Wild About You

Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

‘Why didn’t you tell me how grumpy he is?’ I wailed to Fi that evening, with a large glass of red wine in my hand.

‘Jamie?’ said Fi. ‘He’s alright.’

‘No, he’s not!’

‘His bark is worse than his bite.’ She smiled at me as she raked chopped vegetables into a wok. They gave a satisfying hiss as they hit the hot oil. ‘You’ll get on fine.’

I sipped my wine fitfully and settled deeper into the faded armchair near the table. I loved being in Fi and Richard’s kitchen. They bought the house as a near ruin when they got married – a stone-built, eighteenth-century cottage down the lane from the estate cottage allocated to me – and over the years they’d extended it. The kitchen was in the extension – it was the perfect mix of old-fashioned country style and chic new: flagstones, pots and pans hanging from the ceiling, a battered old sofa by the woodburner, but also smooth white surfaces, soft-close doors and the largest picture window I had ever seen, revealing the hills beyond. I cringed when I thought about the first time I visited after the building work was finished, chattering away about the parties and gigs I had been to, feeling the epitome of both metropolitan chic and grime after a long day’s work, my bag stuffed full with gifts of overpriced chocolate and different coloured sparkling wines. I remembered looking out of the picture window, wondering why on earth someone would choose to come and live somewhere so empty, so wild. Fi had smiled at the look on my face, helped me out of my coat, and plonked a stoneware mug of tea in front of me with a slice of cake so fresh it had steam coming off it.

‘You wouldn’t believe the sunrises,’ she said, a look of calm, relaxed contentment on her face. And sure enough, as the days passed, I had unwound too. I stopped feeling so jittery; even my breathing became less shallow. That experience had stayed with me ever since – had brought me to Stonemore as much as my need to escape the past.

I was beyond glad I’d had a week off before starting work, as I’m not sure how I would have coped with grumpy Lord La-la when in the midst of emotional exhaustion. And as well as unpacking and journalling, I’d spent a good chunk of it comatose in my new home, mostly sleeping through the sounds of the wildlife outside the walls and within them (thanks, meeses), in the deafening silence of the countryside. The rest of it I’d spent in the kitchen I was sitting in now, staring at the flames in Fi and Richard’s woodburner as we chatted. When I told Fi she had saved me, she said ‘Ach,’ and nudged me, but she had.

‘What’s going on?’ Richard had been tempted out of his study by the smell of spices and garlic as Fi added them to the cooking vegetables.

‘Jamie hasn’t been an instant hit with Anna,’ said Fi, giving him a mischievous smile.

‘Do you mean you’re not bedazzled by his rolling acres?’ Richard stole a slice of carrot from the pan with a flourish. ‘He’s quite the eligible bachelor.’

‘Are they rolling? More jutting, grim and rainswept,’ I said. ‘And I’m surprised he’s not married already. I thought members of the aristocracy were betrothed early in life.’

‘Maybe a couple of centuries ago.’ Fi crumbled a dried chilli into the pan. ‘Anyway, he was in a relationship until a few months ago. It’s not been easy for him.’ Her tone hinted I should cut the earl some slack.

‘Who was she?’ I asked, curious despite myself, as Fi emptied noodles into a pan of boiling water.

‘Her name is Lucinda Fortescue-Menzies,’ said Fi.

‘Shut up!’ I cried, and Richard snorted into his wine. ‘I’m sorry, it’s just I distrust surnames that aren’t pronounced the way they’re spelt. It’s a trick to catch out plebs like me.’

Fi smiled gently and reprovingly. ‘She’s a cross-country rider and stables her horses on the estate. Ach, I feel bad talking about Jamie like this. Set the table, would you? It’s almost ready.’

‘Will do.’ I got up to help. ‘I promise I’ll be nice to the boss. I’ll be working mainly with Callum, anyway. And he’s far more acceptable.’

‘I’m glad we haven’t put you off entirely,’ Fi said, with a raised eyebrow.

