Chapter 28
IN MID-SEPTEMBER, JUST A FEW DAYS BEFORE NAOMI had been scheduled to arrive, the sign went up at the entrance. Chance House, it declared, and below, Weddings by the Sea. Green lettering on a cream background, the same shade of green as the house, the same colour scheme as her beautiful new website.
The sign was the last step. After weeks of work the house was finally ready, the site going live later that day.
‘Looks good,’ Brendan said. ‘You’re all set now.’
She didn’t feel set for anything. ‘I’m very nervous, Brendan.’
‘Don’t be. You’ve done all you can. You have everything in place.’
‘You mean you have everything in place.’
He’d been there throughout the preparations, along with many others, all happy to give their time and talents to make this happen.
Susan and Marian had spent their summer trawling the countryside, hunting down furniture at auctions and house sales and in charity shops, and occasionally through word of mouth.
Nothing they brought back was new, but everything had history and character and charm.
You’re not a chain hotel, Marian had said.
You’re a unique one-off, and people will remember staying here.
The resulting feel was quirky rather than luxurious, with none of the bedrooms looking the same.
Three of the eight rooms boasted magnificent four-poster beds, all different styles; three more had regular doubles, and the remaining two had three singles each, allowing for a capacity of eighteen overnight guests.
In addition, a couple of cots and two fold-up beds sat waiting in the attic, just in case.
For the guest lounge they’d found a chaise longue in French navy, a large and battered but supremely comfortable black leather couch and a pair of rocking chairs. In addition there was a grandfather clock, a gramophone in perfect working order, and a growing collection of vinyl records.
The built-in shelves in the alcove were slowly filling with books, whose titles were written in gold leaf on their leather spines, and whose wafer-thin pages had yellowed and foxed with age. Nobody will read them, Marian had said, but they look perfect in this setting, and they smell fabulous.
For the walls of that room they’d found a clutch of black and white film posters – The Birds, A Streetcar Named Desire, Twelve Angry Men – rolled up in a tube in a charity shop, and had put them into thin black frames.
No television, Marian had said firmly. They won’t play the gramophone if there’s a television.
They’d decided they should provide a tea and coffee station, which they’d agreed would be expected on this floor – but rather than install one in every room they’d opted for a communal one at the end of the corridor, since the guests would know each other, to some extent.
Greta had donated a bag of her most popular coffee – You cannot offer them instant, she’d declared – so Marian and Susan had added a coffee machine to their shopping list, along with a compact fridge. If they were to have real coffee, they’d need real milk to accompany it.
Kathleen had asked among her friends and rounded up some mismatched china. Father Phil had offered a trio of silver teapots he’d found at the back of a press in the presbytery. Cathy promised to bring homemade biscuits each Saturday.
Downstairs the quirky feel continued, with four large tables installed in the dining room, each seating ten, and mismatched chairs gathered around them.
The tables, they’d decided, needed to be of a uniform size, to allow for joining together if the occasion demanded, but in keeping with the eclectic theme they’d found two oak, one walnut and one pine.
For the walls, Marian had styled a series of food images – a sky-blue bowl of strawberries, an ice-cream cone with a chocolate Flake jutting from it (held by Jack), sausages on a yellow plate, a straw-lined basket of eggs, a string of onions hanging from an old wooden beam, a canvas sack with potatoes spilling from it – which Andrew had photographed before having them enlarged and framed.
Suspended from the three light fittings in the dining-room ceiling were not the classic crystal chandeliers Damien had envisaged, but simpler – and cheaper – pendant lights in the style of old brass ships’ lanterns, a nod to the marine location of the house, and wall lamps in the same style were studded about.
The hurricane lamps were still there, sitting on shelves in the larder, ready for whenever the electric lights weren’t wanted.
Taking up most of the wall between the front-facing bay windows, impossible to miss, was a large print of the original illustration for the glorious mayhem that was the Mad Hatter’s tea party in Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland.
It struck exactly the right note in a house full of surprises and imagination.
Windows throughout were without curtains, the old shutters having been skilfully repaired or replaced.
Bedroom floors featured generous mats in muted greens, lilacs and blues, and walls held watercolour landscapes by a local artist, a neighbour of Greta’s.
On her suggestion he had agreed to loan them to Lydia, in return for having his card displayed in the welcome folder she’d prepared for each room.
Outside, the patio was filled with a variety of pretty tables and chairs, and overhead a roll-out awning in wide blue and white stripes.
It brought welcome shade on sunny days, and made a cosy evening haven of the space – The perfect spot, Marian had declared, for a post-wedding nightcap.
Solar lighting on the tables echoed the lights Gareth had dotted around the other seating areas in the garden.
It wasn’t in the least what Lydia had envisaged at the start, but she loved it. Secondhand or not, everything was top quality, and they’d sanded or painted or waxed where necessary. Thanks to Marian’s sense of style, it had all come together beautifully.
In response to Lydia’s appeal early on, Damien’s old boss had dropped by, bearing a gift of chef’s knives and advising her on kitchen appliances that Brendan had installed – and as promised, her parents had taken care of that substantial bill. At last, there was a working kitchen.
Tom had been a huge help, guiding Lydia through the steps to establish her business, making sure she understood them. He had also recommended a variety of price points for the weddings that she would never have dreamt of charging.
Don’t be afraid to set your rates high, he’d said.
You’ve got a top-class facility here, and your prices should reflect that.
You’re offering a private arrangement, tailored to the wedding party, and with no other guests hanging around.
And if you’re bringing in decent money you can invest in good wines and quality ingredients, and still make your profit.
He’d also advised her to set up an account with Andrew – Handy to get a monthly bill instead of paying every time, and now that you’re a business, you can shop at the wholesalers in town for most other things. I’ll organise a card for you.
She’d opened the account with Andrew as he’d suggested, and another with a florist in the town, and a third in a wine shop. Cathy had devised a choice of menus to put on the website, and the wine merchant had suggested some complementary wines, and had promised a good discount for repeat orders.
Lydia had called to Father Phil and asked if he’d be willing to come to the house to perform a marriage ceremony, if anyone looked for that as part of the package. The yoga studio could hold forty, she’d said.
Sign me up, he’d replied. If Jesus was happy to be born in a stable, I can hardly object to a wedding in a yoga studio.
She’d sought out Denny the taxi driver and asked him for more of his cards to issue to guests needing a lift to their village accommodation. She’d also given him the petrol voucher that Susan had suggested as payment for the wedding photos, in place of the money Susan said he wouldn’t take.
He’d objected, of course – There’s no need for that at all.
It’s only a hobby to me – but she’d pressed it on him.
I haven’t looked at the snaps yet, she’d told him, feeling he might wonder why she wasn’t commenting on them, and he’d said no hurry at all.
You’ll know when you’re ready, he’d told her.
New mattresses lay on the old beds. White bed linens, towels and tablecloths waited in neat bundles in the hot press. Crockery and cutlery, cookware and glassware filled the kitchen drawers and presses. Everything was in readiness.
And now she and Brendan were admiring the new sign, and she was trying to convince herself that she was in a state of readiness too.
‘I was thinking,’ Brendan said, ‘you might like a little playhouse for Naomi when she’s old enough. There’s plenty of room between the shed and the patio. We could paint it the same colour as the big house.’
‘She’d love it. You’re the best granddad in the world. Don’t tell my father I said that.’ She was rewarded with a smile. He was learning to smile with his eyes again – and thanks to Naomi, so was Lydia.