‘Oh.’ Thea didn’t know what else to say.
‘As soon as I caught a glimpse of you on screen my curiosity got the better of me. I’d assumed you were going to talk about the Roman Baths.’ He held his hands up to the intricately carved wooden porch roof. ‘I had no idea your career had changed direction.’ Amazed that Shaun not only knew who she was, but that he’d registered where she worked, Thea felt uneasy, until she reminded herself that not all men acted like John Sommers.
Intrigued by how lively Shaun’s eyes were as they darted over every inch of the porch’s floor, ceiling, walls and furniture, Thea stepped into the main hallway to give him more space. As she watched him, she found herself remembering the conference they’d spoken at all those years ago. The same conference at which he’d broken her friend’s heart.
As Shaun reached the bottom step of the wide wooden staircase, he scrunched up his nose. ‘Why does Mill Grange smell like a pickled onion?’
Thea couldn’t help but laugh at his expression. ‘That would be Mabel, or at least, the result of Mabel’s labours.’
‘Mabel Hastings? The lady who called my agent?’
‘Yes.’
Shaun broke off from his loving caress of the balustrade’s varnished wood. ‘That was a rather loaded “yes”.’
Knowing she was being given an opening into the issue of Mabel’s accidental invitation to change the Open Day date, Thea dived in. ‘Mabel is one of the main volunteers here. She’s enthusiastic and umm, a little high-handed.’
‘Ah.’ Shaun smiled. ‘One of those.’
‘One of those?’
‘Committee mafia. She’ll be lost once the manor is finished, unless she finds another project.’
‘Oh believe me, there isn’t a committee within twenty miles that hasn’t got her hand at the helm.’
Shaun stopped in the act of picking up a vase and examining the date stamp on the bottom. ‘You did know she’d invited me over, didn’t you?’
‘To be honest, no, I didn’t.’ Thea found she couldn’t meet Shaun’s eyes as she went on. ‘Not that I don’t appreciate your offer of help, and I’m more than happy to show you round, but the thing is…’
Shaun’s bright gaze dulled as he sat on the bottom stair and patted it so Thea would sit next to him. ‘You don’t want the baggage that comes with having a so-called celebrity in the manor.’
The practicality of his statement took Thea by surprise. She found herself blustering, ‘It’s not that, it’s just that there is so much to do and every pair of hands is welcome, especially when they belong to someone as knowledgeable as you… but…’
‘You think I’ll be more trouble than I’m worth.’
Dwarfed by his tall, bulky frame, Thea felt the tension that had knotted her shoulders earlier return. ‘I didn’t say that. But we have so little time, and even less money and…’
Shaun’s eyebrows knotted. ‘You didn’t think I’d ask to be paid to help, did you?’
Surprised, as the idea hadn’t crossed her mind, Thea shook her head. ‘Not for a second. It’s the fan thing that bothers me.’ Unsure how she’d lost control of this situation so quickly, Thea dragged a hand through her hair, returning it to its usual tangled mess. ‘I would love you to help. We all would, but there isn’t time to deal with the fanbase you’d bring with you and—’
‘Had it crossed your mind that many of my fans are only fans because they are passionate about history and archaeology? They couldn’t give two hoots about me personally. And that’s how I like it.’
‘I thought…’ Thea’s cheeks stung with embarrassment.
‘You didn’t think at all. You assumed I’d endanger the project and not help it.’ Shaun dug his hands into his combat trouser pockets. ‘Perhaps I should look around on my own. If you’ll excuse me.’
Shaun had leapt up the wide corner staircase before Thea had the chance to open her mouth again. How did that happen?
With a growing sensation that she’d completely lost her grip on Mill Grange, and on her ability to manage people in general, Thea sat very still. She could hear Shaun’s feet moving around the bathroom above her.
I haven’t even mentioned the Open Day date fiasco yet.
Gripping her pad so tightly it dug in to her palms, Thea didn’t know what to do. Did she sit there and let him explore alone as he’d requested, or did she go after him and apologise?
The sound of Shaun moving out of the bathroom and into the adjacent bedroom was followed by a low whistle of appreciation from above. Whatever the circumstances, he was clearly enjoying what he was seeing.
Suddenly remembering what her friend Becky had told her about Shaun having a quick temper, Thea swallowed. Why should I feel guilty? He hasn’t given me a chance to explain. Anyway, I didn’t dig this hole in the first place, Mabel did.
Wiping the perspiration from her palms Thea went upstairs. Whatever happened, she didn’t want him helping himself to a peep in the attics.
Shaun was in the third bedroom peering out of the window at the garden and woodland beyond. Hovering in the doorway, Thea had a sensation of trespassing.
