During the next few days, as they enjoyed Edinburgh and the company of the grandparents, Angus’s thoughts kept returning to the old Manor house at Wimplebridge. Without talking about it directly both he and Victoria mentioned it several times. Angus caught himself saying that a picture they’d both liked, one of some cows in a field, would look great in the lounge at The Manor.
By the time they left for home, with the picture well wrapped and packed in the boot, they’d arranged a viewing with Nicholas the selling agent and Jane his wife. “Probably a couple of sharks,” said Angus as they drove south. “They’ll tell us it’s fine and show us the bedroom Anne Boleyn slept in. They’ll take me for a train load of cash before mentioning the dry rot and rising damp.”
The landlord of the Belcher Arms was delighted to see them back again. He gave them the same room they’d enjoyed the week before. Dinner was all local fare and Angus felt as content as he could ever remember. Once the kids were asleep he left Victoria and the children to take Hamish for a quick trot around the green. They did go outside for a moment, then Angus settled down at the bar for a final pint and a small chaser. The pub had an impressive selection of malt whiskies, he’d be happy to have it as his local.
The following day started much like their previous visit. He went out for a walk with Hamish first thing, and although he was not intending to go to The Manor, his circular route of footpaths found him there anyway. He stood by the gate for a long time, staring at the building and wondering what drew him to it. In the end he forced himself back to the pub for another heart attack breakfast. Angus and Victoria left the children in the care of the landlord’s wife, she had a boy the same age as little Angus. She was happy to watch them for a couple of hours.
Nicholas and Jane were nothing like the Mackintoshes had expected, later Victoria confessed she felt bad for thinking about them that way. Nicholas came from a farming family who worked the land on the far side of Monkbridge. He wanted a more predictable income, and concerned by the way agriculture was going he’d become a land agent. One day he was valuing a few acres away from his normal area when he met Jane. She worked for the agents who were selling the house as a separate package. Within a year they were married and soon after that they started their business.
The couple explained why The Manor was on the market. The seller was the estate of the previous occupant, a local man who’d outlived his wife by a decade. His children lived abroad and had no interest in keeping the place. “They’d rather have the money,” said Nick. They’d certainly consider an offer below the asking price if a quick completion could be assured.
Jane showed Victoria around the house. The ground floor consisted of a large breakfast room and family kitchen, a dining room and a formal lounge with an open fire. They sat in a smaller sitting room at the back of the house and discussed possibilities, what furniture might stay and what would be removed. The room next door had once been a milking parlour, but had been converted into a bathroom with a shower. A drainage gully still ran through the centre of the flag stone floor. There were five bedrooms, all doubles and a large bathroom. The master bedroom had an en-suite as well as a dressing room. Above the sitting room was a small study, crammed with books, which acted as a family library. It was without doubt a beautiful house and crying out for a big family, it needed lots of noise from visitors, children’s parties and muddy dogs.
“And where did Anne Boleyn sleep” asked Victoria when they’d finished the tour and were back in the kitchen. Jane looked at her as if she were mad. “Nowhere. The original house on this site wasn’t built until sixteen thirty seven, Anne lost her head a hundred and one years earlier. As far as I know she never came within fifty miles of the place. There may have been a building here but nothing fit for a queen. It’s been knocked down, rebuild, knocked through and updated who knows how many times. That’s what happens to these old places, they’re never the same from one century to the next,” and for a moment there was an awkward silence.
Changing the subject Jane continued. “The previous occupants used the breakfast room as an office, papers everywhere and no filing system I could make out,” she said. “Would Angus be with you, working from here, or would he be away during the week in London?” she enquired, encouraging Victoria to imagine herself living in the house …Typical estate agent trick, make you feel you’ve already bought it. “Either way, any of the outbuildings would convert into a fine office, although they’re listed so there’ll be a few planning considerations.
“We haven’t decided about that yet” answered Victoria. “I guess we could sell the London house and buy a small flat for him to use during the week. I don’t want to be apart too much if we can avoid it.”
Jane smiled. In all the years she and Nicholas had been married they had only spent two nights apart. “We’re a little over half an hour from Warwick station, and the trains are quite reliable to Euston. Get your timing right and it’s two hours door to door.” Nicholas and Angus came in from the garden. They too had been talking about the cost of converting a building into an office. “We get superfast broadband here, most rural communities don’t,” said Nicholas. “I use skype for lots of meetings and so long as the kids aren’t streaming a film or gaming with their mates it’s as good as anywhere.”
“Who owns the fields outside our boundary,” asked Angus.
The agent was delighted to hear him say “our boundary”. Later he would tell his wife that was the point when he knew the property was sold.
“The Belcher family farms all the land around here, and what they don’t farm themselves they own and rent out. They’re pretty good people; as a matter of fact they also own the pub you stayed in last night. It was going under a few years ago and the brewery didn’t want to pay for the upgrades. Hubert Belcher likes to drink there from time to time and it has their family name over the door. He stepped in and bought the place.’ Nicolas laughed, an infectious laugh that encouraged you to join in. “He didn’t tell his sister till after the deal was done, and there was hell to pay. Claudilia threatened to whip him with her riding crop all around the village green if he did anything like that again. And when Claudilia whips you, you stay whipped.”
