Dream Cottage (7 page)

“Very good, Maxim. Gretel; I wish you well. Goodbye!”

They watched as the Reverend clambered into his car and drove up the grassy track.

Max turned to Greta and placed his hands on her shoulders.

“Now, are you going to tell me what you really saw in there? I know you, funnily enough, and you looked way too freaked out for it to be a spider.”

Greta feigned a smile.

“It was nothing; nothing more than a hideous… you know what. It probably looked worse because it was dark in there. You know what my imagination is like,” Greta mumbled.

Max wasn’t convinced.

“I will get the truth out of you; even if I have to extract
it from your lips forcibly!” Max drew Greta close to him and gently kissed her lips.

Greta stood firm.

“Seriously, it was nothing to worry about. Come on, let’s go. Tell me what Mike said on the way back.”

Greta’s mobile phone was ringing. It was Max. Nearly three months had passed since the property negotiations and sale had commenced. He had some important but exciting news.

“Hi, are you sitting down, Mrs Berkley?” Max asked.

“Yes, I’m ready, fire away.” Greta sat down and placed her cup on to the coffee table.

“We are now the proud owners of Greenacres Farm! Contracts have just been exchanged with completion early next week!” Max announced with the faint air of excitement in his voice.

“Oh Max, that’s fantastic news! I am so very happy! Ooh! I could cry!” Greta whooped. “I must tell mummy straight away; you know she’ll want to throw a party in celebration, don’t you?”

“Of course. Right, now the next step is we get hold of Mike the architect and arrange for his team of elected builders to start the renovations. I will let you know more info when I know it myself. Better go, there’s lots to do!” Max ended the call.

Greta hugged her sides in excitement. Greenacres now belonged to them. She phoned Jeanne to tell her the news and was greeted with a deafening scream and a distant
whoop from her father. She then phoned the Reverend Oli to let him know. He too congratulated them on the successful sale. Greta sensed relief in his voice.

“I am very pleased for you and Maxim. I hope you will be very happy at Greenacres. I will miss the old place but I know it will be in very good, capable hands.”

At the Reverend’s choice of words, Greta’s mind flashed back to her encounter with the severed hand; she shuddered but remained outwardly calm.

“Of course it will, Reverend. Anyway, when we have finished the renovations, you must come and visit us, to see what we have done,” Greta kindly suggested.

“I would be delighted to,” he returned. “All the very best to you, Gretel! Goodbye!”

Greta needed to speak with her mother again.

“What time are you coming over, darling?”

Jeanne was in the kitchen, speaking to Greta on the phone and holding a wooden spoon over a large, beige mixing bowl that oozed with a creamy cake mixture and a strong aroma of vanilla essence.

“Friday evening. We have now got the keys. Reverend Oli sent them through by courier,” Greta replied. “We are meeting the architect on site first thing Saturday morning to run through the final plans with him and then the builders will start on Monday. Is it all right for us to stay with you and the father for the week, mummy? Well, me at least. Max will have to go back to London on Tuesday for work.”

“Of course it will be! Goodness me, I
am
your mother. The father is very keen to visit Greenacres; to see it for himself.”

“I know. All in good time, mummy,” Greta smiled as she visualised her bumbling father tripping over spent masonry and building equipment and her mother sighing in exasperation as she would be trying to keep him upright and under control.

“Don’t leave it too long, dear, or the father will be unbearable.” Jeanne dropped the spoon into the cake mixture handle first. “Oh blast!” she exclaimed and tried to fish it out of the gooey mix.

“No, we won’t mummy. See you about 8pm on Friday! Bye!” Greta sighed in relief as she successfully managed to wean herself off the phone to her mother. Ten minutes was impressive, for a change. Their conversations normally dwindled around the hour mark and her hand and wrist would be aching.

Greta sat on the bed where she had been packing clothes for their forthcoming visit to the Island. She couldn’t help wondering if Greenacres
was
haunted or whether it had been purely her vivid imagination. She was worried and doubts began to fill her mind. She needed reassurance that everything would be all right. She decided to phone Sophie.

“How are you?” Sophie’s familiar voice was a comfort to Greta.

“I don’t know; happy, scared, apprehensive…” Greta broke off and sniffed.

“What’s wrong, hun? You should be ecstatic; you have just bought your dream cottage! You’ll soon be living the dream!”

“Oh Soph; I don’t know… it’s just me…” Greta blurted out.

“It’ll be fine; there’s nothing to worry about… is there?” Sophie was slightly concerned over Greta’s reaction.

“I haven’t told anyone this,” Greta began. “But when
we were at Greenacres the other week, with the architect, I was in the drawing room… yes, of all places; when I saw this wall mounted dusty mirror and when I wiped the dust off the glass it… there was… this sounds so stupid now, there was a severed hand in the reflection of it. I freaked out completely! I couldn’t tell Max; I just couldn’t. After all, it is my dream; he is putting everything into this; our future, my happiness…”

“A
severed
hand?” Sophie sounded incredulous. “That must have been flipping awful! Whose was it?”

