Chapter Seven
‘Don’t look at me like that, Bon-Bon, I’ll only be gone a short while and you won’t be alone, you’ll have Adam Frost on Gardeners World to keep you company, and you know how you like his quiet soothing voice. It always puts you to sleep.’
Generally, it was the more anxious, more stressed-out dogs that barked, but Bon-Bon had always had such a contented nature.
Poodles were known to be exceptionally intelligent, and Bon-Bon had been a delight to train from when he’d first come to live with her as a puppy.
He loved nothing better than to be involved in whatever she was doing.
‘What do you think, Bon-Bon?’ she asked, turning around from the mirror. ‘Will I do? Will I impress the good folk of Hope Hall? But the question is, what shall I tell them about myself? Shall I have some fun and tell a few outlandish porky-pies, or shall I stick to the truth?’
With a twitch of his ears, followed by a release of air from his button nose, he sprang up from where he’d been sitting on the rug and trotted off down the hallway to the sitting room, his fluffy pom-pom tail bobbing behind him.
Applying some lipstick, Venetia picked up her handbag and slipping the chain strap over her shoulder, she gave her reflection a final glance in the mirror.
It still surprised her when she really looked at her seventy-nine-year-old self.
In her heart she was still a young girl with her whole life stretching out before her.
A girl who was determined to put the past behind her and do something worthwhile with her life.
It was debatable as to whether she had achieved either of those things as the past could never be shut away in a box and forgotten, and who knew what constituted worthwhile?
After a last kiss and a cuddle with Bon-Bon, she placed him on his favourite cushion on the floor in front of the television and took the stairs down to the ground floor, preparing herself for an hour or so of innocuous polite chit-chat.
And maybe making a few friends into the bargain, if she so chose.
The question was, how much was she prepared to reveal of herself this evening?
They were gathered on the lawn just below the stone balustraded terrace and clustered around two wooden garden tables that were laden with glasses, bottles, and plates of food.
She stood for a moment on the terrace surveying the scene below her, instantly superimposing it with countless other scenes from a lifetime ago, of children running around, games of chase and hide-and-seek being played, voices shrieking.
This had happened to her so many times since she’d moved in and had explored the Hall, while trying to piece together the new layout with what she recalled from before.
The bones of the place were the same, it was the flesh that was different.
In much the same way she herself was different with the passing of the years.
It amazed her how disorientating the changed interior layout was, making it almost impossible to recall where the library had been or where she and all the others had eaten their meals.
The flashbacks she experienced to her childhood, which for the most part had been blissfully happy, were sometimes no more than a sensation of someone or something from those long-ago days. Those were the memories that often came with a heavy sense of loss.
‘There you are!’ called out a shrill voice from the assembled gathering.
Homing in on the source of the salutation, Venetia saw two women coming towards her.
They were the ones who had knocked several times on her door since she’d moved in and who had organised this meet-the-neighbours drinks party.
‘It was very kind of you to go to so much trouble,’ Venetia said when she was level with them on the grass.
‘It’s no trouble at all,’ they chorused in unison.
Venetia knew that one of them was called Cheryl and the other Joanna, but she couldn’t remember which was which.
In contrast she could bring to mind every name of every person she’d known when she’d lived here before.
The two women in front of her had twice invited her to join them for coffee and a chat – coffee and an interrogation session more like it – and she’d politely declined.
The first time they’d asked, she’d said she was expecting an important phone call and the other time she’d claimed tiredness, what with all the unpacking.
She’d made no attempt to invite them in, and she doubted she ever would.
Something about their eagerness to befriend her cautioned her to keep them at arm’s distance.
After a glass of white wine was pressed into her hand, she was ceremoniously introduced to the rest of her neighbours, all of whom were full of bonhomie and good cheer.
Some of them she’d already encountered on the stairs or over by the garage block or strolling around the grounds and along the river.
It was all very convivial, lots of pleasant small talk and with everyone declaring the Hall an idyll, an oasis or a heavenly sanctuary.
To Venetia’s relief she had no trouble remembering the name of the pretty blonde now coming over to chat with her. It was Cassie, the friendly young woman who had been the first to knock on her door with her attractive friend, Nina.
‘Are you settling in all right?’ Cassie asked her.
‘It’s as if I’ve always been here,’ she said with a wry smile.
‘That’s very good to hear.’ This was from a man standing next to Cassie. He had sandy-coloured hair and very blue eyes and a charming air about him.
‘This is my partner, Ben,’ Cassie said, ‘and if there’s anything you want to know about Hope Hall, he’s your man. He’s fascinated with its history. Isn’t that right, Ben?’
He had a lovely engaging smile, thought Venetia, much like Cassie.
‘In that case, tell me what you know about the place,’ Venetia said to Ben. She had the feeling he was itching to oblige. She was also curious to discover just how much he did know.
‘Well,’ he began, ‘originally it was built in the seventeenth century for Sir William Beauchamp, some bigwig lawyer at the court of James the First, and when he died it passed to his son and then his son who promptly lost it in a game of cards to Thomas Audley, who spent a fortune on making his mark on the place after a fire. That was when the turrets were added as a piece of whimsy. The grounds were also re-landscaped at great expense. When he tired of the place, and the cost of its upkeep, he sold it to Lord John Morton and his wife Lady Felicity.’ He paused.
