Chapter 7
SEVEN
‘So it turns out that bit of land used to be Trade Cottage’s tennis court,’ she said.
‘When they decided to hive it off to build their modest bungalow, as they still insist on calling it, they deliberately went with an ultra-modern architect because Tessa had told them about passive houses – you know, built to need very little heating – and they’ve both been feeling the draughts at Trade Cottage.
And they wanted something completely different, anyway, so they wouldn’t constantly be comparing the two. ’
‘And the hedge?’ Matt asked sceptically, eyeing it from where they were sitting on the terrace.
‘They’ve been trying to get it trimmed for ages, Paul said, but the tree surgeon was always booked up.’
Matt snorted. ‘So nothing to do with selling Trade Cottage first and then moving the goalposts. What did you say?’
Kate spread her hands helplessly. ‘What could I say? They were so pleased to see me, and kept asking if I was OK with them leaving so much stuff, and about the kids, and how they must come round to look through the telescope—’
‘Ah, yes,’ Matt said. ‘The telescope. What did they have to say about that?’
It felt, Kate thought a little mutinously, as if she was a junior teacher having to report back to the headmaster – a headmaster, moreover, who clearly felt she hadn’t been assertive enough.
‘Apparently, Gordon asked Paul to keep a lookout for foxes taking his lambs – which Rosemary has encouraged, because it’s something he can do from his wheelchair. ’
‘And they thought they’d just help themselves to our views while they were at it. Well, I’m glad we didn’t pay any more than we did. They’ve probably just lopped fifty grand off Trade Cottage’s value. And added about the same to theirs, of course.’
She couldn’t disagree, though how much of Matt’s grumpiness was really about the hedge and how much was the result of the exhausting day he’d had, she wasn’t sure.
The truth was, once she’d got over her own surprise at discovering Rosemary and Paul had only moved next door, not only had her crossness over the hedge evaporated, but she’d found herself feeling rather pleased.
Her friendship with Rosemary felt integral, somehow, to the Arcadia she envisaged for her family at Trade Cottage.
‘They showed me round, actually,’ she said. ‘It’s stunning – like something on Grand Designs. It’s been Paul’s present to himself, Rosemary said, ever since his MND diagnosis. He’s bubbling over with excitement about it – what she’s like with Trade Cottage, he’s like with The Old Tennis Court.’
‘That’s what they’ve called it?’ Matt said, frowning. ‘Interesting how even the name relates to our house.’
It gave her a little jolt of unfamiliarity and amazement when he said ‘our house’ so casually like that.
She nodded. ‘And in fact they’ve been quite considerate about the hedge, when you see it from their side.
It’s still mostly leylandii between us and them – they’ve taken down just enough at the end to open up the view to the fields, but left the rest.’
‘Well, it sounds like we just have to lump it, anyway.’ He shot her a look. ‘Did you tell them we wouldn’t want their hideous dining table even if we had room for it?’
‘Not in so many words,’ she admitted. ‘I just said we already had one.’ That had the virtue of being true, although theirs was an extending kitchen table, nothing like the massive mahogany edifice Paul and Rosemary had bequeathed them.
But she wanted the new kitchen-diner to be a light, airy space, a complete contrast to Trade Cottage’s manorial oak-panelled entrance hall and the clubby captain’s study.
‘They said, in that case, give it to a charity shop or something.’
‘More work for us. We may even have to pay someone to collect it.’ Matt yawned. ‘I think, now we’re in, we should keep our distance a bit. For a while, anyway. Like it says in the Bible – good fences make good neighbours.’
She didn’t say anything. She would only sound like a bookish smart alec if she pointed out that he was, in fact, quoting a poem by Robert Frost.
‘Do we have anything for supper?’ he added. ‘I didn’t have any lunch.’
‘I thought maybe we could check out those takeaway pizzas at the pub?’
He brightened. ‘Great idea. And I’ll stick that bottle they left us in the fridge.’
He got to his feet, then stiffened. ‘What the hell?’
She followed his gaze. Rosemary was walking up the slope towards them. In her arms was something small and square, wrapped in what looked like an old sheet.
‘She must have come through that gate,’ he said darkly. ‘I think it’s time something was said.’
But in the event, it was Rosemary who spoke first, when she was still a good ten yards away. ‘I’m so sorry to intrude,’ she called. ‘But I come bearing gifts. And an apology.’
She handed Matt an envelope. He took out a card, which he read, frowning, as she went on: ‘When I thought about it, I realised you must be furious about that hedge, and rightly so, really. It was all a mix-up: I thought Damon was going to explain things, but I suppose he didn’t want to put you off.
Anyway, by way of saying sorry, I’ve brought the sea captain back.
He looked so uncomfortable on our wall – I felt his eyes were always resting on Trade Cottage, as if he was trying to tell me that was where he’d rather be. So he’s come home again.’
As she spoke, she was unwrapping the object in her arms. It was the naval portrait that used to hang on the study wall.
‘Rosemary, we can’t possibly—’ Kate began, but the other woman was already forestalling her.
‘No, really, my conscience won’t be clear unless you accept it. Besides, the captain’s very determined. When he gives an order, he expects it carried out – and in this case, it was “Abandon ship!”’ She smiled at them.
Kate didn’t know what to say. Matt was looking at her, but the fact was, she was torn – it was way, way too generous a gift, but, equally, she longed to hang the picture back in its rightful place by the study door.
When she didn’t say anything, Rosemary gave a quick nod.
‘You feel it too, don’t you? Trade Cottage is where he belongs.
And that’s why you’re going to be such lovely people to have as neighbours.
That, and your wonderful children. Now, I’m not going to stay and inconvenience you any further.
I’d better go back and explain to Paul, before he spots the captain’s missing and calls the police.
