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16

THEO

“Why don’t you sit down there, my love,” Barbara says to Georgia, pointing at the wooden table at the center of the kitchen. I should have known she would mother Georgia as soon as we crossed the threshold, the same way she used to mother me. The two of them start talking about the drive here, like they’re already old friends as Barbara fills the teapot with boiling water.

“I’ll go and get the cases,” I say, rolling my neck to loosen the tightness in my muscles.

“I’ll help you,” Mike says, jumping up like he’s already bored of sitting. In all the years I’ve known him he’s never enjoyed being still. Or being indoors.

I nod and look at Georgia. “Will you be okay here for a bit?”

“Of course she will. I’m not going to bite her,” Barbara clucks.

Georgia looks up at me. “I’ll be fine.” She smiles at Barbara who passes her a cup. “This tea looks delicious.”

“Tea always tastes best when it’s cold outside,” Barbara says. “I’ll pour yours when you’re back,” she tells me. “Now shoo before it gets too dark.”

“It’s still snowing then,” Mike says, following me onto the porch. He keeps up a steady stream of chat as we take the cases out of the car, telling me about the work they’ve had done on the east wing, and that one of the brooks burst its banks and they can’t rebuild it until spring.

He pulls Georgia’s case out of the boot and pauses. “Your mother suggested we put Miss Ingram in the yellow room,” he says lightly. “And you in your usual room.”

A snowflake falls down the back of my collar, melting on my neck. “You can put us in the same room,” I tell him. “We’re all grown ups here.”

He smiles, like he was expecting that. “Of course.” He clears his throat as we carry the luggage up the steps and into the hallway. “Barbara’s tickled pink you’ve brought your friend to meet us,” he tells me.

“I’m glad.” I pause as I turn to Mike. “I hear you’ve been a bit under the weather.”

“Ah, nothing to worry about. It’s just age. Barbara wants me to retire.”

“And you?”

“I can’t think of anything worse,” he tells me. “I’m not cut out for sitting around.”

“Me either.”

Mike laughs, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

He’s almost completely bald now, only a few strands of hair brush across the top of his scalp. But the rest of him is so much younger than his almost-seventy years. I still have to wrestle the heaviest case from him, though, because he has this innate belief that Hunts shouldn’t exert themselves.

There’s a shout of laughter from the kitchen as we head up the stairs. Mike smiles softly, like hearing Barbara happy makes him happy. “She’s a pretty one,” he says. “Your Georgia.” He puts the case down to push open the bedroom door. Nothing has changed. The same pale blue walls, darker bedding. Ancient mahogany furniture that will probably outlast us all.

“Yeah. She really is.”

“And American. Very glamorous.” His eyes twinkle. “I imagine your mother will find her interesting.”

“They’ve already met.”

“And she still came?” He lifts a brow.

I bite down a smile, because Mike would never say anything against my parents. They’ve employed him since he was a teenager after all. But we both know what he’s trying to say.

If Georgia isn’t scared off by my mother, then she’s a strong woman.

“Apparently she’s a glutton for punishment,” I murmur, setting the cases I’m holding down. The bedroom smells the same as I remember. Nothing has changed in here. It looks like a teenage boy’s room, all mid blues and dark woods. There’s even a couple of piano certificates propped on the dresser.

And yet I can’t fucking wait to get her up here. Even if she’ll probably laugh at the time capsule these four walls contain.

“Thanks for your help,” I tell him. “And for getting everything ready for us.”