Will captured her gaze. As he’d suspected, there was a hint of uncertainty buried deep within their hazel depths. ‘Please, just let me have a look.’
Disarmed by his plea, she stared uncertainly for a moment before drawing her dark brows down into a frown. ‘What’s the point? You’ve already made it clear you think I’m trying to achieve the impossible.’ She let go of her end of the drawing, though. Was the ice melting just a fraction?
‘You caught me off guard this morning, so I might have overreacted a little bit.’ She might have overreacted a bit, too, hanging up on him the way she did, but he left that unspoken in the air between them. ‘Were the photos you sent recent? They really blew me away.’
Her scowl softened a little. ‘I took them a couple of days ago.’
‘So the bluebells are still out? I’d love to see them.’
She nodded. ‘The woods are at their peak right now. You can have a look around tomorrow morning, if you want.’ The concession, offered with a grudging lift of her shoulder, felt like a major victory. He was still a long way from persuading Iggy to let him stick around, but at least she wasn’t trying to kick him straight back out the door … for now.
Deciding not to push his luck too far, he cast around for something else to talk about, the gardens likely to be a flashpoint for her temper. ‘Lancelot mentioned someone called Thomas? Is he the reason everyone in your family’s got unusual names?’
‘What?’ The change of topic seemed to catch her off guard. ‘Oh, yes. He’s my several-times great-grandfather. He became obsessed with the idea that Camland stands on the original site of Camelot.’
Will frowned. ‘I thought it was supposed to be somewhere in the west country?’
Shifting from her knees, Iggy sat cross-legged, her body angled more towards him. ‘The most popular theories are linked to Tintagel in Cornwall and Glastonbury in Somerset,’ she agreed. ‘But there’s also one suggesting Arthur was a warlord from the north. Thomas seized on the idea, even went as far as naming his children after characters from the legends. Lucky for us, it’s a tradition that’s continued through the following generations.’ Her eye roll told him exactly how lucky she thought it was.
She was definitely loosening up now he’d steered them away from the delicate topic of the gardens, and he couldn’t resist teasing her. ‘I don’t recall Sir Iggy having a seat at the round table.’
She wrinkled her nose. ‘It’s short for Igraine.’
Her name was beautiful … unique. Much like his first impressions of her. Why she’d choose to shorten it was beyond him, though at least he wasn’t stupid enough to say that to her face. ‘I like it.’
‘Try being stuck with it for a few weeks and then see how much you like it. Half the time people don’t pronounce it properly, and nobody can spell it.’
‘Not ideal, then.’
‘Not really. And not something you’d have any experience of, with a sensible name like Will.’
He shrugged. ‘I’ve been called plenty of choice things in my time, but you’re right, none of it had anything to do with my name.’ Just his behaviour. After his folks had split up, Will had gone off the rails a bit. He’d stayed with his dad, his mum’s new boyfriend not being keen on having a sullen 14-year-old around to cramp his style.
They’d done all right together at first, but the recession had hit the construction sector hard, leaving his dad short of work. To try and make up the shortfall, he’d resorted to picking up evening shifts as a taxi driver, leaving Will alone for much of the time. Never very academically inclined, Will fell into a spiral of missed homework, detentions, letters home he intercepted and threw away. Eventually he’d been skipping school on a regular basis. Hanging around the estate, he’d fallen in with a rough crowd and started drinking and fighting. Following the nasty encounter with a broken bottle, Will had ended up with a face full of stitches, a police caution and a referral to social services.
The injury had shocked some sense into Will, and he’d returned to school, only to find himself even more out of his depth. He might have drifted back into trouble had one of their neighbours not had a nasty fall. Coming home from school one day, Will had spotted Mrs Tyler sprawled on the path of her spotless little front garden. A smashed up hanging basket next to a stepladder lying on its side told him plainly enough what had happened when he rushed to her aid. Not wanting to move her, Will had called for an ambulance before retrieving a blanket and a pillow he’d found on the bed in a downstairs room-he and his dad used their equivalent one as a dining room. As he wasn’t a relative, they hadn’t let Will go with Mrs Tyler to the hospital. To this day he could still remember how small and frail she’d looked wrapped in a red blanket as they loaded the stretcher onto the back of the ambulance.
