The Undomestic Goddess
Page 98
“Madam.” He opens the door gallantly.
“So what are you showing me?” I ask as I get in.
“Magical mystery tour.” He smiles enigmatically and starts up the engine.
We drive out of Lower Ebury and take a route I don’t recognize, through a tiny neighboring village and up into the hills. Nathaniel seems in a cheerful mood and tells me stories about each farm and pub that we pass. But I barely hear a word. My mind is still churning.
I don’t know what I can do. I can’t even get into the building. I have no credibility. I’m powerless. And I only have three days. Once Arnold disappears off to the Bahamas that’ll be it.
“Here we are!” Nathaniel turns off the road into a gravel drive. He maneuvers the car into place by a low brick wall, then stops the engine. “What do you think?”
With an effort I wrench my mind back to the present time. “Um.…” I peer around blankly. “Yes. Lovely.”
What am I supposed to be looking at?
“Samantha, are you OK?” Nathaniel shoots me a curious glance. “You seem on edge.”
“I’m fine.” I try to smile. “Just a bit tired.”
I open the car door to get out, away from his gaze. I shut the door behind me and look around.
We’re in some kind of courtyard. There’s a ramshackle old stone house to the right, with a for sale post. Ahead are banks of greenhouses, glinting in the low sunlight. There are plots filled with rows of vegetables, there’s a Portakabin marked garden center …
Hang on.
I turn to see that Nathaniel has got out of the car too and is holding a sheaf of papers in his hand.
“A horticultural business opportunity,” he reads aloud. “Four acres of land, with ten more available, subject to negotiation. Ten thousand square feet of glasshouses. Four-bedroom farmhouse, needs work …”
“You’re buying this?” I say, my attention fully grabbed.
“I’m thinking about it. I wanted to show you first.” He spreads an arm around. “It’s a pretty good concern. Needs building up, but the land’s there. We can get some polytunnels going, extend the offices …”
I can’t take all this in.
“But what about the pubs? How come you’re suddenly—”
“It was you. What you said in the garden that day.” He pauses, the breeze ruffling his hair. “You’re right, Samantha. I’m not a landlord, I’m a gardener. I’d be happier doing what I really want to do. So … I had a long talk with Mum and she understood. We both reckon Eamonn can take over. Not that he knows yet.”
“Wow.” I look around again, taking in a pile of wooden crates, stacks of seed trays, a tattered poster advertising Christmas trees. “So you’re really going to do it?”
I can see the excitement in his face. “You only get one chance at life.”
“Well, I think it’s fantastic!”
“And there’s a house.” He nods toward it. “Or at least, there will be a house. It’s a bit run-down.”
“Right.” I take in the old stone house again. The paintwork is peeling and there’s a shutter hanging off one hinge. “It does look a bit of a mess.”
“I wanted you to see it first,” says Nathaniel. “Get your approval. I mean, one day you might—” He stops.
All of a sudden my relationship sensors are swiveling round madly, like the Hubble spotting an alien ship. What did they just pick up? What was he going to say?
“I might … stay over?” I supply at last.
“Exactly.” Nathaniel rubs his nose. “Shall we have a look?”
The house is bigger than it seems from the outside, with bare boards and old fireplaces and a creaking wooden staircase. One room has practically no plaster, and the kitchen is totally old-fashioned, with 1930s cupboards.
“Great kitchen.” I shoot him a teasing look.
“I’m sure I could refit it to your Cordon Bleu standards,” he returns.
We make our way upstairs and into a huge bedroom overlooking the rear of the house. From above, the vegetable plots look like an orderly patchwork quilt, stretching away into the green meadow. I can see a little terrace down below and a tiny private garden belonging to the house, all clematis and tangled roses.
“It’s a beautiful place,” I say, leaning on the windowsill. “I love it.”
Standing here, looking out at the view, I feel like London is on another planet. Carter Spink and Arnold and all of them suddenly seem part of another life.