“What? I haven’t got a clue! Some poor person whose lost their hand; I don’t know, Sophie, I didn’t exactly want to hold a conversation with it! But when I screamed, I told Max it was a… you know…” Greta paused. Her breathing became laboured.

“Spider?” Sophie finished for her.

“Yes, it was the easiest thing for me to think of. No doubt there are legions of them in the cottage. It was the simplest white lie I could tell; you know I hate lying… to Max, to anyone.”

“Don’t let it ruin your happiness. It was more than likely your imagination was playing major tricks on you. I know what you’re like. You are susceptible to psychic things, aren’t you? House buying is really stressful; it was probably nothing more than your mind working on overdrive.”

“Yes, I do think I am a bit psychic, but for heaven’s sake, a severed hand; even I couldn’t think up anything as bizarre as that!” Greta started to giggle, as she thought back to her encounter.

“That’s it, treat it like a joke. It was probably something that Leo said to you, when you first visited the cottage. Him and his silly talk of ghosts and serial murders.” Sophie was reassured that Greta was finding the funny side to her encounter.

“Oh, I feel so much better having told you about it; it was pure torture pretending it was something else. Come to think of it, meeting up with, you know… them, won’t seem so bad now as meeting up with a stray hand.”

Sophie sensed the relief in Greta’s voice.

“You have got a great time ahead of you; all that planning, renovation works, watching it all transform into your dream cottage; it will be bloody fantastic! I am so envious of you!” Sophie replied.

“Promise you’ll come over and see it soon?” Greta had cheered up.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world! And don’t worry, I won’t mention anything to Max; there’s no need for him to know about your hand!”

“You are such a sweetie; thank you so much! Speak to you soon, bye!” Greta ended the call in a more positive frame of mind. She rose from the bed and closed the lid of the suitcase with a resounding thwack.

“Okay, Greenacres! Bring it on; I’m ready for you!”

Max and Greta stood in the drawing room at Greenacres. Neither spoke as they took in their surroundings. They smiled at each other. Greta held out her arms indicating she wanted to be hugged. Max obliged. Drawing her close to him, he tenderly kissed the top of her head.

“Happy?” His question was muffled amongst strands of Greta’s hair.

“Ecstatic!” was the reply. Greta held Max close to her. “I would’ve never believed that we would be here, in a country cottage, on the Isle of Wight, in the middle of nowhere, in such a short space of time.” Greta glanced up at the mirror and saw the mark her tissue had made to clear the glass. She closed her eyes and snuggled into Max’s embrace.

“I know.” Max stroked her hair. “It’s surprising what a little money, time and effort can achieve, without any complications too. Rev Oli was keen to get the deal done and dusted once it started, then there was certainly no stopping him!”

Greta broke free from Max but still held on to his hand.

“We will be all right, won’t we?” She sought reassurance. “You know, financially, physically?”

Max kissed Greta in a lustful and passionate manner. He spoke close to her lips amid kiss, “Umm hmmm!”

In the distance was an enthusiastic
halloo
.

Greta smiled and finished their embrace with a brief peck of Max’s nose.

“They’re here!”

“Here we go; hold on to your hats!” Max walked towards the doorway where Jeanne and Charles were stood on the threshold, awaiting their invitation to see inside Greenacres. Jeanne was clutching a bunch of flowers and a clanking carrier bag of glasses; Charles clung on to a small glass vase and a bottle of champagne. He raised it like he was toasting the house.

“Oh darlings! What a lovely little place! It oozes character, doesn’t it?” Jeanne traipsed over the threshold of the kitchen and fussed her way into the dining room. Charles was close behind. He narrowly missed stepping on Jeanne’s heel of her shoe in his eagerness.

“Charles dear! Do watch your step! For heaven’s sake!” Jeanne thrust her handbag and the carrier against his chest. “Hold on to my bag; I need to concentrate! It is so great, darling! Show me around!” she boomed.

Charles stood to attention; like a life model, he didn’t move an inch. He placed the vase awkwardly into Jeanne’s handbag and the champagne on to the floor. He fumbled with the carrier, making the glasses clank. Fortunately for him, he was ignored by Jeanne.

“This is the dining room, mummy. As you can see, loads of work to be done. In fact the whole cottage is in need of complete renovation.” Greta looked about her.

“Think of what it will look like when it is finished, dear. It will be fabulous!” Jeanne continued through to the living room, closely followed by Charles.

“Oh! Darlings! It has a
drawing
room! Oh well, this is it, then. Greenacres is perfect!” She tiptoed through the darkened room. “What a darling fireplace! Inglenook I believe?” Looking directly at Max, she tested her knowledge.

“Correct!” Max returned. He followed her into the living room. “Just a little replastering and paint work in here; just cosmetics, nothing major. Change of floor covering, or maybe exposed floorboards, new curtains…”

Jeanne continued on her tour of Greenacres. Charles, in silence, followed her like a puppy, obedient and loyal.

