Chapter 20

Jim knocked promptly after ten minutes. I'd changed into jeans and a top with a yellow cardigan, finished off with a suede jacket and flats. It was dark outside, and I needed to be practical. Jim used a torch to light the way as we passed through the rose garden. Being in the countryside meant so many stars were visible, and I looked up at them in wonder.

‘So, who was that on the phone?' Jim said.

‘My ex.'

‘What's his name?'

‘Miles.'

‘Miles,' he said, a hint of disapproval in his voice. ‘And why was he calling?'

Did Jim really want to know, or was he just making conversation?

‘He wants to bring my post over tomorrow night.'

Jim lifted the latch on the black cast-iron gate as we left the rose garden, and gestured for me to go first as he closed it behind us. We continued to the staff car park, which was dimly lit. He unlocked a pick-up truck with the ATP logo in big capital letters on its side.

‘Forwarding post is easy enough. He's realised he shouldn't have let you go, no doubt.'

‘He said he misses me, but…'

‘Of course he misses you.'

Jim's compliment was a boost and needed, and it made up for our tête-à-tête outside the house. He was probably just being nice because he'd seen how upset I was, but those words of course he misses you warmed my insides. They implied that I was worthy of being missed and, currently, I didn't feel worthy of much. That was what the death of a parent, albeit a mostly absent one, and a subsequent break-up did to your confidence, even when only weeks before you'd been a high-flying career woman.

We got into the pick-up truck and fastened our seatbelts, and I inhaled the scent of his aftershave, oaky and musky. Not unpleasant at all.

‘Normally I'd suggest we walk or cycle, but we're already running late.'

‘What about the environment though, Jim? This truck must be a bit of a gas-guzzler.'

He looked across at me as he started the engine and put on the radio, shaking his head. ‘I'll have you know this is the most environmentally friendly pick-up truck there is, and it was my idea to get one. I organised a sponsored 10k run last year in the Surrey Hills to make it happen.'

Impressed, I said, ‘Go, you. I appreciate the lift. You won't be able to have a drink though.'

He reversed out of the parking space. ‘It's a school night anyway. Why did you and this Miles split up?'

‘Can we change the subject?'

‘Oh go on, at least tell me who ended it.'

‘I did.'

‘So why are you so upset then?'

‘Well, there were a few reasons,' I said.

‘Did he cheat?'

Horrified, I said, ‘Don't be ridiculous.' Miles wouldn't do that, would he?

‘You cheated, then?'

How could he say such a thing?

‘No,' I said.

‘Sounds like you grew apart? It happens.'

Yes, people did grow apart when one person stopped making an effort. After Dad's funeral, I'd found myself thinking about the future with a newfound need to make the most of every single moment of the rest of my life. When Miles came home after working late yet again, I put him on the spot. No more dithering or avoiding the question. It was only fair to give me a straight answer. After going round in circles, as we always did – he was a master at making that happen – he admitted finally that he had no intention of having children with me, or anyone else. His teenage son was enough for him. The night he told me, I slept in the spare room, and the following morning I left to stay with Deborah. She'd said, ‘You can stay for a few weeks while you sort your life out, but don't overstay your welcome.' In the past, when she'd cast me out, encouraging me to make my own way, I'd thought she was trying to help me become independent. But recently, I'd become aware that she was quite mean. Yes, everyone loved Deborah, the actress who'd once been married to Dickie Bell. She liked to have friends round for dinner and drinks, and usually there would be a jamming session or singalong at the piano. But deep down, she didn't allow people to get close to her, not even her daughter.

Jim pulled out of the car park and onto the drive. It was so dark he had to put the headlights on full beam. We didn't speak any more as he drove, but the silence was a comfortable one. Although we'd only known each other a few days, it seemed like longer.

‘You'll be all right here,' he said.

‘Do you think so?' Our interaction earlier had made me drop my guard around him, and I wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.

‘I'm sure the answer to your troubles is in that damn drawer,' he said with a laugh.

The flirtatious banter was back.

‘You know about the drawer?' I said.

‘Everyone knows about the drawer. It's been untouched for years. I can imagine going through it is a real nightmare. ‘Would you have taken the job if you'd known about it?'

Rosalind had kept the drawer quiet during our interview but, although it was in a complete mess, Margaret's letter was intriguing.

‘Probably. I did find an interesting letter from a woman who worked here as a lady's maid during the war.'

‘Interesting,' Jim said. His tone of voice implied he couldn't be less enthused by my discovery.

‘I'll probably look into it more, try and help her.'

‘Sounds good.'

When we reached the gates, I got out to open them so Jim could drive through before closing them again. He took a left into the village and before long, we'd arrived at the Old Fox, which had a black-and-white Tudor-style exterior – I wasn't sure if it was mock or original. Smoke wisped from the chimney, and I looked forward to seeing what it was like inside. Jim pulled into the car park round the back and took the last space. There was a nice garden with a stream running through it and willow trees glowing blue from the lights placed beneath them. I pictured sitting at one of the picnic tables in the summer with a glass of Pimm's. A group of young lads sat at a table with a heater as they drank pints and vaped.