‘You can come in, I won’t bite your head off.’ Shaun gave her an apologetic smile. ‘Forgive me. I get tired of people assuming I’m some kind of luvvie. I’m just an archaeologist who landed a dream job. That’s all.’
‘I should apologise too. I’ve no excuse except a very trying day and, if I’m honest, a sense that I’ve bitten off more than I can chew.’
Shaun said nothing, but gestured for Thea to join him at the window. ‘Just look at that view. If that doesn’t make you feel better, then I don’t know what will.’
Finding herself squashed up next to the archaeologist, Thea agreed. ‘It was the view that convinced me to take the job.’
‘A sideways step for you away from the Roman Baths?’
‘Very much so, although I did study industrial architecture and conservation in my final year at university, so I haven’t come into this completely cold.’
‘Why the move? You’re a good Romano British historian. Military buildings and Romano British society are your bag if I remember rightly?’
Amazed Shaun had taken notice of her specialism, Thea continued to stare out of the window. ‘I was looking for a new challenge. My friend Tina is the Exmoor Heritage Trust’s business liaison officer. She told me about the job and I wanted to get my career rebooted without distractions.’
‘Distractions?’
‘Oh you know, a private life and stuff. At the time it seemed too good an opportunity to miss.’
Accepting Thea’s side-stepping of a discussion about her personal life, Shaun smiled. ‘But not anymore?’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘You’re wishing you’d never come here. This Mabel you mentioned – more trouble than she’s worth?’
Thea saw the twinkle in his eye and realised he must be used to handling people like Mabel. ‘It isn’t Mabel, not really. She and her friends have done marvels here.’
‘Despite the vinegar?’
‘Indeed. But the trustees have discovered an error in their accounts made quite a while ago. It was a simple mistake anyone could have made, but it means that, rather than save the house and open it to the public, it might have to be sold, restored or not.’
‘That would be a tragedy.’
‘I think so.’
Shaun was quiet for a moment. ‘For you personally as well as the village of Upwich.’
‘My job would go, I know that, but I’m more worried about the house right now.’
He turned to Thea, his eyes burnt shrewdly into hers. ‘I believe you mean that.’
Thea grabbed the chance to explain the remainder of the problem. ‘The Open Day was supposed to be on 4th August.’
‘So I heard, but I can’t do then, so it was moved forward.’
‘And as a consequence, the trustees want me to get everything done, with a fortnight’s less time, and under budget, or it will sell. No question.’
‘Oh hell.’
‘Quite.’
‘And if you do pull off this miracle?’
‘It might still be sold anyway.’
*
‘You did what?’
‘Don’t speak to me in that tone of voice, Bert!’
Mabel hadn’t even taken her coat and shoes off before she’d grabbed a carrot from the vegetable rack and started chopping it into perfect, angry, circles.
‘If you don’t put that knife down you’re going to have a finger off.’ Bert laid a gentle hand on his wife’s arm and removed the knife as if he was talking down a criminal. ‘Now tell me again from the beginning.’
‘I’ve already told you! Why don’t you keep your hearing aids in?’
Used to his wife’s short temper, Bert usually shrugged it off. Fifty-five years of marriage had taught him when it was personal and when Mabel was letting off steam. This felt different. He could feel her righteous indignation bouncing off the walls – a sign he recognised as meaning she’d overstepped the mark and pride was stopping her from apologising.
Dropping the knife into the sink, Bert counted to ten in his head and then said, ‘Take off your shoes and coat and sit down.’
‘I’m busy.’
Repeating himself, Bert pointed at the kitchen table. ‘Take… off… your… shoes and your coat and sit… down.’
Grumbling under her breath, Mabel did as she was told.
‘You went over Thea’s head and contacted the trustees.’
‘Someone had to. That girl was willing to let a God-given opportunity pass us by.’
‘If I understand the situation correctly from the word down the pub, Thea has come in like a breath of fresh air, and things are getting done.’
‘Thanks to my idea of a television appearance.’
‘Granted. That was an excellent idea. But that doesn’t change the fact that Thea has been employed to sort out the manor. She has the final word. This is her livelihood you’re messing with.’
‘Her livelihood…’ Mabel frowned. ‘Don’t be daft, Bert. Once the house is opened to the public she’ll be the manager. She’s set for life.’
‘Not if they sell the house, she isn’t!’
‘But—’
‘No.’ Bert covered his wife’s hand with his own. ‘Girl, I love you to pieces, and goodness knows when you set your mind to something it jolly well gets done, but this isn’t your party. If you can’t sort this mess out you will have to live with the fact you’ve possibly lost Thea her job, and the community their manor house to a private buyer, probably from London or somewhere.’
