Chapter 4
I folded myself into the back seat of the taxi outside Norwich station, my sunglasses pulled down low over my eyes, my enormous suitcase squeezed into the boot. Chris had borrowed my car while his was stuck in the garage having extensive bodywork repairs after a collision with a tractor, but I was happy to get the train. It was quite a trek to Norfolk, after all.
‘Not travelling light then,’ the driver had said. ‘Got the kitchen sink in there?’
He’d laughed, but I just offered him a tight smile.
We headed north out of the city, the air con making me feel chilly on what was really a fairly hot day. I looked out across the flat fields, an endless sea of golden grasses flashing past, parched from the recent drought – the Met Office had been absolutely right with their prediction.
My journey had only started three hours ago, but still I was beginning to feel weary. It wasn’t the train journey, it was the month leading up to it.
‘Are you here for the wedding then?’ the driver asked, keen to engage me in conversation. His eyes appeared in the rear-view mirror, his penetrating gaze taking me in as I tried to keep my own eyes open. ‘I hear it’s to be quite the do.’
I rallied and sat further up in my seat. I was being rude, I knew, but my heart wasn’t really in small talk at that moment. My mind was engaged with thoughts of all the potential buyers trailing through my house, opening my cupboard doors and passing judgement on my decor, sizing up my garden that they had no intention of maintaining. Douglas’s plan for an open-house week had been embraced by the agents who had lots of viewings lined up. At least he’d let me pick which week and when Dorothy had told me I had the position it had all fallen into place. I couldn’t bear the thought of camping out in my own house, trying to keep it show-home ready and couldn’t possibly afford to stay in a hotel.
The house no longer really felt like mine anyway and I was beginning to feel hopeful that this week with Dorothy could possibly turn into more. The advert had said there was potential for a permanent position after the wedding. In fact, since meeting her and seeing how uncomplicated she was, how nice and unassuming, how lovely her home was, I had a lot of my hopes pinned on this working out.
Douglas had been round to collect the rest of his things, and I had psyched myself up for the meeting. I’d had the word divorce rolling around my head all that morning, waiting for it to land into the middle of our conversation and was going to make Douglas explain his position. But he’d been full of his trip and merrily showing me photos on his phone like we were old friends, rather than a couple with a collapsed marriage. Not a man talking to the woman he considered unexciting and beige. I’d dutifully looked, but really I was quickly scanning the faces of those in shot to see if there were any women, colourful and exciting women. In the end I’d lost the nerve to say very much at all and he left rather like an acquaintance would, with an I’ll be in touch.
I took a short breath now, and answered the taxi driver anyway. I was going to have to pull something out of the bag of conversation if I was to survive the week.
‘Something like that,’ I said. ‘To be honest, I’m more… staff.’
‘Oh, right,’ he said, watching me for a little longer until he assumed he wasn’t going to get anything further and returned his eyes to the road.
‘Are you a friend of the family then?’ I asked him.
‘No,’ he snorted. ‘I don’t move in those circles.’
‘But you know about the wedding?’
‘It may be a big house, Mrs Knight, but it’s a very small village.’
‘Do you know much about the owner, Leonard Price?’ I said.
Dorothy had told me he was the uncle of the bride and that was why the wedding was to be held at his home. Lavinia had said that Leonard was an old family friend and former business partner to Dorothy’s late husband and that was how the bride and groom had met. I had switched off a bit at the time, to be honest, but now I realised I was to be among this family for the week and perhaps I should have paid more attention.
‘He’s rich and arrogant according to my wife’s sister, Violet, who cleaned there for a short time a few years back. I’ll bet no more arrogant than any other rich man, though. The house is something else, very grand, but Vi said she wasn’t sorry to lose her job, as she was always terrified of breaking one of his precious art pieces. I’ve never been in there myself.
‘He’s done a little for the village: new planting for the green, a project with a local children’s charity for a fun run around his estate, that sort of stuff. He’s not married and hasn’t got any kids of his own, though. There’s not many that know him well.’
