Chapter 15
15
On Saturday morning, I dressed warmly, pulled on my wellies and made my way over to Casa Alpaca – the area near the estate entrance where the alpacas were kept. Rosie had told me that it would be Emma’s first day back at work after her holidays and I was eager to meet her as, from what Oliver and Rosie told me, she sounded like somebody I was going to really like.
There’d been a heavy frost overnight and the ground crunched satisfyingly beneath my feet. My breath hung in the air and my nose and cheeks tingled from the bite of the chilly early morning. The trees surrounding the hall looked picture-postcard beautiful with a layer of frost clinging to the branches. There wasn’t any snow forecast but I hoped I’d one day see the estate covered in snow as, if it looked this stunning on a frosty morning, I could imagine it looking magical under a blanket of snow.
Casa Alpaca was approached down a lane with neatly cut hedges either side, their branches twinkling with the frost. Parked at the end of the lane, facing me, was a small van with the back doors open. A woman with long dark hair beneath a yellow bobble hat was unloading some straw bales. She looked up and smiled as I approached.
‘Are you Emma?’ I asked.
‘I am. You must be Mel.’
‘That’s me. Architect in residence.’
She laughed at that. ‘I’m so excited that they’re kickstarting the refurb. It’s such a stunning place. Deserves some care and attention.’
‘I completely agree. I’ve been in love with the hall pretty much my whole life so I keep having to pinch myself that I’ve got this opportunity.’ I nodded towards the bales. ‘Can I help you with anything? I was keen to meet you but I don’t want to stop you working.’
‘You can give me a hand carrying these through if you don’t mind.’
She closed the van doors and opened the gate. I was a little disappointed not to see any alpacas.
‘The herd are at the other side of the paddock,’ she said, as though reading my mind. ‘I wanted to get this fresh bedding down before I call them in for their breakfast.’
I followed Emma’s directions to pile up the bales in a wooden storage cupboard, leaving one out to distribute in what she called the Paca Shack – a large wooden structure with stable doors at either end. She told me the alpacas were fed inside it but might also bed down, especially in the colder weather. The floor had already been cleared of the old straw and swept.
‘I met your dad last week and he said you were away in Northumberland,’ I said as we scattered straw across the floor. ‘Did you have a good holiday?’
‘It was amazing, thanks. I went with my partner, Killian, his two girls, his sister and his mum. He’s the groundsman here so you’ll meet him soon, but he’s not in this weekend.’
‘Big family holiday,’ I said.
‘It was, and I’ll admit to being a teeny bit nervous about going away with everyone. Killian and I have only been together for four months, but it honestly couldn’t have gone better. I properly feel like part of the family now and we’re already talking about going away again together in the summer.’
‘Sounds lovely.’
‘It really was, although I missed the Magnificent Seven, of course. I got my dad to send me photos and videos so I could get my alpaca fix. Do you want to meet them?’
‘I’d love to.’
Bedding finished, Emma poured some pellets into a bucket.
‘Have you ever met an alpaca before?’
‘Until I came here, I’d never even seen one. Your dad said you wouldn’t mind if he did the intros, but it didn’t feel right when I hadn’t met you so I said I’d wait till you returned.’
‘I wouldn’t have minded, but I’m pleased to have the honour. I get such a kick out of introducing them to new people.’
After hanging up a couple of nets of hay from ceiling hooks in the shack and pouring more pellets into a feeding trough outside, Emma gave me a short briefing on where the alpacas liked to be stroked and where to avoid. Then she grabbed the bucket of feed and took me through a holding pen into a pasture, shaking the bucket and whistling. It didn’t take long for the alpacas to appear from the far end, a light grey one leading the way.
‘That’s Barbara,’ Emma told me. ‘She’s the boss lady. Check out the swagger on her. I’ve had fun filming her and adding songs to the videos. Remind me to show you the one of her strutting to “Saturday Night Fever”. It’s my favourite. Guaranteed mood-lifter.’
I smiled as I studied Barbara’s approach. She really did strut rather than walk.
