“I need to go and check on my potatoes,” Miriam said, already walking along the hallway. “Come and join me in the kitchen once you’re ready.”
Ryan ducked in through a door off the hallway, which Grace saw led to a small guest bathroom, and returned with a plush towel, which he handed to her.
“Thanks,” Grace said, rubbing the towel over the legs of her trousers where the rain water had penetrated during her race from the car to the house.
Once she was done, she returned the towel to Ryan. Their fingers brushed together as he took it from her, sending a hot littlebuzzacross her skin.
“This is a wonderful house, Ryan,” she said, to cover the blush that had suddenly warmed her cheeks.
“Thanks,” he replied, tossing the towel into a linen hamper in the guest bathroom and closing the door again. “The place needed some modernisation when I bought it, and it ended up being a little more work than I thought it would be, but it was worth it in the end.”
She followed him as he gave her a quick tour on their way to join his grandmother in the kitchen on the other side of the house. Grace admired the large living room with its original fireplace and enormous bay windows, and the small study-den with its cosy armchairs and state-of-the-art entertainment system. They passed another door further down the hallway, which Ryan brushed off as his ‘messy work room’, and which he assured her she wouldn’t be interested in seeing. Grace accepted his explanation with a nod, understanding it was a polite way of explaining he liked to keep his work private.
A moment later, they reached the end of the hallway and stepped into a large kitchen-dining area which had Grace gasping in admiration the moment she set eyes on it.
“Wow, this is gorgeous,” she said. “It must be amazing to spend time cooking in here.”
“Do you enjoy cooking?” Ryan asked.
“I don’t mind it, but I also I don’t make much time to enjoy it, either. I work a lot and to be honest, once I get home I don’t have much energy left to potter at the stove. But ifthatwasmystove,” she said, nodding to the eight-burner range on the far side of the kitchen, “then I’d definitely get my act together.”
Ryan laughed as Grace took in the kitchen space with its stunning range cooker, vibrant wall tiles, marble countertop, painted wooden cabinets, and expansive island unit lined with sleek bar stools. In the middle of the space was an aged oak dining table with an eclectic mix of chairs.
On the far side of the room was a comfortable seating area with soft blue sofas around a distressed white wood coffee table, and bespoke white wall-to-ceiling shelving on which were displayed an expansive collection of books and music, framed art and various objects, all perfectly illuminated thanks to the integrated lighting. In the middle of the shelving there was a television, turned on to an old black-and-white film which was currently on mute.
Music played quietly from a sound system, the warm and mellow tones of a piano filling the room. Windows and two sets of French doors looked out over the back garden, where the rain continued to fall from leaden skies. The pale wooden flooring was softened with thick rugs in the seating and dining areas.
It was a jaw-droppingly beautiful room in an even more jaw-droppingly beautiful house. Grace had admired the place from the street earlier that morning, but the outside barely did justice to what lay within.
Ryan had obviously made a huge success of his music career to afford to live in a place like this. Grace was intrigued to learn more about the music he wrote and the creative talents he possessed.
Miriam appeared just then, having vanished into what Grace guessed was a pantry tucked off to the side of the kitchen along a narrow corridor. The older lady set down the ingredients she’d brought with her before turning her attention to the pots on the hob.
“The food smells wonderful, Miriam,” Grace said.
“Thank you.” Miriam smiled as she opened the oven door and peered inside. “It won’t be long now. Ryan, would you be a dear and lift this pot out of the oven for me?”
“Of course, Grandma.”
While Ryan helped his grandmother, Grace glanced around the room again, and this time noticed that Stanley was nowcurled up on a cosy dog bed beside one of the blue sofas in the seating area.
“You bought a bed for Stanley!” she said. “That was thoughtful of you. He had to make do with a rolled-up blanket at my house last night. How much do I owe you for purchasing that nice bed?”
“Nothing,” Ryan said, having lifted the cast-iron casserole dish from the oven and set it on the counter for his grandmother’s inspection. “It’s my little gift to Stanley. He deserves it after being a stray on the street for who knows how long.”
“We enjoyed a visit to the pet shop and enjoyed ourselves even more spoiling him with treats and whatnot,” Miriam chipped in. She dipped a spoon into the casserole dish and sampled the food she’d prepared, before giving a nod of approval. “Perfect, even if I do say so myself. Ryan, pop that dish onto the back of the hob and it can stay there in the residual heat until I’m ready to serve everything. Now, Grace, can I pour you a glass of wine?”
“Oh, no thanks, Miriam. I have to drive home afterwards.”
“Nonsense,” Miriam said with another of her trademark airy waves. “Ryan tells me you live only a short walk from here. Surely you can leave your car parked where it is overnight, and share a small glass of wine with us?”
Miriam held up the bottle that was open on the counter. “We bought this beautiful burgundy at the special wine shop on the high street, because I needed it for my beef casserole, and thankfully we also had the presence of mind to buy a second bottle for drinking with the meal. I promise you will enjoy this wine, Grace.”
Grace rarely drank in the evening when she was due at work the next day. She liked to have a clear head and get out of bed bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, and ready to jump into her shiftwith energy. But, yet again, she found it hard to say no to the kind yet somehow also fierce older lady who was peering at her from across the kitchen, with the wine bottle poised for pouring.
“Well, okay, you’ve twisted my arm,” Grace said.
“Good,” Miriam said, obviously pleased.
