It had been a long day, and the removal men had only just left, each pocketing a generous tip from her by way of grateful thanks for their hard work and for going the extra mile for her. Whenever she’d attempted to lift anything the burly man in charge would say, ‘That’s alright, darlin’, how about you tell us where it needs to go and then pop the kettle on to make us a drink?’
Under normal circumstances she would be riled by some young whippersnapper referring to her in such a manner, but she was only too grateful for the help in this instance. Of course, there was still plenty to unpack and put in place, but the heavy work had been done for her. The good thing was that she had been very thorough in streamlining her life while preparing for this move. She hadn’t wanted to bring anything with her that she now deemed unnecessary. The amount of junk with which one travelled through life was absurd, so much of it completelyuseless and nothing but a burden. The wonder was she’d hung on to so much all these years. She had found the process of decluttering her life enormously pleasing and had been energised with a ruthless streak to see just how much she could get rid of. It had been a cathartic experience.
Now here she was, embarking on what she was probably supposed to call her twilight years. Well, she’d have to see about that! Smiling, she swirled the whisky round in the mug and drank it down. She had no intention of going quietly into that long dark night and nor was she going to play by the rules expected of her.
As if on cue, Bon-Bon uncurled himself from his wicker basket and after stretching and then shaking, trotted over to her. Putting the empty mug on a side table, Venetia scooped the little dog up in her arms.
‘What a perfectly good boy you’ve been,’ she said, ‘not a single bark from you the whole day. And it’s going to have to stay that way, otherwise you and I will be in big trouble.’
The miniature apricot-coloured poodle tilted his head to one side and looked intently into Venetia’s face as though understanding her every word.
Venetia didn’t consider herself a habitual rule-breaker, but she’d set her heart on living here and a silly management company rule such as‘No pets allowed’wasn’t going to stop her. Besides, her precious companion would be no trouble to anyone. Nobody would even know he was here. Happily, he wasn’t one of those annoying yappy dogs who barked for hours on end and was hardly likely to make a mess.
When it came to a certain type of mess, Venetia had that sorted. As emergency backup, she had trained Bon-Bon to use a litter tray like a cat, but generally she planned to go out when it was dark at night to take him for a walk in the woods. She would do the same early in the morning, the dog hidden in her tote bag until the coast was clear. The thought of all the sneaking aboutappealed to her, but she knew she would have to be careful and on her guard.
Carrying the dog over to the kitchen area of the large open-plan space, she put him on the floor and retrieved a bag of dried dog food from a packing box. A stainless-steel bowl was in the same box and after pouring in a small amount of food, she set it down next to the bowl of water already on the tiled floor. With his customary delicacy, Bon-Bon sniffed the food and seemingly approving of it, began eating.
It was time Venetia ate something as well. After several attempts to locate the fridge – it was going to take a while to remember where everything was – she found it and although it hadn’t been switched on for very long, it was cooling nicely. She helped herself to the last remaining tuna and mayonnaise sandwich which she’d wrapped in cling film. She’d made a huge pile of them earlier for the hungry removal men, along with a stack of cheese and pickle sandwiches, and they’d all but polished them off. They’d also consumed the best part of two packets of biscuits and more sugar in their tea and coffee than she used in a month. Not that she begrudged them so much as a grain of sugar or crumb of bread.
She had only taken a few bites of her sandwich when she heard a knock at the door. It was a discreet knock and other than pricking up his ears and glancing at Venetia to check all was well, Bon-Bon continued with crunching on the dried food in his bowl.
‘Good boy,’ Venetia murmured. Then going out to the hallway and closing the door to the sitting room behind her, she went to see who was paying her a call.
It was two young women. The shorter one of the two, blonde with a bright and vivacious smile and wearing a lovely 1950s-style dress, cinched in at the waist and full-skirted, held out a bottle of rosé.
‘Hi,’ she said, ‘we thought we’d come and introduce ourselves and let you know that if there’s anything you need, you only have to ask. My name’s Cassie.’
‘And I’m Nina,’ the other one said, passing Venetia an envelope, presumably a card. ‘We both live on the top floor.’
‘Though not together,’ the blonde woman said with a laugh. ‘We’re neighbours. But not the ones from hell.’
‘Or so we like to think,’ the taller woman said. There was a refreshingly natural beauty to her, her complexion was make-up-free and enviably clear, as were her bluey-grey eyes. Her long reddish-gold-coloured hair put Venetia in mind of a beautiful autumnal day.
‘And don’t worry, we’re not expecting you to invite us in,’ the blonde one said, pressing the wine bottle on Venetia. ‘We just wanted to make you feel welcome. We’ve put our contact details in the card and my partner, Ben, is a dab hand with basic DIY jobs if you’re ever stuck or need something shifting.’
‘That’s extremely kind of you both,’ Venetia said, accepting the wine and card, ‘I’m touched.’ If she wasn’t hiding a forbidden dog on the premises, she would have stepped aside and asked them to come in, but as it was, she would have to take them at their word, that they didn’t expect to be invited in.
They were moving away from the doorway to go back upstairs when she said, ‘Forgive me, I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Venetia. Venetia Randall-Jones and I look forward to getting to know you both better. When I’m a little straighter, you must come in for a drink some time.’
What she really meant was that when she’d got to know them better and thought she could trust them, then she’d invite them in.
Later, when she had eaten her sandwich and it was dark outside, she fetched her tote bag and put it on the floor. Good as gold,Bon-Bon hopped inside it – he really was the most well-behaved dog – and she clipped the lead onto the soft leather collar around his neck.
‘Time to go exploring,’ she said. Her cover story, should she encounter anyone on the stairs, was that she always liked to take a constitutional walk before bedtime.
The large bag hooked over her shoulder, and armed with a torch, she locked her apartment and set off down the wide stairway with its rich mahogany banisters that smelt of lavender polish. It was good to know the colossal monthly service charge the residents had to pay was being put to good use, she thought wryly. The carpet beneath her feet was royal blue and as soft and plush as a feather bed. There were oil paintings in gilt frames on the walls, probably not remotely valuable but they set the tone, which was of luxury and opulence.
It was all a far cry from how she remembered the place when she was here as a child. A child who used to sneak about late at night in the shadows just like she was doing now.
With every step she took, the ghosts of the past called out to her, whispering that she was home.
Home again.
At last.
Chapter Five
It was the first week of July, so the main body of university students had dispersed, and the streets of Cambridge were now thronged with tourists trailing behind tour guides. There were gangs of language students from all over the world, who drifted about in concentrated groups the way that only large numbers of boisterous carefree adolescents do. Buskers also added to the high spirits and cacophony of noise, especially in the tourist hotspots.