Emma rattled off the other names – white alpacas called Florence and Bianca and two light fawn-coloured ones called Charmaine and Camella.
‘The dark brown one’s Jolene and the one at the back is Maud. She’s got a grey fleece like Barbara but it’s a different shade called rose grey. Isn’t it pretty?’
‘They’re all pretty.’
They were very close so Emma shook the bucket again and led them through the holding pen to the feeding trough where they all dipped their heads and started munching.
‘They’re fluffier than I expected.’
Emma nodded. ‘Their fleeces are really soft – great for keeping them warm in the winter as well as making fantastic wool. They get sheared when we get warm weather but we’ll keep most of the fluffiness on their heads.’
She told me that there weren’t any customer walks booked in for today as she wanted to spend her first day back settling in and giving her undivided attention to the herd, but she would still be taking them out for a walk and I was welcome to join her. I didn’t need asking twice. Charmaine apparently refused to walk on afternoons so, after they’d eaten, Emma added halters and attached leads to Charmaine, Florence and Bianca, telling me that there were friendship groups within the herd and those three had a really strong bond.
I felt a little apprehensive as Emma handed me Charmaine’s lead. We were a family of animal lovers but none of us had ever had pets so I’d never even walked a dog before, but I needn’t have been concerned. The three of them sauntered along the drive with no need for direction.
‘They’ve walked the route so often that they know where they’re heading,’ Emma said. ‘They’ll occasionally pull you over to a hedge so they can have a scratch, which is fine, and they might stop to eat the grass but there’s an area we use round the back of the house so a gentle tug on the lead will keep them on track. They do know where their official feeding stop is, but they like to try it on sometimes.’
‘Have you always had alpacas?’ I asked.
‘I’ve always loved them but, this time last year, I was a teacher and alpacas definitely weren’t on my radar…’
As we walked the three alpacas, Emma told me how her fiancé at the time – Grayson – had secured a tenancy on one of Beatrix Potter’s farms near Coniston and she’d made the decision to leave teaching to help him run the farm. The previous owner had told her about some research she’d done into alpaca walks around the farm, which immediately captured Emma’s interest. The Magnificent Seven were a herd in need of rescue but, as she was about to start some building work on the farm to prepare for their arrival, Grayson dropped the bombshell that he didn’t want the alpacas at the farm and he didn’t want her there either.
‘I was devastated at the time but it’s funny how a bit of time and distance can give you a fresh perspective. Grayson was an awful partner – all take and no give – and I didn’t realise it at the time. I wasted a lot of years on him, but I needed to go through that to get where I am today with my alpacas, this stunning place as my office, and Killian. I’ve also got an amazing half-brother who I didn’t know existed and I finally have a great relationship with my dad, which is something I’d never expected. So, toxic as it was with Grayson, I wouldn’t change my time with him for the world because of where it led me.’
It was a really healthy way of looking at the darkness and she presented it with such gusto. Would I ever be able to do that? Our circumstances were different and clearly there would never be a positive from losing my son, but could there be a time when I saw my divorce from Flynn as a positive thing which had propelled me to a better place? I couldn’t imagine that I would. I’d already had nearly seven years of time and distance and no positives had emerged then so I doubted they ever would. Probably because there weren’t any. Emma’s relationship had been toxic but ours had been incredible. She’d wasted years on Grayson but every moment I’d spent with Flynn had been precious. Then tragedy struck and I went into self-destruct mode.
We’d reached the back of the hall. The lawn stretched out ahead of us but there was a rougher grassy area alongside some old sheds which was where we paused for the alpacas to graze.
‘I loved teaching,’ Emma continued, the leads for Florence and Bianca held loosely in her hands, ‘but I love this even more. I still get to use my teaching skills but in a different context and without any of the stress. I can’t tell you how much better I feel working with animals and spending my days outdoors. If things had been different and I’d set up my business at the farm as planned, it would have been special and I’d have loved it, but not on this level.’ She closed her eyes momentarily and breathed in deeply before opening them and smiling at me. ‘It’s so restful here. I can’t get enough of it. I know you’ve only been here a week, but can you feel it?’
