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When he returned with the drinks, he lost no time in introducing himself properly. ‘Here’s my card. I’m a building surveyor. I do everything from homebuyer surveys to full design and build projects. My aunt tells me you have a refurbishment project in mind.’
‘Slightly more complicated than simple refurbishment, I’m afraid.’ Alice went on to describe the circumstances surrounding her purchase of the house and its present state. She left nothing out, including her stupidity in buying it unseen and the insanitary behaviour of the loony lady. To her surprise, he looked quite unfazed by her revelations.
Noting the expression on her face, he explained. ‘You wouldn’t believe some of the things I’ve seen over the years. You’ve just finished eating, so I won’t go into graphic detail, but you can believe me when I tell you I’ve seen worse.’
She found that hard to believe, but she felt it better not to pry, not least as she had a full stomach. ‘So, do you think you could help?’
‘Of course. So what exactly would you like me to do?’
‘Well, I suppose I need a survey first. But, in order for you to get in to do the survey, I need to find a firm who can go in and clear the place and disinfect it. I don’t suppose you know who might do that?’
He was nodding. ‘That’s not a problem. There’s a firm in Birmingham who specialise in this sort of thing. I’ve used them before. I’m afraid it won’t be cheap, as they’ll have to send a team down from the Midlands, but they’ll do a good job.’ Alice almost sighed with relief.
‘That’s wonderful. Would you please instruct them to get on to it? And then, once you’ve done the survey, I’d like you to draw up a list of the things that need to be done to return it to a decent, habitable state. And then it’ll be a matter of finding builders and so on…’ Her voice tailed off as she thought about the extent of the job ahead. He was quick to reassure her.
‘Don’t worry, once it’s all cleaned out, you and I can go in and take a good look round and decide just what needs to be done. If there’s anything that needs planning permission or Building Control consent I can make these applications on your behalf. OK?’
‘Absolutely.’ Alice felt as if a very heavy weight had been removed from her shoulders. She had a thought. ‘I’ve only got one key at the moment. I’ll get some duplicates made tomorrow. How do I get one to you?’
He explained that his offices were right in the town centre, not far from the auctioneers. She agreed to drop him in a couple of keys the next morning. He drained his pint, politely refused the offer of another and stood up.
‘If you don’t mind, Ms Grant, I had better get off home. My wife is going out to her art club and I’m keeping an eye on the kids.’
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you. And it’s Alice, please.’
He reached out and shook her hand. ‘See you tomorrow, Alice. Come to think of it, if you delay coming to see me until the afternoon, that’ll give me time to get some prices together for you. That way you’ll have a better idea of what it’s all going to cost you.’
‘Thank you so very much.’ She gave him a little wave as he made his exit.
She sat back with a contented smile on her face. Things were looking better. The bar had filled up a good bit by now. A glance at her watch told her it was almost eight o’clock. She took a sip of wine and began studying the faces of the locals. A bleep from her iPad told her she had received an e-mail. It was from Danny.
Dear Alice
How awful. I do hope you manage to get things sorted out. I feel terribly responsible. It was, after all, my idea for you to look at auction sites and I was the one who recommended Beauchamp. Maybe if I hadn’t suggested it, you wouldn’t be in this fix now.
Can I at least try to make up for this in some small way by buying you dinner on Saturday night? I would love to see you again and to hear all the gory details. That is assuming you are still talking to me….
Danny
She pressed Reply and started to type.
Don’t be so silly. I’m a grown woman and I should have known better. And, of course, there’s no need to buy me a meal. But, anyway, I would be very happy to have dinner with you on Saturday. Why don’t you come round to my place for a drink before we go out? By the way, I spent half an hour holding you, then five minutes scratching your ears this afternoon and you enjoyed it.
XX
Alice
She read it through, hesitated, then removed the last sentence. It sounded a bit flirty. That wouldn’t do at all. After all, she was soon to be his landlady.
