Ghosts of Winter (28 page)

“I’d love to know more about your mother’s life there, as a housemaid,” I said. It struck me again what a huge repository of life stories Winter was. Generations before me or Auntie Edie, guests and servants, the rich and the poor. So many lives lived in the house or just passed through. So ethereal and fleeting when Winter was so solid. I didn’t believe the spirits of the dead walked, but I knew the ghosts or echoes of those stories were there. I was guardian of them now. To my astonishment, I found I rather liked the idea, huge responsibility though it was.

“She was called May. I’ll dig out some old pictures for you,” Maggie said. “I think there’s even one or two taken at Winter.”

“Thank you, that would be wonderful,” I replied.

We talked more about the potential for Winter, and she told me some of the points of interest in the local area, and then my washing was finished. As I unloaded the machine, Maggie left the room. She returned holding a small white envelope.

“Sorry, pet, I forgot before. This came for you just before Christmas, when we had all that snow. The postman mentioned he had a letter for you, but he wasn’t sure he’d be able to get through your gates or down the driveway in the snow—I clear ours in the tractor you know—so I said I’d take it for you.”

I looked at the square envelope warily for a moment. I’d found something good to dwell on today, I didn’t want bad news. Maggie handed it to me, and I turned it over to look at the handwriting on the envelope. Jeanne. I felt sick with nervous tension as I ripped open the envelope. Inside was a Christmas card with a picture of a cheerful robin on the front. I opened it and read what she had written:
To Ros, Happy Christmas. With love from Phil, Jeanne, and Madeline xxx

Then I noticed that there was writing on the other half of the card. I read it quickly:
Ros, I think we should talk in the New Year. Things between us haven’t been right for a while. Why have you moved so far north? Please call me. J xx

My heart leapt. That Jeanne had a moment in her busy, efficient family life to think about me and the state of our relationship took me by surprise. The reminder that she did care for me after all was very welcome. If my relationship with my sister was not irretrievably damaged by all that had happened over the last year, maybe a lot more could be salvaged than I’d been counting on. Maybe I wasn’t so lost after all. I knew the doubts would return and there would be obstacles. There was no way it would be so simple. But still, I smiled because there was also hope.

I noticed Maggie watching me keenly again. “It’s a Christmas card from my sister,” I told her. “I haven’t heard from her in a while.”

“That’s lovely. What’s her name?”

“Jeanne. She’s five years younger than me.”

“That’s lovely.” Maggie looked as though she was waiting for me to say more. She was so open it was easy to confide in her a little.

“We didn’t always get on so well. Jeanne and Mum were really close. They had a lot more in common than I did with either of them, and I always felt a little excluded. Then Jeanne went and got married and had a baby, and managed it all so well. She copes with everything really well. Better than I do.” I smiled slightly, surprised how much I’d confessed to Maggie.

“Everyone copes differently, pet,” she said. “One way’s not better than another. Just different. I wouldn’t mind betting there’s things you do she wishes she could.”

“I can’t think of any.” I smiled ruefully as I pondered this idea.

“Would she move halfway across the country and renovate a rambling old place like Winter?”

I thought of Jeanne, happy in her little town house just a few miles from where we’d grown up. Her ambitions had always been focused on family and home. Doing what I was now undertaking wouldn’t even cross her mind. “No,” I told Maggie. “But she wouldn’t want to.”

“Would you want her life?” Maggie asked. I understood her implication instantly. If I wouldn’t want to live as Jeanne did, there was no point comparing myself with her. We were different.

“No. No, I wouldn’t.”

“She probably thinks you’re very brave, pet.” Maggie patted my arm.

“She doesn’t really know what I’m doing up here. I’ve not explained it to her.”

“Maybe it’s time you did. Life’s too short and all that. Can’t get it back, pet.”

Maggie’s words caused an unexpected sting of tears. She was right. I’d been wasting time for too long. My mother’s death had taught me the value of every day. Now Maggie reminded me. I had to get a grip and take hold of each and every moment, stop letting them slide by. If I could reclaim the days, perhaps I could find a clear route through them too. Somewhere on that journey I would find the real Ros again.

