Starr Destined (Starr Series) (35 page)

“No.  I totally trust Liam, and he knows all about that kind of thing.”  I squeezed his hand, and smiled at him, thinking how good it was right now to have him by my side.  My solid, dependable rock. 

“As you wish, Miss Jones, but we can sort all the finer details later.  The good thing is that we’ve a
lready cleared probate while we were tracking you down, so that speeds things along somewhat.  Apart from the stocks and shares, there are various sums in different bank accounts, which have been itemised here for you.” 

He handed me a sheet of paper, and I gasped when I saw the figures.

“Here, you’re far more used to dealing with these kind of sums than I am,” I shoved the paper at Liam, and watched his expression change.

“Bloody hell!”

“Quite so, Mr. Starr.  In addition, there are also several properties, the main one being a large detached house with extensive grounds, not far from here in Primrose Hill.  This is where Harry Jones spent the last years of his life, and where he died, having lived in just one of the rooms at the end, from what I understand.  For the purposes of probate, the property has been provisionally valued, but I understand it’s in urgent need of a considerable amount of restorative work before it could be considered as properly habitable.  One option would be to sell it just as it is, because I'm certain it would be snapped up by developers, keen to put up flats or houses on that large plot of land once the old house had been demolished.”

“That’s what’s happening everywhere in London,” Liam agreed.  “All these big old houses are fast disappearing.”

“Yes, the authorities are all for infilling existing housing sites, rather than touching new green field sites,” he agreed.  “Seems such a shame to me, but there we are.  So, apart from the main London property, there is another property out in Spain as well, although I gather that has been looked after by an agent out there for years, so you could let that arrangement continue for the time being if you wished to keep things simple,” he suggested.

“I don't know what to say or think about any of this, to be honest.  I’m still not sure I want to a
ccept any of it, or even have anything to do with it.  Not after hearing about the heartless way my grandparents treated my parents, and especially how they turned their backs on my mother.”

The thought that Mum had been left virtually penniless to bring me up, when they could so easily have helped her out made me very angry. 

“The fact of the matter is that it all comes to you, whether you want it or not.  However, what you choose to do with it after that is entirely up to you, Miss Jones,”   Felix Pond smiled.  “You may wish to consider the option of supporting deserving charitable causes of your choice, or even setting up your own charitable foundation.”

“There’s also nothing wrong in being financially secure in your own right, Seraphina.  Just because your grandfather was a stubborn old fool, who ended up a very lonely old man by the sounds of things, doesn’t mean you have to act equally as stubbornly by giving away your inheritance,” Liam pointed out, as the solicitor nodded in agreement.

“Mr. Starr has a very valid point, Miss Jones.  Maybe it’s time this wealth was put to good use, and I imagine you could do just that.  Also, aren’t you curious to find out a little more about your father’s family, and maybe see the home where he grew up?”

Because I’d always thought they were dead, I’d never really given my father’s family much consider
ation at all.  I knew all about my mum’s side of the family in Ireland, of course, and I’d always assumed that was where I'd inherited my dark hair and pale skin from.  But now the solicitor had said I looked like my other grandmother, I suppose that did pique my interest somewhat.

“Liam, would you help me go through the financial side of things, if Mr. Pond gives us a breakdown of it all?  Then I can decide where I go from here.”

“Of course, you know I’ll be only too happy to do that for you,” Liam smiled reassuringly.  Having him there with me was the only thing stopping me from being totally overwhelmed by the turn of events.

The house that I’d been left by my grandfather was in a quiet tree lined avenue in Primrose Hill.  I pulled onto the spacious drive in my blue Mini on a gloomy November afternoon, and parked next to the big black Mitsubishi Warrior pick-up on the drive.  I assumed that must belong to Andrew, knowing Liam had arranged for him to meet us here so that he could look round and give us the benefit of his wisdom. 

So far, I’d stubbornly refused to have anything whatsoever to do with this place I’d inherited from my grandfather, the one who’d severed all ties with my father just because he’d defied him by fo
llowing his heart and marrying my mother against his wishes.    

So I’d not looked at any of the papers or documents to do with the house
, having made up my mind that it should just be disposed of as quickly as possible, to one of the eager developers who were already circling round like a pack of wolves, keen to snap up a juicy morsel ahead of the rest of the pack. 

Liam, however, was equally as stubborn, and kept banging on and on, insisting that I should at least look at the house before it was demolished, and in the end I’d agreed just to shut him up.

I couldn’t see Andrew anywhere, but I guessed he was probably having a look around the back before I arrived with the keys to let him in.  Liam had rung to say he was running late as he’d got stuck in traffic on his way back from his meeting in Luton, but he’d be there as soon as he could.

I got out of my car, and stood back for a minute to study the house.

My breath caught in my throat as I looked up at it. 

I’d never been here before, and yet I’d seen this place hundreds of times before. 

As a little girl growing up, I’d spent hours daydreaming of the perfect fairytale house where I would live one day.  At night when I slept, I’d dream about it again.