He sounded eccentric, like a nice, kindly old man, but then as uncle to the bride, he couldn’t be that old, I thought. I relaxed a bit then. A week at a country estate in Norfolk for the wedding of Dorothy’s grandson didn’t seem like much of a challenge. A house full of art – I won’t pretend that didn’t interest me. Dorothy Reed herself, who seemed like a person I could get along with. Of course I was to be paid for my services too, which was a huge motivator in this set-up. I settled back in my seat and tried to tell myself not to expect too much, but the truth was, with my life in a state of limbo, I was actually expecting quite a lot.
The red-brick mansion was bathed in a warm apricot glow from the rays of the late-afternoon sun. The white cornerstones of the building shone and the gilt face of the clock on the bell tower glowed. Perfectly clipped yew hedges flanked the wide driveway and the lawns appeared to have been cut with a precision laser.
The taxi driver pulled up at the front and I shook myself awake.
Walstone Hall was a jewel in the crown of all the Norfolk country estates, Lavinia had told me, and my first instinct was to agree. The driver left me and my suitcase at the main entrance and I took a settling breath before I rang the bell.
It was Lavinia herself who greeted me – the woman who had made me so welcome in Dorothy’s home. She was a tall, willowy woman in her fifties with hair the colour of golden sand. She was wearing white trousers and a striped Breton top, and looked perfectly at home on the doorstep of this house that wasn’t hers. I imagined she would look stunning in an evening gown, and my thoughts went to my own clothes and what I might have to wear if I was to dine with the family and perhaps expected to attend the wedding. That hadn’t really been made clear at our first meeting. In fact, nothing had really been made clear.
Lavinia invited me in and gave my huge suitcase a brief glance, her eyebrows heading towards her hairline, before she quickly rearranged her expression.
‘It is so lovely to see you again, Gina. Dorothy is delighted that you could join her this week. She’s been a bit up and down since my father-in-law died last year, and my husband, Miles, and I have been worried about her, but this wedding party seems to have perked her up a bit. It’s just what we all need, fun and games with some good food, music and of course the wedding itself.’
‘I’m very happy to be here,’ I said, beginning to take in the entrance hall. ‘Goodness!’
The room was dominated by a beautifully carved wooden staircase that split into two, before continuing up another short flight to a galleried landing. A stained-glass window threw a kaleidoscope of colours across the stone floor at my feet from its twelve individual panes, but I didn’t spend too much time deciphering its depictions. My eyes were drawn immediately to the paintings that adorned the wall either side.
‘Goodness,’ I said again.
‘Yes, I know,’ Lavinia said, closing the door behind me. ‘It is unexpected, isn’t it.’
The space really warranted Gainsborough or Constable, Van Dyck or Holbein. Instead, it had huge canvases slashed through with bright colours of paint; angry and livid, but somehow striking in their own way. On a table in an alcove was an unusual-looking antique carriage clock and then, next to it, a strange, ugly ceramic urn sitting on a wooden pedestal. There was an oddly placed, gilt-framed mirror that was hanging so low on the wall I wondered if it was for a small child, or for someone to view their own knees. Further round towards a doorway stood the most magnificent grandfather clock, which on cue, chimed the hour. My eyes darted around at the decor and I couldn’t find an immediate link. It was like an expensive jumble sale, I thought, perhaps a little unkindly.
‘Leonard is a collector of, well, whatever he fancies. Not exactly John Lewis, is it,’ Lavinia said. ‘Why don’t I show you to your room and then you can see Dorothy? Leonard isn’t here this afternoon; he’ll be back later, for dinner. He likes to make an entrance.’ She said that with what could have been a wry smile, but with a hard edge to it. ‘I should have asked, do you have any allergies or dietary requirements? I can tell the cook.’
‘No, none at all,’ I said, following Lavinia up the stairs, my suitcase bumping behind me. I stopped on the landing to look at a small fan-shaped vase on the windowsill. It looked discarded, not placed in the centre or a perfect third of the way along as I would have done, but seemingly plonked down in haste. I picked it up and looked closely at the soft peach colours of the stylised tree painted on the front. ‘This is Coral Firs, circa 1934,’ I said, and Lavinia stopped and turned back to me. ‘It’s Clarice Cliff. This design is quite rare.’
