Page 27 of Last Letter Home
His forehead crinkled and then he decided she was teasing and grinned again. ‘Sure, though I’m perfectly safe. Nice to meet you, anyway.’ She watched him drive away, but instead of going to the Hall, as he’d implied was his intention, he took a left turn, hooted his horn and waved at her, before the car was swallowed up by a thick grove of trees.
‘That’ll be Greg Richards, my boss.’ Kemi in reception at the Hall was dressed in a deep blue skirt suit today, striking against her raven hair and sparkling dark brown eyes. ‘He’s usually only down at weekends now the building work’s done.’
‘Does he stay here?’
‘In the Hall? No. He has a house in the wood down there.’
That seemed to be the extent of Kemi’s knowledge about the man, or what she was prepared to say about him, anyway, but the thought of his attractive, good-humoured face, his dark hair and shadowy beard, stayed with Briony for the rest of the day.
It came almost as no surprise, therefore, when the following afternoon she answered a knock on her door to find him waiting on the path. He wasn’t as tall as she expected, was her initial impression.
‘Hi. We met briefly yesterday. Greg Richards. I hope I’m not disturbing you.’ His smile was as charming as she remembered.
She looked at him and then down at the cellophane-wrapped bunch of flowers he’d taken out from behind his back.
‘What are these for?’ she asked, taking them from him with a frown. They were pretty, bright gerbera and gypsophila, what was its other name, baby’s breath? But she wasn’t used to getting flowers and found herself questioning the motives behind these.
‘You must have thought me rude yesterday,’ Greg said. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be. This is by way of amends.’ He appeared sincere in his penitence.
‘Thank you. You shouldn’t have worried,’ she said, softening. ‘I wasn’t offended really. Having strangers leaving rubbish on your property must be horrible and I don’t blame you for challenging me.’ She smiled. ‘Come in for a moment. I was sitting in the garden, having failed to muster the energy to do some work. I’m Briony, by the way. Briony Wood.’
She led him through to the back of the cottage where a small pear-shaped lawn was edged by flower borders. Hollyhocks and foxgloves grew up against a wooden fence.
‘All very English country garden,’ he remarked, looking round. ‘Nice. I haven’t been out here since our tenant left. Kemi deals with everything.’
‘Pretty, isn’t it? I’ve been trying my hand at some weeding, but I’m not very good at telling which the good plants are.’
‘Hmm, well, don’t ask me, I don’t know either. I wish I did. I’d like to develop the gardens here. Put the place on the map a bit. Haven’t quite decided what yet. It’s difficult as I’m up in the City all week.’
‘So Kemi said. I’m a Londoner, too, an academic, though.’
‘Oh, so you’re Professor Wood.’
‘Just Doctor, so far.’
‘What subject?’
‘History. At Duke’s College. I specialize in the Second World War, but a great deal of my time is spent teaching students. While I’m here I’m going over the draft of a book I’m writing,’ she said, and changed the subject because she didn’t feel like pouring out all the details to a stranger on a lovely warm Sunday afternoon. ‘It’s just the place to do it,’ she went on quickly. ‘I’ve fallen in love with the Hall. Do you own the whole estate? Kemi said you were her boss, but I didn’t think what that meant.’
‘I am the owner, yes.’
‘Has it been your family home? It must have quite a history.’
‘I haven’t owned it long. It came onto the market several years ago. It belonged to the Kelling family for centuries, but they ran out of money.’
So he was simply a property developer making a buck. That was a shame, she’d hoped he’d be more involved than that.
‘I do care about the old place, though,’ he said, smiling, as though he’d read her thoughts. ‘There’s a family connection. My great-grandfather, one Hector Richards, was the estate manager here between the wars. I live in his house.’
Briony found herself warming to Greg now. He was being very friendly, she thought. There was no sign of his bossiness of yesterday.
‘That’s wonderful. Apparently I have connections round here, too. My grandfather’s name was Harry Andrews?’
He shook his head. ‘I don’t know any Andrews. So is that why you chose to come here? A little foray into family history?’
‘Sort of,’ she said. There was a sharpness about his question that made her guarded. ‘Mainly, I want to get this writing done and it’s difficult to concentrate in London in summer.’
‘Yeah, kind of enervating, isn’t it? And if you go out, everywhere is full of tourists. I’ll tell you what, though, I’m seeing my old dad tomorrow. He lives out on the coast at Blakeney. Bit of a sailor, my dad. I’ll ask him if he knows of any Andrews.’