“You’re very wise, Maggie.” Maggie just smiled.

“Is she going to come up to Winter, do you think?” she asked gently.

I looked back at Maggie thoughtfully and surprised myself with my answer. “Yes,” I said. “I think she is.” One step at a time. I’d taken charge of Winter. Time to make a start on myself.

The commencement of the reconstruction of Winter coincided with an increase in the temperature, which made it pleasant to have doors and windows all over the property open to allow the fresh air to sweep through, though on some days the breeze brought with it a fine drizzle. I imagined pockets of air that had lingered since the house was shut up in the 1940s suddenly flooded with the oxygen of a new century, and Winter beginning to breathe more easily. I couldn’t help but think of Auntie Edie’s mother, forced to abandon the house she loved through lack of money, and never able to return to live here. Her legacy was in my hands, and that was a privilege to value. I recalled what the lawyer had told me, and wondered what Auntie Edie’s mother, who had been called Evadne, was like. Hers was one of the stories Winter sheltered I would dearly love to know more of. Auntie Edie had apparently, according to her lawyer, never known her father, who was not named on her birth certificate. What had happened in Evadne Burns’s life to lead her to make that unusual decision for her times? Why had she not married the father of her child? There were so many untold stories here. I could have been concerned my renovation, the flood of fresh air, would wash them away. But instead, I felt as though I was restoring them with the house, giving these shades of the past renewed life. I was proud of myself. The feeling was upon me before I had a chance to consider it, and more powerful and enduring for the lack of thought involved. I saw a true glimmer of happiness on the horizon where there had been previously only dark clouds.

I moved my living accommodation into the Blue Drawing Room, which thankfully—after a good clean—needed very little substantial work. It would need thorough redecoration, but such things were still months away. On the first day I enlisted the help of one of the builders to assist me in moving the mustard armchair downstairs from the attic. I dusted it off and threw a blanket over it, and I finally had somewhere comfortable to sit. That night, I decided I’d slept on a camping bed for long enough and would order a real bed the next day.

Since Auntie Edie had provided an ample budget, I concluded it was better for the house to be renovated in one all-encompassing onslaught, rather than tackling it gradually. Hence I had builders, roofers, joiners, and electricians all working at the same time. The rooms, silent for so long, were suddenly full of activity. Admittedly, I was unsure if Winter appreciated the intrusion, especially since the initial work seemed to make the state of the house worse. The damaged section of the roof was removed and replaced by a billowing blue tarpaulin, huge sections of floor and ceiling in the east wing were removed, and the electrician began chasing out a network of channels in the plaster of the walls. The sounds of drilling and hammering took the place of the silence, and I found I was glad of the noise.

Men in dusty jeans and dirty overalls were wandering backwards and forwards through the hallway all day. I tried to keep them supplied with cups of tea and biscuits, but gave up any effort to keep track of who was doing what. Instead, I inspected each job at the end of the day, to make sure I was getting what I was paying for. After a week, I was still massively impressed by both the standard of the work and the speed at which it was being done. But then these tradesmen had been recommended to me by Anna, and it was unlikely she would use any but the best.

I was so absorbed in coordinating the beginning of the work, it was difficult for me to think about much else. However, I had propped Jeanne’s card up on my table and read the words inside over and over. I was excited at the prospect of seeing Jeanne again, of telling her about—hopefully showing her—Winter. Maggie’s faith my mother would be proud of me for taking Winter on had finally started to convince me that there was something brave about my decision to move here. I actually thought Jeanne might be impressed, might admire her older sister for the first time in our lives. I felt warm at the prospect. I’d call her soon, once the renovations were well under way and I’d thought of exactly what to say. I looked forward to it.