This perfect house would have a turret, and it’d have a big, round-shaped bedroom in that turret.  It was always the same house, red brick, Edwardian style, with double fronted bay windows, and a front door with an ornate arched whitewood surround.  The front garden would have a large wee
ping willow tree, with large droopy branches swaying and rustling in the breeze.

Now I found myself standing looking at the house I’d seen in my dreams.  I knew it was impossible, yet here it was, with the most wondrous turret, and even the weeping willow tree in the garden, though that was very overgrown.  It was the same house, but obviously very run-down and tatty.  Unloved.  Neglected.  That made me feel so sad.

‘You are home,’
something seemed to call to me. 
‘Rescue me.  Save me.  Love me’.

I noticed the wooden nameplate on the wall by the door.

‘Grangewood’. 

Of course, I would never know why that name had been chosen, because there was no one left who could fill me in.

I sighed as I tried to imagine happier times, of my dad as a little boy, running up the drive to the front door to be greeted by his smiling mother, but I couldn’t – maybe because I had very few pictures of Dad, and none at all of when he was a child.  I hadn't wanted to look through any of the old documents and photos the solicitor had handed over to me.  I’d been sorely tempted to just burn the lot, but Liam had persuaded me to curb the impulse and instead hand them over to him for safekeeping, until I felt ready to look at them.  His was the voice of calm and reason throughout, balancing out my anger and frustration - our own version of Yin and Yang. 

I looked up as I heard Andrew calling out as he appeared from round the side of the house.

“Good afternoon, Miss Jones.  I hope you didn’t mind, I thought I might as well take a quick look round the back of this place while I was waiting for you to arrive,” he smiled.

“Andrew, I've told you before, please call me Sera,” I smiled back.  “And of course I don’t mind you looking round - that’s what you’re here for isn’t it?  You know Liam’s been held up?”

“Aye, he did let me know.  So, do you want to wait for him, or shall we make a start before the light fades?  I've got torches, but I’d rather we looked round in reasonable light, as I've no idea what we’re going to find by way of rot, woodworm or damp.  This old place has obviously not had any maintenance for years,” he tutted. 

“Well, we’ll give him a little longer, although I’ve no idea how long he’s going to be,” I suggested, knowing that Liam would want to be involved, but impatient to get on with looking round the place.

“So, your grandfather was
the
Harry Jones, of Jones Construction?”  Andrew asked, as we stood waiting on that cold November afternoon.  It was the kind of chilly, damp cold that quickly seeped into your bones when you were just hanging around like this.

“So it seems, yes.  Why, did you know him?”  I stamped my feet in an effort to try and keep warm.

At least I was wearing my favourite warm furry hat with the earflaps - the one Liam always teased me about, saying what a silly hat it was.  Secretly, I suspected he rather liked it, because it always made him smile whenever I wore it.  I thought I might get him one of his own for his birthday, just as a joke.  I felt it was my mission to make him smile and laugh, because he was still so serious a lot of the time.  I wrapped my coat tightly around me, then stuffed my hands in my pockets against the cold. 

“Well, I knew
of
him, because after I left school and moved down to London to find work - which was more years ago than I care to remember - my first job was with Jones Construction.  I was just a lowly apprentice, so the Guvnor never had anything to do with the likes of me, much to my relief, because Harry Jones had a fearsome reputation - it was said he could make grown men cry.  But whatever anyone said about him, he always made sure the firm ran like clockwork, and if anyone could bring a job in on time and on budget, everyone knew it was Harry Jones.”

“He sounds like a proper charmer,” I murmured.  Then a thought occurred to me, as I quickly worked out that Andrew would probably have been a similar age to my dad.  “Wait, did you know my father, Alexander, if you were working for Jones Construction around that time?” 

“Well, I wouldn’t exactly say I knew your father very well, but we did work together once or twice, because his father insisted he had to learn the business from the bottom up.  From what I can remember, Alex was a nice fella, much more approachable than his father.”

“So you knew my dad?  How weird is all this, Andrew?  ” I was actually talking to someone who’d known my dad, who’d worked with him and talked to him. 

“I can’t say I knew him very well, and of course I had no idea you were his daughter until now,” he elaborated.  “But yes, it does seem weird that you’re actually one of the ‘Jones Construction’ Jones.  It never occurred to me before now to make the connection.”

“Well, why would you with such a common name?  How long did you work for the company an
yhow?”  I asked curiously.

“Until I finished my apprenticeship.  To be honest, once the old man sold the business it was never the same, and I couldn’t wait to leave.  For all his faults, Harry sailed a tight ship, and you always felt you’d done a good job, because he demanded the highest standards from all the tradesmen in his company.  He didn’t believe in cutting corners, so you always did your best, knowing you’d get the sack if you didn’t.  When Harry retired and the company changed hands, standards dropped, and I didn’t get the same job satisfaction.  So I left to set up my own company when I realised there was a niche market, working for wealthier clients who didn’t have the time to source the various trade
smen to get a job done, whereas I had all the necessary connections to know who’d do a good job, ” he explained.