‘But—’
‘But nothing.’ Bert got up. ‘I’m going to make a cup of tea, and first thing tomorrow morning you are going to phone the trustees and put the record straight.’
Eleven
April 8th
Tina recognised Leon as soon as he swung his long legs out of the silver BMW in the far corner of the restaurant’s car park.
Breathing a sigh of relief as she noted he had used a current photograph for his profile, rather than one ten or more years out of date, she brushed a stray hair from her black velvet jacket.
Stepping further into the shadows where she’d been waiting, Tina watched Leon walk confidently through the main doors. His head was held high. He looked neither left nor right. Tina wondered if his lack of curiosity about his surroundings meant he knew the restaurant well.
How many other women has he wined and dined here over the years?
Leon certainly had the whole ‘George Clooney’ thing going on that she’d hoped for. His charcoal suit was designer, and smart but not too smart. His salt-and-pepper hair was cut into the back of his neck and his shoes positively shone. If he was fifty-two years old as his profile claimed, he wore it well.
Tina had taken only one step forwards when she stopped and sank back into the shadow of the trees that lined the car park. When she’d checked her reflection before leaving her flat she’d felt good. Silver heels, a tight-fitting white V-neck top teamed with her favourite floral velvet jacket, and a smart pair of black satin trousers. Her glossy yellow hair hung around her shoulders, and her makeup had been carefully applied. Suddenly she felt unusually insecure in her appearance. Leon looked like the stuff of fantasies. Would he take one glance at her and walk out?
Her eyes strayed across the sea of Mercedes, Jags and BMWs to her fifteen-year-old Fiesta. It was lurking, as if ashamed of itself, in a dark corner of the car park. What would Leon make of that if he saw it? Everyone on Superior Singles was supposed to be successful. For the first time since she’d joined the site, hoping to find the financially secure man of her dreams, Tina realised that perhaps her version of having made a success of her life wasn’t the same as the owners of vehicles such as these.
Her two previous Internet dates had been with established businessmen. Both were prosperous, but increasingly tired of having nothing in their lives but work. Leon, on the other hand, had the air of a man who’d reached the level of job security which meant he may not have driven himself here. Trying to remember which side of the car she’d seen him get out of, Tina was considering creeping around to see if a chauffeur was in the driver’s seat waiting for their meal to end, when an image of Sam arrived in her head.
Shaking the tatty gardener
from her mind and telling herself that Leon was the sort of man she’d been craving for years, Tina strode from the shadows. She only had two minutes until fashionably late morphed into properly late. Telling herself off for making assumptions about Leon before they’d even said hello, she pushed her shoulders back and moved forward.
Acknowledging the doorman with a bat of her elongated eyelashes, the restaurant’s glass doors were dutifully swung open on her behalf. Seconds later a crisply attired receptionist greeted her with a white-toothed smirk and a swish of an expensively manicured hand before leading her to Leon.
Classic steel-grey eyes, strong cheekbones, clean-shaven and a nice discreet smile. Leon was the stuff of her late-night fantasies. Why the hell is this man single? What’s wrong with him?
Rising to his feet, Leon gave an approving nod that made Tina’s pulse leap from a trot to a canter.
‘Leon?’ Tina felt a grin break out across her face, but despite her physical attraction to the man, it didn’t feel real. It felt like a work smile. The sort of upturn of the lips indicating good customer service rather than genuine pleasure. Tina was puzzled as to why her brain wasn’t gushing in delightful tandem with her body. It’s because you don’t know him yet and you’re nervous.
Keen to break the silence so it didn’t have the slightest chance of becoming uncomfortable, Tina was about to comment on his choice of dining location, when a waiter swooped between them. Flapping around with pure white linen napkins, the wine menu and offerings of nibbles, which he called ‘hors d'oeuvres’, he left Tina in no doubt that he was an authentic Frenchman rather than an English guy paid to act out the whole cliché.
As the nerves she’d been so determined to keep hidden began to stir, Tina distracted herself from this unnecessary show by surveying her surroundings. She admired the simplicity of the place. It was a million miles from the clutter of Mill Grange and its hotchpotch of ornaments and paintings which came from a jumble of periods in time and accompanying acetic acid ambience.
Here there wasn’t a single item out of place. Even the cutlery appeared to have been lined up with the assistance of a tape measure and theodolite. The art was sparse, incomprehensible, and clearly had come with unjustifiably big price tags. The walls were a crisp duck-egg blue and the chairs were considerably more comfortable to sit in than their skeleton-like twisted metal frames suggested. As she looked closer, Tina found herself slipping from admiration to cynicism, thinking how much effort had gone into making this place appear exclusive.