Vanessa glanced up sharply and tucked her phone in her bag.
‘Yes!’ He rubbed a hand across his sweaty forehead, ‘My office called, and I’ve seen the email myself. Apparently, some meddling government minister put pressure on them and has proposed greenfield land in Kent for their scheme instead.’
‘Yes!’ Tori crowed.
Vanessa’s mouth twitched, before broadening into a dazed smile. ‘Well, well. The bastard came through.’
The estate agent’s expression darkened. ‘This is outrageous?—’
‘I understand why you’re upset, young man.’ Standing, Clover smoothed down her dress, as serene as Helen Mirren playing the late Queen as everyone gathered around. ‘But look at what’s going on here.’ As he perked up at being called young, she gestured to the people traipsing into cottage gardens, singing along to the band’s tune about skipping heartbeats, or feasting on cakes at the prettily set tables. ‘I think you’ll have many viewings today, and more to follow. This village is beautiful and will be even more so when it’s finished. People will want to live here.’
Calming, he glanced at the milling crowds, rose-festooned cottages and up at the sunlight streaming through the branches of a nearby oak tree. ‘Yes, I can see that,’ he said grudgingly, ‘and it would’ve been a shame to knock it to the ground to builda car park.’ When they all looked surprised, he continued, ‘It’s not all about profit. Not the whole time, anyway.’ Peering over Albie’s shoulder, ‘I’d better go. That family are trying to get my attention. Let’s hope they want a viewing.’ He departed swiftly, without a proper goodbye.
The group switched their attention to Vanessa as Albie touched her arm. ‘My dear, whatever you did, thank you so much. I’ll never be able to?—’
‘Stop.’ As she shook her head, her glossy blonde hair bounced on her shoulders. ‘My son’s unreliable father might’ve folded under the pressure I put on him, but we did this together. And if it wasn’t for all of you, if I hadn’t come here, I’d still be miserable and struggling. This place saved me, so it’s the least I can do.’
Gilly held up a hand. ‘Speaking of saving, with what Ariel and Harley donated and the profit we’ve likely made today, we’ll be able to finish the work on at least two other cottages.’
Kirsten gave a little squeal. ‘Oh, my god! The developer is backing off, and the funds we need are coming. We’re going to save the village! Little Beaubrook is going to not just survive, but thrive.’
‘Did you mean to rhyme?’ Harley teased.
‘No, it came naturally. Now, kiss me, and tell me you love me,’ she ordered, eyes shining.
‘Gladly.’ Bending her over his arm, Harley did just that – not even checking who might be watching or taking photos – as the association cheered, clapped, and hugged each other around them.
When the whooping faded, Albie wiped a tear away. ‘Thank you so much for your energy, time and kindness over the past months. Vanessa is right, it was a group effort.’ Gripping Clover’s hand, he went on, ‘I have other good news. I had a check-up recently, and my GP’s confirmed my heart failure’s regressed.’ He thinks of the morning walks over sun-dappledfields with Theo and Tori, working on cottages and having a purpose, healthier eating, the companionship of living at the manor, a puppy, lower stress levels and Clover. Most importantly, the kindness of these people, which has shone through every day, offering hope and friendship. ‘I should be around for a few years yet. And now I’m looking forward to the time I have left rather than dreading it because it’s too long to suffer without Rose.’
‘The manor has worked it’s magic then. I’m so happy for you,’ Tori kissed him on the cheek, before stepping back. ‘And I was wrong.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘When we first met, and you were bugging me all the time, I used to think of you as Gandalf the Grey,’ she joked. ‘Now I think of you as Gandalf the White, wiser and even more formidable.’
‘Are you sure you’re not just referring to his hair?’ Kit scoffed, making everyone groan with laughter.
Clover turned to Albie. ‘Al, that day in the ballroom, you wondered if kindness resides in the walls of the manor, seeping into everyone who lives here. I suggested the kindness of the people seeped into the walls first, imbuing them for future generations. Have you come up with an answer? Is it the place, or the people?’
He put his arm around her, an affection given without guilt or shame, and with hope for a burgeoning new love. ‘I’d like to think it’s a bit of both,’ he said with a satisfied air, studying the Georgian manor that watched over them and held such mystery. It’s grand, historic, honey-stone beauty gleamed golden in the afternoon sunshine, and as his little found family gazed at the home his late wife’s family had built more than two hundred years before, the glass in the windows twinkled and sparkled. ‘I’d like to think,’ he whispered, ‘that it’s magic is powered by kindness, and that everything we put into it, we get back.’
At his words, the manor’s foundations shimmered, and any lingering particles of the glimmering haze it once used to hide from the world evaporated in silent agreement.
Epilogue
Two Years Before
Emily swept along the blue-carpeted corridor into the open-plan office, cursing the spring shower which had erupted as she’d parked. Her suit was soaked, and running to the front entrance of the drab building only left her red-faced on top of wet. Her nine-year-old twins, Enrique and Mathieu, hadn’t been much help this morning, raising her stress levels as they squabbled over breakfast and somehow managed to make the morning routine more torturous than usual. She’d practically kicked them out of the car as she’d pulled up outside their primary school, saying through gritted teeth, ‘Have a great day, love you!’
Throwing her handbag on the desk, she ran a hand through her hair and swore when a piece of scrambled egg fell out. She’d be having stern words with her sons tonight about food fights.
Of all the days to end up in damp clothes and sodden shoes though… Today’s office refurb had been booked for months. Stripping her suit jacket off and rolling up the sleeves of herblouse, she walked into the storage room where the last few pieces of furniture needed to be checked for items to be either kept or discarded. Despite the rain, it was muggy, so she cranked open a window before grabbing a cardboard box and moving over to the ancient wooden desk used by a predecessor before retirement.
Kneeling on the floor, she rifled through draws, throwing empty biros, paperclips, and old compliment slips in the bin. Government budgets were stretched, but not so much they needed to use ancient stationery. Reaching the bottom drawer, she found it jammed and frowned. Tugging on it did nothing, other than prove irritating. Maybe something was caught in the runners. Standing up, she braced one foot on the edge of the desk for leverage and gave the drawer a sharp yank. Sometimes you needed brute force. With a creak, it came completely free of the desk, and she staggered back, nearly falling over.
Heaving a relieved breath as she regained her footing, she put the drawer down and gazed at the envelopes scattered across the scuffed floor tiles. Most had been opened, tatty and faded. Crouching, she picked through them, scanning the contents and either binning the junk mail or putting anything sensitive in a pile for confidential shredding.
The last envelope was pale blue and had a ragged crease running along the centre of it, making her think it had been jamming the drawer. Shrugging, she tore it open and unfolded the matching paper inside, finding it covered with graceful penmanship. No one she knew wrote letters anymore, other than her late grandmother. Mobile phones and email had made things more efficient, but she couldn’t help feeling something had been lost along the way.
