Authors: Stella Whitelaw
Lucas Coleman drove the last two miles from the station with occasional small talk that passed for conversation. Jessica was cold and wet and not listening. She appreciated that the man was trying to put her at her ease, but she could only wonder what on earth had possessed her to come out here to the wilds of the country. There was nothing but fields and hills in the pallid light. Civilization was receding fast.
‘Do you drive?’ he was asking.
‘Yes, of course. Doesn’t everyone?’
‘While you are with us, you can have use of my mother’s car. It’s a vintage Vanden Plas Austin Princess, and she’s very proud of it. In fact, I think she loves it more than she loves her family. It’s got little picnic trays in the back that let down, with a place to stand your drink. Very posh.’
‘Useful for picnics,’ said Jessica drily.
‘Automatic gears.’
‘I can change gears.’
‘I’m sure you can. Automatic takes a little getting used to. I’ve stalled it a couple of times. A bit tricky to start.’
‘It’s surprising that your mother lets you drive it then.’
‘She didn’t know,’ he said.
Jessica was beginning to think she had brought all the wrong clothes. It looked like Wellingtons, jerseys and anorak weather. The windscreen wipers were working overtime. Upton Hall would probably be unheated and her bedroom like ice. She
should have brought winceyette pyjamas, bed socks and a hot water bottle.
‘Does it rain every day down here?’
‘This is the wet season,’ he said, as if they lived in Asia.
‘I hope you are not expecting me to wear uniform all the time,’ she said.
‘No, of course, not. The kids would think they were in
hospital
. Just wear your own clothes. Be comfortable and warm. Lots of layers.’
The sounded ominous as if he was warning her that Upton Hall could be a chilly house. Well, she would soon change that. This fit and healthy looking man could flex his muscles
chopping
wood for a fire. She’d soon find him a couple of trees. There were plenty around.
‘What about my hours of work,’ Jessica went on, relentlessly. ‘Your letter didn’t say anything about my time off.’
‘Didn’t it? How very remiss. I should prefer it if you were with the children every weekend, both Saturday and Sunday, but you can certainly take time off during the week. They are both at school and the school bus picks them up at the end of the road. But there is always Lady Grace to look after. I don’t want her left alone for any length of time, not so soon after her operation.’
‘Patients usually recover quickly from a hip replacement. They need to keep moving. It’s not like the old days with endless bed rest.’ It didn’t sound as if she would have any time off. Jessica wished she had asked earlier.
‘As you think fit and proper,’ said Lucas, a renewed
coolness
entering his voice. ‘But I would remind you that you are employed to look after my mother and whole days off to go
gallivanting
to the shops are out of the question.’
‘I wasn’t planning to go gallivanting.’
‘Then we can work something out.’
‘Surely you could be around too, occasionally?’ said Jessica, with a note of sharpness. ‘There are times when you could look after the children and your mother and I could have an
afternoon off. A few hours perhaps?’
‘No, I’m not,’ he said curtly, closing the subject. ‘We’re nearly there. Look out for tall chimneys through the trees. This is Upton Hall.’
All Jessica could see were trees. They were driving through an avenue of close trees, the canopy of dripping leaves overhead like a cathedral roof. Her spirits fell. She didn’t even know what kind of trees they were. This was going to be disastrous. She could feel the despair growing. She was already homesick for her little London flat and wanted more than anything to turn round and go back to its safety. Then she remembered that she had let it to a friend of a friend for the whole three months, banking the rent. There was no going back.
‘Upton Hall,’ he said, with a degree of pride and utter
masculinity
. ‘The home of the Colemans for over a hundred years.’
Upton Hall was impressive, standing within the lea of a low pastured hill, sheltered on two sides from the worst of the wind. It was a two-storeyed stone building with leaded windows, with a tall tower at one end with wide curved bay windows, crenulated like a mock castle. The front door was of heavy oak, flanked by two columns and a porch of slate. Virginia creeper was turning to russet on the walls, warming the austere lines of the house.
‘It’s … it’s very grand,’ said Jessica, eventually, unable to find the right words. She had a hundred sudden impressions,
crowding
in. ‘How old is it?’
