‘I reckon,’ Evan says thoughtfully as we drive along a narrow country road lined with leafy beech trees, ‘I might be able to show you the gatehouse before it shuts up shop.’
‘What time does the house close to the public?’ I ask, checking my watch. It’s four thirty.
‘Usually five o’clock, but last entry is at four unless there’s a private function. They don’t do many of those, though,’ Evan says as we pass by a group of modest 1970s houses. The land opens back up again onto fields on our right, while on our left is a red-brick wall, too high to see over. He slows to a snail’s speed and turns left, passing through tall wrought-iron gates.
‘This is the family’s private drive. The public entry runs parallel to this road, just a bit further on, but you need to see the hall from this perspective for your first time.’
My eyes widen with wonder. Up ahead, at the end of a long, narrow stretch of asphalt flanked by green fields, is the house.
I’ve seen it in pictures, of course, but nothing compares to seeing it in real life. The sunlight is hitting the cream stone, making it look golden, and the crenellated façade is so wide that if it were set down parallel to one of the ordinary London streets where I grew up, it would be the length of ten terraced houses.
‘The bays on the left and right were added in the late 1700s, but the Tudor gatehouse in the middle was built in the early sixteenth century, although it’s had a few alterations over the years,’ Evan tells me of the central, more decorative section of the building. It has hexagonal turrets and curved bay windows with long, thin panels of glass that reflect the sunlight. ‘It was gifted to the family by Henry VIII,’ he adds, throwing me a significant look.
I’ll admit I’m fascinated by the history, even if I don’t agree with the principle of wealthy white men handing down property to wealthy white men for hundreds of years.
‘Has the same family owned it all this time?’ I ask curiously.
‘Yep. Five hundred years and twenty-one generations.’
‘Holy shit,’ I murmur.
He grins at me. ‘Once upon a time, people on horses and carts used to ride straight through the gatehouse to acourtyard at the back.’ He points to enormous arched doors at the base of the gatehouse, which are wide open. ‘But when the bays on either side were built, the owners sealed it up and incorporated it into the rest of the house.’
‘It’s beautiful.’
‘Wait until you see the gardens.’ He pulls to a stop in front of the house.
‘Can you just park here like this?’ I ask with surprise. There are no other cars in sight.
‘Yeah, the main car park’s down the hill, but staff use this door for deliveries.’
‘We don’t have any deliveries.’
‘You’re a delivery,’ he says flippantly, reaching for the door handle. ‘I’m delivering our lovely new gardener to her new home.’ He winks at me as he climbs out of the car.
‘Wherearethe workers’ cottages?’ I ask, because I know that I’m not livinghere.
‘On the other side of the walled garden, so not far at all.’
I would have jumped at the chance of a full-time gardening job anywhere, but the fact that this position came with accommodation was amassivebonus.
Evan was the person I most connected with at Wisley so I’m thrilled to be working with him again and I’m excited to meet some new people – apparently there’s a whole social aspect to living in the workers’ cottages. There’s a sawmill and a workshop on the estate that employ a team of cool young guys, some of whom also live at the cottages, and Evan thinks I’ll really get on with Siân, my new housemate, and Bethan, who I’ll be working alongside in the gardens.
I had no problem about leaving the South of England to relocate to Wales, even with all the teasing about the weather. But I still can’t think of Wales without remembering Ash. It’s been almost six years, but I’m not over him and I’m not sure I ever will be. He was at the forefront of my mind when Evan told me he was moving here, and when a gardening position came up, I thought of Ash again.
It can still keep me awake at night, wondering what happened to him. It’s a mystery that I’ve had to accept I will never solve.
I’ve tried to let him go, but being here in his home country is probably going to set me back.
It’s not that I haven’t been on other dates because I have in the last couple of years, and I even had a short-term relationship, though it didn’t last more than a few weeks. The chemistry I felt with Ash was so electric, nobody else has come close to lighting me up the way he did.
Evan is the only person I’ve felt might have potential.
It’s getting late in the day, but it’s a Sunday and the weather is so temperate that I’m surprised this whole place is not teeming with visitors.
‘Is it usually this quiet?’ I ask as we enter the gatehouse, our footsteps reverberating off the thick stone slabs of the floor.
‘No, but most people will be outside in the gardens on a day like this,’ Evan replies.