We went through the back door. The interior was all stone flooring and wooden beams, so the building was likely to be real Tudor, after all. The Gatley Hall crowd were a noisy lot; they dominated a few tables pushed together near the front door. And there was a roaring fire and gigantic hearth, the mantelpiece lined with jam jars of flowers and tealights. Helen was in deep conversation with some bloke I didn't recognise, and Samantha held court with a couple of women at one end. Joining such a raucous group made me nervous, but it was too late now. Jim approached them and I followed.

‘Jim!' Samantha patted the empty chair next to her, her eyes lighting up.

‘Who wants a drink?' Jim said, waving a credit card in the air.

This was followed by raised hands and several people saying, ‘Me, me.'

He went round the table, tapping orders into his phone, and I went with him to the bar, where he added a glass of house red for me. When I tried to give him a tenner, he shook his head.

‘Put it away. This round is on expenses.'

‘Oh, great, thanks.'

‘Rosalind gives me a budget to spend on team drinks every quarter. She thinks it's important for us to bond, although she isn't actually here herself.'

‘Samantha seems to want to bond with you,' I said, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

Throwing me a puzzled look, he said, ‘How do you know about Samantha?'

‘Helen told me.'

‘Well, Helen's got a cheek,' he said.

‘Are you seeing each other then?'

He looked away, and then back at me.

‘If you must know, casually, yes.'

‘A friends-with-benefits kind of thing?'

‘You could say that.'

‘I tried that once, and it doesn't work. One person usually ends up liking the other one more. And then you've lost a good friend. Does she really have five kids?'

He shook his head. ‘Helen knows all the details, doesn't she?'

On the car journey, he'd asked me about Miles, but didn't want to reveal anything about his own love life. This didn't seem fair.

The barman lined up drinks on the counter and Jim thanked him. We carried them over to the table, and Jim took the chair next to Samantha. I was grateful when Helen spotted me.

‘Claire, join us,' she said, urging the bloke next to her to move up. I got a chair from a table nearby and placed it next to hers.

‘How have you been getting on?' she said.

‘The other day I found a letter asking us to help find someone.'

‘Ooh, sounds intriguing.'

Maybe this would be my chance to ask for Helen's help. ‘It is. I found the lady who wrote it in a photo in the guidebook. She was a lady's maid here during the war.'

‘Some of those letters have been in that drawer for years. No one ever had time to look at them.'

‘This one was written two years ago. I hope she's still alive.'

‘How wonderful. I'm sure you'll uncover a story worth telling. Gatley Hall must have so many stories that people don't know about,' she said.

‘True. Would you be interested in helping me if I'm not sure how to find everything?'

‘Yes, of course. I'd start with the website; there is some information about the house on there and a few photos of the servants.'

‘Thank you, Helen. I'll have a look tomorrow.'

‘Oh, and, talking of photos, once the below stairs rooms are set up for the exhibition, you'll need to arrange for our volunteer photographer, Ed, to take photos for the website and new edition of the guidebook. I'll send him over to introduce himself next time he's in. Anyway, I'm glad you came tonight. You didn't seem that keen when I asked the other day.'

I sipped my wine. ‘To be honest I wasn't feeling brave enough to come, but then my ex called and I was a bit upset. Jim talked me into coming here with him. He said it would cheer me up.'

‘You need to get rid of that ex and move on,' Helen said.

Nodding, I said, ‘I know you're right. It isn't easy to make a clean break when you've shared a life together for years.'

‘I know, but still, look at you, in a new place with a new job and the opportunity to make new friends, and dare I say it, lovers. Cut all that negativity out of your life. This is your big chance to start again, while you're still young. Get yourself on the right path.'

Although I appreciated Helen giving me the kind of advice Deborah should be dishing out, it was a bit too much too soon. We hardly knew each other. I pulled a face, not knowing what to say.

‘Sorry, I might be laying it on a bit thick,' she said.

‘Why isn't Ed here tonight, then?' I said, changing the subject. ‘Aren't these drinks for the volunteers?'

‘He doesn't see himself as a volunteer. He's Wendy's brother and takes photos for the website so he can be on the recommended photographers list for wedding bookings.'

‘Gatley Hall does weddings?'

‘Yes, in June and July.'

‘That must be good business for Ed, then?'

‘Very. His usual work involves attending celebrity parties in London, taking photos for magazines. Sometimes, he gets a photo in one of the tabloid newspapers; then' – Helen rubbed her fingers together – ‘he makes big money.'

‘Impressive,' I said.

‘He's quite handsome and he likes to date models, usually, sometimes actresses, if they're up and coming and haven't graduated to dating famous people yet.'

‘Oh?'