Not wanting her to come home to a mess, he’d dug around in their junk-filled garden shed for a broom and swept the soil and broken plants off the path. With his dad’s help, he’d made a trip to the local DIY-cum-garden centre next to their local superstore and he’d done his best to replace the damaged contents of the hanging basket. Returning a few days later with her wrist in plaster and a spectacular rainbow bruise on one cheek, Mrs Tyler had been delighted with his efforts and the wonky basket complete with clashing blooms of red, purple and orange had hung from the wall the entire summer.
It’d started off with a trip to the shops to pick up a few bits for her, then progressed to helping her keep her beloved front and back garden tidy while her wrist was healing. Before he knew it, Will was calling in every afternoon after school because the sweet-natured widow had this or that chore that needed doing. Will soon caught on that she was inventing little jobs for him to do, and though he wasn’t sure if it was for her own benefit or his, they’d struck up an unlikely friendship born of their mutual loneliness. When he’d confessed to her one afternoon about how hard a time he was having at school, she’d persuaded him to get his books out and helped him with his homework. Over endless cups of tea and slices of homemade cake, Mrs Tyler had slowly imbued her love of gardening in Will. In the weeks and months that followed, Will had grew up a lot. He’d apologised to his dad, and knowing Will had someone to keep an eye out for him had given his dad the freedom to look further afield for better-paying work.
The spring after they’d first met, Will decided it was time to tackle the straggly weeds and bits of rubbish littering their own front garden, and with Mrs Tyler’s help he’d transformed the space over the course of the school Easter holidays. Looking back now, two patches of brownish grass and a few pots stuffed with petunias and fuchsias was a modest start for a future Chelsea medal winner, but the sense of pride he’d experienced when his dad had come home from a few days working away to see what he’d done had yet to be equalled. They might not be a family in the conventional sense like the Ludworths, but between the three of them they’d muddled along together very nicely.
The door thumped open just then to reveal Tristan staggering in under the weight of an overladen tea tray. Forgetting his little trip down memory lane, Will jumped up to give him a hand and together they placed it down on a nearby coffee table. ‘I thought you might be peckish,’ Tristan said with a shrug as Will eyed the piles of sandwiches and cakes.
‘There’s enough here to feed an army.’
‘I’d better help you out then.’ Tristan bit into an enormous wedge of Victoria sponge.
It had been a long time since the sausage roll Will had picked up during a five-minute refuelling stop on the journey up. Lifting a sandwich from the plate, he raised it in acknowledgement towards Tristan before taking a bite. ‘Thank you.’
They munched in silence for a few minutes, Will content to watch Igraine as she gathered the drawings scattering the floor. Now she’d told him her full name, he couldn’t seem to think of her as anything else. With a supple grace which spoke of the strength gained from hours working out of doors rather than slogging away on a treadmill, she flowed from sitting to standing with the drawings bundled u
nder one arm.
Abandoning his half-eaten sandwich, Will moved to intercept her when his phone started to ring stopping him in his tracks. Seeing Chris’s name on the screen, he excused himself and hurried into the echoing chamber of the great hall before he answered it. ‘Hello?’ Silence greeted him. He stared at the ‘Call ended’ message on the screen then noticed it said No Service in the top right. He took a couple of steps towards the front door and the phone started ringing again. ‘Hello?’
‘Whe … uck … are you?’ Even with his voice cutting in and out, it was clear Chris was very unhappy.
‘I’m in Derbyshire, looking at a new job.’
‘… byshire? You’ve stood up … elody bloody Atkins!’
Shit. In his rush to get everything sorted at work and then the journey up here, he’d completely forgotten about the last-minute invitation to Clay Given’s party. ‘I told you I wasn’t going,’ he yelled, but the phone had gone dead again.