I wasn’t feeling quite so cheerily capable the next morning. There was something about being at my desk at the crack of dawn, combined a with a faint but annoying hangover-headache, which made me feel the tiniest bit fragile.

I’d got home the night before at a perfectly sensible hour. The ten-minute walk from Fi and Richard’s cottage to mine had felt unexpectedly peaceful, despite the fact that I was on my own in the middle of nowhere, having refused Fi’s offer to drive me home. The route to my cottage was along a lane made hollow by centuries of boots and hooves, bordered by ancient trees with fields on either side. I enjoyed hearing the sounds of the countryside at night – the wind rustling through the branches, the crunch of my boots on the gravelly lane – and when I looked up, I could see the stars perfectly, tracing the small number I knew: three points of Orion’s belt and from there, Bellatrix and Betelgeuse. It was only when a fox shrieked that I sped up and hurried home like the big scaredy-cat I am.

It was when I got there that the sense of warmth and comfort from my evening with Fi and Richard really wore off. The front door opened directly onto the main ground-floor room, and as I walked in I remembered I hadn’t lit the woodburner earlier in the day, so the cottage was cold as well as dark. I clicked the light on and looked around at the room that served as my living room and kitchen, with a sense of emptiness. Despite the pictures I’d put up and my few belongings dotted about, it felt more like a quirky holiday cottage than a home. And there was something else missing too. In a vulnerable moment the week before, I’d texted Sean my new landline number, just in case he wanted to get in touch (I’d remembered there was very patchy mobile reception on the estate). When I checked the handset there were no missed calls and no messages. It wasn’t as if I’d really expected it – not consciously – but the unmistakable fall in my chest, and my sudden sense that this place was less than homely, told me all I needed to know. Somehow, there was a small part of me that was still waiting for him to realise he’d made a mistake. Still waiting for one more chance to turn things around; putting together what I might say when he said he wanted to try again. Sean was like a word puzzle I hadn’t quite cracked, floating around in the back of my mind as my brain attempted to piece things together. I was used to finding solutions to problems, and a small part of me refused to stop looking for one.

I did some tipsy journalling:

New boss is hot. Callum also hot. Clearly this is my disturbed brain processing the break-up and finding every available man hot. Must try to be less scattergun in my affections .

I carefully wrote the word ‘Ice Queen’ in the centre of the page, drew some branches out of it, and promptly fell asleep before I thought of a single icy precaution I could take.

Thanks to the alcohol, I only dozed fitfully and ended up getting up extra early with a headache, then got to my desk at stupid o’clock, because what else was there to do? I sat there, feeling queasy and slightly dozy, staring into the middle distance as my computer booted up.

‘You should take more water with the wine.’

I was startled awake from the very slight doze I was in by the earl, yet again looming over my desk. He was dressed in a blue linen shirt over slate-coloured canvas trousers, and I considered asking him sharply where his coat was. I glanced at the clock on the wall. 6.30am. What the hell was he doing here?

‘Do you always take a tour of your staff’s offices before they get in in the morning?’ I said, more sharply than I had intended.

He raised his eyebrows. ‘Not always. Usually I just rely on the security cameras.’ His gaze was steady, unblinking, not a hint of a smile in his blue eyes; I sensed in that moment, he was making a catalogue of my faults, and we held each other’s gaze a moment too long. I realised I was giving him a hard stare, my heartbeat refusing to return to normal after the shock of being surprised. Luckily my rational brain kicked into gear with the thought Anna, you’ve only said two words to him and you’re already making an enemy of him. Be sensible .

I got to my feet, pinned my best, most professional smile to my face, and held out my hand. ‘Let’s start again, shall we? Anna Whitlock, pleased to meet you.’

He hesitated, then shook my hand – his was warm and dry, the handshake firm. His eyes glittered, and I had the sense the assessment was still going on. ‘Pleased to meet you, Anna. And there’s no need for formalities. My staff call me Jamie.’