‘There’s definitely something special about the estate.’
I was conscious that I hadn’t really answered her question but my answer wouldn’t be straightforward so it was easier to avoid it. Emma was clearly an open person and, while she hadn’t gone into much detail about Grayson or given any insight into why she’d previously had a bad relationship with her dad, she’d shared enough to let me in. I couldn’t reciprocate. I hadn’t told Rosie and Oliver about Noah so I certainly wasn’t ready to open up to someone I’d only just met, no matter how much I already liked her.
‘Your dad said you’re originally from Willowdale,’ I said, feeling it was time for a subject change. ‘I’m wondering if we were at school together.’
Emma shared that she was forty-eight with an October birthday, making her five school years behind me, but we didn’t remember each other from primary school. By the time Emma started senior school, I’d have been in the sixth form and our paths wouldn’t have crossed, but she’d moved to Ambleside by then anyway.
‘Do your family still live in Willowdale?’ Emma asked as we set off walking once more.
‘They do. My parents still live in the house I was raised in – Derwent Rise near The White Willow. My sister and her husband live in Pippinthwaite and their kids are grown up now and live with their partners in Keswick.’
I tensed, sensing what the next question would be – Do you have kids? I hated that question. A few years ago, a client had asked me it and, as we hadn’t been talking about children or families at the time, it completely threw me off guard and I just blurted it out. I had a son but he died when he was eighteen. Drug overdose. I’ll never forget the way in which her empathetic expression turned to shock as I added those final two words. She didn’t voice it but I knew she was making judgements about Noah – bad boy, irresponsible, out of control – and judging me as a terrible parent without knowing anything about either of us. She never asked me anything personal after that, our meetings remaining strictly business, and I never answered that question with honesty again. Do you have kids? No. Followed swiftly by a change of subject so they couldn’t ask me to expand. From what I’d learned about Emma so far, I couldn’t imagine her being judgemental like that client, but I wasn’t prepared to risk it and the best way to do that was to go to my happy place – a conversation about my work.
‘I’m loving Oliver and Rosie’s vision of Willowdale Hall being somewhere for people to relax, find their happy and, if they need it, to heal. I can see exactly how walking the alpacas fits in to that. I’m really enjoying this.’
‘Isn’t it great? Just being with the alpacas is calming in itself, but these surroundings take it to another level. You’ll fully see what I mean when we get down to the lake.’
We walked along a pathway between trees with glimpses of Derwent Water through the branches on our right before descending a slope onto a pebble beach. The lead tightened as Charmaine tugged me towards the lake’s edge.
‘She’s fine to go in,’ Emma said, and I noticed that Florence and Bianca had already entered the water. ‘Florence will probably lie down in a minute.’
Next moment, she did, and she started humming too. I glanced at Emma, surprised by the sound.
‘Your face,’ she said, laughing. ‘That’s her telling us how happy she is. Isn’t it gorgeous?’
It truly was. I stood there taking in the view as Emma snapped a few photos of the alpacas against the wintry backdrop of snowy fells. The lake was ever so still, acting as a perfect mirror of its surroundings. I took some photos of Emma with the alpacas on her phone which she appreciated, telling me that she usually only appeared on the social media accounts in selfie form. She took several of me with the alpacas on my phone which I’d show to the family later.
With the alpacas enjoying their time in the lake and Florence providing us with background ‘music’, it was the perfect opportunity to get Emma’s thoughts on the hall conversion as, being new to the estate, she’d view it differently from Oliver and Alice who’d spent most of their lives here and Rosie who’d lived her entire life here.
‘Do you mind me quizzing you about the hall?’ I asked. ‘Imagine you don’t know the area but you’ve come across Willowdale Hall online and you’re thinking of booking one of the apartments. What would you expect from a holiday here?’
