Chapter 4
FOUR
Once we were all suitably refreshed, Douglas showed us upstairs to our rooms. I must say, I could have lingered for some time just admiring the elegant staircase, which was like something out of Downton Abbey . It was oak, worn and polished over the years to a glorious, chocolatey shine that urged you to run your hand along the smooth, solid handrail and enjoy the clunk as your foot hit each wide step. My mind flicked to the narrow, concrete staircase with iron railings that led to my flat in London; utilitarian and fit for the job, but a poor cousin to this magnificent affair. I imagined generations of small Knight children sliding down its inviting banisters and felt a tug of temptation to do the same myself. At the top, from the galleried landing, carpeted in worn but still luxurious red wool, you could peer over the hallway – grand but homely with its leather Chesterfield sofa and muddle of coats, shoes and bags. Only my mother’s camel coat had made it to a hanger; everything else was draped on the sofa or, with a nonchalance that only the aristocratic would ever dare have, flung over the exquisitely carved finial at the bottom of the stairs.
I could see my suitcases outside a door down a corridor leading to the left.
‘That must be my room?’
Douglas nodded. ‘It is. Would you like a rest after your journey? We don’t meet for supper until about seven thirty.’
Thank goodness that Douglas was such a thoughtful man and must have realised that I could do with some time to myself.
I smiled at him. ‘Thank you, that would be amazing. I’ll see you later.’
‘Of course, just shout if you need anything – we’re down this way, third on the right.’
I pushed open the door with relief. The journey and meeting new people had tired me, and I was reminded how scant my resources currently were. An hour or so to myself would set me up for the evening, whatever that may hold.
I was so busy gathering my things together and ushering Runcible through the door that it was only once I was inside the room that I looked up. I gasped aloud. Having lost my bearings inside the house, I hadn’t worked out that this would be a corner room. Two of its walls were taken up with huge wooden-framed floor to ceiling windows, with long blue and cream patterned curtains hooked back to allow in the light which, although wintery and fading as the afternoon ebbed away, was still uplifting. Leaving my cases, I ran over to look out at the view, which was so staggering that tears sprang to my eyes. Beyond the large garden and some outbuildings, stretched the Yorkshire moors, as bleak as one might hope for at this time of year with their coarse, uncompromising greyness, dotted with moss and stubborn, wiry little trees. But the undulating landscape was so vast that it made me feel comforted. It had a timeless quality, and a calming sense of stolidity that helped me breathe more deeply. I rested my forehead on the cool glass and let my eyes drift across the miles, picking out details as I did so: some ridiculously fluffy sheep grazing, a quaint stone building, a small river twinkling with frost. The view from my home in London was one which I spent little time looking at, just a city street with a newsagent and chain bakery opposite, and a charity shop below. Awestruck now, I suddenly wondered how I could have lived so long that way, and how I could ever go back. Then I gave myself a little shake. Of course I would go back! I wasn’t normally given to such romantic flights of fancy; it must be the stress talking. I had been advised by the doctor to let worrying thoughts float by, and that is what I would do now. Briskly, I crossed the room back to my luggage and hoisted it all up onto the bed, a heavily built four poster that must have been created for this room maybe four hundred years ago. I couldn’t imagine that you could disassemble it and take it somewhere else; flat pack this was not. Runcible had finished sniffing around in the corners of the room, so I popped her up, too, sure that nobody would mind her being on the bed and, to be honest, not caring if they did. She always slept with me, snuggled into my stomach. I quickly put away my clothes and placed my toiletries on the mirrored dressing table. Nearly finished, and sure that I had got on top of my sudden urge never to return to London, I went to draw the curtains; the light had faded quickly, and the dark stretch of the moors was now less enticing. As I turned away, I spotted a curtain on the opposite wall: surely not more windows? I lifted it to one side and hooked it up and, to my astonishment, revealed a small archway, with a twisting set of stone stairs beyond. Thank goodness for whichever Knight had thought about mod cons, because there was also a light switch, which I flicked.
Consumed with excitement and curiosity, I descended the short flight and found myself in a bathroom unlike any I had ever seen before. Built from stone, with no rendering or tiles, it was small and semi-circular, rather like I would suppose a turret room to be. I hadn’t noticed any turrets from the front, but a glance out of the small, deep-set window showed me that this looked over the side of the house. It was hard to see much in the gloaming, but I managed to pick out further lawns, trees and what looked like a lake or large pond; I would look forward to exploring those tomorrow. Turning back into the room, I walked slowly around it, running my hand along the large, square art deco sink with its slightly corroded chunky chrome taps and elegantly bevelled mirror above. The bath looked Victorian, but I had never seen anything like it. It was in the shape of an ‘L’ lying on its back, with a tall domed open cubicle at one end which housed a shower head and a strange array of enamel knobs and little holes, which presumably squirted out water at different heights. It reminded me of the sort of rainforest experience showers you find at fancy spas, but this wasn’t modern. I couldn’t wait to have a go in it. Next, I reached out a hand to touch the sturdy metal towel rail, which was deliciously warm. Somebody had – at some point in the house’s history – gone to a great deal of effort to make the bathroom comfortable, even encased as it was in stone, but it couldn’t have been touched for decades. Reluctantly, I returned to the stairs, resolving to ask Douglas about the bathroom’s history and, indeed, that of the entire house. I re-emerged through the arch and let down the curtain, ready to sit quietly with a book for a while, when a tap on the door was quickly followed by the appearance of my mother.