“Did you know anything about this huge falling out between Harry and Alex?”  I probed.

“We all heard about it at the time, although I was never aware of any of the finer details.  I don’t think anyone was that surprised that father and son had a parting of the ways, but I think everyone assumed they would eventually patch things up.  No one could have foreseen that your father would be killed at such a tragically young age, and I know the old man was devastated, especially as his wife blamed him to a large degree, and then of course he lost her too, allegedly from a broken heart.  All very tragic.”

“Indeed,” I sighed, having heard enough sad tales for now.  “Look, I think we’ve waited long enough for Liam, so we might as well go ahead and look round this place, otherwise it’ll be getting dark.  He’ll just have to catch up when he gets here.” 

“Yes, I think you’re right.  It gets dark so early at this time of year,” Andrew agreed.

I fumbled in my bag to retrieve the keys to the place, and headed to the front door, where I noticed a small, sleek black cat, just patiently waiting there.

I smiled even as I shook my head in disbelief.  I knew this had to be a little lady cat, because she always was in my dreams.  A friendly little black cat sitting there, with her tail neatly wrapped around her front paws to keep the cold out, just like this one.

As we approached, she mewed and then came up to rub herself around my legs.

“Hello, kitty cat,” I murmured.  I bent down to stroke her head, and she purred with pleasure.  “Come to say hello, have you?” 

“Don't let that thing in, or we’ll have a hell of a job getting it out again,” Andrew frowned, as he shooed her away.

The cat looked at him with total disdain, then went and sat at the end of the drive where she started to groom herself, licking her paw and then washing right over her ear.

“Looks like we’ll be getting rain later,” I murmured.  Andrew stared at me as if I'd totally lost the plot.

“Obviously not a believer in old wives’ tales and traditions,
” I thought to myself.

After working out which was the right key, I tried to let us in, but the door was very stiff.  It refused to budge until Andrew gave it a good hard shove with his shoulder, then we practically fell in.

The first thing that hit me was the cold, damp atmosphere in the large square hallway - it smelt of neglect and decay.

‘You could fix me’
, that voice whispered again.

“Where shall we start?”  I found myself speaking quietly, as if we were somehow intruding.  I had to remind myself that this was actually my house now, and I had every right to be there.

“Up to you.  Start at the bottom and work up, maybe?”  Andrew suggested.

“Do you mind going first?  Just in case there are any mice or other nasty things.”

Spiders I could deal with, but mice, or worse still rats, were another matter.  I found myself thinking we should have let the cat come in with us to scare any rodents away.

“Sure.  I think the kitchen is this way, according to the floor plan I was given,” he held out his arm to indicate.

I was glad Andrew was with me as we walked into the room, because I assumed the large kitchen was probably where my grandfather had lived at the end, and most likely where he’d died, all alone, his body lying undiscovered for weeks.  

The room was empty of furniture, and had such a sad aura about it, that I found myself shivering and rubbing my arms.

“You could change this.” 
I tried to ignore that voice again, determined to do the most practical and logical thing here, not be influenced by old ghosts.

“There’s the old central heating boiler, which I’ve no doubt would be condemned and have to be ripped out,” Andrew pointed out, focusing on the practical aspects.  I wondered if he was picking up the same vibes as me, or whether it was just my over-sensitive nature.  “And that door leads through to a small conservatory, but it’s literally falling apart, so it would have to be ripped down.  My su
ggestion would be to start afresh, build a complete new extension across the whole of the back of the building, then you could totally refigure the whole place.  Of course, if you sold it, you wouldn’t have to worry about any of that.  It’s a large plot of land, so the first thing the developers would do is demolish this house to maximise the potential of the whole site.”

“Yes, that’s probably the most sensible option,” I murmured, still trying to ignore all the whispers I could hear begging me to do no such thing.  But I couldn’t help myself; as I looked around, I found myself wondering what ideas a talented architect could come up with for this place that I’d been so determined to dispose of.

“Shall we move on?”  I nodded towards the doorway to the hall, so that we could go and explore the other rooms downstairs.  There was a lounge, a dining room, a study, and a downstairs cloakroom.  All were very neglected and dated, although some of the furniture looked as if it might be worth cleaning up, if someone could be bothered. 

Far easier if it all got chucked into a skip and taken to the dump, I told myself.  Be practical.

Then we headed to the hall to make our way upstairs, and as we went up and rounded the first bend of the stairs, I gasped.

“Wow.  Would you look at that.”

I stood totally entranced by a beautiful, large, arched stained glass window.  It had the late afternoon sun streaming through it, in defiance of the earlier gloom, which highlighted the wonderful colours in the design.  In the middle, was the image of an angel, with long dark hair, dressed in a flowing white gown.  I was no expert, but I was sure this had to be an original Art Nouveau Arts and Crafts piece.  I was mesmerised by it, having always adored anything from that era.