‘No idea.’
‘There’s nothing in the diary.’
‘Is everything okay, Zander?’ An older gentleman had stepped out of an office and was gazing at Beth with curiosity.
‘This lady says she has an appointment to view the new instruction on Hazelnut Road, but there isn’t anything in the diary.’
‘It’s vacant, isn’t it?’
‘I believe so.’
‘In that case, can you hold the fort for half an hour, whilst I take this client to view it?’
Beth breathed a sigh of relief. The organ grinder had come to her rescue, leaving the poor monkey still searching the electronic diary for a non-existent appointment.
Beth felt a smidgen of remorse for fibbing to the young lad, but not enough to come clean. Even if she hadn’t been able to wrangle a viewing, she would have peeped in through the windows. It had looked nice in the photographs, so she was quietly hopeful it would be just as nice in real life.
Ten minutes later saw the estate agent unlocking the front door and gesturing for her to step inside.
It wasn’t big, but it would do. The front door opened directly into the living room, which probably had enough space for a three-piece suite and a table to eat at. At the rear was the kitchen, leading to a small back garden with a little yard.Upstairs were two good-sized bedrooms and a bathroom. The only thing she wasn’t too keen on, was that the stairs were in the lounge. However, it wasn’t a deal breaker.
The house had been freshly painted, and was clean and empty of furniture.
‘I’ll take it,’ she announced. ‘When can I move in? Monday?’
‘It’s not that simple, Mrs Fairfax. We have to obtain references, and we’ll need to draw up a rental agreement, then there’s the deposit to discuss.’
‘Well?’ she demanded. ‘What are you waiting for? Let’s get the ball rolling.’
The sooner she moved in, the sooner she would be in the heart of her family again. Her idea to move to Picklewick was a genius one! Wait until she told her girls: they would be thrilled.
But she wouldn’t tell them just yet. She would tell them when everything was signed and sealed. It would be a lovely surprise.
Walter paused to catch his breath for what felt like the hundredth time, Peg panting by his side. She seemed equally as glad of the momentary rest, but then again, she had covered more ground than him, having dashed around from the second they’d set off.
Surely the hill never used to be this steep? Grudgingly, he supposed that the climb would seem harder – after all, the last time he had been up this way on foot would have been severalyears ago, and when he had been in better health. The further up the mountain he went, the more frequently he stopped to take in the view. That was his excuse, and he intended to stick with it.
Determined not to let the incline beat him, Walter pushed on, his tread slow and ponderous. By the time the old farmhouse came into view, his breathing was laboured and his legs were in agony, but he felt a spark of pride that he’d done it.
Eighteen months ago his son had been so worried about him that he had quit his marvellous job in London to come home to look after him. And look at him now – able to walk to the top of the mountain and onto the common, completely under his own steam.
But whether he would be able to get out of his chair tomorrow without help, was a different matter entirely.
Now that the gradient had lost its bite, Walter was able to pick up the pace a bit as he made his way to Maisie and Adam’s new place. Technically it belonged to Adam, because it was he who had bought it from Dulcie, but Maisie was his girlfriend (or partner, as she referred to herself) and she lived there too. Not in the farmhouse, because that was just as derelict as the last time he had clapped eyes on it, but in the caravan that he’d watched being hauled up the lane.
It was a miracle they’d managed to get it onto the mountain, but there it was, perched on breeze blocks to keep it off the ground.
He could see two figures labouring over a pile of stones, moving them from one place to another, and a wave of nostalgia swept through him. When he was a boy, this used to be a working farm. He distinctly remembered the elderly couple who used to own it. But the old chap had died, and his wife hadfollowed shortly after, and none of their kids had wanted to take it on. Grown up and with no room for a hill farm in their lives, they had been happy to sell it to Walter’s dad for a song.
The outbuildings had been in a bad state of repair even then, but they’d been okay for storing winter feed. Nowadays there was little left of them, aside from a pile of hand-chiselled stone and the footprint of where they used to be.
‘Walter!’ Maisie had spotted him and came hurrying over. ‘What are you doing here? Does Otto know?’
‘Why should he? He’s my son, not my keeper,’ he snapped, then was instantly remorseful. Maisie was only looking out for him. ‘I came to see what all the fuss is about,’ he said, more kindly. ‘I see you’re making progress.’
‘Slowly,’ Maisie said, leading him towards Adam, who was watching him approach.
‘Have you come to lend a hand?’ Adam asked, shaking hands with him.
