‘We’ve only just met—’
‘He’shorrible,’ said Meg. ‘He’s touchy-feely, he only seems to think about money and he wants to get the hotel valued so he can sell it.’
‘It can’t be sold until the will is sorted out and who knows how long that will take,’ said Louise. ‘There’s a third person in the will who can’t be traced. I think they’ll have to be declared dead or something before anything changes, and that could take years.’
Meg sipped her tea and felt a bit calmer. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Quite sure. It must have been very worrying for you with all this happening, but we’re here now, and I’m sure Andrew will be able to sort everything out and explain it all to Colin.’
‘I do hope so. But apart from that, we have been amazingly busy.’
‘Andrew told me. There are now rooms with bathrooms, and you’re doing up all those workers’ cottages – who’d have thought of that?’
‘Well, Alexandra is doing it in France and having the play here means we need as much accommodation as we can sort out. Of course, not everyone has to stay with us, but it’s all extra income.’
‘How will guests manage about meals if they’re in the cottages?’ asked Louise.
‘We thought – Susan and me, that is – that guests could book in for meals at the hotel – it’ll probably just be dinner, or possibly tea – and have their other meals in the cottages. We could do breakfast hampers if required. A continental breakfast of course. Not bacon and eggs.’
‘Oh, Meggy, you have been such a breath of fresh air for the hotel. I am so glad I asked you to come!’
‘I’ve loved it,’ Meg said. ‘I just hope it doesn’t all have to be sold.’
‘No need to worry about that just yet!’ said Louise triumphantly. ‘Until we find this third person in the will – and no one has ever heard of them – nothing can be sold. And as I said, it could take years.’
While this was something of a relief, Meg’s conscience pricked her. ‘But what will happen to Colin? Is that really fair to him?’
Louise frowned. ‘I gathered from Andrew – more from what he hasn’t said than from what he has – that his relationship with Colin is sticky. Colin is older, but Andrew is the executor. Colin has never been good with money. Andrew hinted he may have been a gambler. That’s probably why Andrew’s father left Andrew in charge. And because Andrew loves the hotel, of course.’
Meg felt emotional all over again. She didn’t know how to reply, so instead she said, ‘Do come down when you’re ready. Everyone is dying to see you. Do you want me to help you unpack?’
‘Darling! I’ve been doing my own unpacking since I was six.’
Meg laughed. ‘I have had to unpack for guests sometimes. I’ve added it to the list of things I have experience of.’
‘Good for you. Go and tell Susan I’ll be down shortly. I have missed you all!’
It was decided, by everyone except Meg, that Justin would cook dinner that evening. Louise insisted that Meg put on a dress, brush her hair and even consider wearing a bit of mascara and eyeliner. And having decided that she would, Meg found herself cheering up. Although the kitchen was where she felt at home, coming out of it, being a girl and not a cooking machine, was pleasant.
Or so she tried to tell herself. In fact, she felt somewhat disenfranchised. She’d been the pivot around which Nightingale Woods spun, and now, suddenly, the owner was back, her mother was back and she was just Louise’s helpful daughter, who currently had nothing to do.
She decided to have a walk in the garden, otherwise she might have to make polite conversation and she wasn’t in the mood. She was too emotionally attached to Nightingale Woods, she felt. She should be able to see it as just another job, something to write on herCV, but she knew it would always be more than that. And not just because she had apparently – inexplicably – fallen in love with the son of the owner. There was some other link that made her feel connected to it all.
She had reached the part of the garden where the play was to be put on. It was at the far end of the vast walled garden at the opposite end to the house. It had possibly been a tennis court in past times and although the surface was all weeds now, it was still level. There was a fig tree growing against the wall behind the old tennis court and now its emergent leaves reached like little green hands towards the sky. There was a seat that faced the view where now she sat down.
It was a lovely spot and Meg was imagining the play being performed with the old wall as a backdrop. She was wondering why the fig tree was outside the walled garden and not in when someone called her name. It was Ambrosine.
‘Hello, Meg dear. You’ve found one of my favourite spots.’
Meg got up hastily. ‘Do you want to sit here? Have some time on your own?’
‘By no means. Please don’t move. We can sit together.’
Meg sat down again and Ambrosine sat next to her.
Neither of them felt the need to speak for a few moments; then Meg said, ‘Can you imagine a play being put on here?’
‘I rather think I can,’ said Ambrosine. ‘This is where I come when I want to think about things that aren’tlogical and probably aren’t possible, but are desirable, nevertheless.’