‘It’s a Victorian folly, built onto a medieval farmhouse and stables, we think. The farmhouse is at the back, part of it now the new kitchen, a utility room and garages. It’s rambling inside. You’ll get lost.’
‘I’m lost already,’ said Jessica.
Upton Hall was awesome, so much larger than anything she had ever seen before. But its grandeur had a certain gentleness, a timeless warmth.
The unhappiness in her voice was not lost on Lucas. He bent forward, his fiery, silver grey eyes for once tinged with concern.
‘Cheer up, Miss Harlow. You’ll love it once you get used to it. Upton Hall will grow on you.’
Jessica did not believe him. Nothing was going to sway her or make the next three months any easier. She would have to grit her teeth and get on with it. The handsome Lucas Coleman could be as pleasant and welcoming as he could manage, it would not make any difference. She hated the countryside, she hated trees and especially she hated wet trees, dripping everywhere.
‘Does it ever stop raining?’
‘Occasionally. We put out the flags and eat in the garden.’
‘Even in winter?’
‘Especially in the winter.’
Now he was laughing at her and that made the arrival even worse. The sooner she escaped to whatever damp bedroom was to be hers, the better. She would lock the door, become distant and withdrawn and go into a Jane Austen decline.
Lucas stopped the car in the curved drive and climbed out. He went round and opened the car door. Jessica was struggling to undo the safety belt.
‘Let me do that for you,’ he said, bending over her. For a second his unruly dark hair brushed her face and the shock was electric. The freshness of soap and water with his own manly scent was overwhelming, scant inches away. For a second Jessica could not breathe. It was an endless moment.
‘There. It’s an awkward one, too far back. Damned designers.’
He straightened up and held out his arm to assist her. The passenger seat of the Porsche was so low down, again Jessica was struggling. She had to use his arm as a lever, to get herself out of the seat. She was angry for being made to look such a fool when she was normally so calm and efficient. It washed over her in a turbulent wave. She brushed back wet hair from her face.
‘Thank you,’ she said, trying to regain her composure. ‘Damned stupid seat,’ she went on. ‘Built for a midget.’
‘And you are about five foot seven. I do agree. I have the same problem.’
Now that Lucas was standing beside her, she realized that he was over six feet. He would have to fold himself up to get inside the car. He was already getting her case out of the boot and
carrying
it towards the front door.
He turned round, seeing her hesitation. It was a long,
challenging
look.
‘Are you coming, or have you changed your mind already?’
Jessica did not know what to say. He was giving her a chance to back out. Say yes, and in twenty minutes she could be sitting on a wet platform, waiting for a train back to London, if there were any trains back to London at this time.
‘I’m coming.’
It didn’t sound like her at all. Some other person was
speaking
. Some strange woman that she didn’t know. The real Jessica Harlow had gone into hibernation.
The hall floor was tiled with black and white squares. A curving staircase led to the upper regions. Busts of Greek philosophers stood on marble pillars and portraits of ancestors in oil glared down from the walls.
Someone had put bursts of wild flowers on side tables and their scent was overwhelming. The huge vases looked antique and valuable.
‘Mrs Harris, the housekeeper,’ said Lucas, putting down her case and bag. ‘She has a mania for picking flowers but no sense on how to arrange them. It requires a special skill. Perhaps you can do flowers. Let me show you round.’
He opened a door to the left. It was a long, gracious room in ivory and pale blue with a grand piano, armchairs and more portraits. ‘The sitting room,’ he announced. ‘My mother uses it when she has bridge parties.’
Jessica could not imagine anyone sitting there and feeling comfortable. It was stiff and unused. A room that was kept for best and best never happened.
Lucas turned right off the hall. ‘The library. No overdue fines.’
The room was wall to wall leather-bound books, ninety-nine per cent unread. But Jessica spotted a small clutch of modern novels on a side table. It also had a computer at a desk
overlooking
the drive. The several armchairs were deep and inviting, well used. There was a small wine cooler in a corner.
‘Can you use a computer?’ he asked.
‘I’m not from outer space,’ she answered, biting off each word.
‘You may use this one. Remind me to give you the password.’