My staff call me Jamie ? Nice touch, combining politeness with a reminder of status. I fear this thought crossed my eyes (my face is almost comically expressive, according to Sean, one of my least endearing features). It happened quickly: I saw his expression change at the sight of mine then I swung to sit down and knocked my travel coffee cup over. It wasn’t a small spill. Unfortunately I’d left it in the open position and coffee went all over the estate map I’d been studying, as well as the leather-covered antique desk that I’d only been allocated the day before.

‘Shit!’ I cried. Then, ‘Sorry! Bloody hell!’ I tried desperately to mop up the coffee with anything – scrap paper, tissues from my bag.

‘Don’t worry.’ Jamie threw a pristine handkerchief into the mix. ‘It’s just my great-grandfather’s Chippendale desk.’

‘What?! You’re kidding!’ I threw a look at him and saw a very slight smile, which showed me he was winding me up, then muttered ‘Bugger’ under my breath as I noticed a neglected pool of coffee seeping into red leather. How was there so much coffee in that cup?

‘Nice range of expletives,’ he murmured. ‘Perhaps you’d like to try another one?’

I gave him an unwise glare.

‘Hang on…’ He headed off to the cupboard-like niche where we made drinks and returned with a wad of kitchen towel, whilst I tried to shepherd the coffee lake with two pieces of paper. Together we cleaned it up, then enacted a ridiculous little dance, me trying to take the sodden lump of coffee-drenched towel from him, him refusing. Eventually we disposed of it, a joint effort that involved me reaching for it and him lobbing it into Tally’s desk bin, where it landed with a dull thwack.

‘Great, now I’ll be in trouble with her,’ I said, regrettably out loud. I’m sure I was better at keeping my lip buttoned when I was in London. Heartbreak had removed all of my filters.

‘What? From Tally?’ He looked perplexed. ‘She’s a sweetheart.’

‘Is she now?’ I shot back, without thinking. Irritation flashed across his face and his expression hardened, all amusement leaving his eyes. Great – first I’d annoyed him, now I’d embarrassed him.

‘I need a report for an area of the estate,’ he said curtly, then said a name that sounded like pure gobbledegook to me.

‘Right,’ I was trying to write it down phonetically. ‘Could you possibly pop that in an email to me?’

‘No, I could not.’

‘Okay.’ I bit my lip. ‘Perhaps you could spell the name for me?’

‘Callum will tell you where it is. As soon as possible.’ He was gliding away; the man had such long legs he could cross the office in two strides.

‘But…’ I said. Nope, he was gone.

Of course, Tally gave me her best snooty look when she stood over her bin on arrival and said ‘What happened?’ as though I was a servant who’d disappointed her. I explained the coffee catastrophe to her impassive face.

‘Many of the artefacts here at Stonemore have been in situ for generations, Anna,’ she said. ‘You really must learn to be more careful.’

‘Yes, sorry,’ I said. I’ve never felt entirely comfortable in my rather stocky, wide-hipped frame. Occasionally someone has told me I have an hourglass-type thing going on, but I don’t really think of myself like that. I do, however, notice it when I accidentally knock my stapler off my desk with my arse or trip over my little hoof-like feet. ‘I’ve always been a bit clumsy.’

Tally shook her head pityingly.

‘Where’s Callum?’ I said hopefully.

‘Gone to check on groundworks,’ said Tally vaguely. I looked longingly at Fi’s empty seat – she was meeting a supplier about Stonemore merchandising for the small castle shop. I’d learned quickly that Fi was the key to almost every question at Stonemore. She was technically the earl’s PA but in reality she played a part in almost every aspect of the house’s organisation. And she wasn’t here.

‘Tally, can I ask you something?’

She sighed, raised her eyebrows.

‘Do you know where this place is?’ I tried to pronounce my phonetically spelt weird word.