‘Oh, something Leonard picked up somewhere I expect. This whole place is like an Aladdin’s cave. I forgot, you’re an expert, aren’t you?’
‘A passing interest now,’ I said, gently placing the vase back, but in the centre of the windowsill this time. Then I reminded myself I wasn’t here to catalogue the contents of the house; that was from another life. I would need to keep my thoughts to myself.
We carried on along the long landing past the many mullioned windows with enticing views over the parterre gardens and on to the lake, and I noticed a peacock strutting across the lawn, his tail in full fan like the vase. Lavinia came to a stop outside a bedroom door.
‘This is you,’ she said opening it onto a bright and pretty room with chintzy curtains and matching bedspread, antique mahogany furniture and, thankfully, a door onto a small and promised private bathroom.
‘Lovely,’ I said, ‘very conformable.’
I abandoned my suitcase by the side of the bed and walked over to one of the windows to look out. I could see a lake and the edge of what looked like a parterre garden. The other window offered a perfect view over to the spire of the resident church just visible between the leaves of the oak that sat in the grounds.
‘That’s where the wedding will be on Saturday, not too far to walk. The weather looks good during the day. There’s talk of a storm in the evening, but I don’t see it myself. The reception will be in the orangery, anyway, so we’ll be perfectly fine in there. Toby, my son, and his bride, Caroline, want to set up a floral arbour with a red carpet at the front of the house for photos. Bit over the top, to my mind, but then…’ Lavinia spread her arms wide. ‘In for a penny and all that. I’ll let you get settled in and then perhaps we can have a drink with Dorothy before dinner.’
‘Thank you so much, Lavinia. You’ve made me feel very welcome. Oh, what should I wear and may I ask? What precisely does Dorothy need me to do for her? She wasn’t exactly explicit when we met.’
‘She’ll let know you what she needs, but I imagine some help with dressing, perhaps some make-up and hair? I think her toileting requirements she can attend to herself. She does usually live alone.’
Hair and make-up was not something I did well, even for myself. I was firmly in the moisturiser and a lick of lipstick camp with mascara only coming out for special occasions, whenever they were. My hair, once a dark shade of auburn, was now several shades lighter with a smattering of white and it hung in waves and did best, left well alone. That word popped up in my mind again – beige. I shook it off.
‘I’m happy to get stuck in with anything that needs doing,’ I said.
‘That’s great. We’ll all be pretty busy with the wedding activities and preparations so, mostly she’ll just need a companion. The thing is, the other week she had a fall and was a little confused after. She doesn’t seem to want to admit to being eighty-nine and we would like to have someone to keep an eye on her, because she won’t allow us to.’ She turned to leave and then thought of something else. ‘Oh, of course, wear whatever you are most comfortable in. Certainly for the next few days when it’s just us immediate family. We’ll all be casual. The main party won’t be arriving until Friday. Things will get a little more formal then, but really with fun being foremost. So, shall we say an hour?’ She glanced at her watch, moving a pretty gold chain along her slender, tanned arm and then left the room without waiting for a response.
I sat down on the edge of the bed and wondered what on earth I was doing. The house was beautiful, that was for sure, but I didn’t really belong here. Dorothy was perfectly pleasant, Lavinia seemed nice enough and had made me welcome, yet I felt a little out of my depth, suddenly. There had been other wanted ads for live-in companions, but I hadn’t been asked for any other interviews. My lack of experience obviously bothered them more than it did Dorothy.
I hauled my suitcase up onto the bed. Because of the open house, I’d packed more than just what I needed for the week. I had those very precious and salvaged things I always carried with me in my handbag close and safe: the only remaining photograph of my mother, the last birthday card she had given me and the key to her beloved MG that sat in my rented garage and would never be driven again. But, because strangers would be in the house, I’d decided to take more. Looking now, it struck me that if I never returned home, I wouldn’t miss anything still there. I wouldn’t hanker for the kitchenware or soft furnishings, for the table lamps and rugs.
Chris took everything that belonged to him when he moved out years ago and Alice’s box of memories was ready for her to collect. I had a few books, photos and personal things in my suitcase and it wasn’t much, but it was mine. I had learned many years ago that it really was possible to carry with you what meant most to you. Everything else was just excess.