‘I know you won’t stop for lunch today. You’ll be wasting away at this rate.’ Sandra patted her shoulder before moving off to serve another table. Hope twitched her lips at the comment. A skipped meal here and there wasn’t going to do her any harm. She wasn’t bothered about the shape of her body, had come to terms with the fact she would never squeeze her bottom into a pair of size twelve jeans and had embraced it. She got plenty of exercise. It was impossible to work somewhere as large as Juniper Meadows and not spend half your time on your feet. Although the distillery was her primary responsibility, she was the one Ziggy tended to call upon when he needed something sorting out. Rhys couldn’t leave the animals on the farm to look after themselves, and Rowena and her mother had their hands full with the day-to-day running of the hotel and spa. Zap had to keep an eye on his latest brewing batch. Hope could take her phone – and therefore her office – anywhere.
Noting there were two forks on her plate, Hope took one and used it to cut the slice in half before pushing the plate between her and Cam. ‘Help me out?’
He hesitated a moment before picking up the other fork and taking a piece. ‘It’d be rude not to.’ He closed his eyes as the first hit of rich chocolate reached his taste buds. ‘Oh, wow,’ he mumbled around the delicious mouthful. ‘That’s bloody fantastic.’
‘And one of the reasons I’m never going to be a catwalk model,’ Hope said with a wry grin as she forked up a piece for herself.
‘You look great just the way you are,’ Cam said, his gaze fixed on hers.
Okay, she was going to file that away to think about later. Breaking eye contact, Hope looked towards Barnie. Yes, he was handsome, but he didn’t have that same level of quiet intensity that made her feel a little too aware of herself that Cam did. ‘As I was saying, my uncle—’
‘What is it with the names in your family?’ Cam interjected, instantly drawing her attention back to him. Not that she minded an excuse to look at him again. ‘You said he was called Ziggy, right?’ Cam continued. ‘And you mentioned someone called Zap was having a problem in the distillery…’
Hope laughed. It never took people long to ask. ‘My grandparents are a little eccentric, part of the tune-in, drop-out generation. They named my mother and her brothers after their favourite musicians – Stevie, Zappa, Ziggy and Dylan.’
‘Ah, parents and their penchant for unusual names.’
There was a touch of something dark in Barnie’s tone, not bitter exactly, but a definite edge that seemed out of place from his usually light-hearted demeanour. Hope cast a questioning look towards Cam, who mouthed, ‘Later,’ before saying out loud, ‘You were saying about your uncle wanting to create better jobs for people?’
Hope gave him a grateful smile. ‘Oh, yes. As I said, a place as large as this needs a lot of help in general supporting roles – cleaners, groundskeepers and what have you, and plenty of people are happy with those as we give them flexible working hours so they can fit them in around other responsibilities. But Ziggy wanted to do more, so he set up a bursary programme so local people can have the financial support they need to study something that interests them which can also benefit the estate in the longer term. We don’t force people to work here afterwards, but we ask them to consider it. Most of the therapists who work at the spa have come through the programme, for example. We’ve got a trainee accountant, who supports Ziggy in the estate office. She is studying through day release to college.’
‘That’s very generous of your family,’ Cam said as he took another piece of cake.
Hope shrugged. ‘We couldn’t survive without the support of the local community and we ask a lot from them, particularly when we put big events on that bring a lot of traffic to the area.’ She picked up her coffee and took a sip, trying not to think about how much there was left to sort out before they had a handle on the sound and light show planned for the late summer bank holiday. It wasn’t on her to-do list today. Her top priority was to find out what her building contractors had uncovered and how much of a problem it was going to cause to her plans. Raising her cup once more, she drained the rest of her drink. ‘If you’re ready, I’ll take you to the worksite now.’
The two men scrambled up, Barnie stuffing a last bite of lemon drizzle into his mouth. ‘Ready when you are,’ was his slightly cake-muffled response.
Hope led the way out of the café. ‘It’ll probably be easier if you leave your car here. I’ll drop you back when we’re finished if that’s okay?’