’ She gave a little laugh. ‘He might be a bit surprised at first. But I know he’ll agree it’s the right thing to do.
Getting on with neighbours is absolutely the most important thing to him. ’
She handed the picture to Kate and turned, striding down the hill with her customary energy.
Matt was already squinting at the portrait’s signature and pulling out his phone. A few moments later, he gave a low whistle.
‘Well, I think that probably compensates us for any drop in value.’
He showed her what he’d found. It was an auction listing from a few years back, another portrait by the same artist. The estimate was followed by a long series of zeroes.
‘She’s either completely mad,’ he added, ‘or she really, really wants us all to get along.’
The children were busy with their bedrooms, arranging their possessions exactly as they’d had them in Dulwich.
Neither wanted to be dragged out to collect pizzas, so Kate and Matt decided that, so long as they absolutely promised to stay inside the house, they could be left.
Or rather, Matt did. Kate was by nature a worrier, a just-to-be-on-the-safe-sider.
Garment care instructions, best-before dates, recipes, traffic regulations – she couldn’t help but follow all of them to the letter.
She wouldn’t even put crockery that wasn’t categorically labelled ‘dishwasher safe’ into the dishwasher, even when all the evidence – i.e.
the fact Matt had put the same item through half a dozen times already – proved her caution unnecessary.
She knew there was no legal age at which children were considered too young to be left on their own – she’d checked on her phone, the first time Matt had suggested it, back in London, and had been shocked to discover something so fundamental was left up to parents – but, really, when would Tilly and Will ever be old enough that she wouldn’t worry about them?
But she trusted Matt’s judgement. It was one of the reasons their partnership worked: some of his self-confidence rubbed off on her.
They took the car and drove the short distance to the village.
The Pelham Arms turned out to be just as lovely as everything else about the area – unpretentious, pretty without being twee.
In the beer garden, there was a small wooden shack with a steel chimney emitting smoke that carried the unmistakeable aroma of pizza.
As they walked through the pub’s open front door, a man about their age looked up from the pint he was pulling and gave them a friendly smile. ‘Hi. What can I get you?’
They ordered four pizzas to take away. ‘Might as well get a drink too, while we’re waiting,’ Matt said, eyeing the selection of local beers.
‘Visiting the area?’ the man asked as he served them.
‘We moved into Trade Cottage today,’ Matt replied, with just a trace of pride.
‘Ah!’ The other man’s eyes lit up. ‘You must be Matt. And –’ he turned to Kate – ‘Kath, was it?’
‘Kate,’ she corrected him.
‘Of course! Matt and Kate. I’m Jason.’ He pushed away the card reader and handed them their drinks. ‘First two are on the house. The pizzas, too. Don’t worry, I’ll make it back in the years to come. Particularly if your tastes are as expensive as Paul and Rosemary’s.’
He indicated the glass-fronted fridge behind the bar, where, Kate saw, three shelves were stocked with Pol Roger.
‘Not that I take Paul’s money,’ he added. ‘If it wasn’t for him, I probably wouldn’t still be in business.’
The pub, it transpired, had been put up for sale by the brewery a few years back, and was already being eyed by property developers when Paul had organised a group to purchase it, with almost everyone in the village now a shareholder.
‘I have a tenancy, same as any other pub,’ Jason explained.
‘But anything that benefits the village, like the pizza oven, they chip in for. And Paul runs his eye over the accounts for me every now and then, to make sure the business is going in the right direction.’ He was silent a moment.
‘I’ve been taking the books to him, since he’s been less mobile.
It’ll be strange not dropping into Trade Cottage anymore for a glass of Pol and a chat. ’
They ate the pizzas on Trade Cottage’s terrace, washed down with champagne and followed by some plums Kate had found in the orchard, watching the sun sink slowly over the rolling fields.
The only sound was some muted birdsong from the woods and the bleating of distant sheep.
Will and Tilly were doing cartwheels up and down the lawn, revelling in all that space.
There was still masses of unpacking to do, but the beds were made up.
Everything else could wait. For Kate’s part, she felt dizzyingly happy.
No, she thought, analysing her emotion more carefully: it wasn’t just happiness she felt, but an overwhelming sense of achievement.
Storms might crash on distant oceans, but here, in their little harbour, they were safe.
When she thought of her own childhood – its rootlessness and chaos – the fact she’d ended up somewhere like this seemed almost miraculous.
But she had. She felt a rush of gratitude to the man beside her, who’d made all this possible.
She reached for his hand and squeezed it.
For almost a minute, they stayed like that, savouring the moment.
‘Grass needs cutting,’ Matt said at last. ‘I’ll get on to it tomorrow.’
She nodded, then gasped. ‘Look!’
Nearby, a head had appeared from behind a bush – small and demonic, with two stubby horns.
It looked exactly like the bust of a satyr she’d seen once in a museum.
It was followed by a glimpse of another, smaller satyr; then two tiny deer, barely bigger than foxes, emerged and pattered across the grass.
‘Muntjac,’ Matt said. ‘They must live in the wood.’
She held her breath, certain she’d startle them. Then Matt put his glass down, inadvertently making a clink. But although the muntjac swung their heads in his direction, they were completely fearless, going on their way unconcerned.
Dusk fell. Matt took the children inside to get them to bed – they were so tired, they barely protested. Kate could tell that, secretly, they were looking forward to sleeping in their new bedrooms. But she stayed outside, basking in the simple fact of being where she was.
Above her, there was a hoarse rasp, almost a screech.
She looked up to see a huge pale owl swooping over her head, floating down towards the wood on silent outstretched wings.
She wondered if Paul and Rosemary, sitting behind their big plate-glass windows, had seen it too.
She made a mental note to tell Rosemary about it, the next time she saw her.