Chapter 4
CHAPTER 4
V iola woke the next morning to a pressure on her stomach. Peeking through one barely opened eyelid, she spotted a black cat curled up asleep on her.
“Not you again,” she groaned. “You’re going to get me into serious trouble.”
She was of half a mind to shoo the cat off. Instead, she extracted herself from under the duvet and hurriedly dressed under the watchful eye of her new friend. The builders were due to start work today, so she needed to get moving. Just as she finished dressing, the sound of a bell rang through the house. She opened the front door a minute later to discover a man of later years breaking through the seams of a tightly fitted tweed suit.
“Miss Berkley, it is an honour to welcome you to our little village. Or is it ‘Mrs’?”
Viola groaned internally. “Miss.”
“Major Hargreaves, at your service.” He gave a light nod. “Everyone calls me Major. I wonder if I might discuss a matter with you regarding your land?”
Feeling as if she had no choice, she stepped back and gestured for him to come in.
“Thank you,” he said, removing his flat cap as he stepped past her and strode into the great hall, turning into the drawing room without further invitation.
Viola followed.
“Ah, Agatha,” the major mumbled. “Fancy seeing you here.” He turned to Viola to add, “I didn’t realise you’d bought the cat as well as the house.”
“I didn’t,” Viola replied as she entered, noticing the cat had changed location and was curled up on the sofa. It was useful to have a name for her.
The major sat himself down next to Agatha. “I’ll cut straight to the point. It’s regarding your bottom field. Every summer we hold a classic car show, and I thought I should let you know, out of courtesy, that we’ll be doing it again.”
“Are you asking me or telling me?” Viola asked, glaring at him as she sat on the sofa opposite.
The major made some noises with his cheeks before saying, “Gillian never had a problem with it.”
“I am not Gillian, and this is not her estate.”
“No, no, I know that. I was hoping you would appreciate the importance of community activities. I was also hoping you would open the event for us.”
Viola flashed him a thinly veiled smile of gratitude for the offer, though she couldn’t help thinking it was to give her no other option than to agree to his request.
“It would be nice to have a proper celebrity opening it for a change,” the major added.
“Proper celebrity? Who normally opens it?” Viola questioned, intrigued.
“Gillian.”
Viola suppressed a laugh. “Is she a celebrity?”
“No,” he was quick to reply. “She likes to think she is, being lady of the manor and all that. She also won a point-to-point back in the eighties, and she’s been riding on that one ever since. Pardon the pun.” He chuckled to himself as his eye glanced over Viola’s figure, making her shiver.
“Look, I’m not opposed to the idea of you using the field. I would simply like more information. Could you put a full proposal together so I know exactly what I would be agreeing to? Access, insurance, timings, that sort of thing?”
The major nearly blustered at this, then seemed to think it would be in his better interests to rein in the impulse. “Well… yes. I’ll see what I can summon up.”
“Good,” Viola said, standing up and hoping he would take the hint. “I look forward to seeing what you summon up.”
“Yes, of course,” he mumbled, getting to his feet.
As she ushered the major out, two elderly women approached the front door, arms linked. The major doffed his cap at them as he passed. One of the ladies was carrying a bunch of vibrantly coloured flowers.
“Miss Berkley, please forgive the intrusion,” her companion said. “We wanted to welcome you to the village and give you this spring bloom from our garden to brighten your new home.” The woman nudged the other, who was staring at Viola in awe.
“Thank you,” Viola said, relieving the woman, who was still gaping at her, of the flowers.
“Don’t mind Louisa; she’s a big fan of yours. Not that I’m not! I’m more able to keep my wits about me.”
Viola smirked at her. “And you are?”
“Elouise,” she replied with a soft smile.
“Oh. Two Lous,” Viola observed with a laugh.
Elouise’s smile widened. “Yes, exactly. Now we won’t keep you, Miss Berkley.”
“Oh, please, call me Viola.”
The woman acknowledged her with a nod.
“Come along, Louisa,” Elouise slipped her arm back through her companion’s and pulled at her. “Toodle-oo.”
Viola couldn’t help chuckling at the pair.
The news of her arrival seemed to have spread through the village, likely thanks to the postman. So much for trying to keep a low profile.
