He takes me out of the kitchen and through the ballroom. Wyn is busy shoving all building supplies against the walls to leave the centre of the room uncluttered. Alex strings hazard tape on both sides as if it’s a velvet rope marking a pathway through the ballroom. Rhian follows him with a handful of tinsel which she drapes over the piled-up tins of paint and coiled electric cables to make them more festive.
“Can we spread some of the evergreen branches on the floor here to make it look nice?” she asks Evan as we go past
“Don’t ask me,” he says continuing to walk towards the back of the house. “Alex is on the safety committee and Haneen and the kids are on the decoration committee.”
I try to supress a giggle. “Is everything in your family organised like a business?”
His dimples pop for a second. He doesn’t say anything but his eyes flash with joy.
How happy he seems.
“You’re very lucky to have such a wonderful family.” I can’t help saying. “They might not be your birth children, but you’re an incredible father.”
“It wasn’t easy to put us all together, let me tell you. We may not be the classic composition, but families come in all shapes. And yes I’m very lucky.” A slow smile breaks across his face, and the dimples flash again. “I say thank you, every day.”
He’s right. Who says there’s only one kind of family? I would have been happy with the professor and grandfather. Raff. Even Llewellyn and Alex and the teenagers would have made a nice extended family.
For a couple of weeks, at the start of December, it was just like that. And I’m grateful to have had a taste of that.
When we reach the end of the ballroom, Evan opens the doors into the orangery, and grins at me.
It is beautiful. The floorboards might be scuffed and faded, the wall in desperate need of fresh plaster. Even a few glass squares in the window are mended with gaffer tape. But there are bunches of holly and green wreathes everywhere. But the best is the view.
The temperatures have dipped very low the last couple of days, everything in the dead garden is white with frost. With broken branches sticking up in all directions, it looks like a massive sculpture.
“We didn’t get snow, but this is almost as good, isn’t it?” I say walking up to the windows.
They’ve set the trestle tables in a horseshow again so everyone will sit on the outside facing into the centre where the food is served.
“Where did the red table covers come from?”
“I’m not on the table committee, you need to ask someone else.” He pulls a chair at the end and invites me to sit. “We really should have coffee for this meeting.”
Supressing a sigh, I take the seat he’s offered me. “I know you want to speak to me about this,” I glance around the orangery. “The idea of opening a café.”
He starts to nod.
“I can’t do it. I simply don’t have the money.”
“Leonie, I know you don’t. but what if there was a way to help you with the start-up funds—”
“No.” I shake my head.
“The professor told me you need thirty thousand, but might be able to start smaller. So what if we were able to find you twenty—”
“No, Evan.” I have to interrupt him again before he starts painting a beautiful picture that breaks my heart. “Believe me I’d love nothing more. But.” I take in a deep breath, imagine a business woman, Deborah Meaden fromDragon’s Den, then I step into the character.
“It’s not just the start-up fund. It’s the business case. You understand business don’t you?”
He nods.
“There aren’t enough customers to make it a viable enterprise.” Yay, look at me using big commercial words. “One day, when this house is full and getting lots of tourists, maybe. But that’s not where we are now.”
He’s not stupid, he understands. Slowly his expression changes. “So what do you have in mind?”
He knows. But I say it anyway. “Tomorrow I will return to London. And sooner or later someone else will come along with a fabulous project for this room and it will be a success.”
“You know you can stay here as long as you want.”
