‘That’s a shame!’ Ruby said playfully. ‘I guess that’ll put me ahead again…’
‘I wouldn’t be so sure,’ Violet replied, grinning. The two were good friends, despite the competition, and relished the chance for banter.
‘Well, let me know what the outcome is with Henderson,’ Noah replied. He enjoyed the office atmosphere with his two salespeople – the business was small, but getting bigger every day, and a large part of that was down to Violet and Ruby.
‘Have you got anything on this afternoon, Boss?’ Ruby asked.
‘Not yet, but I’ve got a mountain of paperwork to chase on a couple of sales from last month, so I’m going to spend it behind my desk.’ Noah gave both women a grin. ‘Hard work, being in charge, you know!’
‘We know!’
‘But I will stretch my legs and grab some lunch first, I think. Can I get either of you anything?’ A walk through the park opposite the office might help to clear his head, Noah thought, and the café at the centre of it did a killer egg mayonnaise on sourdough, if you could get there before they sold out. At a snip before twelve, he might still be in with a chance. He shouldn’t be bunking off work, even for lunch, but if he was going to end up stuck in the office for hours afterwards, it was worth it.
He tapped Ruby and Violet’s lunch requests into his phone and started out. As he walked, he kept turning over the problems with Jack’s cottage again and again. Joel liked to be presented with solutions rather than problems, so Noah knew he had to come up with something before the three brothers spoke again. Marc wouldn’t want to be bothered with details when he had so much else on his plate.
Noah didn’t live close enough to Lower Brambleton to supervise the work, and although he could check in remotely, there were always risks involved with being hands off. And what if, as was so often the case with old places like Jack’s, when the work started, other issues arose? If the roof timbers were starting to rot, that could easily be a few more thousand on the price of removing the foam. Ditto the electrics.
As Noah walked the neat path through the park, he was sharply reminded of the contrast between London life and life in Lower Brambleton. He loved London, and always would, but the closely cropped grass in the park, the weedless flowerbeds, the crowds of children all vying to get on the play equipment while their parents sipped lattes and looked at their phones made even this patch of greenery feel crowded.
After his visit to the cottage, shortly after his grandfather’s funeral, he’d begun to realise how much he missed being in the countryside. It had been a welcome break from school and university in his teens, and then his visits had got shorter and less frequent once he’d started working. By the time he’d established Noah Hathaway Estates, and all of the endless hours that had entailed, he was beginning to lose touch with what life was like outside the capital. Being back there had reminded him how much he enjoyed open air and countryside. It was just as well, he thought with a frown as he revisited the contents of the email from the surveyor. One way or the other, it looked as though he was going to have to spend a lot more time in Lower Brambleton than he’d initially thought.
4
Noah travelled west, fighting the inevitable Friday afternoon traffic on the M25 and out to the moderately less hectic M4 and M5 that would, eventually, give way to smaller roads leading to the even smaller village of Lower Brambleton. As he drove, he mulled over the information that the surveyor had sent him. He had contacts for a lot of tradespeople in the London area, but he’d have to rely on local recommendations to find someone who’d be able to work on his grandfather’s cottage. He added that to the list of things he’d need to look into once he was in situ.
Eventually, Noah turned right into a tree-lined lane that would bring him into the east side of the village. The Observatory Field housing development, a recent addition to the village, was visible atop the long, flat expanse of land that looked down onto the centre of Lower Brambleton. The centre of the village itself was a cosy, welcoming place, with large tubs of flowers outside the small row of shops that provided a vibrant splash of colour. The shops themselves, a miniscule village store and Post Office, a charming charity shop and an even smaller tearoom were all housed in red-bricked buildings that looked the epitome of an English country rural idyll.
Driving past the pub, the Star and Telescope, Noah was pleased to see that it was busy, with people sitting on the benches outside its door and the faint sound of music emanating from the bar. Hanging baskets and tubs stuffed with geraniums and violas gave the pub a vibrant air, and Noah felt some of the tension draining out of his shoulders after the long drive, knowing he’d soon be at the cottage.
A couple of minutes later, when he arrived, though, his hands involuntarily clenched on the steering wheel. Set at the left-hand side at the end of a terrace of four stone cottages that had once belonged to railway workers at the turn of the last century, the low-walled front garden looked tangled and wild. The windows were showing signs of grime, and as he parked up, pulled his leather weekend holdall out of the boot of his Tesla and pushed open the wrought-iron gate that led to the front door, it gave a raucous squeak. It had only been eight months since his grandfather had moved into the nursing home to live out his last days, and four months since his death, but the house looked as though it had lain unloved for far longer. How quickly things had deteriorated with no one to keep an eye on them.
