Chapter 28
CHAPTER 28
Sophie pulled up in the yard next to Charlie’s house, relieved to be stationary. Her sat nav had brought her straight there but the tiny winding lanes between tall hedgerows had been more stressful than driving on the M25 at peak hour; locals seemed to drive along them at crazy speeds.
She got out of the car, but there didn’t seem to be any sign of life. Walking under a stone arch, she found the back door with a note pinned onto it.
Had to pop down to the vines. Back ASAP. Make yourself some tea. C
The door opened into the kitchen, which was all flagstones and beams, with an old white Aga, two butler’s sinks and cupboards that looked as though they had been there since the 1920s. The space had such a lovely sense of having been used by generations of hands, it made Sophie feel queasy again about her brand new kitchen. Awfully new and awfully pink. Oh well, it would develop patina over time. A hundred years should do it.
She’d just sat down at the table with tea – after putting the cake she’d brought with her on a plate – feeling rather self-conscious to be making herself at home in a house where she’d never been before, when the door was thrown open and Charlie strode in.
‘Sophie!’ he said, coming over and kissing her cheek. ‘I’m so sorry I wasn’t here when you arrived. It’s a bit hectic with the picking not far off.’ He flopped down in a chair, arching his back and stretching out his legs. He was wearing the faded pink cords with braces he’d had on at her housewarming. And the pink boots.
Sophie immediately felt better. She had the Barbie pink kitchen, he had the wellies and trousers... ‘If it’s a bad time, I can come another day,’ she said.
‘Not at all,’ said Charlie, sitting up. ‘It’s the perfect time to see it in full grape before it all goes bonkers. Ooh, cake. Can I have a big bit? And some tea, please.’
He stood up and grabbed a mug from a hook. It was the size of a pint tankard and once Sophie had filled it, emptying the tea pot in the process, he drained it, then polished off the slice of cake in just a few bites. It reminded Sophie of the boys when they’d been permanently ravenous teenagers.
‘Yum,’ he said. ‘Good cake. Can you leave me another bit for later?’
‘I made it for you. It’s all yours.’
‘Excellent,’ he said, jumping to his feet. ‘Shall we go?’
Sophie followed him out to the yard, jogging slightly to keep up with his long strides. He seemed quite different here on his own territory. No less warm and friendly, but brisker, with a strong sense of purpose. A man with things to do.
‘Here’s the Batmobile,’ he said, stopping next to a tiny vehicle like a squashed two-seater Jeep with a flat tray behind the seats. ‘Let me grab you some head gear.’ He headed into an adjacent outbuilding, then came back with a bright red helmet, which he threw to her. ‘Forgive me for not wearing one, but it’s better if you do. There are no seat belts on this roller skate, but I’m used to it and know when to brace.’
Feeling like a bit of a twit, Sophie put the helmet on, clipping it under her chin and trying not to let the associations with Matt form fully in her head – but in they came anyway. She let the memories run in through like an annoying commercial and then snapped herself back into the moment: sitting in what seemed rather a fun style of vehicle, with a very nice man who was a family friend, outside his beautiful house in the gorgeous countryside. It was all good. That was the thing to concentrate on.
‘All set?’ asked Charlie, putting on a pair of old Ray-Bans and starting the engine. ‘Off we go, then.’
He headed out of the yard at an alarming pace and Sophie held on to the sides of the seat when they seemed to take off after hitting a bump. He turned a hard right along a narrow lane with trees on either side that met over the top, so it was like being in a green tunnel.
‘What amazing old trees,’ she said, gazing up into the canopy, the sunlight dappling between the leaves.
‘It’s ancient woodland. We have quite a lot of it, including one unbroken area of a couple of hundred acres where you can get properly lost in a good way. That’s fun. I’ll show you one day.’
The trees opened out as they came to a group of farm buildings. Not glorious old brick like the ones next to the house, but two modern barns with corrugated metal sides and a brutalist breeze-block structure arranged around a large yard. They seemed to be unused.
‘This ugly lot are left over from that rogue tenant farmer we had. It was when Cicely visited and discovered he’d been ripping out hedgerows that he was given his marching orders and I decided it was time to come home.’
‘Are you going to leave these buildings here?’
‘I’d love to pull them down. But it seems like rather a negative way to use resources. I’m wondering if we couldn’t convert them into studios for arty people to work in or something. It’s quite remote, but this younger generation seem quite connected with nature, so maybe they wouldn’t mind that. I’ve parked the problem at the back of my head for now. I’m too busy with the wine thing. The right idea will turn up.’
He continued to a gap between the buildings on the far side and when they came through it, Sophie gasped. The view was astonishing. Charlie stopped the motor and they sat there, just looking at it.
‘Not bad, is it?’ he said, quietly.
Sophie gazed out over a wide prospect of land that fell away into a gentle valley, rising again round the sides in banks of woodland. The flatter terrain in the bottom was all laid to vines, which, even from a distance, she could see were heavy with grapes.
‘It looks like a quintessentially English version of Tuscany,’ she said. ‘So, those buildings would have views over this,’ she said, glancing back at them. ‘Or they would, if they had windows.’
Charlie nodded. ‘I always think that,’ he said. ‘It couldn’t be residential, we wouldn’t get planning permission – and I wouldn’t want people living so close to the vines – but that’s why I thought of artists and creative people. I think this would be pretty inspiring to look out at.’
‘And it must be beautiful in all the seasons.’
‘It is. Every year I think, “Ah, yes, I definitely like autumn best... No, I like winter best... No, I like spring best,” and so on.’
‘I’m already starting to think like that about my sea view,’ said Sophie. ‘The light has changed so distinctly in the past week. At the height of summer, I started to feel a bit anxious about what winter would be like in an empty seaside resort, but now I’m looking forward to it. A new experience.’
‘That’s the idea,’ said Charlie, nodding. ‘Always look forward, there are no regrets there.’
Sophie felt he was referring to her loss in a sensitive, subtle way, which she appreciated, but she also had the distinct impression, once again, that he was also talking from personal experience. Since she had joined the ranks of the bereaved herself, Sophie recognised the signs in others. When the right moment presented itself, she would ask him.
She gazed out at the view again. ‘Can I take some pictures?’ she asked, getting her phone out of her pocket. She wanted to send them to Sebastian. He’d love it.