A hug like this will either make me talk or cry more.
So, I tell her. Everything. Because who else could I tell? I’m in the middle of Wales where I don’t know anyone. I talk about Mum’s affair with the young William Jones – now that I have a fuller picture of what must have really happened. Two people who could not have been less suited, yet they made me.
I also tell her about Dad, the generous, wonderful man who taught me enough about love to make me crave it. He showed me the importance and value of a family. It’s just my bad luck that being part of a family seems impossible, now.
As the hours roll, she lets me talk and talk, making me cups of tea and occasionally asking questions while she chops leeks and celery and chicken pieces. At last, my story has come to anend. There are no more words except my bitter disappointment and judgement of this so-called biological father.
“I may as well pack my suitcase and drive back to London, there is no reason for me to stay anymore.”
She comes to sit with me, wiping her hands on a tea towel. “You know, we’ve known him a few months, the professor, I mean.” She begins in her kind voice. “He’s a nice man. You may not see it yet, but he is. People here really like him. He’s always willing to lend a hand with research, always willing to offer advice, to listen, to chat.”
“Chat? About what?”
“Anything. Everything.” She laces her fingers together on the table in front of her. “He can be very entertaining when talking about his experiences. Or telling stories about the history of Wales, the myths and legends. Believe me, no dinner is dull with him at the table. With a project like the restoration of Kendric House, you want someone like the professor who makes every dusty old detail sound interesting.”
“But nothing personal? Does he ever get involved with people?” I ask still unable to give up hope. It’s not that I don’t believe him. He made it very clear with zero room for doubt; the man doesn’t want a family. It’s me who is so desperate for one that I’m looking for the tiniest reason to hope.
Haneen thinks about this, head tipped to one side. “He does care and has a way of seeing beyond the surface. For example, we have these gardens which need restoration. The house won’t really look right surrounded by all that dead wood. So, when Watson, that’s the garden restorer, joined us, three months ago, he promised beautiful flower beds, ponds, water lilies, a traditional maze, on and on and on.”
My eyes stare over her head to the window behind. Acres and acres of wilderness. “Wyn mentioned he hasn’t started planting yet.”
“Planting?” she snorts. “He hasn’t dug up one dead tree. Hasn’t even touched a shovel. Not in all the time he’s been here. We were so deceived, all except the professor. He called it right at the start, after their first meeting. He told me, ‘Watson is the kind that always talks a good game. But he’ll be gone before Christmas.’ Now we’re just waiting for him to resign.”
“Why wait? Can’t you just sack him?”
She sighs. “He’s not an employee. No one here is an employee. They’re all partners. The term is profit-participants. So, the contract can’t be terminated easily. We’d have to take him to court which is expensive.”
Does this mean my fath—the professor, Is he also a partner, a–” What did she call it? “A profit participant. What does that actually mean?”
She brightens immediately. “Ah yes this is something we’re very proud of. Let me show you.” She takes me to the window and points to the just visible corners of two of the wings.
“This is Kendric House and see, the gardens you can see and that small forest, Darling Wood, they’re all part of Kendric Park.” She points towards the line of evergreens at the far end. “And beyond the garden is the valley and the Y-nant stream. It runs for a couple of miles west to the old silver mine.”
“They’re all yours?” My goodness, that’s quite an estate. And yet here she is mashing potatoes.
“Not mine.” She laughs and returns to the table. “They belong to Evan. It’s his share of the family inheritance.”
I remember Welsh Hagrid in my car, telling me this. Was it only yesterday? It feels like I’ve been here a week.
“Unfortunately, he only inherited the property,” Haneen continues. “It didn’t come with any actual cash for the renovation which forced him to get creative. He invites people to come in as partners. For example, Llewellyn Davies cleaned up and restored what used to be the grand dining room and two of the reception rooms to create the Digital Business Hub in the East Wing. He lives here with his partner, Nora, who is” – she hesitates for a moment – “away at the moment,” she says too casually. “The Business Hub has computers, photocopiers, AV equipment, projectors and all the rest. Anyone needing office space, meeting or conferencing facilities can rent from him. He keeps 80% of the profit from this enterprise and pays the 20% to Evan. This 20% goes to pay bills and other expenses. Alex McLaverty, too. He paid for the clean-up and decorating of his rooms where he lives. Alex is working on the mosaics. When he’s restored enough, he’ll be able to offer guided tours. Same terms. That’s what I mean. Profit-Participants. A partnership.”
It fits what I already saw, the way Evan offered me a room as long as I cleaned it. The teenager allowed to stay here and learn computer programming in return for helping out. “It’s such a clever solution.”
She grins. “Isn’t it?”
“And the professor?” I can’t help asking. “How can book writing generate any revenue worth splitting. All the playwrights I meet complain about how little money there is in writing. Academic writing must be even less profitable.
“Ah,” Haneen says. “He is the other half of Alex’s project. Where Alex works on the physical history of the house. Murals, mosaics, antiques and so on, the professor digs up the historicaldetails, the people who came through the house, the artists who created the beautiful things you see here. When the house opens up for tours, he will be a big part of that.”
I can’t really picture what that might be like. It’s a big house, sure, but so what? England is full of stately homes and castles where kings and princes, lived, were imprisoned or even died. What is the professor going to do to make this place exciting enough to compete?
If you ask me, it’s the art that will attract visitors which means Alex is doing all the heavy lifting in this joint project.
“So?” Haneen turns serious. “Before you pack up and drive away, are you going to meet your grandfather?”
The change of subject throws me. “Grand…? You mean the professor’s father?”
She smiles.