Lucas nodded, then opened sliding doors in a wall between the bookcases. ‘This leads into the dining room. So if we hold a party, we can use both rooms. Unfortunately, we rarely hold parties. Such a pity. This house was made for parties.’
The dining room was beautiful with eau de nil walls, toning carpet and curtains. More portraits on the walls. A long polished walnut table that could seat at least twelve people. Jessica hoped she would not have to eat here.
‘How do you talk to each other?’ she asked. ‘With walkie-talkies?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘We don’t sit marooned at either end. We sit together, here at the top. It’s really pleasant. Nearer the kitchen, so the food is always hot.’
He took her up a few steps into a strangely bleak area,
whitewashed
walls and low ceiling. There was nothing in it, apart from a stone inglenook fireplace. The floor was made up of huge slabs of uneven slate. Their size was amazing.
‘We think this is the oldest part of the house, perhaps even before the farmhouse. Maybe it’s all that is left of some
medieval
hall. This middle post has been dated back to 1412. All the rest has gone.’
The post was thick and blackened, gnarled and sturdy enough to hold up a roof. Lucas stood with his arms laced easily round the post in an embrace, something he had done since a child. He was looking at the post fondly.
‘How do they know how old it is?’ Jessica asked.
‘They took a core sample,’ he said. ‘It’s the tiniest plug of
wood. They can tell the date by the year rings. It’s very clever and very accurate.’
‘No graffiti?’
‘Not on our rings.’
‘I’m relieved.’
They went back into the hall and began climbing. The stairs divided halfway and Lucas took her first to the left. ‘The kid’s bedrooms are in this wing. They have a bedroom each, a family bathroom, and their nanny’s room is next door.’
‘Do I have the nanny’s room, then?’ Jessica felt this was to be her place in their life. She was the nanny, single bed, no radiator, no fire, cramped and soulless..
‘No way, Miss Harlow. Follow me.’ He led her across the wide landing. Jessica reckoned they must be nearing the tower. ‘My mother has the front bedroom in the tower. It’s a beautiful room with big windows that look out onto the garden, the best in the house. You are in the guest room, next to hers. It’s called the Primrose Room. I think you’ll like it.’ He threw open the door.
It was as big as her entire flat in London with pale yellow walls and cream paintwork; buttermilk damask curtains with matching cover on the double bed. A sofa covered in saffron velvet toned with the carpet; a desk by the window, and an upright chair with upholstered seat in the same velvet. The room was warm and radiated light. ‘En suite through there,’ Lucas added, pointing to a far door.
Jessica went over to the window. The view was of rolling hills and dappled fields, the hedges and crops of trees like a painting. Nothing moved. It was so still, emptiness and clarity stole the scene. It had even stopped raining. So unlike the rooftop view from her North London flat of ugly buildings, refuse bins and scaffolding, parked lorries and neon street lights.
‘Thank you,’ she said with genuine warmth. ‘I love the room.’
Lucas did a mock sigh of relief. ‘Glad to have got something right at last.’
‘So where’s your room?’
Jessica had not meant to ask but it came without thinking. She did not want to bump into him in the night. Coming home late from a party.
‘I have a makeshift sort of room, somewhere to bunk down, over the garage stables. I’m not here much. You won’t bump into me in the night,’ he added, reading her thoughts. ‘You may want to tidy up before meeting my mother. She’s very particular. I’ll bring up your case.’
The buttercup tiled bathroom was as pretty as the bedroom. Jessica had another sigh of relief. She was going to be so comfortable here. Some of her misgivings faded, her spirit recovering. But she still tested the lock on the door.
She was dishevelled by the wind and rain and all her subtle make-up had disappeared. She set to and repaired the damage so that Lady Grace would get a good impression. Her high-heeled shoes were muddied and she changed into a pair of flat black suede slip-ons. Her wet jacket was hung behind the bathroom door to dry.
She tucked her white shirt into the plain navy skirt, added a red patterned silk scarf to her throat and she was ready to face the dragon.
‘So you are the nurse who is supposed to look after me and make sure I do all the right things,’ said Lady Grace with a decided lack of grace. ‘You’re a bit too young and skinny for my idea of a nurse. Are you properly trained? Supposing I fell?’