Seen closer up, he estimated her age to be somewhere in the middle-to-late thirties. There was paint on her face, and the old headscarf she was wearing to protect her hair gave her a curiously asexual appearance. Her expression was mildly antagonistic, suggesting that she undoubtedly resented his intrusion. He wasn’t quite sure what he had expected on arrival, but this lack of at least a mildly civil welcome from this stony-faced woman wasn’t it. The overall impression she presented was of a person who was either in a bad mood for some reason, or just perhaps exhibiting the fact that she was of a naturally sour disposition.
“Yes,” he answered, “that is me.”
She produced a set of keys from the pocket of her jeans and handed them in to him through the open car window.
“The hot water system is on, with fresh towels in the main bathroom. I’ve put clean linen in the bed of the room at the back on the first floor. There are drinks in the study, and the house has been ventilated. There is a direct phone-line to my flat from the study. You will find a mobile control for the gate on the hall-stand, with a fixed one in the kitchen. Will you be requiring a hot meal this evening?”
Her recital of preparations was delivered in a manner that made him feel like an unwelcome irritation. There was not a hint of a smile on her face and yet her eyes never left his, as if defying him to make some adverse comment. His initial reaction was to decline the offer of a meal, but there was something about her barely concealed hostility that aroused his curiosity. How on earth did such an unpleasant creature ever hold down a position as a housekeeper? Dinner was something he had not thought about, but if it gave him an opportunity to find out a bit more about the woman who, whether he liked it or not, was his tenant, accepting the offer might provide the opportunity.
“If it’s not too much trouble,” he said quietly, and trying not to sound slightly sarcastic.
“It will be no trouble,” she said without expression. “Will seven o’clock suit you?”
“Yes, that will be fine.”
She made no response as she turned and walked back the way she had come. There was no smile and no backward glance, it was almost as if he didn’t exist as far as she was concerned. As he watched her retreating form he thought her covertly hostile attitude was at best curious. Did she actually resent his presence, or was it just her nature to be off-hand with everyone? He tried his best to be charitably disposed towards her by wondering if maybe she had been attached to his late uncle, and feared that a new owner was going to make life difficult for her. He smiled inwardly; if she kept up that attitude towards his presence, maybe he would at that.
Dismissing her from his mind, he drove up to the front of the building and parked the car. He looked over the ivy-covered façade for a few moments, and then stepped out onto the drive. There was quite a lot of bird song emanating mainly from the fringe of trees that marked the boundaries of the property, and the pleasant aroma of a wide variety of blossom sweetened the air. He lifted his cases out of the boot and then ascended the worn steps that led up to the imposing front door. The key slid into the lock easily, and the door opened on well-oiled hinges.
He stepped through into a wide hallway, and once across the threshold he placed his cases down as he glanced round. In a way the interior of the house was as he vaguely remembered it from many years ago, although again, not quite as large and imposing as it had seemed to him as a small child. No doubt the difference in stature between that of the child and the adult would account for some of that. He recalled that the door leading off the hallway to the right led into the lounge, and the door facing it on the opposite side was the access to his late uncle’s study. Across the hallway was the dining room, and opposite this was the breakfast room. At the far end was a door that in years gone by had led to the servant’s hall. He smiled inwardly as that thought crossed his mind; apart from a few really grand establishments, the practice of keeping servants had gradually faded out after the First World War. By the time he had visited the house as a child, the area had already been converted into a large kitchen and utilities room. He recollected that both the breakfast and dining rooms had French windows leading out to the rear garden, unless these had since been removed.
None of the internal doors were locked, and on glancing into the lounge he saw that it was furnished in the elegant if somewhat old-fashioned style of a bygone era. Contrary to his expectations there was not a dust-sheet in evidence, and as he browsed round the room he noted in passing that someone, no doubt the formidable Mrs Brent, had cleaned and dusted everything to perfection. There were even fresh flowers in an antique vase. Somehow, he couldn’t quite picture the woman he had briefly met spending her time gathering flowers for a new owner, and then pointedly failing to make him feel in the least welcome.
Leaving the lounge, he crossed the hall to the study. Once again, although the room was probably just as his uncle had left it, there was not a speck of dust to be seen. The walls were lined with bookshelves, and on browsing through a couple of volumes he was interested to note that even these had no trace of dust. Whatever her appearance and manner, Mrs Brent seemed to be an extremely diligent housekeeper. The dining and breakfast rooms were in similar good order, and the French windows were still in-situ, giving a clear view of the garden beyond. Like the grounds at the front, those to the rear were well maintained, bordered by trees, and not overlooked from any side. There was a large patio outside the breakfast room, which probably caught the morning sun. It was furnished with good quality garden furniture, and no doubt in happier days his uncle had eaten there in company with his wife. He saw that a large awning had been installed that could be pulled out much like an old fashioned shop’s blind to give protection from the sun if required, or perhaps from the occasional shower on an otherwise pleasant day.
