Chapter Thirty-One
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
It’s after eight when I arrive at Berkeley Hall, but I’m in time to see the sunset colouring the vast building orange. My chest feels tight at the sight of Ash’s family home, the setting for some of the highest and lowest moments of my life. But it is still so beautiful.
Light reflects off the myriad tiny panes of glass in the gatehouse, diamonds of gold that seem to flicker on the aged mottled glass as I drive along the public road adjacent to the family’s rarely used private driveway.
Instead of carrying on towards the car park, I pull to a stop by the dirt track that leads to the cottages. There’s a wooden gate across the opening that wasn’t there when I worked here. It has a sign marked PRIVATE fixed to it.
I’m a little confused. Sian said that Lord Berkeley didn’t sell off the cottages or workshops. Did Ash? It doesn’t look as though they’re NT-owned.
It occurs to me that the public car park might be closed at this hour, so I take a chance and open the gate, driving through and shutting it again.
I come out past the walled garden to the row of five terraced cottages. They look exactly the same as when I left them, and I’m so sure I’ll inhale the fragrant scent of roses as I climb out of the car that I’m a little taken aback to smell barbecued meat instead.
And then I’m smiling, even through my nerves, as I walk around the back of the cottages and see that Friday night’s barbecue is in full swing.
I spy Bethan’s high brown ponytail just as she jumps up from her chair to go inside, and then she sees me and her mouth drops open.
‘Ellie?’ she squeals as I step over the lavender border.
She races towards me and, okay, I’m guessing she’s drunk and merry, but I couldn’t hope for a better reaction.
I open my arms to welcome her.
‘What are you doing here?’ she asks, as the others in the deckchair circle look over to see what’s causing the commotion.
I do a quick scan for Celyn, but only recognise Jac and Dylan amongst the half-dozen faces.
‘I thought I’d come back and see you all,’ I reply.
‘Oh my God! Are you applying for the head gardener position?’
‘What? No!’ I exclaim as Jac and Dylan get to their feet to greet me.
Bethan introduces me to the others, all young guys, all workshop crew. She makes a point of telling me who lives where.
‘Where are Owain and Gwen?’ I ask with a frown.
They’d lived at number one for thirty-odd years.
‘They retired recently, but they haven’t gone far, only to Chirk.’
‘What about Celyn and Catrin?’
‘Oh, they’re up at the ranger’s cabin now.’
My chest contracts. ‘Do you know where Ash is?’
She calls over to Jac. ‘Where does Ash live now?’
Jac shrugs. ‘Somewhere near Powys, isn’t it?’
He looks at Dylan, who nods and shrugs, taking a sip of his beer.
‘Do you have an address for him?’
They both shake their heads. ‘We don’t see much of him these days. He’s a bit off-grid.’
‘Do you have a number?’
‘No. Celyn might,’ Dylan replies. ‘The phone reception’s non-existent up at the cabin, though, so he might not answer.’
‘Want a drink?’ Bethan asks hopefully.
I hate saying no to her, especially as my repeated prioritising of Ash over our friendship was partly what drove a wedge between us, but I’ve come here to find answers that I won’t get if I’m deep into a bottle of Prosecco.
‘Another time? I really need to go and see Celyn.’
I drive up to the cabin, hoping that the summer tyres on my little electric car will be able to handle the perpetually muddy farm track. I feel as though half a dozen birds have taken up residence in my stomach. If Celyn’s not here, my next point of contact is Philippa Berkeley. Will she tell me anything? Will she even answer the door?
The sight of smoke trailing from the chimney is a welcome one.
Catrin and I have to manage a hug around a rather large bump – she’s eight months pregnant.
‘Can you believe the size of this monster?’ she asks as she ushers me inside. ‘That’ll teach me for marrying a giant.’
I’m taken aback at the sight of the Lisbon sofa in canary yellow and the peach-iced-tea brown armchair. I hadn’t realised that Ash had placed the order before I left. I bet he regretted it.
‘Oh, hel? !’ Celyn says with surprise, coming out of the kitchen, where he seems to be cooking up a storm. He still has a big black beard and he has to duck under the door frame so he doesn’t bang his head.
‘Hi. I’m sorry to drop in unannounced, but—’
‘You’re looking for Ash.’
His eyes are kind, knowing. I nod.
‘I wish I could tell you how to get in touch with him.’