But even as I’m gazing out at the restful country scene, I can’t relax. All it would take is one phone call to the right person …
“So what are you showing me?” I ask as I get in.
“Magical mystery tour.” He smiles enigmatically and starts up the engine.
We drive out of Lower Ebury and take a route I don’t recognize, through a tiny neighboring village and up into the hills. Nathaniel seems in a cheerful mood and tells me stories about each farm and pub that we pass. But I barely hear a word. My mind is still churning.
I don’t know what I can do. I can’t even get into the building. I have no credibility. I’m powerless. And I only have three days. Once Arnold disappears off to the Bahamas that’ll be it.
“Here we are!” Nathaniel turns off the road into a gravel drive. He maneuvers the car into place by a low brick wall, then stops the engine. “What do you think?”
With an effort I wrench my mind back to the present time. “Um.…” I peer around blankly. “Yes. Lovely.”
What am I supposed to be looking at?
“Samantha, are you OK?” Nathaniel shoots me a curious glance. “You seem on edge.”
“I’m fine.” I try to smile. “Just a bit tired.”
I open the car door to get out, away from his gaze. I shut the door behind me and look around.
We’re in some kind of courtyard. There’s a ramshackle old stone house to the right, with a for sale post. Ahead are banks of greenhouses, glinting in the low sunlight. There are plots filled with rows of vegetables, there’s a Portakabin marked garden center …
Hang on.
I turn to see that Nathaniel has got out of the car too and is holding a sheaf of papers in his hand.
“A horticultural business opportunity,” he reads aloud. “Four acres of land, with ten more available, subject to negotiation. Ten thousand square feet of glasshouses. Four-bedroom farmhouse, needs work …”
“You’re buying this?” I say, my attention fully grabbed.
“I’m thinking about it. I wanted to show you first.” He spreads an arm around. “It’s a pretty good concern. Needs building up, but the land’s there. We can get some polytunnels going, extend the offices …”
I can’t take all this in.
“But what about the pubs? How come you’re suddenly—”
“It was you. What you said in the garden that day.” He pauses, the breeze ruffling his hair. “You’re right, Samantha. I’m not a landlord, I’m a gardener. I’d be happier doing what I really want to do. So … I had a long talk with Mum and she understood. We both reckon Eamonn can take over. Not that he knows yet.”
“Wow.” I look around again, taking in a pile of wooden crates, stacks of seed trays, a tattered poster advertising Christmas trees. “So you’re really going to do it?”
I can see the excitement in his face. “You only get one chance at life.”
“Well, I think it’s fantastic!”
“And there’s a house.” He nods toward it. “Or at least, there will be a house. It’s a bit run-down.”
“Right.” I take in the old stone house again. The paintwork is peeling and there’s a shutter hanging off one hinge. “It does look a bit of a mess.”
“I wanted you to see it first,” says Nathaniel. “Get your approval. I mean, one day you might—” He stops.
All of a sudden my relationship sensors are swiveling round madly, like the Hubble spotting an alien ship. What did they just pick up? What was he going to say?
“I might … stay over?” I supply at last.
“Exactly.” Nathaniel rubs his nose. “Shall we have a look?”
The house is bigger than it seems from the outside, with bare boards and old fireplaces and a creaking wooden staircase. One room has practically no plaster, and the kitchen is totally old-fashioned, with 1930s cupboards.
“Great kitchen.” I shoot him a teasing look.
“I’m sure I could refit it to your Cordon Bleu standards,” he returns.
We make our way upstairs and into a huge bedroom overlooking the rear of the house. From above, the vegetable plots look like an orderly patchwork quilt, stretching away into the green meadow. I can see a little terrace down below and a tiny private garden belonging to the house, all clematis and tangled roses.
“It’s a beautiful place,” I say, leaning on the windowsill. “I love it.”
Standing here, looking out at the view, I feel like London is on another planet. Carter Spink and Arnold and all of them suddenly seem part of another life.
But even as I’m gazing out at the restful country scene, I can’t relax. All it would take is one phone call to the right person …