Chapter 8
The sun was still shining the following day, although it was a cold start. Breakfast in the cosy kitchen would have been even more enormous if she hadn’t stopped Mrs Tinker from filling the frying pan with food. In the end she consumed a bowl of cereal, two fried eggs with bacon, toast and numerous cups of tea. She vowed not to eat again that day assuming, of course, that she could raise herself from her seat. Danny the dog was in a playful mood and she found she actually enjoyed his company. He kept giving her not so gentle nudges under the table when Mrs Tinker wasn’t looking. By the time she had demolished the bacon and eggs, she could feel his head resting on her thigh.
‘You can give him the bacon rind, if you like.’ Mrs Tinker was well aware of what was happening under the table. ‘It’s the one exception I allow and he knows it.’ At the sound of her voice, the dog emerged like magic and took the leftovers very delicately from Alice’s hesitant hand.
‘He’s very gentle, isn’t he? I thought he might have my hand off.’
‘He’s a lovely dog.’ Breakfast over, the dog wandered over to his mistress and sat at her side. She scratched his ears.
‘So, you’re staying on for another night?’
‘Yes, if that’s all right, but no cooked breakfast tomorrow, please. I have a dinner date on Saturday night and I need to have a bit of room left over.’
‘I was sure a pretty girl like you would have a young man. Have you been together long?’ Mrs Tinker had a distinct twinkle in her eye. It did not waver, even when Alice blushed red.
‘Oh no, he’s not a boyfriend or anything like that. He’s a friend from work. He’s going to rent my flat when I come down here.’
‘But you did use the word “date”, didn’t you, my dear?’
‘Well, yes, but it’s only an expression. We’re just friends, really.’
Mrs Tinker decided to change the subject. ‘So what are your plans for today?’
‘I thought I would do a bit of exploring this morning. This afternoon I’ve got an appointment with your Peter. I need to give him some keys and he’s promised me some prices.’
‘Why don’t you start here in the village? The church is eight hundred years old, you know. Danny and I will come and show you the way, if you like. It’s time for his walk.’ At the sound of this magic word, the dog leapt to his feet.
A few minutes later they set off. The dog was clearly delighted to be out in the fresh air. Alice was very impressed to see that he walked to heel, without the need of a lead, even though the first part of their walk was down a road. As they passed the pub, she could see the church tower sticking up just behind it.
‘I didn’t realise I was so close to the village centre last night.’
‘Woodcombe isn’t big. There used to be two pubs, but one closed down. Mind you, we’ve still got a shop, sort of a general store.’ She stopped as they reached the lychgate in front of the church. ‘Danny and I will leave you here. We go up in the fields beyond the church for our walk. I’ll see you later. Enjoy yourself.’
Alice watched them walk off then turned and went through the gate into the churchyard. She walked up among the tombstones, soon realising that the same three or four surnames appeared regularly. The earliest date she could read was 1667, but some of the stones were so covered in moss and lichen she felt sure they must be even older. The church was cold and a bit damp, but surprisingly light. Most of the windows were clear, although there were a few stained glass scenes here and there. George and a very fiery-looking dragon took pride of place behind the altar.
Between two rows of choir stalls she spotted a bottom.
‘Good morning.’ She felt she should say something.
The sound of her voice must have surprised him. He jumped visibly and she heard a thud as some part of his anatomy hit the woodwork.
‘Sorry if I gave you a shock. Are you all right?’ Her voice was hesitant.
He rose to his feet, gently rubbing the side of his head. He was a handsome man, dark-haired, with broad shoulders. He could have been her age, maybe a year or two older.
‘I’m fine.’ He looked a bit shifty and did not meet her eye. She began to feel strangely anxious. She glanced around the church. It was quite empty apart from the two of them.
‘Did you lose something?’ She did her best to keep her voice level.
‘No, just a bit of wet rot.’ He sounded more normal now. ‘The problem is, I’m not a carpenter.’
Reassured, Alice relaxed and took a better look at him. He was well-spoken and dressed in a dark jumper. Presumably he was the vicar. But she hadn’t seen such a handsome vicar before. She decided to introduce herself.
‘I’m Alice Grant.’ She reached out her hand. ‘I’ll be living here for the next six months or so, while my house in Beauchamp is being refurbished.’