‘Luxury,’ she said, without missing a beat. ‘It’s a grand manor house set in large grounds so I’d expect the rooms to complement that. I’d want all the mod cons – coffee machine, microwave, powerful shower and so on – but I’d still want to feel that I was in an old building so I’d expect the colours, fabrics and furniture to reflect that. I’d want to know something about the history of my apartment and maybe have some throwbacks to that. For example, if it was originally the library, I’d expect to be told that and for there to be a small library of books. If it’s a room where Beatrix Potter slept or drew, I’d definitely want to know all about that and maybe have an old desk with some art supplies set up on it.’
Florence rose from the water, shook herself off, and we set off back across the beach and up the slope. So far Emma hadn’t said anything I hadn’t expected or already considered myself, but I encouraged her to keep going as conversations like this could sometimes unearth a gem or two.
‘I love that Oliver and Rosie want to open up the estate to the public with woodland trails and a café. It deserves to be seen and loved and it’ll hopefully bring more customers for me, but I’m wondering if inviting the public in fully aligns to the vision of the residential guests being able to completely relax. If I came here wanting to get away from everything, I don’t think I’d want the grounds to be swarming with people.’
And there was the gem.
‘That’s a really good point. Obviously the gates would be closed and locked at the end of the afternoon so there’d only be overnight guests in the grounds during the evenings, but I hear you about daytime. What if we made part of the grounds exclusive to guests? Would that work?’
‘It’s a fair compromise. If I was staying somewhere like this, I’d want to imagine it’s my home – if only for a few days – so the more that can be done to make it feel like that, the better.’
Another gem. Any holiday was a chance to escape but a holiday in an old manor house was a chance to escape to a bygone time.
‘I love that,’ I said. ‘And I can see how that fits with the relaxing and finding your happy vibe. Thanks, Emma. That was really helpful.’
‘You’re welcome. And speaking of relaxing, I hope you’ll get some time to do that while you’re here. I can imagine it’s harder to switch off when you’re living on site.’
‘I’m not great at switching off from work anyway,’ I admitted. ‘It’s so much harder when your job’s also your passion. If I’m not doing actual work on an evening, I’m most likely found with my head buried in a history or design book, but I am making a special effort to take breaks and explore the grounds. I’m an early riser so seeking you out this morning was my way of not spending the whole weekend working.’
‘But then you asked me work-related questions,’ Emma said, laughing.
I grimaced. ‘I can’t help myself.’
‘I completely get it. When I’m not here, I’m often still working. There’s all the admin to do, customer queries and the socials. I’m also building up a range of merchandise and I do the illustrations for those so, believe me, I know how easy it is for work to take over.’
As we made our way back to Casa Alpaca, Emma told me more about her illustrations. She also shared the story of how the Magnificent Seven had been rescued and ended up at Willowdale Hall, which all sounded very dramatic and stressful.
‘They love it here, though,’ she said as she opened the gate. ‘I’m so proud of how well they’ve settled in and taken to their walks.’
Emma removed their halters and leads and the trio had a drink and a munch on the hay hanging up in the shack.
‘I’ll walk the others later,’ she told me as she hung up the halters and leads. ‘I want to check the perimeter fence and clean the water trough first. You’re welcome to stay longer.’
I appreciated the invite but I’d decided to check out Keswick market so I told her I’d head off. ‘Thanks for letting me join you on your walk. That’s set up my day perfectly.’
‘I enjoyed the company. Don’t work too hard. It is the weekend, after all.’
‘I’ll try not to.’
‘The first walk of the day is at ten so, if you’re ever at a loose end first thing, you’re welcome to stop by for a chat, although be warned that I’ll probably thrust a rake and shovel at you and ask you to get scooping.’
‘I’d be happy to help.’
‘Excellent. Could be the first step in finding you a work-life balance while you’re here. We’ll soon have you all relaxed and any wounds healed.’
‘No wounds to heal,’ I said, ‘but I hear you about relaxing. I’ll try my best.’
We said our goodbyes and I thrust my gloved hands into my coat pockets as I strode down the lane, kicking at a frost-covered stick. No wounds to heal? If only!