All of the birds in my stomach drop to the ground.
‘We only see Ash when Ash wants to be seen. And I’m afraid that isn’t often,’ he says.
‘He doesn’t have a phone?’
‘Not as far as I know. Not that it would do us much good anyway. We still need to put in a landline.’
‘Like, yesterday,’ Catrin says, rolling her eyes at me. ‘Come and sit down.’ She pats the yellow sofa.
‘Do you have any idea where he is?’ I ask as I perch.
‘He bought a piece of land in Powys, near the border, but I don’t have an address. He hasn’t invited any of us down there.’
‘What happened? Who owns this cabin now?’ I look around the interior. Ash’s books about space have been removed from the bookshelves, but the old brass telescope still sits by the window.
‘Ash does. He sold the house and gardens to the National Trust, but retained the workshops, cottages and land. Wanted to make sure none of it could ever be sold off to developers.’
I am feeling so many things.
‘Why have you come back now?’ Catrin asks.
‘I just found out about the acquisition. I thought he’d married Beca,’ I admit.
Celyn frowns and shakes his head. Then he seems to realise something. ‘Oh. Did you see the newspaper article?’
‘I saw something about their engagement online.’
‘The story was planted by his father, according to Ash, though he never admitted to it. I think he thought that if he wanted it to happen enough, it would. But his plan backfired.’
‘How?’
‘Ash left. Just got on his bike and went to Europe. We didn’t see him for months.’
Ash left Berkeley Hall only weeks after I did? If he was willing to walk away from his family and all this, why didn’t he come to find me?
‘He came back after his father died,’ Catrin reveals.
‘Can you tell me anything else?’ I ask desperately.
‘No, but his mother might be able to.’
The public car park is closed to visitors and a green barrier is down across the entrance. I notice a National Trust office that wasn’t there before, with a new entranceway to the house and gardens. Over the top of a beech hedge is what looks to be the beginnings of a children’s adventure playground.
Pride swells inside me. I can’t believe Ash did it. It can’t have been easy to give up five hundred years of his family’s heritage. How did he come to make that decision? The regret I feel at not being here to help him face whatever he’s been going through makes me feel as though I’ve stepped into quicksand.
But I have to keep my chin up. I still need answers.
In the end I park on the verge by the walled garden and walk to the hall. The sun set a while ago and the sky is a deep navy blue, but there’s enough light to see the house looming above me as I approach, and once I reach the gatehouse, I can see that there is no doorbell.
Suddenly I remember the understated side entrance Ash and I used after his father walked in on us. I feel a wave of nausea at the memory as I walk on past the western bay of the house, my footsteps on the gravel sounding overly loud.
A small security light comes on as I approach the private entrance to the family’s living quarters, and I’m relieved to see that there’s an intercom with a built-in camera fixed to the wall. But then I remember who I’ve come to see and my anxieties rise once more.
I press the button and wait, folding my arms across my chest.
‘Hello?’ A tinny voice comes out of the speaker.
‘Hi, I’m here to see Lady Berkeley.’
‘Who shall I say is calling?’
‘Eleanor Knapley.’
‘Please wait.’
What if she refuses to see me? There’s every chance she will. I still have Beca as an option, but I’ll have to create an Instagram account and the thought of contacting her makes me want to crawl out of my own skin.
I will, though. I’ll do anything.
The door opens and a young woman in her early twenties appears, dressed in a black dress with the Berkeley crest embroidered in white on her right breast.
‘Come in, please.’
Relief cascades over me as I follow her in and up the narrow staircase to the family’s private door. She deposits me in the grand living room that Ash once told me was his mother’s favourite place to socialise.
‘Please wait,’ the housekeeper says. ‘Lady Berkeley will be here in a minute.’
I don’t sit down. I’m too agitated remembering what happened the last time I was here. But then I look towards the windows and try to think of the view, the Berwyn Mountains off in the distance.
‘Eleanor Knapley.’
At the voice of Philippa Berkeley, I whip round and breathe in sharply.
She looks like a different woman. She’s wearing no make-up and she’s drawn, gaunt. Her dress is loose-fitting, but I can see how thin her arms are, and when she walks towards me, her hip bones jut against the pale grey fabric.
‘Please, take a seat.’
She indicates one of her sofas and sits down opposite. We’re divided by a low wooden coffee table.
