The question was, how much was she prepared to reveal of herself this evening?
They were gathered on the lawn just below the stone balustraded terrace and clustered around two wooden garden tables that were laden with glasses, bottles, and plates of food.
She stood for a moment on the terrace surveying the scene below her, instantly superimposing it with countless other scenes from a lifetime ago, of children running around, games of chase and hide-and-seek being played, voices shrieking. This had happened to her so many times since she’d moved in and had explored the Hall, while trying to piece together the new layout with what she recalled from before. The bones of the place were the same, it was the flesh that was different. In much the same way she herself was different with the passing of the years. It amazed her how disorientating the changed interior layout was, making it almost impossible to recall where the library had been or where she and all the others had eaten their meals.
The flashbacks she experienced to her childhood, which for the most part had been blissfully happy, were sometimes no more than a sensation of someone or something from those long-ago days. Those were the memories that often came with a heavy sense of loss.
‘There you are!’ called out a shrill voice from the assembled gathering. Homing in on the source of the salutation, Venetia saw two women coming towards her. They were the ones who had knocked several times on her door since she’d moved in and who had organised this meet-the-neighbours drinks party.
‘It was very kind of you to go to so much trouble,’ Venetia said when she was level with them on the grass.
‘It’s no trouble at all,’ they chorused in unison.
Venetia knew that one of them was called Cheryl and the other Joanna, but she couldn’t remember which was which. In contrast she could bring to mind every name of every person she’d known when she’d lived here before. The two women in front of her had twice invited her to join them for coffee and a chat – coffee and an interrogation session more like it – and she’d politely declined. The first time they’d asked, she’d said she was expecting an important phone call and the other time she’dclaimed tiredness, what with all the unpacking. She’d made no attempt to invite them in, and she doubted she ever would. Something about their eagerness to befriend her cautioned her to keep them at arm’s distance.
After a glass of white wine was pressed into her hand, she was ceremoniously introduced to the rest of her neighbours, all of whom were full of bonhomie and good cheer. Some of them she’d already encountered on the stairs or over by the garage block or strolling around the grounds and along the river. It was all very convivial, lots of pleasant small talk and with everyone declaring the Hall an idyll, an oasis or a heavenly sanctuary.
To Venetia’s relief she had no trouble remembering the name of the pretty blonde now coming over to chat with her. It was Cassie, the friendly young woman who had been the first to knock on her door with her attractive friend, Nina.
‘Are you settling in all right?’ Cassie asked her.
‘It’s as if I’ve always been here,’ she said with a wry smile.
‘That’s very good to hear.’ This was from a man standing next to Cassie. He had sandy-coloured hair and very blue eyes and a charming air about him.
‘This is my partner, Ben,’ Cassie said, ‘and if there’s anything you want to know about Hope Hall, he’s your man. He’s fascinated with its history. Isn’t that right, Ben?’
He had a lovely engaging smile, thought Venetia, much like Cassie.
‘In that case, tell me what you know about the place,’ Venetia said to Ben. She had the feeling he was itching to oblige. She was also curious to discover just how much he did know.
‘Well,’ he began, ‘originally it was built in the seventeenth century for Sir William Beauchamp, some bigwig lawyer at the court of James the First, and when he died it passed to his son and then his son who promptly lost it in a game of cards to Thomas Audley, who spent a fortune on making his mark on the placeafter a fire. That was when the turrets were added as a piece of whimsy. The grounds were also re-landscaped at great expense. When he tired of the place, and the cost of its upkeep, he sold it to Lord John Morton and his wife Lady Felicity.’ He paused. ‘Are you sure I’m not boring you to death?’ he said.
‘Not at all,’ she said. ‘Go on, please.’
‘Eventually it was owned by Lady Constance Morton-Granger who turned it into a children’s home at the outbreak of the Second World War, and it remained so for some years. After it closed, it went through a series of different uses: a boys’ boarding school, a remand centre, a teacher training college, and a Buddhist centre until it finally fell into disrepair.’
‘And thanks to an enterprising developer, here we all are,’ chipped in Cassie, bringing the story to its conclusion.
‘Well then, here’s to us all enjoying yet another Hope Hall Renaissance,’ said Venetia, raising her glass. ‘Now tell me all about yourselves. Oh, and is Nina not joining us this evening?’
‘She’ll be along later,’ answered Cassie, ‘she had a client who insisted on seeing her this evening. She runs Lavelle’s art gallery in St Anne’s Court in Cambridge. Do you know it?’
Venetia shook her head. ‘I’m afraid I don’t. But I shall be sure to call in the next time I go into town. What about you, do you work in Cambridge?’
‘No, I work from home, I’m a run-of-the-mill website designer.’ She pointed up at the westerly turret behind them. ‘That’s my office.’
‘How lovely,’ said Venetia, remembering how she used to play up there, standing on a chair and peering out of the windows.
‘Cassie’s downplaying what she does,’ Ben said. ‘There’s nothing run-of-the-mill about her work, she’s extremely creative. Her clients love her.’
Cassie groaned. ‘Stop it, Ben, you’re making my toes curl.’ She then went on, and with obvious pride, to sing Ben’s praises andthe work he did. They were, Venetia thought with an amused smile, very sweet together. She liked them and knew that she would enjoy getting to know them better.
‘By the way,’ Ben said, ‘we’re very impressed with your fitness regime.’
‘Fitness regime?’ she repeated.
‘Not that we’ve been spying on you,’ said Cassie, ‘but we couldn’t help but notice how regularly you like to go for walks.’