“Does it earn them much?” asked Angus.
“I don’t think they did it for the money,” said Nicolas. “They spent a packet on decoration, kitchens and a micro-brewery. Then they put in new staff, all locals of course, and told them to run the place like it was their own. It’s doing a great trade now. I dare say the Belchers take a bit from time to time.”
It was a good time to leave, the Mackintoshes drove back to the village and collected the children and dog. They didn’t say a word about The Manor, their Manor, for several miles. They drove in silent contemplation. Once on the motorway the movement of the car worked its magic and in no time the children were asleep. Victoria turned to Angus and smiled, “Let’s do it.” she said and Angus was delighted. He’d wanted to buy the house the first time he’d seen it, but he wasn’t convinced Victoria felt the same, not until now anyway. Angus called Nicholas and offered eighty five percent of the asking price, subject to surveys of course.
Chapter Six
Six weeks later they were the new owners of The Manor. They moved in during the summer and Victoria died the following spring. It had been a short illness and a late diagnosis of anaplastic thyroid cancer, rare in someone so young, and even more unusual in a female patient. Victoria loved the Manor and spent her few months there decorating each room, landscaping the garden and getting to know the community. It was a great shock to everyone when she was taken ill and passed away so soon. The little church in the centre of the village was overflowing with mourners, the shop and both pubs remained closed till after the service.
When Victoria knew she was going to die she’d made plans. Her body was to be cremated and her ashes buried in a wooden box, deep under a statue of Eros, the Greek god of love. The statue was the centre piece of a rose garden she’d planted in the l
awn on the western side of the house. The roses were bathed in sunlight from midday to late in the evening. She even put in a watering system; Angus would never remember to do it. The varieties planted had been chosen with care, there was something in bloom right through the summer months and long into the autumn. The mixture of colours and perfumes was a delight she never knew but Angus was sure she would have approved. Angus vowed to never leave; he’d join her under the statue when his time came.
For Angus the loss of his wife was a physical hurt. They had known it was coming and at the end, after her final few days, it had been a relief for them both. She was ready to go, to rest for ever, she had no fight left and they knew it would be soon. Through that last day and night Angus sat with her in their little sitting room. They had made up a bed when she became too weak to manage the stairs and Victoria loved the view from that window.
They sat holding hands but not talking, there were no words left to say, just being together was enough, they knew the end was coming. They watched the sun go down across the garden and later, when it was bathed in moonlight, he felt her asleep in his arms. As the night ticked past her breathing became more shallow and she relaxed into him. It was in the small hours, before dawn’s light crept across the fields, he’d felt her go.
There was no last gasp, no theatrical shudder, she just wasn’t there any more. He was left holding a shell, the husk of the most wonderful human he had ever known. She had tamed him when he was a wild youth. She had glimpsed the self-conscious boy hiding behind the clown and coaxed him out. Victoria had made him whole and now she was gone. He was alone, and Angus had no idea how he’d go on living without her.
Chapter Seven
Angus stayed at home through that spring and summer. He worked when he could but spent most of his time caring for Angus junior and Holly, helping them come to terms with the loss of their mother. Holly was just three years old and she seemed to take it in her stride. She cried a bit to start with, but after a while she accepted that Victoria was gone and wouldn’t be coming back. Little Angus was eight and had taken it much harder. Always a sensitive boy, he missed his mother and there was a short spell of bed wetting and night terrors. Angus’s mother came to help out for a while, and when she left Victoria’s parents spent a fortnight with the children.
It was Mavis, Victoria’s mother, who took things in hand. Recognising that her son-in-law could not stay home for ever she introduced herself to the Women’s institute and the local church. Though a route that Angus never quite understood she found Mrs Tilly, a short lady in her late sixties. She had recently lost her mother for whom she had been the sole carer. Her own children had left home some years earlier. Free from the burden of caring for an elderly parent, Tilly as she preferred to be called, was looking for a position as a housekeeper or something similar.
Mavis and Tilly met over coffee one morning in Warwick, they talked about the Manor, Angus and the children. By lunch, which they had in the castle café, Mavis had convinced Tilly to come and meet the family. At tea-time Tilly was sitting in the garden of the Manor with Holly on her knee. They were finding a convenient date for her to move in.
Looking back Angus couldn’t remember offering her the job, or even discussing terms for that matter, but a fortnight later Tilly was established in one of the bedrooms with a second as her private sitting room. She instantly became part of the family. Her impressive abilities in the kitchen were a great hit, young Angus could often be found hanging around in there, especially if she happened to be making rock cakes or scones. As for Holly, she thought Tilly had a very comfortable lap, she’d climb up and go to sleep there most days after lunch. This suited Tilly very well; she also liked a nap in the afternoon.