Will was still stalking around the enormous room trying in vain to pick up a signal when the front door opened heralding the return of Arthur, Lucie and their motley assortment of dogs. A greyhound bounded over to nudge at Will’s hand, while a Jack Russell yipped and scrabbled at his calf. With the difference in their heights, it was impossible to pet both dogs at once, so Will crouched down to fuss over them both until Arthur shooed them gently away.
‘Sorry, they’re a bunch of unruly beasts.’
Having always wanted but never had a pet of his own growing up, Will was quite happy to lavish them with attention. ‘I’m not bothered, really.’ He straightened up and waved his phone at Arthur. ‘I can’t seem to get a signal.’
Arthur pulled a face. ‘It’s a nightmare around here. I’m going to sort out a signal booster before we open to the public, but it’s one of about a million things on the to-do list. You’re welcome to use the landline, and I’ll give you the Wi-Fi password so you can access your emails, hang on a minute.’ He returned a few moments later with the code scribbled on a scrap of paper. ‘The phone’s in my study …’
The adrenaline which had buoyed Will on his drive up vanished in a sudden rush, leaving him drained. The last thing he wanted was to get into a shouting match with Chris, especially in front of anyone else. He’d already caused enough disruption by showing up unannounced. ‘This’ll be great,’ he said, holding up the paper. ‘I can sort everything out with an email.’
‘Well, if you’re sure?’ Arthur didn’t sound too convinced but let the point drop. ‘Did they get your room sorted out?’
‘I haven’t had a chance to find out. Your brother very kindly fetched me a coffee and something to eat, and then my phone rang.’
‘Let’s see, shall we?’
Will allowed Arthur to escort him back into whatever the posh person’s equivalent of a front room was. To his surprise and disappointment, Igraine had made herself scarce, taking all the drawings with her in the process. Only Tristan remained, lounging back in the corner of one of the sofas, coffee cup in hand. Will sank down beside him and reclaimed his own cup and the remains of his sandwich.
‘Did Mrs W sort out a room for our guest?’ Arthur asked his brother.
Tristan nodded. ‘We’ve put him in the green room.’ He aimed a quick grin at Will. ‘Thought it’d be appropriate.’
‘Anything with a mattress suits me, honestly, I’m sorry to put you to any trouble.’
‘No trouble at all, we’re delighted to have you here.’ Tristan slid his empty cup onto the tray. ‘If you’ve had enough to eat, I can show you up?’
*
They said good night to Arthur and Lucie at the bottom of the sweeping staircase in the great hall. ‘The baronet’s rooms are in the opposite wing, ‘Tristan told him as they briefly watched the couple stroll off hand in hand. ‘The rest of the family rooms are along there.’ He indicated a corridor leading off from the top of the stairs. ‘And your room is down here in the guest quarters.’
‘I might need a map to find my way back,’ Will joked as they followed several twists and turns. There was so much to look at, it was hard to keep track of the directions. Paintings hung in almost every space between the doors which he assumed led to other bedrooms. From the size of the gaps between each door, he got the impression each room must be enormous.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll come and give you a knock in the morning and take you down to breakfast. It’s a bit of a maze at first, but you’ll soon find your way around.’ Tristan came to halt before a dark wood door, indistinguishable from all the rest.
‘That’s assuming I stay.’ Will adjusted the backpack on his shoulder, conscious once more of the less than warm greeting Igraine had given him. From the way the brothers deferred to her, it was clear the gardens were her baby. If she didn’t want him here, he had little doubt he’d soon find himself out on his ear. She called you for a reason. ‘Your sister’s apparently changed her mind about wanting to employ me.’
Tristan laughed. ‘Don’t worry about, Iggy. Her bark is worse than her bite.’ With one hand on the doorknob, Tristan met his gaze, his expression turning grave. ‘It takes a lot for her to let her guard down and ask for help. Unless you’re a hundred per cent serious about seeing this through to the end, maybe it’d be better if you did go home tomorrow.’
Will opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again. He’d rushed up here on little more than a whim, after all. Although Anna and Nick had assured him they could keep things running smoothly, had he actually given them much choice? ‘I’ll sleep on it.’
‘I think that’d be a good idea.’ Tristan brightened, giving Will the impression that nothing kept him down for very long. ‘Well, this is you.’ He pushed open the door and stepped back.