As the women disappeared up the drive, Viola pondered what she should do about the cat. Should she put it outside? Return it to Gillian again? It appeared quite intent on staying put. Whatever she was going to do, she needed a coffee first. As she reached the kitchen and put the flowers down, the sound of the bell rang out.
With a deep breath, she turned on her heel and headed back to the front door, already feeling this big house was going to make her fitter. She opened it to reveal a short, middle-aged woman with a light brown long bob and a wide, beaming smile.
“I’m Bridget, from the village.”
Viola could see she wasn’t going to get any peace until she’d greeted every villager, and now in desperate need of a coffee, the only answer was to invite the woman in.
“Come in, Bridget from the village. Coffee? I was just trying to make one.”
“Oh, yes please,” Bridget answered with a goofy smile. “I live in one of your estate cottages in the village, so technically that makes you my landlady.”
Viola hadn’t thought of herself as a landlady. There was a lot she would need to get to grips with as an estate owner, and she didn’t feel ready for any of it. At least she had her solicitor to deal with the financial side of things.
Viola stepped back to let Bridget into the porch and found herself following her through the great hall in the direction of the kitchen. It seemed the villagers were more familiar with her house than she was.
“The word around the village is you arrived by helicopter, and you flew yourself,” Bridget said as they entered the kitchen.
“Yes, that is true,” Viola said, placing two cups under the spouts of the coffee machine and pressing a button.
“Impressive. When did you learn to fly?”
“About fifteen years ago.”
“Is it not frightening, being up in the sky alone?”
“I’m not usually alone, though yes… I suppose I am now,” Viola’s tone dulled.
“I expect after singing in front of millions of people, not much frightens you.” Bridget paused. “I’m sorry. You’re not supposed to ask famous people personal questions, are you?”
Viola was going to debate asking anyone personal questions, but Bridget continued before she could even answer.
“Oh, what a posh coffee machine!” Bridget said, admiring it as the last of their rich coffees poured from the spouts. “I’ve never seen one so big. I’d love something like this.”
“How do you take it?” Viola asked, smiling at the woman’s enthusiasm. Perhaps the villagers weren’t all savages.
“Black, please. We’re all delighted to have you here in Kingsford, you know.”
“So I gathered.” Viola passed Bridget a cup. “I’ve received quite the welcome already today.” She nodded at the flowers resting on the hideous stainless-steel worktop as she took her own cup from the machine. She couldn’t wait for the builders to start ripping the kitchen out.
“Oh, are they from Louisa and Elouise? They’re beautiful.”
“They are. Sadly, I didn’t think to bring a vase,” Viola said, pushing the box containing her mum’s ashes further along the worktop so she could put her cup down. She would need to move her to safety before the builders arrived. “I have a penthouse in London which I still use regularly. I couldn’t bring anything from there, and there is only a certain amount you can fit into a helicopter. I’ve had a delivery of essentials from John Lewis yesterday, but I never thought of a vase as an essential before.”
“It is around here. I can lend you one if you like, until you get yourself kitted out.”
“Thank you. Everyone is being so welcoming. Well, except for one,” Viola groaned.
“You’ve met Gillian then.” Bridget giggled into her coffee cup.
“Yes! She accused me of stealing her house the moment I arrived.”
Her mind slipped back to the previous day and the figure of Gillian Carmichael striding across the lawn in her jodhpurs and riding jacket. Her shoulder-length blonde waves bounced with her stride. Viola shook the thought away as she recalled the fury on the woman’s face.
“Oh, don’t mind Gillian. She doesn’t bite. Well, not unless you give her a good reason to.” Bridget smirked.
Viola let out an amused breath of laughter; Bridget’s sense of humour had caught her off guard. “Is stealing her house a good enough reason?”
Bridget grimaced. “Perhaps give her a wide berth.”
They both laughed.
“Gillian might seem fierce,” Bridget added, “but she’s a pussycat really, once you get to know her.”
“I’m not sure I want to get to know her, though having her living at the bottom of my drive and stabling her horse, I expect avoiding her will be unavoidable. Are you friends with her, then?”
“Oldest and dearest,” Bridget replied, taking a sip of coffee. “We’ve been friends since she moved to the village about thirty-five years ago. Which brings me to a favour I need to ask.” She worried her lip, then said, “It’s just that the flower show—”
“Don’t tell me you want my bottom field too?”
