Chapter 4
FOUR
After that, they entered a sort of limbo.
Their solicitor started doing the searches; he’d also sent the vendors a list of questions, he said, some of which might take a bit of digging to answer.
The mortgage company gave their blessing, which was a big relief.
Getting the extra money out of Matt’s company was trickier, but, in the end, they let him have an advance on the next tranche of buyout as a goodwill gesture.
A structural survey came back with a long list of things that would need addressing – unsurprisingly, given that Trade Cottage hadn’t been renovated for decades – but nothing that was a deal-breaker.
The biggest was some longstanding leaks in the roof that had rotted the timbers underneath.
A developer friend who Matt consulted suggested they get a quote for replacing them, then try to get that amount knocked off the sale price.
But it was going to be a relatively small sum, and it would have seemed churlish, as the underbidders, to start haggling now.
Most of all, though, it seemed very strange not to be seeing anything of Rosemary and Paul.
They’d been such a big part of the magic of the house, Kate realised – Paul’s booming hospitality, Rosemary’s warmth and poise.
She wondered if they’d keep in touch after they moved to that bungalow they’d mentioned.
She hoped so. She had visions of showing Rosemary the new kitchen-diner a year from now, the re-enamelled and electrified Aga at its heart, and seeing the amazement and approval on the other woman’s face.
‘I’m going to ask Damon if we can go and measure up for curtains,’ she told Matt impulsively.
He seemed surprised. ‘Isn’t it a bit soon for that?’
‘Not really. Those old windows will all be non-standard sizes, and made-to-measure curtains can take months. Besides, it’ll be good to see Rosemary and Paul again.
To thank them properly, I mean.’ Damon had already passed on her and Matt’s effusive thanks, but it wasn’t the same as doing it in person.
‘OK,’ he said distractedly. He was scrolling on his phone as he spoke, flagging and deleting emails.
It was the only way to keep on top of his inbox, she knew, constantly chipping away at it like this, but since the acquisition it felt as if a whole new stream had been added to the deluge – the new owners were demanding their money’s worth, sometimes in French.
She longed for the time when he’d be fully hers again – hers and the children’s.
‘D’you want to come too?’ she asked.
He shook his head. ‘We’re in the middle of merging our APIs. Tell them I’m really looking forward to moving in, though.’
She called Damon, who sounded positively cheerful at the prospect of speaking to Rosemary and Paul again.
He got back to her within a few hours. Measuring the windows was absolutely no problem, he reported; Rosemary had offered a couple of dates, both a few weeks away.
Kate was a little disappointed it wasn’t sooner, but took the earliest one, anyway.
When the day came, she drove down to Hampshire with a tape measure on the seat next to her and a song in her heart.
It was the first week of July, and the summer, which had taken forever to get going, was finally hotting up.
She turned off the air con and opened the windows, enjoying the warm air mussing her hair.
When she reached Trade Cottage, she went up the drive slowly, as much to savour the new thrill of ownership as to avoid the potholes.
This incredible place was going to be theirs!
She wondered if she’d ever get so used to this that she’d take it for granted.
Surely not. Surely the reverse would happen, and this sight – the house coming into view from behind the garden wall of speckled flint, matching the building beyond it – would make her spirits soar even more once it was her long-time companion.
But, for now, she felt both nervous and excited, almost as if she was about to meet a lover.
She parked where Damon had at the viewing – it would still have felt presumptuous to pull up next to the house. Rosemary was already stepping out of the front door, beaming at her and waving.
It felt natural to give her a hug. ‘It’s so lovely to see you again. Trade Cottage too, of course.’
‘And you,’ Rosemary said, equally warmly. She glanced at the car, and a shadow crossed her face. ‘Aren’t the children with you?’
‘No – they don’t break up for another two weeks.’
Rosemary looked surprised. ‘Oh! Someone told me . . . but perhaps it’s different in London. Where are you going to send them, by the way? Townley’s still has a good reputation, though I hear it’s become more academic since Tess and Jamie were there.’
Kate shook her head. ‘Actually, they’re going to the local state schools. They’ve got great Ofsted ratings – not that ratings are everything, of course, but we went to the open days and they seem fantastic.’
