‘I just slept through my phone alarm,’ he said. ‘Mum usually comes and shouts at me a few times and, eventually, I get up. She never brings me tea or anything.’
‘I’m not sure I could do shouting first thing in the morning,’ said Hattie, ‘but I’m making tea and toast anyway.’
‘Sweet.’
‘You are, Xander, darling!’ said Hattie and was rewarded with a smile which was almost concealed behind his teeth.
Having delivered her nephew to his place of education, Hattie looked at her phone and realised, if she was quick, she could call in on an old friend before meeting Nick, one of her most challenging clients, to show him yet another property he was unlikely to want to buy. She never gave up on a client, but if she was ever going to, Nick could be the one. For now, she headed out of town and up into the hills. She loved her old friend dearly but she had to admit, the fact that Mary lived in Hattie’s dream home added to the joy of visiting her.
Her friend Mary was sitting in her chair next to the window looking into the garden. At nearly ninety, she wasn’t very fit and did a lot of sitting. But there was a range of bird feeders, all well filled, beneath the branches of a field maple for her to look at as she sat, and she was always cheerful when Hattie came to visit.
‘Hattie, darling! How lovely to see you!’
Hattie kissed Mary’s crumpled cheek, which felt and smelt like rose petals. ‘And you! As always, I’m on the run, but had time to pop in. Can I make you anything? Toast and honey?’
Mary had carers who made her breakfast but Hattie knew she wasn’t always hungry when they came and sometimes fancied a snack a bit later instead.
‘I’m fine,’ said Mary, ‘but I’d have a cup of tea if you want one for yourself.’
Hattie went to the kitchen and switched on the kettle. This was probably her favourite room in the house. It wasn’t huge but it had room for a table and six chairs, windows with wide sills where white-painted flower pots full of scarlet geraniums added cheer. There was a long wooden work surface under which a bright curtain hid deep shelves. There was a fridge, a four-burner cooker and double Belfast sinks. On the wall next to the sinks was a plate rack. Simple, but with everything one could need. She made the tea quickly and settled herself next to her friend. ‘How have you been?’
‘You saw me last week, darling. Nothing much has changed.’
Hattie laughed. ‘I wondered if your great-nephew had done anything about that patch of damp in the kitchen. It’s getting worse. I could easily get Luke to come and sort it out for you.’
‘I know. And as I also know how busy Luke is, I am very grateful for your offer, but Clive says he has it in hand.’
Hattie sipped her tea so she didn’t accidentally express her feelings about Clive. He was supposed to look after his great-aunt but Hattie didn’t think he did it very well. In his turn, he resented Hattie for being close to Mary. Once she had left him a note suggesting a bit of repair work on a gutter and he had taken deep offence. As Clive held the purse strings, if Luke did do any remedial work, he wouldn’t get paid. Hattie would try to pay him, but Luke wouldn’t permit it. So it was all a bit awkward.
‘I do think you have the best view in the Cotswolds,’ said Hattie, ‘and I speak as one who has quite a good view of my own.’
‘Except it’s not your own, is it, darling? How much longer are you there for?’
‘A few months.’ Hattie was deliberately vague. She didn’t want Mary to worry about her, something she was prone to doing.
‘You know I’d leave you this house if I could,’ Mary went on. ‘I’d love to give you some security.’
‘You can’t leave it outside the family, Mary, you know that.’
‘True,’ said Mary, ‘but I’ve realised there’s nothing to stop me leaving you a small legacy which would help you buy something, even if not this cottage.’
‘You don’t need to leave me anything,’ said Hattie, putting down her cup and getting up. ‘You’ve given me years of friendship and I hope you’ll give me many more.’
‘Not too many, darling. I’m getting on.’
Something in the way she said this made Hattie anxious. ‘But you feel OK? Nothing wrong really?’
‘Nothing specific. I just feel tired.’
‘Being nearly ninety will do that to you,’ said Hattie. ‘Now I’ve got to go. My next client is most exacting.’
‘Is that Nick?’
‘Yes, it is! I am so indiscreet, I shouldn’t have told you his name. Maybe “exacting” is unfair – he’s… discerning.’
‘Don’t worry about that. Being “discerning” is not a bad thing. Besides, I’m not going to tell anyone. I have no one to tell!’ Mary laughed, but it brought home to Hattie how few people Mary saw these days.
‘Are you sure you don’t fancy a nice care home?’ Hattie asked. ‘With company and more social life?’