‘Daniel Tremayne.’ She recognised one of the surnames that cropped up on a number of the tombstones outside. He turned towards the door, clearly uncomfortable. ‘I’d better get on the phone to somebody who can sort this out. Good morning.’ And he was gone.
She continued her tour of the village. The village green was surrounded by ancient trees, all just coming into leaf. In a few weeks it would no doubt be a lovely shady spot. She saw that the war memorial had recently been cleaned. The granite looked as if it had only been hewn a few days before. The brass letters of the names of the fallen had been polished and lacquered. She was appalled to see no fewer than thirty-six names of men killed between 1914 and 1918. All from just this one small village. Her eye was drawn to the name Tinker, Corporal A.J. No doubt a relative of her lovely landlady. Below that was Tremayne. No fewer than four names were listed. She wondered if they were all from the same family. She tried to imagine the grief of a mother at the loss of four sons.
As Alice walked back up to Drake Cottage, she found herself mulling over the possibility of making the Great War her chosen historical period. Although she had read a number of books on twentieth century history, she realised she knew relatively little about that age. She decided to look out for some suitable background reading.
The drive down to the seaside only took fifteen minutes. She turned into Lyndhurst Avenue and parked outside number 23. The heap of rubbish in the front garden looked even worse than she remembered. She hastily set off down the road to investigate what lay beyond. Part way down the road, she ran into Joyce Parker from number 44 and her spaniel.
‘You’re looking bit more cheerful today, my dear.’
Alice gave her a smile. ‘I’ve found a lovely bed and breakfast in Woodcombe. I feel much more at home already.’ She found she was stroking the dog’s ears as she talked. This was another sign that things were changing in her life. ‘Now I’m just going round to take a look at the garden of number 23.’ She couldn’t miss the grimace on Mrs Parker’s face.
‘It’s not pretty.’ She gave Alice an encouraging smile. ‘But it won’t take too much to get it shipshape again.’
Alice set off again. When she reached the turning circle at the end, she saw a footpath leading off to the left. This joined up with a narrow lane that ran along behind the row of houses. She followed it upwards, studying the rear elevations of the houses. There was no mistaking which was number 23.
The fence had all but disintegrated. All that remained were a few mouldy posts and an untidy pile of rotten planks. Beyond them was the garden. Or rather, what had once been a garden. All that remained now was a confused landscape of soil, weeds, rocks and rubbish. Probably, she thought to herself, not dissimilar to the battlefields of the First World War. The only good news was that there didn’t appear to be any poo out there. Maybe the council people had cleared it up, or the loony lady had preferred soiling other people’s gardens. She sighed deeply. At that moment her phone rang. She dug it out of her pocket.
‘Hi Alice, it’s me.’ Sally had decided to check that she was OK. Alice sat down on the edge of an old cast iron bath and gave her the sordid details.
‘Oh, you poor thing.’ Sally sounded appalled. ‘So what are you going to do?’
Alice was on the point of telling her about Peter the surveyor and the industrial cleaning company he’d recommended when she spotted something moving by her foot. She glanced down. At first she saw nothing but then, suddenly, there was another movement. To her horror, a large rat emerged from underneath a broken flower pot, scrambled over a pile of broken crockery and set off in the direction of the house. She squealed, jumped to her feet and ran back down the lane as fast as she could. Only when she was by the river did she stop. She was still holding the phone. She raised it to her ear and could hear Sally’s frantic voice.
‘Alice, Alice. Oh my God, what’s happened?’ Sally’s voice sounded as terror-stricken as Alice felt. She cleared her throat and replied.
‘It’s all right, Sally. I’m all right. It was just a rat.’
‘Just a rat?’ Sally, while relieved to hear her friend’s voice once more, was far from reassured. ‘What the hell kind of place is it that you’ve bought?’
Alice spotted a bench by the water. The morning sun had already reached it and it looked dry. She sat down and took a few deep breaths. Then she told Sally the second half of her tale, up to and including the man in the church. Predictably, Sally was far more interested in Daniel Tremayne than the surveyor and the industrial cleaners.
‘That’s my girl, Al. That’s just what you need.’ A thought struck her. ‘What is it about you and men called Danny? Isn’t that the name of the tall boy I quite fancy, even if you don’t?’