“This will be the perfect place for entertaining, dear.” Jeanne perused the four corners of the room. “I can visualise the father sitting in front of a roaring fire, holding a glass of sherry, gazing into the embers! How romantic! Oh, and an antique mirror. How wonderful! But it is rather, um, dusty!”

Greta held out her hand and ushered Jeanne towards the door, away from the mirror in case there was a repeat performance from her unwanted guest.

“Yes, it’s exquisite, isn’t it? Now, come and have a look upstairs, mummy. Let’s leave the boys here for a moment.”

The sound of footsteps on the bare floorboards disappeared upstairs amidst hoots of approval from Jeanne.

“You’ve done very well, my boy. This place will be a jolly good show. Do you think you’ll be happy here?” Charles asked.

“Yes, I do, Charles. However, I will have to stay in London for the foreseeable future. But I’ll be here at weekends. You know, have to keep the wolf from the door, so to speak. Have to be realistic. Still got the London gaff to pay for too!”

“Of course, my boy. Understand perfectly. The way to go though, as you are still young.” Charles nodded his
approval. “Greta will always have company; you know Jeanne will, no doubt, be a regular visitor. I know she won’t want to keep away!”

“Yes, as long as she gives Greta a
little
breathing space. If you get my meaning.” Max sowed the seed to ensure Jeanne didn’t become an unwelcome pest.

“I’ll make sure that she doesn’t visit
that
often.” Charles tapped his nose.

“Better join them before Jeanne sends out the search party. Oh, and we need to open that champers!” Max led Charles out of the living room. He offered him a hand over the uneven floorboards to prevent a catastrophe. Max didn’t feel the sharp blast of cold air sweep through the room as they left. It scattered the layer of dust on the mirror through the air like a stealth cloud.

Greta and Jeanne stood in the proposed master bedroom. It overlooked the fields and downs and faced the Smuggler’s Hide that stood on the hill in the distance.

“What a fantastic view, dear. Imagine waking up to that every morning.”

“I know,” Greta smiled. “Do you remember when we were in the pub? When I first saw this place. When we came down here with Laurel and Hardy. I just knew it was the place. Even from the outside; I could see through all the repairs and dilapidations and all the work that it needed. It just felt so right, so very much like we were destined to live here.”

“Always one to go with your gut instincts, aren’t you?” Jeanne warmly held on to Greta’s arm. “Sometimes, it’s the best way to be. The surest way to make your decisions.”

“I am a great believer of fate and that each person’s destiny is mapped out for them. They just have to find the right route.” Greta nodded to herself.

“Very true, dear. It didn’t take you long to find yours,
did it?” Jeanne hugged her daughter’s arm in appreciation.

They gazed out at the view across the fields and to the distant down land. There was a lone tractor working on the hillside, in silence, with only birdsong that could be heard including the intermittent call and flap of wings of a cock pheasant.

“When did you say the builders are starting work?” Jeanne broke the silence.

“Monday. Max and the architect will be here too. Poring over the plans, no doubt.”

“And who’s going to be the project manager?” Jeanne coined the phrase, pretending to sound intelligent and modern.

“Moi, of course!” Greta announced. “Max will be leaving on Monday evening and won’t be back until the weekend, so I will be overseeing what they do. How many cups of tea they drink; packets of biscuits they can devour.”

“Good job, dear. Need to keep the blighters on their toes. No slacking, eh? Lots of work to be done!”

“You sound like the father!” Greta laughed.

“The poor, dear, father. He means well; just gets under my feet,” Jeanne sighed. “Still, I wouldn’t want him any other way,” she added.

Jeanne began to walk around the bedroom.

“Will you be having an ensuite?”

“Yes, and a dressing room. There is just about enough space to fit them in. You must have a look at the plans. They look fantastic. I just hope it works!” Greta mused.

“And what about your job, darling? When will you be leaving?” Jeanne nonchalantly asked.

“My boss said that I can stay on, as a consultant; I will be able to work from home, with just the occasional trip up to London for meetings. I can’t wait!” Greta smiled.

“So you will be a permanent resident on our beautiful Island then?”

“Yep! Hopefully, I will be back home!” Greta replied.

“Is Maxim okay with that?” Jeanne gently probed.

“Well, he hasn’t said that he isn’t.”

“Wonderful, darling!” Jeanne kissed her daughter’s cheek. “You are such a lucky girl!”

Max and Charles joined them, clutching glasses and the champagne. Max elected to pop the cork with Charles holding firmly on to two glasses. Perfectly chilled, everyone raised charged glasses. Max proposed a toast.

“Here’s to a new life in the country; to Greta, to Jeanne and Charles for their home we will be using as a hotel and also to all the renovations! May they run as smoothly as clockwork!”

Glasses chinked and
‘hear, hear’
s echoed around the empty bedroom.

Max smiled at Greta who was wiping away a solitary tear from her cheek. “You made it back home!”

Greta mouthed to Max, “I love you!”