Yes, they won’t pay me. But they don’t need to. With no rent or bills for the first year, my expenses would be minimal. My savings account is healthy enough to support me. Of course, I’ll discuss this with a solicitor to tie up the finer contract details.
Above the fireplace there’s a large mirror in a pewter frame. I walk towards it and watch myself. On impulse, not caring ifanyone can see, I spread out my arms and twirl.A chance to spread my wings just like the butterfly this house is modelled on. To let my own ideas grow and blossom.
*
A couple of weeks later, Evan Kendric’s smile is very wide and full of delight as he watches me sign the contract.
“Welcome to the Kendric House community.” He shakes my hand. “When can we expect you to start?”
“Today of course,” I tell him, and feel myself begin to unfurl like the bud of a leaf in spring.
“Excellent.” Evan comes out from behind his desk. “Let me introduce you to your new partners. They’ll all be down in the café for lunch.” Then he pauses as if remembering something. “Ah, except one person who’s in Cardiff today, but he’ll be back tomorrow. Osian James.”
Chapter Five
Just like Evan warned me, the sun wakes me up at 6am. It streams through the un-curtained windows and lands on my air mattress in the middle of the floor.
It’ll be a few days before I can furnish the flat, so for now I have to live out of suitcases and boxes. A glance out of the window shows the sun just peeking over the rolling green hills in the distance…
I’m babbling, obviously.
My runaway brain can prattle along on autopilot with minimal input. It’s one of my talents which made me good on TV.
But here, alone, why?
Because I’m trying to distract myself with sun and green hills from the questions that kept nagging at me all night.
Osian James?
Nah,I tell myself with a mocking smile.It can’t be.
What wouldhebe doing here?
No. It must be another man.
After all, it’s a Welsh name and we’re in the middle of Wales, so it stands to reason. The valleys must be crawling with men called Osian. And James is hardly a rare surname. Anyway, listen to these birds!
So many birds singing, twittering, whistling and also that melodious coo-cooing of wood pigeons; it’s like a choir. Is this why they call it the morning chorus? Living in London, the only morning chorus is traffic.
The Kendric House version of Osian James is probably a crusty middle-aged man in a Barbour. Probably has one of those salt-and-pepper curly fringes circling his bald patch.
Coffee. My brain will function better after a nice strong cup of java.
With my apartment still bare, it’ll have to be a trip downstairs to the big kitchen. Ideally not in my tee-shirt and knickers, though. I rummage in my open suitcase for my bath towel and toiletries bag and go into the shower.
The first thing that hits me when I come out of the shower, rubbing myself with the towel, is a divine smell.
Coffee. Rich, strong, gourmet.
Where?
It’s coming from next door.
Now I think of it, my balcony actually runs the width of the west wing. It must be one of my neighbours with luxury tastes. Such is my craving that I’ve actually got dressed without noticing. Slipping my feet into the nearest pair of shoes, I open the French windows and step out on the balcony.
The apartment next door also has its doors open and there’s a small round bistro table with a cafetière, a creamer and a glass of sparkling water. A man turns around in his chair when he hears me.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you. I just…” I gabble faster than my brain can find words. “Where did you get the coffee? Downstairs?”