September came and Angus junior returned to the primary school he attended in nearby Monkbridge. Holly would go to pre-school after Christmas and Angus felt he could entrust the children to Tilly for most of the time. He still loved to be with them and his employers at the bank had been more than accommodating, but life must go on and he resolved to go back to work. For three days of each week Angus worked from his high tech office, which had once been a tumble down stable. Several thousand pounds had created a comfortable suite with everything he needed. There was even an area set aside for video calls. A plain, but not cheap, desk with a background of books and filing cabinets did a good job of hiding his real location. Nobody looking at him through the web-cam would guess that he was in the manicured gardens of a country house, and not high up in a office block.
Angus couldn’t cut himself off from the city completely. Most weeks he’d catch the Tuesday morning train and spend two days at the bank’s London office. He socialised little, just enough to be efficient in the world of private banking, and he never entertained single ladies. On the few occasions when he needed a plus one for formal events, his secretary, who was close enough to his age, would accompany him. Angus was good at his work; he was conscientious and trusted. But he was always happiest home at the Manor, with Tilly’s cooking and the latest finger painting on the fridge. For Angus Macintosh, life was not what he had planned, but it was tolerable.
Tilly ran the house, she made sure that Angus and the children were always well fed and smartly turned out. She took few days off and could normally be found in the kitchen or the vegetable patch where she grew many of their provisions. It was at the end of her second year with the family that Tilly developed a nasty flu and was confined to her bed. Still she had everything in hand. “Don’t worry Angus,” she’d said. “My niece Maggie, is coming to look after us all while I’m out of action.”
Maggie arrived and took over from her aunt. She was recently divorced and for a while she’d been living with her parents in their north London home. Maggie had no children and didn’t want them. She did like money and she could see straight away that Angus had plenty of that. Maggie made an effort to be pleasant to the children and available to Angus. Two weeks after she arrived she was sharing his bed, and although she wasn’t a natural country girl she seemed to fit in well. Well enough for Angus to marry her the following year. Tilly retired to a small house in Monkbridge which Angus had bought “as an investment” and for which he refused to take any rent.
Almost as soon as they returned from their honeymoon Maggie began to change. Her true self came to the fore and one evening she mentioned boarding school for the children. “It’s character building” she told her new husband. She claimed it had done wonders for her friend’s children when they began to be difficult. Angus didn’t think the kids were being difficult, but he agreed to consider it.
Her next request was for a gym and dance studio. Maggie had always been very careful about her looks and about keeping fit. Before the wedding she had visited a gym in Warwick each day, and pretty soon she convinced Angus to convert an outbuilding into a workout room. At one end there was a sauna, a changing room and a shower. A dance area with a sprung floor was essential for her aerobic exercises, and it took up most of the central space. Along the length of the rear wall she installed floor to ceiling mirrors. Weight machines as well as racks filled with barbells lined the remaining walls. To keep the room comfortable air conditioning was installed throughout, along with an expensive music system by Bose. Maggie would spend several hours each day in her gym, often with her new best friend and personal trainer, ‘Tish.
Angus was a typical lowland Scotsman. Money was not horded but he was careful and didn’t flaunt it. Whenever he changed his car, and they were a bit of a weakness for him, he would buy the best he could without being ostentatious. He tried to be discrete in all his dealings. So it had come as a shock when he returned home from a couple of days in London, and found a large sign at the edge of his driveway. In large gold letters on a dark green background it declared “Welcome to Macintosh Manor”. For hundreds of years the house had been called “The Manor” and as far as he was concerned that was fine. Maggie said it wasn’t grand enough, it was only right for an impressive house with an impor
tant family to have a more formal name, Angus wasn’t happy, but he went along with it.
Angus was reluctant but finally he agreed to weekly boarding for the children. He hated taking them to the school each Sunday evening. He was always happy when they were home at weekends. Maggie and he had briefly discussed another child, but she’d made it clear that she didn’t want one. She said the contraceptive pill made her nauseous and claimed condoms “didn’t feel like the real thing.” …a line usually reserved for irresponsible men. Angus agreed to a vasectomy, it was done on his fiftieth birthday. Some celebration he thought, as he tried to sit on his usual chair that evening. His testicles had ballooned to the size of watermelons, at least that’s how they felt.
Angus loved to get the kids home on a Friday evening, but Maggie made it clear that she didn’t. Rather than helping with homework or arranging trips for the family, she used the weekends to catch up with her friends. She often stayed away on Saturday night and returned late the next day. She’d get there just in time to wave goodbye as Angus drove them back to school.
Five years after marrying Maggie, Angus hardly recognised her as the woman who’d come to help her aunt. He wondered what he’d ever seen in her. She wasn’t like Victoria, and he suspected she might be seeing someone else. Their own sex life, for what it was, had dwindled and become stale. When she did agree to anything more than a peck on the cheek she approached it as a chore. It was done in the same way as cleaning the bath or taking out the bins, not something to be looked forward to, something to be enjoyed and done out of love. He felt she was just going through the motions; she was calculating what she could get for each groan or faked orgasm. Angus regretted not arranging some sort of prenuptial agreement. A divorce would be expensive, he’d have to sell the house and move away from Victoria. That was too high a price, and after countless nights wondering what he should do, Angus resigned himself to staying with Maggie. They’d carry on as they were, living together but separate lives.
The Village Fate Page 3