She tilted her head at my lunacy. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

It would have to wait for Callum. I sat down and logged into my Forestcam. I had recently sponsored a planting of rowan trees in a reforesting project and liked to check in on the site. The charity had cameras all over the woodland to provide a live feed for sponsors. Every time I looked at them, whether they were still or moving in the wind, whether they were in golden light or grey, it reminded me that life would go on – was going on, at that very moment. Beauty was emerging, somewhere.

Callum recognised the place in a heartbeat. ‘Of course, Belheddonbrae?’ he said. ‘You were only a syllable off.’

I glanced in Tally’s direction and saw she was suppressing a little smirk. ‘Thanks for that,’ I called to her, and raised my topped-up coffee cup in a weary ‘cheers’.

She straightened her face and continued tap-tapping on her keyboard. ‘Just a little joke, Anna,’ she said. ‘Banter. You really must adjust to our country ways.’

‘By the way,’ I said, ‘why do you hate London so much?’

She froze, her mouth twitching a little. ‘I have no idea what you mean,’ she said, her accent becoming even more posh.

Callum gave me a knowing look. ‘I’ll show you Belheddonbrae,’ he said. ‘No need to drive, it’s close by.’ As soon as we were outside, he cast me a shy smile. ‘Don’t worry about Tally. It’s just a bit of town versus country. She thinks you might come here and dazzle us with your sophisticated metropolitan ways.’

‘Right,’ I said, thinking it was slightly unfair. Tally had been inspecting my every move as though I was about to fail in some way; I had the vague feeling at some point she would ask me which finishing school I went to. Which was fine, except the role of inspecting my failures was already filled by me. Attempting to quieten my inner critic was going to be even harder with an actual external critic constantly looking down her nose at me.

As we clomped down the length of the house frontage, past vast window after vast window, I had the feeling close by for Callum wasn’t exactly the same by my measurement. In an attempt to be more ‘country’, I was wearing chunky boots I’d bought in preparation for hiking around the estate, and they felt like lead weights as I struggled to keep up with him.

Having exited the staff office at the front of the house, we walked the length of the frontage, then turned left and headed for the land behind the house. Before long, we came to the ruin of the medieval castle that had been the first habitation at Stonemore. ‘It was a pele tower,’ said Callum. ‘A fortified tower, built in the 1300s for security against invasion. Three hundred years later, a member of the family added a wing to make it a manor house, then that fell into ruin, too, when the current house was built in the late 1700s.’ He glanced at me. ‘Do you want to have a look inside?’

I nodded, and had to suppress the desire to clap my hands with glee. ‘Yes please.’

He smiled, and held out his hand to help me over a stony mound. We threaded our way through a gap in the grey stone walls. I looked up at the ancient remains, gauging where the floor levels had been from the windows and arrow slits. The height of the tower meant it must have been possible to see for many miles. We walked onwards into the seventeenth-century wing of the house, also now a ruin, and I gazed through grand stone window frames now free of glass. I could imagine a log fire burning in this room, the family banqueting and dancing. There was something incredibly atmospheric about this place.

‘Magical, isn’t it?’ His smile matched my own.

As we came out of the shelter of the ruins the wind hit us – hard. ‘Wow,’ I said, but my voice was lost in another gust. Callum glanced at me with a half-smile. ‘You’ll get used to it,’ he said.

We were marching alongside high red-brick walls now. ‘This is the kitchen garden,’ said Callum. ‘Most of the back of the house faces the formal garden, though. Mica and Keith are in charge of upkeep, but we have an army of volunteers and students on placement to help them. Have you seen the formal gardens yet?’

Trying not to pant, I shook my head.

‘Let’s just make a quick detour so you can take a look,’ he said. We turned left and walked past the brick-enclosed kitchen garden to see the formal garden, an elaborate parterre. I exclaimed at the sight of it: ornamental beds in damask patterns, cut precisely into the level ground and edged by box hedges.

‘Done in the nineteenth century,’ said Callum.

‘And best seen from above,’ I said, glancing at the tall windows lining the back of the house. It looked sparse in the January light, but I could well imagine the beds in summer, softened by colourful flowers and herbs.

