Chapter 6
Noah stepped out of the hotel front door with Walter, taking a refreshing breath of air once they were outside.
It had been an awkward reunion with the family in the kitchen and he was grateful to be out of the uneasy atmosphere.
He stopped to take in the view, realising that he had never appreciated the beauty of the place when he was younger.
Of course, it had been dark when he had arrived the previous evening so he had yet to see it properly.
Now, standing in the golden morning sunshine, he could see just how magnificent Maple Tree Lodge and its surroundings truly were.
‘Dragonfly Lake,’ said Walter, as they walked towards it. ‘All fifty acres of it. Do you remember me teaching you to fish out there?’
Noah frowned and tried to remember but had to shake his head truthfully.
‘Ah well, you were only young and we never got to see you that often,’ said Walter, sadly. ‘Did you ever learn to fish?’
‘Afraid not,’ said Noah, thinking back to the many flats and borrowed sofas in other people’s living rooms that he had grown up in.
Hardly time to sit and stare across a beautiful body of water when there were more important things to worry about like food and a roof over one’s head.
He would have liked to have learnt though, especially when the water was as clear as the lake in front of him.
He then looked beyond the lake at the deep forest that surrounded it.
‘The trees are yours as well, aren’t they?’ he asked, recalling something that his father had mentioned.
Walter nodded. ‘Everything you can see up to the hills is on our land. The lake and trees are all ours to take care of before the next generation takes over. That will be Ben now, of course.’
Tony, Walter’s only son, had died unexpectedly the previous year so of course Ben would inherit everything.
‘And Ben has taken over the management of the hotel?’ asked Noah, thinking once more how lucky Ben had been in life.
‘It was getting too much for me, to be honest,’ said Walter. ‘Can’t say I’m not grateful. And I keep my hand in, of course. Still like to potter about in my wood shop. This way.’
They walked along a path that hugged the side of the lake. Noah could see the path bend around the corner to where a large structure seemed to almost float at the edge of the water.
‘That’s the boathouse,’ said Walter, sounding proud. ‘Hannah’s done wonders there with her café. Done her the power of good too, a little success. She never had any confidence, if you remember.’
Noah recalled a shy young girl and felt bad once more about making her cry by cutting off her Barbie’s hair.
He had just been so angry all of the time growing up.
Life had been a constant battle, everything had to be fought for, food, favours, homes.
Nothing had come easily to him. And then his dad had brought him to Maple Tree Lodge on a couple of occasions and everything there had seemed so easy and free.
Life wasn’t fair, he knew that. But here in Cranley, the scales had felt ever more tipped against him.
‘She’s happy with young Alex now,’ carried on Walter.
‘Nice lad. Ben met him and their other best friend Jake at university. Alex was an athlete, you know. He runs the swimming club here. Tries to help out with any building work too but he doesn’t quite have the skills, I’m sorry to say.
’ Walter pierced him with a look. ‘What about you? Seem to recall you liked carpentry?’
Noah nodded.
‘Any good?’ asked Walter.
Noah laughed. ‘Pretty good, according to everyone I work for.’
He was proud of his abilities. He could only be proud of himself. There was nobody else to do so for him.
‘What line of work did you end up in?’ asked Walter. ‘We didn’t have time to chat after the funeral recently.’
Noah had deliberately left after a brief conversation with his aunt and uncle. It had been then that Walter had indicated that there was something of his to claim at the lodge.
‘I repair and restore wooden boats,’ said Noah.
Walter stopped walking abruptly to stare across at him. ‘Is that so? What type?’
‘About half are sailboats, the others power, although I have had the odd commission for vintage canoes and rowboats as well.’
Walter continued to stare at him. Noah shuffled under the scrutiny and wondered what had made the elderly man to look at him in such surprise before they began to walk on once more. They turned off the track that had hugged the side of the lake and went into the denseness of the forest.
‘Then you might be interested in this,’ said Walter, stopping in front of a large, somewhat dilapidated barn that was almost obscured by trees.
He fiddled with the lock before finally unbolting the door and pulling it wide open.
Noah followed Walter inside and saw what appeared to be a large vessel covered in a tarpaulin.
The tarpaulin was dirty, strewn with leaves that had been swept in through the gaps in the slats of wood in the walls.
It looked like it hadn’t been moved in years.
Noah looked at Walter with his eyebrows raised in question.
Walter gave him a knowing smile as he pulled at the corner of the tarpaulin and, with a dramatic flourish, whipped off the sheet to reveal the hull of a boat. In shock, Noah helped his uncle uncover the whole powerboat before stepping back to stare up at it.
It was in dreadful condition, thought Noah. But there was no doubting the heritage and beauty of the classic lines.
‘How old is it?’ he asked.
‘From the 1950s, I reckon,’ said Walter.
Noah shook his head. ‘It’s more in keeping with the yachts of the 1930s,’ he said, walking around it, dazzled by the shape. ‘Just look at that elegant profile and the flush deck. About ten metres long. It would have been a thing of beauty at one time. Where on earth did you get it?’
‘It was your grandad’s.’
Noah spun around, astonished. ‘This was Grandad’s?’ He looked once more at the boat and tried to reconcile the sleek watercraft with his sullen grandparents who had always been quite closed off and had never once left Bristol, as far as he knew.
‘Aye,’ said Walter, nodding. ‘They didn’t have the space over there to keep it and we’ve got acres of the stuff.
My brother always told me he would come back for it.
Never did, of course, despite me reminding him.
And your dad didn’t have any interest in this kind of thing.
You know how he was. So here it stayed.’
‘It’s beautiful,’ said Noah, reaching out to stroke the elegant shape of the hull. He could see how much work it would take to get it seaworthy once more but found himself yearning to see it back to its peak condition. ‘When are you intending to restore it?’ he asked.
To his surprise, Walter shook his head. ‘It’s not mine to restore, lad. It’s yours. This is your inheritance.’
Noah looked him, astonished. ‘My inheritance?’ he stammered.
He had never had anything to his name and now he had a beautiful vintage boat. He couldn’t believe it and turned to stare back at it in disbelief.