My feelings regarding Anna were rather less straightforward. So soon after pushing her away with doubts and insecurities, implying I didn’t trust her, I was beginning to feel more optimistic. Had my night with Anna and her words in the morning played a part in my being able to finally see the light? I found I wanted to believe the words I’d made myself ignore. Was I jumping from confusion to optimism too quickly? And was there any chance with Anna anyway, after the determination I had shown to persuade her to leave me alone? Even more confusing, I was still very much aware I had no clear idea what Anna wanted from a relationship. I knew her views on marriage. Did she view any commitment in a similar way?

As I watched the progress Winter made, saw the way the house had actually kept a firm grip on its beauty over the centuries and only needed a gentle hand to help recover it, I grew reassured that my optimism was not, for once, transient, but apparently with me to stay. Yet there was still a pain deep in the pit of my stomach, and I knew perfectly well what the cause of it was. Anna.

Reminders of Anna were everywhere. Workmen mentioned her by name, referred to her plans. As I began to see a future for myself at Winter, her suggestion of the artists’ workshops or yoga retreat became a more and more realistic prospect. I wanted to talk about it with her, both in a professional capacity with regard to the necessary planning permission, and on a personal level, as the person who had suggested it with such enthusiasm. The memory of how I’d treated her that morning haunted me, and made me feel hollow. After such a perfect night, how could I have done it? Part of me was inclined to call her, beg her forgiveness.

Yet, at the same time, I was frightened of her forgiveness. If I had a second chance with Anna it would mean I had to take the risk I was shying away from, embrace the idea our relationship might not work out. Embrace the equally frightening consideration it might work out perfectly, and my life would change beyond recognition. I was in a different place to where I had been a year ago, but my heart had still not broken free and moved on. Was I capable of it?

*

I heard nothing from Anna for two weeks, though I had a visit from the local council planning department to ensure I was doing everything necessary to comply with Winter’s listed status. I muddled through on my own, and everything seemed to be in order, but I would have truly appreciated Anna’s professional input, since the plans submitted to them were hers. I wondered how badly I’d offended or hurt her, and just how awkward it was going to be when we eventually met again.

I was standing on the steps outside the very next day, watching as the final touches were made to the eastern end of the roof. The new tiles were reclaimed and matched so perfectly it was impossible to tell where the repair began. I heard a car motoring up the driveway towards the house. During the past weeks, I’d grown used to all manner of cars and vans arriving and departing, and I didn’t even turn to look until the car came to a stop behind me, and I recognised the purring throb of the engine. Builders did not drive vans with engines that sounded like that.

I whirled around, barely daring to breathe, as I felt the tension rise in my chest. Sure enough, I found myself facing Anna’s red Audi, Anna herself climbing out of the driver’s seat. The car seemed to grin at me, mocking my nervousness.

“Hello, Ros.” Her tone was coldly formal, not hostile, but nothing more than polite.

“Hi, Anna.” She did not return my smile. Her hair was tied back today, and she wasn’t wearing a coat. Her suit was a deep maroon, which made her eyes a deeper, darker blue. I remembered that gaze running over my naked body, those lips exploring every inch of my skin, and I began to ache. “I’m glad to see you.” I attempted to sound as though I had a far better grip on my emotions than I did.

“I thought I should come and see how the renovation is going. The roof’s looking excellent, I must say.” The passenger door of the Audi opened, and I realised Anna was not alone. “And I wanted to introduce you to Sam too.”

I looked at the woman who climbed out of the car and then sauntered around to stand next to Anna. She held out a hand to me and I shook it automatically. “Sam?” I said.

“That’s me, love.” That Sam was gay I was in no doubt. Even if it had not been for the distinctly masculine cut of her jeans and T-shirt, and the spiky, gelled hairstyle, I just knew. The effect was completed by a tattoo of interwoven women’s symbols on her left arm. What I did wonder was why the hell she was climbing out of Anna’s car. She didn’t so much walk as swagger, her attitude one of confidence, and she looked at Anna as though she was ready to devour her. Grudgingly, I admitted to myself her confidence was justified. She was incredibly good to look at. I read a challenge in her expression.