‘It’s a shame,’ said Callum. ‘Most of the upper floor on this side of the house is dust-sheeted – it’s just too much money to keep it open.’ He ascertained I’d seen enough, turned on his heel and strode back in the direction of the pele tower and – I presumed – Belheddonbrae.

‘Right,’ I said. I was working to catch my breath (another couple of items for my to-do list: 1 – buy waxed jacket. 2 – get fitter, much fitter). I was very glad when Callum eventually slowed, and unhooked a farm gate set in a traditional stone wall.

‘Ta da,’ he said.

I saw immediately that Belheddonbrae had once been a garden, although it was nothing like the disciplined, clear-cut parterre. There were trees and hardy shrubs, offering shelter from the wind, some bedraggled beds in the flatter section, long overgrown, and the remains of a lawned area.

‘What was this used for?’ I asked.

Callum seemed to be searching for an answer. ‘The late countess – mother of the current earl – loved this area, made it her own when she was first married, I’ve been told,’ he said eventually.

‘Was she an enthusiastic gardener?’ I asked. Obviously, I immediately had a vision of her, gleaned from costume dramas I’d watched with my mum when I was a kid: white floaty dress, drifting through the garden, gathering fruit and flowers into her arms as she glided on with the same long-legged imperiousness I’d seen the echo of in her son. Although it was bloody freezing out here so floaty dresses wouldn’t be exactly practical.

Callum looked uncomfortable. ‘No, not really. She held a lot of parties here.’

The vision disappeared. ‘Garden parties?’

‘Kind of. Once, there was a mini-festival, I suppose you would call it. She hired a rock band.’ He named one of dubious 1980s vintage. I goggled at him.

‘The guests trampled the borders. After that, the 7th Earl said she couldn’t have access to it – the current earl’s father. He padlocked the gate. They were divorced soon after.’

‘She could have climbed over it fairly easily, I would imagine,’ I said, looking at it. I was fairly sure I could haul my stocky little frame over it, so Jamie’s mum (surely an elegant giantess?) would have no problem.

‘She didn’t seem to care too much,’ said Callum. ‘But it upset Jamie.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Keith’s been here for years. He told me when Jamie came home from school and found it all ruined, there was quite a scene. He’d planted things with her, spent time here with her. It upset him.’

‘Oh.’ I digested this new piece of information. Came home from school – they must have sent him to boarding school. My stomach pitched at the idea – as a young child, staying away from home for even a night had unsettled me. ‘How difficult for him.’

‘I’m surprised he’s asked you to start here,’ said Callum. ‘This place is special to him – but also sad. It’s his mother who named it Belheddonbrae.’

‘Does it mean something?’ I said.

He cleared his throat. ‘Technically – Bel for beautiful, heddon for heathy hill, brae for steep hill.’

I raised my eyebrows and glanced at his face. Beautiful heathy hill steep hill ? He shrugged.

‘I suppose it has a ring about it,’ I said.

I took my phone out and took snaps of the area from different angles. Then I made a quick sketch of the beds, identifying those shrubs and plants I could make out. It was a joy to focus like this, my mind seeking and noting information. When I finished, I realised that for the first time in ages, I had quieted the humming sadness that seemed to buzz behind my thoughts all the time.

Callum had watched me the whole time, and seemed to approve. ‘I’ll make you a hot chocolate when we get back,’ he said. ‘You’ve earned it.’ Fi had warned me Callum’s hot chocolates were legendary, involving cream, marshmallows and usually a drop of whisky.

‘As long as you leave out the alcohol,’ I said. ‘Seriously. I’ve already got a hangover.’

He laughed. ‘If you like. On the way back I’ll introduce you to Keith and Mica, who look after the gardens. They’re married and live in one of the estate cottages. They do the cars too – Keith drives the earl to any official functions.’

‘Just your normal, average workplace,’ I murmured to myself. ‘Does the boss have a Rolls?’

‘Of course,’ he said, and I couldn’t work out whether he was joking or not.