Saving Willowbrook (5 page)

He strolled along the outsides of the outbuildings, seeing through the gaps between them the roofs of the six chalets – cheap, tatty places the informant had told Ray. Only they weren't. They were quite new, neatly painted, each with a small paved area in front of it containing a wooden table and benches looking out on to the lake.

It suddenly occurred to him that these chalets would be a far better place than a hotel for his own needs. He could imagine sitting outside one in the evening, sipping a glass of wine and enjoying the peace.

He walked all the way round the outbuildings, marvelling at how solid they were still, built of stone roofed with narrow slabs of the same stone. He found himself stroking the oldest barn, but he didn't feel it right to go inside, so he went back to the front of the house to wait.

The dog was there already. Cameron sat on the steps beside it, enjoying the light breeze ruffling his hair and the gentle English sunlight on his skin. When the dog nudged him, he caressed its head and with a sigh it relaxed against his leg. Golden hairs attached themselves to his neat, charcoal grey slacks and he didn't give a damn.

I'll get myself a dog, he thought. Once I've found somewhere to settle, I'll definitely get a dog. He'd had one as a lad, still missed old Rusty.

Ella drove out of town along the highway, noticing a kestrel hovering to one side. Cow parsley was just coming into bloom along the sides of the road, the white, mop-like heads swaying in the breeze. She smiled at a memory of herself and Rose using the hollow stems as pea shooters. She must remember to teach Amy how to do that – only her daughter would have difficulty creeping along hedgerows and climbing over walls.

She banished that painful thought quickly. She had vowed years ago only to focus on what was possible, not what was impossible. In every other way but one Amy was a normal child – a lively, attractive and sometimes naughty little girl.

Spring was in the air and perhaps that was what was making her feel so restless today. Brett's words had touched a sore spot. It was three years now since her marriage had ended and yes, she did miss a man's company, in and out of bed. She was only thirty-three, after all, not ninety.

Five minutes later she turned up her own lane, smiling as she passed the sign Rose had painted for her. Sign painting was a bit beneath an artist of Rose's skill, but since they were both struggling to make ends meet, they helped one another whenever and however they could. Some of Rose's paintings were displayed in the chalets at Willowbrook, with discreet little price tags. A few had sold. It all helped.

Ella was proud that her chalets were now making a steady profit, with as much trade as she could handle in the summer. But this year's tourist season hadn't really started yet and she'd had to use up a large chunk of her repayment savings because one of the outbuildings had been damaged in a particularly bad winter storm and the insurance company refused to authorize heritage standard work on an unlisted building. She hadn't been willing to do a cheap repair that would stick out like a sore thumb.

If only she could sell off a little of her land! That would solve the problem about repaying Miles once and for all. But local zoning didn't allow her to subdivide her farm. It was all or nothing as far as Willowbrook was concerned.

As she swung round the final curve of the long drive, she saw a white convertible parked outside the house. People who drove expensive vehicles like that didn't usually rent her chalets. Still, it'd be nice to make a bit of money this early in the season.

The owner of the vehicle was lounging on the steps leading to the front door, looking as if he belonged there. He'd taken off his jacket, rolled up his shirt sleeves and was petting her dog. And Porgy, usually suspicious of strangers, was lying beside him looking contented. As she came to a stop, the stranger stood up and moved down the steps towards her. Porgy stayed where he was at the top, tail beating out a greeting.

‘I hope you don't mind me having a chat with your dog. He's a fine old fellow, isn't he? I'm a sucker for Labradors, had one myself when I was a boy.'

The man's voice was low and smooth as dark chocolate. He wasn't tall, only a couple of inches above her own medium height, but he was extremely attractive, with strong features, sun-gilded brown hair and bright blue eyes fanned by laughter lines at the corners.

Goodness, how long was it since she'd found a man so instantly attractive? Not since she'd met Miles. She found herself hoping her face wasn't too flushed or her hair tangled. When she was a child, she'd desperately wanted straight blond hair, not curly auburn, but that was only one of many wishes that had never been fulfilled – like a happy marriage and a large family.