‘Wow.’ There was literally nothing else that Will could think of to say as he drank in the opulent décor of his room. The floor was covered in a carpet so thick his foot sank into the pile. A shade of midnight green, it matched the colour of the ivy climbing over the creamy wallpaper lining the walls. In amongst the pattern of twining vines perched images of exotic birds of paradise, their sweeping jewel-toned tails and bright button eyes so vivid he wondered for a moment if he was looking at a painting. A huge bed frame dominated the centre of the room, swagged with thick velvet curtains a few shades lighter than the carpet. Two large wardrobes bookended the bed; a dressing table and matching chest of drawers in the same burnished wood sat to the right of the room, and a pair of bottle-green leather armchairs faced each other beneath a set of leaded-glass windows.
‘Not bad, eh?’ Tristan crossed the room and opened a concealed door. ‘There’s an adjoining room here which you can use as an office.’ Leaving the door ajar he gestured beyond the left-hand wardrobe. ‘And there’s a private bathroom through there.’ He turned in a quick circle as though giving everything the once over. ‘Right, I’ll leave you to it. Shall we say eight-thirty for breakfast?’ Still a little dumbstruck, Will couldn’t do much more than nod.
As the door closed behind him, Will sank down into one of the armchairs. The crisscross pattern in the leather beneath him spoke of its age, and like everything else around him, he supposed it to be an antique. So different from the sleek, cold lines of his modernist apartment. He let his eyes drift over to the large window beside him, the dark glass reflecting his own image back to him. ‘One of these things is not like the others,’ he murmured to himself, recalling an old song he’d heard on a kid’s programme. If he was going to stay, he had a choice to make-trying to blend in had never really worked for him, but was he brave enough to try and leave his mark on somewhere that breathed history from every stick and stone?
Chapter 6
Pride could be a terrible thing, Iggy mused to herself as she stared at her gritty-eyed reflection in the bathroom mirror. A fitful night spent conjuring a hundred different ways she could’ve responded to Will’s surprise arrival, interspersed with the most embarrassing dreams she’d ever experienced, was making it difficult for her to muste
r even a pinch of enthusiasm for the day to come.
There was no way around it, she was going to have to find a way to apologise to him for her reaction the previous evening. Or, she could admit to herself her in the privacy of her room, for her overreaction. She could blame it on lots of things, but mostly it had been her bruised pride speaking.
She’d long been an admirer of Will’s work, and to have him laugh and then dismiss her had struck the sorest of sore spots. The rational part of her said it was foolish to hold a grudge over a response she’d likely have received from almost any other expert in his position. But the tiny part of her which had been formed and honed before Iggy even understood such a thing as rationality existed had taken the inadvertent hurt straight to heart.
Telling herself to embrace her inner Elsa and just ‘Let It Go’, Iggy dragged the silver-handled hairbrush through her thick curls. Part of a set gifted to her by her great-aunt, Morgana, the brush was akin to a medieval torture device. It tamed the natural wildness of her hair better than the dozens of bottles and tubs of littering the back of the cupboard beneath her sink, so she always returned to it.
The bristles caught on a stubborn tangle, making her wince at the sharp shock of pain in her scalp. She needed to stop mooning over what had and hadn’t happened last night and focus on the here and now. Time to swallow down that stupid pride and accept Will’s change of mind for the gift it was. He was clearly excited about the project-why else would he have jumped in the car and driven over a hundred and fifty miles only hours after seeing those few photos she’d sent him?
Ten minutes later, Iggy paused outside the dining room for another quick pep talk. Smile, say good morning, stick to polite enquiries and maybe everyone will pretend you didn’t make an absolute fool of yourself. Fixing a bright smile, she swung open the door. ‘Good morn … oh,’ she said to the empty room. A quick glance at her watch confirmed it was past eight-thirty and that everyone else was late rather than her being early. Feeling disgruntled that she’d built herself up for no reason, she helped herself to a cup of tea from the sideboard, poured some cereal into a bowl and settled down to wait.
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