Until that moment, Alice hadn’t associated the first name of Daniel Tremayne, the vicar, and Danny. She had been concentrating on his surname, because of the gravestones. Now it seemed really strange. ‘What you don’t know, Sal, is that there are now four males in my life called Danny. The one you know in London, the vicar of Woodcombe, a little boy of six months, and a four-legged one.’ She thought about Sally’s question. Yes, what is it about me and the name Danny?
Chapter 9
The doorbell rang at seven-thirty sharp. Alice cast a quick glance at her reflection in the mirror as she went through to the hall. I’ll do, she thought to herself, glad that she had decided to go with the grey mohair top.
Danny gave her a big smile as the door opened. She looked stunning. ‘Hi, Alice. Good evening. So you are still talking to me then?’
‘Hi Danny. Come in. Don’t be so silly. There’s only one person responsible for my buying a house full of poo, and that’s me.’ She ushered him into the sitting room. ‘So what’s the plan? Have we got time for a glass of something here first?’
‘That sounds good. I’ve booked us a table on the top floor of the Tate Modern. I booked for eight-thirty, I hope that’s all right. The view won’t be quite as good as you were used to at G&B, but you’ll see stuff from a different angle.’ Suddenly worried, lest his reference to the company upset her, he hurried on. ‘Not that you want to talk about G&B, I’m sure.’ He was relieved to see her look unperturbed.
‘I really don’t mind what we talk about, as long as it’s not industrial cleaners and poo. What will you have to drink? White wine?’
He followed her into the kitchen and watched as she took a bottle from the fridge. He was surprised to see the fridge almost empty otherwise.
‘Yours has got even less in it than mine. Do you live on air, or takeaways?’
She poured two glasses of wine and handed him one.
‘I just got back from Devon this afternoon. I’ll go shopping in the morning.’ She led him back into the sitting room and took a seat on the sofa. She kicked off her shoes and curled her legs up underneath her. She held up her glass in his direction. ‘A toast; to you here in Greenwich and to me in Beauchamp.’ He was pleased to hear that she now pronounced it the way the locals did, “Beecham”.
He leant down and clinked his glass against hers before taking a seat opposite her. He noticed that the grey jumper perfectly matched the colour of her eyes. She was looking a good deal happier than the last time he had seen her. He thought he should tell her so.
‘I’m really pleased to see you looking so chirpy. Does this mean your career change is beginning to look like a good idea?’
‘Do you know, Danny, I think it is.’ She gave him a broad smile. ‘Give or take a house full of poo.’
‘So, tell me all about it. It isn’t really full of poo, is it?’
She filled him in on the true state of the house, including the rat. She then went on to tell him about Mrs Tinker and the providential arrival of her nephew, Peter. ‘The house I’m renting is in a lovely little village not far from the sea. The surveyor is wonderful. He’s already fixed up with the cleaners for them to come down next week. If all goes well, he may be able to get in to do his survey as soon as Monday week.’
They chatted easily until past eight, at which time he suggested they head for the restaurant.
Their table was right beside the window, looking out across the Thames towards St Paul’s cathedral. The meal was excellent and they continued to talk. Although they had known each other at work for almost five years, there was an awful lot to find out for both of them. Alice was the first to get personal.
‘So, how is it that a handsome young man like you is still single?’
He smiled. ‘I’m not totally sure what the correct way of describing my present state is. I am almost single.’ Seeing the look on her face, he explained. ‘I’m forty-two.’ She looked up in genuine surprise. ‘I got married when I was still quite young. It lasted for just over eighteen years. We split up almost two years ago and the divorce is going through. Some time soon I should get the news that I am once again single.’ In spite of the smile, she could hear the regret in his voice.
She was still digesting the fact that he was three years older than she was. With his mop of blond hair and boyish good looks, she had always thought of him as a youngster. ‘I’m sorry to hear that. I hope it isn’t one of those grim divorces.’
‘I don’t think there’s any other kind.’ He was looking more serious than she had ever seen him. ‘How Joan Collins managed to survive ten divorces, I’ll never know.’
‘I think you might just be exaggerating a tad there.’ She smiled at him.