‘He does cause a stir whenever he drops into Wendy's office.' Helen lowered her voice to a whisper and leant towards my ear. ‘Had a one-night stand with Samantha once, at the ridiculous divorce party she threw – hence why he and Jim despise each other. Jim wasn't working here then, but when he started seeing Samantha, and he found out about Ed, he wasn't best pleased.'

‘Juicy.'

Helen nudged me and nodded in the direction of Jim and Samantha, who were deep in conversation at the end of the table, with her talking into his ear while he smiled.

‘Looks like Samantha's whispering sweet nothings,' Helen said.

I laughed. ‘Why do you care so much?' I said.

‘Once you've had a run-in with Samantha, you'll know why,' she said. ‘Nobody has a bad word to say about Jim, but I wouldn't say the same about her. What is he thinking?'

‘It might have something to do with the way she looks,' I said.

‘Everyone knows she's had work done, and she's quite open about it. Botox, fillers; boob job to celebrate her divorce settlement coming through – you name it.'

‘How old do you think she is?'

‘At least ten years older than him.'

‘So around forty?'

Helen nodded.

‘If he was ten years older than her, of course, no one would bat an eyelid,' I said.

‘You are right, of course, and, being a bit of a feminist, I should be cheering Samantha on for her cougar skills. It's just that he's wasting his time with her when he could have anyone, what with that lovely smile of his and those kind eyes.'

This was true. ‘If I didn't know any better, I'd think you fancied him,' I said.

Helen almost spat out the wine she was drinking. ‘Oh, Claire, I'm old enough to be his mother,' she said. ‘That really would be taking the age gap too far.'

At that moment, as if he knew we were discussing his love life, Jim looked down the table at me, and I raised my glass of wine and he lifted his drink in return, smiling as if to say, told you this was a good idea. Samantha caught him looking and cast a frown in my direction.

‘So, you've seen him in a towel. I expect he has a perfect physique?' Helen said.

This wasn't something I could admit to thinking, surely?

‘He spends hours rambling and cycling and running and all that, doesn't he?' I said.

‘Of course he does. Maybe I'll base my next romantic hero on him. I can't believe that hasn't occurred to me before.' She tapped something into her phone.

The evening flew by, and I consumed more wine than intended for a weeknight. After everyone else had left – including Samantha, to my relief – there remained only me, Jim and Helen, who'd booked a taxi. We waited with her in the car park. The temperature had dropped further, and I pulled up the collar on my jacket and pushed my hands into the pockets.

‘Not staying with Samantha tonight then, Jim?' Helen said.

‘What's it got to do with you, Helen?' he said curtly.

Her taxi pulled up before she could answer, and she opened the door. ‘See you tomorrow, Claire,' she said, climbing in.

We got into the pick-up truck.

‘Helen needs to give it a rest,' he said.

‘Are you embarrassed about Samantha then?' I said.

‘Not at all. I just wish people would find something else to talk about.'

We pulled out of the car park. Then a 4x4 appeared behind us, its headlights beaming through the back window. When we reached the gates at Gatley Hall, I opened them, then Jim drove through and gestured for me to wait for the 4x4 before closing them again.

‘Who's in that car?' I said.

‘Samantha,' he said.

‘You're having a sleepover?'

‘I seem to be.'

It was disappointing that we wouldn't be able to chat on the walk back to Rose Cottage. He progressed up the drive and parked and Samantha pulled up beside us. She opened her boot and got out a holdall.

‘Evening, Claire,' she said as Jim and I got out of the car.

‘Hello, Samantha.'

We all walked along the path behind the Stables, past the bins and then through the rose garden, the pair of them leading, Jim lighting the way with his torch. She reached for his hand, and he took it, and I followed like a third wheel. I longed for a cup of tea and bed.

We stood at our front doors, keys poised, Samantha acting as though I didn't exist as she whispered into Jim's ear and giggled. He laughed and I hoped she wasn't talking about me.

‘See you tomorrow, Claire,' Jim said as he and Samantha went inside.

‘Goodnight.'

Closing my door behind me, I headed for the kitchen and filled the kettle. Dropping a teabag into a mug, I couldn't shake off why I cared so much about Jim being with Samantha.

I went upstairs and got into bed with the tea and scrolled through my phone. Searching for Jim online, I found he had an Instagram account. He frequently posted photos of Gatley Hall and the surrounding countryside. Samantha had liked the most recent photo, of trees being cut. I scrolled through her grid. There were photos of her children, who looked very sweet, and a few pouty selfies of her as well. Her bio said she'd previously worked in PR in London.

Giggling came from the other side of the wall. Damn that paper-thin wall. This was too much. Getting out of bed, I rolled my duvet into a ball and carried it downstairs with my pillow. It was freezing cold in the living room. After setting an alarm on my phone, I snuggled up as best I could on the sofa and closed my eyes. In the morning I'd talk to Jim about what to do when Samantha stayed. Did he have a spare room? Mine was full of junk and I hoped he wouldn't mind me asking if they could sleep in there next time.