‘I didn’t think I’d see you again,’ she says.
She doesn’t sound dry, she doesn’t sound bitter or haughty or angry.
She sounds tired.
‘I didn’t think you’d see me again either,’ I reply, adopting a similar tone.
‘May I ask what’s brought you here?’
‘I’m trying to find Ash.’
‘Oh.’ She sighs. ‘I hoped you might be bringing me news of Ashton yourself. The last I heard, he’d gone back to Europe,’ she adds.
This blow almost fells me. I’ve psyched myself up and I’m running on adrenaline, but if I’ve come all this way and he’s not even in the UK …
‘You’re not in touch with him?’
‘Rarely, and only on his terms. He’s still angry at me.’
‘Why?’
She meets my eyes. ‘I would have thought that’s obvious.’
‘Because your husband announced a fake engagement?’
She shifts, looking flustered and defensive. ‘I had nothing to do with that. But Ashton still blames me for not standing up to his father over his threats to sell the land. He got his revenge on me in the end, though.’ She looks around the room with a distinct air of self-pity.
‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ I find it in my heart to say.
‘I’m not,’ she replies sharply. ‘But I am sorry in other ways.’ She meets my eyes and I see a twinge of regret buried there. ‘He was so sure you were the great love of his life. He was very upset when you left.’
‘I need to find him.’
‘If he’s not abroad, he’ll be at his place in the woods.’
‘The ranger’s cabin?’
‘No, no.’ She shakes her head dismissively. ‘On the outskirts of Knighton. He went there for the dark skies. I believe there’s an observatory somewhere nearby. If he’s in Wales, he’ll no doubt turn up there at some point. He can never stay away from the stars for long.’
It’s past ten by the time I leave Berkeley Hall, and I’m starting to spiral. Knighton is forty miles south of here, about an hour and ten minutes away, according to my iPhone’s satnav, but the address I input is for the Spaceguard Centre – I discovered it when I did a Google search of the area around Knighton.
The most significant natural danger to life on Earth comes from asteroids and comets , the information on the website reads. The Spaceguard Centre is a working observatory and the main source of information about near Earth objects in the UK.
There’s a tour in the morning, but I’m going to head there tonight on the off chance that Ash might still be in Wales, watching the stars.
My car is running low on electricity by the time I roll into Knighton and I really need to find somewhere to plug in and charge up, but I can’t bear to face another delay. I drive up into the hills, following signs for the Spaceguard Centre and keeping a close lookout for a large rounded shape in the darkness. Eventually I come to a wooden gate and pull to a stop, and there, at the end of a dirt track, is the green dome of an observatory. Out of the dark, two headlights appear, and now they’re coming towards me. I hurriedly reverse out of the way and exit the car in time to see a grey-haired man in glasses and a black fleece climb out of his vehicle.
‘Excuse me!’ I call as he opens the gate. ‘I’m looking for Ash.’
He might not even know who Ash is, but I want to sound like a friend, and hopefully I’ll get a friendly answer.
‘I haven’t seen him in a couple of days,’ the man replies.
My heart leaps and soars. Does that mean he’s in the country?
‘Do you know when he’ll next be here? Or where I can find him tonight?’ I ask.
‘He comes in sporadically and he lives somewhere over there.’ He points down the hill.
‘I don’t suppose you know where exactly?’
‘Only that it’s in the woods. Can’t be far. When he comes, he comes on foot.’
‘Okay, thank you.’
He gets back into his car and drives through the gate. I close it behind him and he calls out a thank you before disappearing down the track.
I stand in the cool night air, looking down into the valley at a dark patch of woodland in the distance. Could Ash be somewhere amongst those trees? Are we staring up at the same sky, the same moon, at this very moment?
I walk to the edge of the field to try to get a better look, but I don’t have a torch and all I can see with the light on my phone is a barbed-wire fence.
Climbing back into my car, I take a look at Google Maps and try to work out if there are any roads leading into the woods down in the valley. There aren’t, but the map might not show dirt tracks.
Folding my arms over the steering wheel, I rest my forehead against them and release a long, shaky breath. Then I straighten up, download the Instagram app, set up a brand-new profile and send Beca a DM, hoping it won’t get lost in the wilderness of her hidden messages.
I’m trying to locate Ash. Please can you help?
Even if she can, I think my quest to find Ash might have to wait until morning.