It had been one of the things that had first sold them on the area, even before they’d found Trade Cottage.
Good primaries were one thing, but the combination of a good primary and a good secondary was as rare as hen’s teeth in London, and family homes in those catchments commanded huge premiums. It had been another reason to move out – if they were going to buy somewhere new anyway, she’d argued, and find extra money to do it, why not make a complete change?
And she’d felt, instinctively, that schools in the country were going to be friendlier, with less of the terrible knife crime, drugs and rape cultures that seemed to be afflicting so many London academies just now.
‘We can’t afford private, in any case – we stretched ourselves pretty thin to buy this place,’ she added, then mentally kicked herself; she didn’t want to sound as if she was complaining.
‘Though it’s worth every penny, of course.
And you were so incredibly generous in accepting our offer.
I still can’t quite believe we’re going to be living here. ’
Rosemary beamed again – complimenting Trade Cottage, Kate realised, was always going to be the way to her heart. And if the older woman was disappointed Tilly and Will hadn’t been able to come too, she hid it quickly.
‘Well, do bring them next time. Matt too, of course – Paul’s dying to talk to him about the garden. Now, come round – it’s so nice today, we’re outside.’
She led Kate round the side of the house to a flagstone terrace.
It was a suntrap, but above the stone table a honeysuckle spread its tendrils across an artfully positioned fan of wires, providing partial shade.
The sun was bringing out the fragrance; as they approached, Kate caught a gorgeous cascade of sweetness.
Paul was already there, sitting in a wooden garden chair. He started to struggle to his feet, but Kate stopped him, bending down to kiss his cheek.
‘Marvellous to see you,’ he grunted. He gestured at the table, where a bottle of Pol Roger sat in a cooler, a napkin wrapped neatly around its neck like a scarf. ‘Now we are celebrating.’ He reached for a glass, but his hand shook and he knocked it over. ‘Darling, would you?’ he asked tersely.
Rosemary took the bottle and filled three of the four glasses.
There was a jug of squash, too, and Kate felt a stab of guilt that they’d clearly assumed Matt and the children would be coming too – had probably chosen the date deliberately, in fact: this was the first week of holidays for private schools, which always broke up earlier.
Never socially confident, she was afraid her lone self might bore them.
Or, worse still, that she might gabble at them non-stop, as she sometimes did when she was nervous.
Trade Cottage, she thought. I must talk about the house, then I’ll make an excuse to go and start measuring.
As Rosemary handed her a glass, Kate said, ‘The estate agent mentioned you’d done lots of research about the house’s history.’
‘Well, that’s an understatement,’ Paul said jocularly. ‘She’s written a whole book about it.’
‘Wow.’ Kate was always impressed by anyone who’d written an actual book.
‘Oh, nonsense,’ Rosemary said, waving the comment away. ‘I did some research and made a few notes, that’s all. Which I now seem to have mislaid, annoyingly.’
‘That’s the real reason we’re moving,’ Paul added. ‘So we’ll find those bloody notes.’
Rosemary said nothing, but her smile was slightly brittle.
Paul raised his glass. ‘To Trade Cottage, and all who sail in her.’
Kate dutifully echoed the toast, then took a sip. She mustn’t drink too much on an empty stomach, she reminded herself. But it was very good champagne.
On the table, alongside a plate of home-made cheese straws – unsurprisingly, they turned out to be delicious – was a bowl of papery pods, bright chartreuse green, each one encasing what looked like a seed. ‘What are those?’ she asked.
‘Ah! See if you can guess,’ Paul said happily. ‘I’ll give you a clue. They’re edible, and they come from this garden.’
He offered her the bowl. She took one and peeled off the papery skin – it reminded her of those sweets they’d had when she was little, sherbet flying saucers – before cautiously popping the seed into her mouth.
It was softer than she’d expected, almost pea-like, and surprisingly sweet, redolent of green leaves and hazelnut. She nodded her approval.
‘You can boil them, put them in salads, or eat them raw,’ he said proudly. ‘Now, what plant do you think they’re from?’
She dredged up some long-ago snippet from a nature documentary. ‘Are they by any chance from the wych elm?’