She got annoyed with the way her thoughts were going. What did it matter what she looked like? She was running a business here.

‘Can I help you?' she asked crisply.

‘I'm looking for somewhere to stay.' He held out his hand. ‘Cameron O'Neal.'

‘Ella Turner.' She took the hand briefly, thinking how different it was from Brett Harding's meaty fist.

Behind the stranger, Porgy heaved himself to his feet, stretched carefully, then padded down the steps to swipe a quick lick over Ella's hand.

‘I see my ferocious watchdog's been keeping an eye on you.' She bent to pat the dog who was getting so old and stiff now that she was relieved every day just to see him wake up.

‘He did come over to ask what my business was. But when I said I wanted to rent a chalet, he gave me permission to wait.' Cameron bent to caress the old dog again.

‘How long do you want to stay for?'

‘Tonight and possibly the night after, I'm not sure of my schedule yet.' He hesitated, then added, ‘I'm here for another reason as well. I've been asked to take a quick look at your property.'

She stiffened. ‘You're here to value Willowbrook?'

‘Just informally. Not a detailed valuation, just a general assessment. It's a beautiful place.'

‘I think so. My family's lived here since the seventeenth century.'

He looked startled. ‘That long? I wasn't sure the house would be genuinely old, because it's not listed.'

‘The main building is eighteenth century – well, most of it, though we think the cellars are older. But there are other buildings even older, like the barn.'

‘I'd love to see over it.'

‘For the valuation?'

‘No. For myself. I can give an approximate valuation of your property and its potential without a detailed inspection, but I happen to like old buildings.'

Her heart sank. ‘So the bank hasn't come to a decision yet?'

He didn't want to be specific about who had sent him here, but he found it left a sour taste in his mouth to deceive her, even by omitting to set her straight. She had such an open, vivid face, though she looked tired today.

He compromised with ‘These things take time.'

‘I see.' Ella pulled herself together. It'd not do her case any good if she seemed desperate. ‘I'll just have to put some things in the freezer then I'll show you to a chalet.' She went to get her shopping from the car and found him there beside her ready to help carry the bags in. Gold star for manners, if nothing else. ‘Thank you.'

As they walked inside she wondered why a man like him, a man who drove an expensive car and looked so affluent, would want to rent a chalet when there were several excellent country hotels in the vicinity. And what sort of valuation didn't require a detailed inspection of the property? Weren't they interested in the house? Was it just the land that had value? To her it was the house that mattered most.

She dumped the bags of shopping on the long preparation surface in the kitchen, asking automatically, ‘Would you care for a cup of coffee, Mr O'Neal?'

‘Do call me Cameron.' He hesitated, then smiled ruefully. ‘I'd love one, if it's not too much trouble. I've not had anything to eat or drink since I left London.'

‘It's no trouble at all.'

He moved over to the window. ‘That's a beautiful view. So peaceful.'

‘I love it.' She allowed herself a minute to look at the lake, trying to see it through his eyes. A light breeze was ruffling the surface of the water and around it trees were swaying gently, birds darting to and fro. Even as she watched, a fish broke the surface, then splashed its tail and vanished again.

She got out a mug and some home-made biscuits.

‘Won't you join me?' he asked.

‘Well . . . all right. Just for a few minutes.' She didn't usually sit with clients, but it'd been a hectically busy morning and ten minutes' rest would set her up for her next round of jobs.

When the coffee was ready, she led the way out to the conservatory, which she used as a dining room, and sat down with him at a table. It was looking very attractive, she decided, with its red checked tablecloths and dried flower arrangements.