Noah paused on the doorstep, assailed by guilt at not coming back to check on the cottage sooner, and the painful knowledge that, when he entered, Grandpa Jack wouldn’t be there to welcome him. Shaking his head in frustration, he pulled the key out of his jeans pocket and swiftly let himself in. It felt like ripping off a plaster.
The cottage smelt musty, the air still and quiet. There were lighter patches on the hall walls where he and his brothers had taken down the ‘rogues gallery’ of family photographs that Jack had always kept there. His share of them were in a cardboard box in his flat, waiting to be reframed with something more in keeping with his own tastes. In the past, Jack had stood at the door, a welcoming smile on his face, while Monty, the irascible Bengal, yowled more of a warning than a welcome. Noah found he even missed that sound, now.
But he didn’t have time to be maudlin. It was already nearly eight o’clock, and Noah had left London without thinking about what he was going to do for food when he got here. He hadn’t even brought any coffee with him for the morning. Dumping his bag in the hallway, he took a quick look around the downstairs of the cottage and switched the fridge back on. Thankfully, the door had been left ajar so it hadn’t gone mouldy. The place was emptier, and a lot sadder than it had been, but it would do for a night or two while he got to grips with what needed to be done. But, as his stomach rumbled, what needed to be done immediately was find dinner. He tucked his phone into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled the keys back out of the front door where he’d left them when he’d walked in. He’d had some good meals at the Star and Telescope, and hoped tonight would be no exception.
A short time later, he was enjoying the short walk to the pub, past the small bank of shops that he was always astounded could survive in such a small village. The centrepiece of the row was Purrfect Paws, the charity shop that was linked to Monty’s current place of residence. The window looked bright and appealing, and Noah was surprised at how well curated it was. He felt a pang, though, as he saw a couple of discreetly positioned posters advertising some of their cats currently up for adoption. It made him think of Monty. Pushing that thought firmly to one side, he continued walking.
As he walked into the pub and approached the bar, a cheerful voice broke into Noah’s thoughts. ‘What can I get you?’
‘A pint of Carter’s cider, please,’ Noah replied. He plopped his phone and wallet down on the bar and let out a long breath.
‘Long day?’
Noah, who was about to start checking his messages, glanced back up at the bartender, who had a rather startling bright red dye job on her long hair, and held his gaze with direct, clear blue eyes. He gave a brief nod. ‘You could say that.’
‘Well, there’s nothing a pint or two won’t fix!’
Noah grunted noncommittally. He had the feeling that not even the amber nectar of a decent pint of Somerset cider could do much to improve his current rather upsetting situation. But the last person he wanted to get into that with was a stranger behind the bar. All the same, as she finished pulling his pint and handed it to him, gesturing with her other hand at the contactless payment terminal to his left, he couldn’t help noticing what a welcoming smile she had. He figured it was par for the course in a pub that relied so heavily on not just local trade but that of tourists, but it was still a nice smile. He’d been so used to the hurly-burly and hectic nature of buying drinks in London that he’d forgotten how the slower pace of the countryside also meant that people were more prepared to spend time talking to you while they prepared your order.
‘So, what brings you to the Star and Telescope tonight?’
‘Dinner, mainly,’ Noah replied. He glanced at the blackboard behind the bar, and his stomach gave another anticipatory rumble at the many choices. He had not had much of an appetite all week; stress tended to do that to him, and he knew that he’d been winding himself up about coming back here and sorting out his grandfather’s house. However, now that the drive was over and he’d got over the first hurdle of letting himself into the house, some of the tension had started to dissipate.
‘Well, there’s plenty of good options as I’m sure you can see. Let me know what you want when you’re ready, and I can sort you out a table.’
‘Will do.’ Noah looked at the board for longer but for all of his appetite, he couldn’t decide. His grandfather always used to laugh at him for not being able to make menu choices. He’d often dined here with him, and he wondered if the phantom of his grandfather would be a help or a hindrance tonight. Mulling things over, he finally glanced down at his phone and briefly checked his work emails, but nothing had come in since he left that afternoon. He wasn’t surprised. The last week of July was often slow; people were more interested in going on holiday than they were in selling their houses. All the same, he couldn’t help a slight sense of disquiet that no one had been in touch. He’d have to chase up a couple of leads when he got back on Monday morning.