‘Hello, darling, settling in all right? Isn’t it the most marvellous house? Mind you, Douglas’s place in London is just as grand and more up to date.’
I decided not to mention the wonderful bathroom – one look at it and she’d have been making noises about tile cladding and a power shower. Mum has no truck whatsoever with history, she likes things to be sharp and modern, like herself – no hint of the past.
‘Yes, it’s gorgeous, and the views are amazing.’
Mum sat down in an ivory armchair and tucked her crossed ankles to one side, just as she had seen Joan Collins do.
‘The views inside the house are splendid, too, don’t you think? Alexander is absolutely divine . I mean, I’d seen pictures of him, but they didn’t do him justice one little bit. Oh, come on, don’t say you didn’t notice, you were positively flirting with him.’
‘I wasn’t ! For goodness’ sake, we were just talking.’
‘Whatever. But don’t you think he’s the handsomest man you’ve ever seen?’
‘Not particularly, no. I mean, he’s perfectly nice-looking, I suppose.’
I trailed off. Nobody could deny that Alexander Knight was an absolute knockout, and my mother knew it. She snorted.
‘A little too much protesting, darling. He’s an utter hunk. You could have a lovely Christmas present to unwrap if you play your cards right.’
‘Well, I don’t want to. Apart from the fact that that’s not what I’ve come here for, what about Theo? I don’t want to be a mother.’
Well, I thought, I don’t want to be a mother like you were, and that surely amounts to the same thing…
‘Oh, don’t be ridiculous, darling. For a start, I was only suggesting a little festive dalliance, not setting up home together. And what’s this about not wanting to be a mother?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘It does matter. It’s the first I’ve heard of it. Are you intent on focusing on your career? You know I’m all for that, but the two don’t have to be mutually exclusive, as I’ve demonstrated.’
She gave a satisfied smile and I glared at her, feeling the heat rising in my face.
‘Because you handled it so marvellously, you mean?’
She laughed.
‘What are you implying, Fallon? I suppose you resent me for leaving you with people because I had to work? Plenty of mothers do that, and without your father on the scene, I didn’t have much choice.’
‘No, Mum, I know that you had to work, of course I understand that. What I have a harder time with is the way you left me with strangers so you could party several nights a week. You made it abundantly clear that I was a nuisance.’
Her mouth tightened. ‘You’re being a nuisance now, to be honest.’
I fell silent. I should have known better than to challenge her. The moment my mother believed herself to be cornered, she went on the attack. I braced myself.
‘You never understood that aspect of my job, Fallon – that I had to socialise in order to meet people who would help me in my career. I still have to do it now. Maybe you still resent me not washing your hockey kit, or whatever the equivalent is at your age. For what it’s worth, I think you’d make a wonderful mother, but then I think I did too.’
My eyebrows nearly hit the ceiling, but her impervious gaze made it clear that the conversation was over. Oh, what was the point in trying anyway? She would never even try to understand. It wasn’t that I didn’t like children, but I was terrified of the responsibility – of making mistakes with them that might last a lifetime. How on earth people were brave enough to embark on parenthood was beyond me.
‘Anyway,’ I said, ‘from what we saw when we first arrived, it seems very clear that Alexander isn’t remotely interested in finding anyone, let alone a mother for Theo.’
‘Well, there you are then, darling, we’re back exactly where I started.’ I almost expected her to punch the air in triumph. ‘Have a lovely Christmas fling with him, no hard feelings and so on. Enjoy yourself!’
‘I fully intend to enjoy myself, but not in that way. Just drop it, Mum. I don’t want a fling, with Alexander or anyone else, just some peace and quiet!’
Even my mother was thwarted by this argument, although I feared only temporarily – I had no doubt that she would rise again to matchmake another day. She finally stood up.
‘Well, enjoy your chaste Christmas, darling, more “miserable-toe” than mistletoe, but it’s up to you, I suppose. I think love is good for keeping one young and desirable, but maybe that doesn’t worry you. I still think Alexander is gorgeous.’
‘I don’t care how bloody gorgeous Alexander is, I am not having an affair with him!’
This, of course, as the door opened and the man himself walked in.
‘Sorry, have I missed something?’