He decided it was now his turn to put her on the spot. ‘So, if I may ask, how is it that an attractive woman such as yourself is still unattached, if you are? No husband hidden away somewhere?’
She looked down at her glass, gently shaking her head. ‘I’ll tell you something, Danny. Buying the house full of poo was not the only stupid mistake I’ve made in this life. The other, much bigger one, was devoting myself body and soul to G&B for so many years. To the exclusion of all else.’ She looked up. ‘You know something? When Nigel told me I had lost my job, I was devastated. But now, the more I think about it, the better it feels.’
‘And this place in Devon? Is that where your new life will be?’
She gave it some thought. ‘I was thinking about that on the train on the way home today. I actually felt almost sorry to leave Devon this morning. So maybe that’s one decision I’ve got right. It’s so very different from the city.’ She looked up with a smile on her face as she remembered. ‘Whether I stay in Beauchamp or go for one of the surrounding villages, I have yet to decide. But I’ve already found a couple of Dannys down there to keep me company.’
He looked puzzled.
‘I was going to tell you in my e-mail, but I didn’t want you to get the wrong idea. One of them I held in my arms, and the other one I scratched behind his ears.’
He gave her a smile as she explained what she meant. Underneath the smile, he found himself repeating her words…wrong idea?
She smiled back. Underneath the smile, she realised she had deliberately omitted to mention the other Danny, or rather, Daniel the Vicar. Why, she wondered, had she done that?
Chapter 10
The phone call from Peter the Surveyor came late the following Friday.
‘I am happy to report that the house has now been cleared. You will be interested to know that it took a team of three men three full days to clean it out. I’m afraid that the bill for disposal of what they refer to as “medical waste” has pushed the total up by almost a thousand pounds, but they’ve done it. I will go in on Monday to take an initial look. If you have plans to come down to Beauchamp, maybe you might like to meet me on site at some point.’
‘Fantastic.’ The extra thousand seemed a small price to pay for getting rid of everything. ‘I’m coming down to Devon tomorrow. I’ve arranged to stay with your aunt again, so you can contact me there if you can’t get me on the mobile.’ She had already made the discovery that the steep Devon hills and valleys were not conducive to mobile phone reception. ‘Did they make any comment on what they saw?’
There was a brief pause. ‘It seems there may be an infestation of dry rot.’
‘Dry rot?’ She knew that wasn’t good news. ‘Isn’t that the sort of thing that makes houses fall down?’
‘Only in the most extreme cases. Normally it can be remedied. I’ll take a look on Monday and should be better placed to make a judgement then. It may not even be dry rot. There are lots of fungal growths that look similar. By the way, just to warn you, the garden still looks like a rubbish dump. As it doesn’t look as if there’s anything toxic out there, we can get a local firm to clear it. It’ll work out a lot cheaper for you. I’ll give you a call on Monday afternoon.’
She thanked him and headed for the bathroom. She had arranged to meet a bunch of former colleagues from G&B for a drink when they finished work at six. She found herself humming in the shower. Things were on the up.
Next day she took a morning train from Paddington. Being a Saturday, it was a bit quieter than usual. She bought a car magazine at the station in order to have some idea of what sort of vehicle to get when she moved down to the West Country. This was not a subject with which she was familiar. In fact, she thought to herself as the train picked up speed, she couldn’t even remember what make her rental car the previous week had been. As she flicked through page after page of incomprehensible gobbledegook, she soon realised that this was a decision she was not qualified to make. She needed advice.
The only person she could think of with a car was Danny. She knew he had one because he had told her he took his windsurfing board everywhere on the roof. He kept it in the car park under the G&B building. She pulled out her phone and scrolled down to Danny Kemp. It was half past nine. Hopefully he would not still be in bed.
The phone rang five or six times before it was answered. It was a woman’s voice. Momentarily discomfited, Alice hesitated. The voice at the other end tried again.
‘Hello, is anybody there?’ It did not sound like an old woman. Very much the opposite, in fact.
‘Mm, hello. Could I speak to Danny?’
‘I’m afraid he’s in the shower. Can he call you back?’
‘Um, yes, please.’