“Your great hall, actually,” Bridget replied sheepishly. “I’m assuming I’m not the first to ask for a favour today.”
“No. Do you organise it then?”
“Gillian does. I just help her with her events between my part-time job as parish clerk. She keeps me busy.”
Viola immediately imagined Bridget to be some kind of dogsbody to Gillian and felt a flush of sympathy for her.
“Do you not have a husband or partner?”
“No. I’m a widow.” Bridget sighed. “Have been for a long time.”
Viola flashed her a sympathetic smile. “Well, I’m sure Gillian couldn’t do any of it without you, but you can tell Gillian that if she wants my hall, she can ask me herself.”
“Oh, yes, of course,” Bridget replied quickly, her mouth twitching as if trying to contain a smile.
“Does she organise everything around here?”
“Pretty much, except the classic car show.”
“Ah yes, that would be the major’s domain. He asked me to open it.”
“Oh, really?” Bridget said, her eyes widening.
Viola raised an eyebrow. “You seem surprised?”
“It’s just Gillian does that every year. She’ll be furious,” Bridget said, her mouth twitching again.
That would be one benefit of opening the car show. Not that Viola wanted to. She wanted to be left alone.
“There’s also the annual manor summer ball,” Bridget continued, “if that is still going ahead, of course. It’s the event of the year, and that would be your job now, not Gillian’s.”
“My job? As what? Lady of the manor ?” Viola said, her mouth quirking up at one corner. “I assume that’s held in my great hall too.”
“Err… yes.”
“Is there no other place this ball could be held?”
“Well, it wouldn’t be the manor summer ball without the manor.”
“That’s kind of what I was aiming for.” Viola smirked, playfully narrowing her eyes.
Bridget giggled. “Oh, yes. I see. Unfortunately, nowhere in the village is big enough. There’s also the summer fete and the harvest festival. The manor is — was the centre of everything in Kingsford. The village hall has always been a bit inadequate for Gillian’s events, and she’s always been more than happy to hold them in the great hall.”
I bet she has. No doubt to ensure she controls everything , Viola thought to herself.
“She has — had excellent caterers, and her cook was an exquisite baker,” Bridget continued.
“I could use a cook and housekeeper. I don’t suppose Gillian’s would be interested in returning, assuming they haven’t gone with her?”
Bridget reached for her handbag and extracted a pencil and a piece of paper. “No, she didn’t take any staff. I can give you the cook’s number; she was also the housekeeper.”
“Even better.”
Draining her cup, Bridget stood, scribbled a number on the paper, and pushed it over to Viola. “I don’t want to take up any more of your time. I’d best go and give Gillian the news. Thanks for the coffee,”
“Can you take her cat with you? I found her on my bed this morning. It seems as soon as I open a door, she sneaks in. Either that or she morphs through the walls, which would be surprising in a three-hundred-year-old property.”
“Four hundred.” Bridget said, then rolled her eyes. “Oh, listen to me. I’m beginning to sound like Gillian.”
“You're nothing like Gillian, at least from what I've observed,” Viola remarked. She noticed Bridget's cheeks flush as she guided her into the drawing room. “Now you stay out, Agatha. This isn’t your home anymore,” Viola scolded the cat lightly, placing her into Bridget’s arms.
The cat eyed her suspiciously.
“May I ask why Gillian sold the estate?” Viola said as she led Bridget to the front door.
“Financial problems,” Bridget half whispered. “Her husband, Jonathon, died rather unexpectedly and left her with even more unexpected debt. It seems he’d remortgaged the house and made some bad investments.”
Viola felt a sudden pang of remorse. Was that the reason for the woman’s attitude? Was Gillian grieving a lost loved one like she was?
“Well, thanks for coming by, and whenever you get a moment to bring the vase, please do,” she said as she waved Bridget off.
She was already looking forward to the woman’s next visit. Bridget was likeable and came across as kind and harmless, endearing even. She also struck her as a font of all knowledge when it came to the village, and if she was going to be forced into village life, the least she could do was arm herself for it.
The crunch of gravel drew her attention up the drive: Her Porsche Cayman was finally being delivered. Now she could explore the village hidden behind metal — or, as much as you could hide in such a car.