‘Good Lord!’ Paul doffed an imaginary cap at her.
‘Chapeau, my dear Kate, chapeau. There’s very few of our guests get that one right.
Yes, they’re called samaras. The tastiest ones come just before the new year’s leaves start to grow, but these late ones are still delicious.
’ There was a tiny pause before he added quietly, ‘Strange to think this’ll be our last ever lot. ’
‘But extra points,’ Rosemary added, ‘for spotting that it’s a wych elm.’
Paul pointed his cane at his wife. ‘Before Kate goes, darling, you must show her where the wild garlic grows.’ He turned to Kate.
‘It’ll be over now, of course, but there’s a terrific spot just inside the wood.
Rosemary makes a famous pesto with it. Wild garlic leaves, olive oil, salt and a few walnuts, all whizzed up in a blender.
Pop it in the freezer, and you’ve got the taste of spring all year long. ’
‘It makes a lovely cheat’s dip at parties,’ Rosemary added. ‘Mix it with Hellmann’s and some grated parmesan. Then just open a box of breadsticks and let people tuck in.’
On they went, back and forth, eager to impart every scrap of their knowledge about Trade Cottage and its surroundings.
For Kate’s part, she was just as eager to receive it.
She imagined having a party here herself one day, serving wild garlic pesto in this very spot, while their friends drank gin and tonics and their kids ran free in the vast garden.
‘And you must tell Kate about the covenant we’re imposing,’ Paul added.
‘Covenant?’ she echoed, suddenly alarmed. It had been one of the things the solicitor had warned them he’d need to check – whether previous owners had imposed any legal restrictions on the property.
‘Yes. Anyone who lives here has to abide by the house rule.’ He tapped his glass. ‘At least one bottle of champers in the fridge at all times!’
‘Oh,’ she said, relieved. ‘Well, we’ll try. We’re not really massive drinkers, but . . .’
Rosemary got to her feet – again, Kate was amazed by how lithely she moved for her age. ‘Why don’t we go down to the wood now, and I’ll show you where Paul meant?’
‘I should probably get on with measuring up,’ Kate said reluctantly, glancing up at the house.
She would have loved to have walked down to the wood – she still hadn’t explored the whole length of the garden – but the curtains really did need to be measured, and Trade Cottage must have had a dozen windows on this side alone.
‘Well, about that.’ Rosemary sat down again.
‘We’ve been thinking. It just seems ridiculous to take the curtains with us.
After all, it’s not as if we’re going to use them – the bungalow has electric blinds.
Why don’t you have them, and then there won’t be any rush to get new ones made before you move in? ’
‘Really? That’s extraordinarily generous of you,’ Kate said, taken aback.
Rosemary shrugged. ‘And there are a few other bits and pieces that, when we thought about them, really seemed to belong here, at Tray. You mentioned the way the vase sits in that alcove, for example.’
Kate thought back. It had been when they were in the captain’s study that time, chatting.
She’d glanced through the open door and commented on the fact they’d found a floor-standing vase exactly the same shape as the alcove behind it.
It had been a chance remark, nothing more, a compliment on the subtle elegance with which Rosemary and Paul had furnished their home. ‘God, I hope you didn’t think—’
‘No, no, of course not.’ Rosemary waved the remark away.
‘The thing is, you’re right – wherever we put that vase, it’s never going to fit as well as it does here.
And we’ll think that every time we look at it, which is a bit sad – completely the wrong attitude to be taking to our next adventure.
It’s not like it’s even worth much – we had it valued for insurance once and were rather disappointed.
’ She glanced at Paul. ‘What did the man say it was, darling? I can never remember.’
‘Meiji period,’ Paul said. ‘Roughly Edwardian. They knocked them out by the dozen, apparently.’
Rosemary nodded. ‘So there you are. That’s yours too, if you’d like it, and there are probably a few other things we can think of, as well.’
‘Well, if you’re absolutely sure,’ Kate said anxiously. ‘We should give you something for it—’ But both Paul and Rosemary were already making vigorous noises of disagreement.
‘It’s incredibly generous of you,’ she repeated, rather feebly.
‘Nonsense. Just being practical.’ Rosemary stood up. ‘Now, shall we take that walk?’