Page 7 of The Christmas Retreat
I got my way in the end. Evie said that at least it got that damned cat out of the flat – I’d adopted Mrs Snowboots in the teeth of her objections – and that although she thought I’d soon get tired of living in the middle of nowhere, playing at being a country girl, like Marie Antoinette with her Petit Trianon, once the cottage was renovated it would hugely increase its value and I could then sell it at a profit and move back to civilization.
Even she had had to admit that the cottage was fairy-tale pretty. White-painted and wisteria-clad, it had a thatched roof that lifted like surprised eyebrows over the upper windows, and a front garden with crazy paving and lilac and azalea bushes.
Perhaps the old wooden garage next to it was not so picturesque, but it was almost entirely covered by a flowering plant that I later discovered to be called, appropriately, Mile a Minute, since it seemed determined to take over the world and I continually had to hack it back.
For the rest, there was a small patch of lawn and rose bushes at the back, with an arch in a trellis fence that led to fruiting trees and bushes, including the huge old plum tree, and the gate into the Hall grounds. It was perfect.
Liv, ever practical, had investigated the Hall and found there were no plans to develop the grounds. I couldn’t imagine there would ever be much interest in such an out-of-the-way and neglected spot. It turned out I was wrong, although not about how much I would love living in the country.
I’d moved in as soon as the major work on the cottage was done: a lean-to kitchen removed and a new one created, with a small studio next to it and an upstairs bathroom. Most of the rest I did myself.
And then, a couple of years later, just as I had got it the way I wanted it, Will had come looking for me and, stupidly, I’d fallen for him all over again.
It wasn’t that I hadn’ttriedto find someone new in the years between – I had, but I think I must be super picky because, apart from a brief encounter with Rhys Tarn years ago when I’d met him at that publisher’s party, I hadn’t got any further than looking at the dating websites where, like internet shopping, you just knew what you’d get would bear little resemblance to what you’d seen on the screen.
My new relationship with Will had nearly come unstuck right from the start, and in retrospect I wish it had. He wanted me to sell up so we could buy a property together in London, near Simon’s house, where they created their computer games, but there was absolutely no way I was going to do that.
You’d think you could design the graphics for gamesanywhere, but he said he and Simon needed to bounce ideas off each other, and also that my broadband was way too slow.
It was fast enough for me. I preferred to do my illustrations the old-fashioned way, on paper with line and wash, then post them off to the publisher, although of course I emailed them the text.
In the end we compromised, with Will spending Friday evening to early Monday at the cottage and the rest of the week in London, where he rented Simon’s spare room. As time passed, however, he more often went back there on Sunday afternoon, so he spent more time with Simon than he did with me.
But it seemed to work out. I liked my solitude to work and do country things during the week, then have his company at weekends, even if the furthest we ever got was only a pub lunch in a nearby village and Will spent most of the rest of his time on his phone or watching box sets. The anachronistic Sky dish was only installed because he insisted: the things you do for love.
I thought we were happy until the Great Plague began to raise its ugly and menacing head and it became more imperative to work from home, when you could …
Then, finally, came the threat of lockdown and I knew Will would have to move to the cottage very soon and work from there for the duration, at least.
I was sure he’d have preferred to stay in London, except that Simon’s fiancée had moved in with him and didn’t seem that keen on having Will there twenty-four seven.
It was all getting a bit last minute until the road accident happened and then Will told me he was leaving me.
After that, although there might be no Adam in Eden, this Eve did just fine on her own.
But now, it seemed, things were about to change.
*
The phone rang and when I picked it up, Evie’s crisp, clear voice demanded, without preamble: ‘What’s all this about the land behind your house being sold and the new owners wanting to buy Wisteria Cottage? Surely you must haveknownabout the sale? I mean, planning permission to build a large new house on the estate wouldn’t have been passed in five minutes!’
‘I only had the solicitor’s letter with the offer yesterday,’ I said, which is when I had emailed Liv about it.
‘Yes, but you must have had some idea of what was happening, unless your head was completely buried in the sand – or the plums, or whatever else you were turning into jam or wine at the time,’ she insisted.
‘I’ve been too taken up the last few weeks with Mrs Snowboots; she seemed to fade away so fast …’
‘Well, I’m sorry about the cat,’ Evie said. ‘But she was old, so it can’t have been entirely unexpected. But all this about the Brocklebank estate must have been going on long before you got distracted by the cat.’
‘Yes, that’s true. Once I got the letter and began to look back, I can see I missed all the warning signs. It must have been eighteen months ago when Eli mentioned the estate had been sold, but then nothing happened and I forgot about it. I mean, people buy land just as an investment and then do nothing with it, don’t they?’
‘No idea,’ she said shortly, ‘but if it was me, I’d have been concerned.’
‘The postwoman said the land had been bought by a pop star or film star, or some other big celebrity, who would build a new home on it, but she delivers gossip with the mail, so I didn’t take that seriously.’
‘Well, it looks like you should have, doesn’t it? After youremail, Liv chased up the planning application and they’ve passed the plans for a big modern house complex, with staff quarters. No idea who the buyer is, though.’
‘It was a bolt from the blue,’ I admitted. ‘And I can see everything is going to change, but I suppose they will build on the far side of the estate, near Mossing, and lots of the old trees in the woodland must have preservation orders on them, so they can’t chop everything down,’ I said hopefully.