‘Are you sure I’m not boring you to death? ’ he said.
‘Not at all,’ she said. ‘Go on, please.’
‘Eventually it was owned by Lady Constance Morton-Granger who turned it into a children’s home at the outbreak of the Second World War, and it remained so for some years.
After it closed, it went through a series of different uses: a boys’ boarding school, a remand centre, a teacher training college, and a Buddhist centre until it finally fell into disrepair. ’
‘And thanks to an enterprising developer, here we all are,’ chipped in Cassie, bringing the story to its conclusion.
‘Well then, here’s to us all enjoying yet another Hope Hall Renaissance,’ said Venetia, raising her glass. ‘Now tell me all about yourselves. Oh, and is Nina not joining us this evening?’
‘She’ll be along later,’ answered Cassie, ‘she had a client who insisted on seeing her this evening. She runs Lavelle’s art gallery in St Anne’s Court in Cambridge. Do you know it?’
Venetia shook her head. ‘I’m afraid I don’t. But I shall be sure to call in the next time I go into town. What about you, do you work in Cambridge?’
‘No, I work from home, I’m a run-of-the-mill website designer.’ She pointed up at the westerly turret behind them. ‘That’s my office.’
‘How lovely,’ said Venetia, remembering how she used to play up there, standing on a chair and peering out of the windows.
‘Cassie’s downplaying what she does,’ Ben said. ‘There’s nothing run-of-the-mill about her work, she’s extremely creative. Her clients love her.’
Cassie groaned. ‘Stop it, Ben, you’re making my toes curl.’ She then went on, and with obvious pride, to sing Ben’s praises and the work he did. They were, Venetia thought with an amused smile, very sweet together. She liked them and knew that she would enjoy getting to know them better.
‘By the way,’ Ben said, ‘we’re very impressed with your fitness regime.’
‘Fitness regime?’ she repeated.
‘Not that we’ve been spying on you,’ said Cassie, ‘but we couldn’t help but notice how regularly you like to go for walks.’
‘Oh that,’ said Venetia airily, ‘I’m a stickler for routine. Very boring, I know. But when you’re as ancient as I am, it’s important to keep moving.’
‘If you ever fancy some company, you only have to ask.’
‘Thank you, Cassie, I’ll bear that in mind.’
‘Permission to cut in here?’
Turning to her left, Venetia encountered an exceptionally tanned man in navy chinos and a lemon-coloured Ralph Lauren polo shirt. Silver-haired and with a face as craggy as a rockface, she put him in his early seventies. He held out a large hand to her.
‘Ronnie Sharp at your service, Venetia Randall-Jones,’ he said with a flourish and instead of shaking hands with her, he smoothly lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it.
‘I presume you’re sharp by name and sharp by nature,’ Venetia said mischievously.
He laughed. ‘Now that’s not on, that’s my line!’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘it was just too tempting.’
‘Watch out for this one,’ said Cassie with a smile, ‘he’s a regular Casanova!’
Ronnie chuckled. ‘I don’t know where people get this idea about me.’
‘How’s tricks then, Ronnie?’ asked Ben. ‘We haven’t seen you around in quite a while.’
‘It’s been a hectic time with the hotel, peak season and all that.’
‘Ronnie divides his time between here and Majorca where he’s part-owner of a boutique hotel,’ Cassie explained for Venetia’s benefit. ‘We once stayed there and had a fabulous time.’
‘So if you’re ever tired of the peace and quiet here,’ Ronnie said to Venetia, ‘let me know and I’ll make sure there’s a room at El Castilo available for you.’
Ben laughed. ‘Don’t say we haven’t warned you.’
‘Warning noted,’ she said good-humouredly.
‘Ignore them, Venetia, I’m always a perfect gentleman. Now, how are we all fixed for drinks? Who needs a top-up? I know I do! I’ll hunt down a couple of bottles, shall I? Back in a jiffy!’
‘He seems fun,’ Venetia said when he’d gone to fetch more wine.
‘He is,’ agreed Cassie, ‘and his hotel really is beautiful.’
‘And all the roguish charm,’ enquired Venetia, ‘is that what I suspect it is, an act?’
‘How very astute of you,’ replied Ben. ‘We think he rather enjoys playing the part. It probably works well in the hospitality business.’
‘In turn,’ said Cassie, ‘we enjoy our role of playing up to his so-called reputation of charming ladies’ man.’
‘He certainly has an abundance of charm,’ said Venetia.
‘Here we go then, chaps,’ said the man himself, ‘red or white? Venetia, what’s your tipple?’
‘The white will do nicely,’ she said, holding out her glass and hoping he hadn’t heard her observation about him. ‘Thank you.’
Their glasses topped up and the bottles returned to the tables, Ronnie made a toast. ‘To our honoured guest and lovely new neighbour,’ he said, raising his glass to Venetia. ‘I hope you’ll be very happy here.’
‘I’m sure I will be,’ she said, raising her own glass. ‘Here’s to everyone who has made me feel so welcome.’
And here’s to all those I’ve loved and lost and who were such a big part of my life here, she silently added.