Returning eventually into the hallway he paused for a few minutes as a long forgotten memory stirred hazily at the back of his mind. He looked up at the rather ornate staircase that led away from a point a few feet past the entrance to the dining room. He was almost certain that there had been a doorway in the panelling in the side of this and obviously his memory was at fault, for there was certainly none visible now. Looking at the configuration of the oak panelling, he soon came to the conclusion that as a child he had obviously mistaken one of these panels for a door. He glanced briefly through into the kitchen area to discover unsurprisingly it had been completely modernised since his childhood visit. He vividly recalled the huge scrubbed table that had held pride of place in the centre of the room when he last visited the house, along with the large welsh dresser to one side, and of course the old fashioned range. It was all gone now, replaced by fitted units, washing machine, cooker, microwave oven and all manner of culinary aids. In place of the old scrub-top table stood a very modern kitchen one, with four chairs placed round it. Everything was in a pristine condition.
He crossed the room and opened the door that gave access to the rear of the house. The old solid wooden affair that he remembered had long since vanished, and its replacement had a large glass panel in it that gave additional light in that part of the kitchen. Beyond the door was another large patio leading into a kitchen garden, in which a good selection of healthy looking vegetables gave evidence of recent care. Judging from appearances, even following the death of his uncle, those people that had worked for him had continued to care for his home as if he was still with them.
He returned into the building, locking the door behind him, and retraced his steps to the hallway. He collected his cases from where he had placed them close to the front door, and carried them up the thickly carpeted stairs. The room at the back had been prepared for him, Mrs Brent had said. As he subsequently discovered following a leisurely browse round on the first floor, this was the smallest of the four bedrooms, although still of a respectable size and bright and airy. It looked out over the restful vista of the rear garden, and no doubt caught the morning sun. The room was nicely decorated, and furnished with a comfortable double bed. Just looking at the bed brought a sudden pang of sorrow. If only it had been a single bed it might have helped. He tried to turn his mind away from Alicia as he unpacked his clothing and personal effects, stowing them in the drawers of the dressing table or into the large oak wardrobe.
There was no en-suite, and that was only to be expected in the circumstances. There was a large bathroom complete with a shower adjacent to the room he was using, and here he placed his toiletries. He finished his preliminary examination of the building by looking briefly into the other bedrooms, which were all clean and tidy, but with dust-sheets over the beds and other furniture, the first he had seen in the building. There was a further flight of stairs leading to what used to be servants quarters, and it was evident from a cursory glance that these were now used solely as box rooms. He half expected to find accumulated dust in a part of the house that was manifestly unused, yet once again, although the rooms were well cluttered with junk, everything was as clean as if it had been attended to that very day.
Returning once more to the ground floor, he walked out from the dining room French windows and took a stroll down the surprisingly extensive garden, admiring the variety of plants and shrubs on display. It was a garden that would undoubtedly have delighted Alicia, and once again the familiar pang struck him as he thought about her and the fact that she would never be able to see it for herself. About half way down the garden, just beyond a screen of neatly pruned evergreens, he came across the large ornamental pond complete with a fountain that he vaguely remembered from his childhood. There was a seat beside this, situated in a sort of rose bower, and he stayed there for a while watching the carp and other fish in the water as well as the occasional bird that came down to drink or bathe in the purpose-built shallows at one end. He sat there for a quite a while, just relaxing and enjoying the rural peace of the spot. Eventually he stirred himself and returned into the house where he ascended to his room once again to finish sorting out his luggage. With the task complete, he went off to enjoy a shower. Have completed this, he returned once more to the lower floor. As he turned into the hallway from the foot of the stairs he was mildly startled when the door to the kitchen opened and Mrs Brent’s head appeared.
“If you would care to go through to the dining room,” she said in much the same cold tones as she had used earlier, “your meal will be served in a few minutes.”
Without waiting for a response she vanished within the precincts of the kitchen once more.
He hadn’t even been aware of her entering the house; obviously the keys she had passed on to him were not the only set. From the brief glimpse he had caught of her he deduced that she had either finished or abandoned her decorating or whatever it was that she had been engaged upon when he had arrived. There were no longer any paint smudges visible, and her dark brown hair had been drawn back into what might have been a bun, although he couldn’t be sure. There was still nothing even remotely friendly in her manner or expression. He wondered briefly what it was that caused her to betray so much palpable resentment of his presence. He obediently entered the dining room, and noticed at once that she had set a place for him at the head of the polished mahogany table. He settled himself into the comfortable dining chair in his appointed position and a short while later she came into the room bearing a large tray, which she set down on the serving-table adjacent to where he was seated.
“Cold chicken,” she announced, picking up a plate and placing it before him “Side salad, and a jacket-potato. There’s cheese and biscuits to follow, or fruit here if you prefer. The percolator is over there on the sideboard. Do you wish wine?”
It was the same, cold, efficient and completely distant manner.
“Thank you, no, this will be fine” he responded.
“Very well; if you require anything else tonight, you know how to contact me,” she said, straightening up. “As I advised you earlier, the gates are controlled from the remote I observe you have not as yet collected from the hall-stand. There is a fixed control in the kitchen. Perhaps tomorrow you will let me know if you will be eating in or out, how long you propose remaining in residence, together with some idea of your tastes in order that I may prepare you meals as required.”
“Will you not stay and talk for a while now?” he asked tentatively.
“I’m sorry; I have a lot of work to do.” She said it without a trace of feeling.
“I see; then I must not detain you,” he conceded. “Could you spare me a few minutes at, say, ten o’clock tomorrow morning?”
For a moment he thought that she was going to refuse.
“Would you like a cooked breakfast?” she asked, seemingly avoiding giving him a direct answer.