She took a biscuit, gesturing to him to help himself. Inevitably her thoughts drifted back to the bank as she took a bite. If they refused the loan, she had one last fallback: selling Jane Turner's rubies. They were beautiful, though old-fashioned, a necklace with a pendant that could be removed and used as a brooch, plus matching earrings. She knew they were worth a good deal of money, though not exactly how much. When she'd shown them to Miles, he'd offered to sell them for her, but had warned that the rubies weren't of the first quality.

Would the jewels be good enough to save her family home or would she be throwing good money after bad, as well as losing one of the last family heirlooms?

She hoped desperately that she wouldn't be driven to selling them. Family lore said if the rubies left the family, then the Turners' luck would go with them. She wasn't superstitious, not exactly, but she'd hate to be the one who tested the truth of the myth.

Cameron stirred his coffee, studying her covertly. She was frowning and seemed to have forgotten his presence. She looked tired and strained. Surely she didn't run this place on her own?

After enjoying some of the excellent coffee, he bit into a biscuit. Home-made, no less. Delicious! He stared out at the water and found himself enjoying the silence so didn't force any conversation.

When he'd finished, he set his mug down. ‘That was delicious, thank you. It's a long time since I've had home-made biscuits. May I see the chalet now?'

‘What? Oh, yes, of course. Sorry. My thoughts were miles away.'

‘Good thoughts, I hope.'

She shrugged. ‘Financial thoughts.'

‘It must be expensive maintaining a house like this.'

‘What isn't expensive these days?'

She went to unhook a key from a rack in the kitchen and he watched her get milk from the refrigerator, together with tea and coffee sachets.

‘This was one of the original pantries, but I use it as my linen store.' She opened a rough door made of upright planks, bound together by a z-shape of smaller planks. It had a big old-fashioned latch. ‘This is the earliest part of the building. It dates from the early seventeenth century, we think.'

He took a closer look. ‘Is that the original door?'

‘Yes. I can't bear to replace it. A modern panel door would look ghastly here.'

He watched, intrigued, as she picked up some towels from sturdy shelves made of solid wood. ‘The original shelves too?'

‘Yes. Oak, I think. Though this one's stone, for keeping things cool originally.'

‘Is the house heritage listed?' Ray had told him it wasn't, but after seeing it, admiring it, he wanted to hear her version.

‘No. My ex looked into that, but it wasn't well enough preserved or of a coherent enough architectural style to be of interest.'

Cameron frowned, puzzled by this. From what he'd seen of the place, that surprised him. He might check that later.

‘I'll give you chalet six. It's my favourite, on the very edge of the lake.'

He followed her along the lakeshore, then stopped on the tiny patio of the chalet to nod approval of the view. ‘I shall enjoy sitting out here. And the weather forecast is good.'

As she switched on the small refrigerator inside, she went through what was obviously a well-rehearsed speech, ‘Drinks and a few snack foods are on sale at the farm. We don't sell alcohol. There's a microwave here if you want to cook anything.' She went to hang the towels in the bathroom, still talking. ‘If there's anything else you need, you've only to let me know.'

‘Do you do meals?'

‘Yes. Only simple ones, though. Home cooking rather than gourmet dining.'

‘I'd appreciate a meal tonight, if that's possible?'

‘Certainly. Meals are served in the conservatory. Will seven o'clock suit you?'

‘I think everything about this place suits me.'

She led the way out again and pointed to a dirt track. ‘You can drive your car round the dirt track on the far side of the barn and park it right next to your chalet.'

He watched her walk back to the house, striding energetically, completely oblivious to him now, he'd guess.

He'd known she was in financial trouble when he took on this assignment. Now that he'd seen Willowbrook, he suspected she was in more trouble than she realized.

Cameron didn't like underhand dealing, but Ray was working with an outside consultant who had advised strict secrecy about the project at this stage. Ray must have some concerns about this fellow or he'd not have asked Cameron to check Willowbrook out. The trouble was, unless DevRaCom acquired this central piece of land, the whole project would be in jeopardy, so Ray didn't want Ms Turner finding out she could ask what she wanted for the old place.