‘Sure, whatever you think. I’ve just got a few things I need to grab from the boot,’ Cam said, pulling out a set of keys.
She followed them to the visitor car park where Cam unlocked an old hatchback. He and Barnie rummaged in the back and when they straightened up, they were both holding well-worn rucksacks. Barnie plonked a battered leather hat on his head, the style more than a little reminiscent of the fedora favoured by Indiana Jones. Hope resisted the urge to point it out and instead gestured towards the distillery. ‘I’m parked around the back there.’
They followed her around the side of the distillery, through the padlocked gate marked ‘staff only’ and over to a pair of matching Range Rovers. Hope pointed her key fob and unlocked the one on the left, heaving herself up into the raised driver’s seat and leaving it to them to sort out who would join her in the front. She hid a smile when Cam opened the door beside her and climbed into the passenger seat with a lot more ease than she had just managed.
A service road connected the private car park to the main estate road and when Hope approached the simple barrier, Cam was already unfastening his seat belt. It was certainly much easier to negotiate the route with helpful passengers on board and she gave him a smile of thanks when he climbed back in. ‘The gates are a pain, but they’re enough of a deterrent to keep people to the spaces open to the public,’ she explained. It didn’t stop everyone, however. Even though they offered a space for people to camp and hard standing for a dozen caravans or campervans, they still found a few waifs and strays who’d decided to try and set up elsewhere. The groundskeepers had a handful of quad bikes which they used to patrol the likely spots. She pointed out the road that led to the camping grounds as they passed.
‘I’m surprised there’s a demand for camping with the hotel,’ Barnie observed from the back seat.
‘We try to offer something for every budget. The hotel is definitely aimed at the luxury end of the market. We offer day passes for the spa to anyone who camps, though, and Rhys is working on a plan to expand the camping side of things into the glamping market to cater for people who want the option to self-cater but want something special.’ Hope followed a bend in the road then pulled over to the side to let them take in the full majesty of their first proper view of the Hall. ‘There she is.’ Hope couldn’t keep the note of pride out of her voice. They might not live there any more, but she felt the pull of connection to the place nonetheless. Her history was here – in every brick and every stone as much as beneath the elaborate mausoleums and wall crypts in the family chapel and graveyard which were tucked behind the ornamental gardens at the rear.
‘A grand old lady,’ Cam said, earning himself a smile. He understood. It wasn’t just a building, the Hall was a living entity, deserving of admiration and respect.
‘I’ll take you for a tour some other time, if you like?’ she offered.
His face lit up. ‘Yeah? I’d love that.’
‘I’d love that, too,’ Barnie said, leaning forward between their seats. ‘Assuming the invitation extends to me as well, of course.’
‘Of course!’ Hope blurted, though, if she was honest, she’d forgotten he was there for a minute as she and Cam had shared that moment of reverent appreciation. ‘Right, let’s get over to the ruins, shall we?’
6
The ruins turned out to be the remains of two connected walls. The larger stood around waist height and extended about twenty feet. The shorter part of the corner ranged little more than a couple of feet and half a dozen stones high. The uneven ground around spoke of more remains beneath the turf, or perhaps the roots of the old oak. The location near the river suggested the site had been chosen to provide access to fresh water. Nothing about it screamed ecclesiastical to Cam, but there wasn’t enough visible to make a snap judgement.
Cam pulled a laser measure from his rucksack and aimed it from his spot in the centre of the ruins towards a marker left by the construction team that was close to the open excavation. If the stones there were part of the same building, or even the same complex, then it was a site of some status. ‘And you’re sure this was the original chapel?’ It was a long way from the Hall and the quick glimpse he’d caught of the current chapel as they’d driven past had looked of a similar age and design to the imposing building. Why would they need a second, separate chapel, unless there was an older house predating the Hall? A familiar buzz of excitement started in his mind, that tantalising feeling he always got when he knew he was on the trail of something.
Hope shrugged. ‘I’m not sure of anything. We’ve just always called it the church or the chapel.’