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‘Oh, they did, they did! Tim would be sitting up there where the main trunk forks, and Mike would push past him and go up higher. I couldn’t watch, but Harold always thought it was better for boys to climb trees than artificial climbing frames in sterile playgrounds.’
I laughed. ‘My dad always says the same thing. My sister and I were both tomboys and spent half our childhoods up trees.’
‘Good for you! I think it’s essential for children to play outside. Shall we continue with the tour?’
She took me down a dark corridor to the kitchen with its walk-in pantry and a rather damp utility room which might once have been called a scullery. Then upstairs, where four large bedrooms and a bathroom occupied the first floor, and another two smaller attic bedrooms filled the second floor. I loved every inch of it. I suspected none of it had seen a lick of paint or a roll of new wallpaper since the sixties or seventies but the house oozed charm and character. I tried to imagine my ancestors here: Barty and his brother William, my great-great-grandfather, running up and down the stairs as boys; their father Bartholomew writing letters in the study downstairs; their mother serenely embroidering a sampler by the fireside in the drawing room. There would have been servants here too, living in those attic bedrooms.
We finished the tour and went back downstairs. Harold was still dozing beside the fire in the old study. ‘Thank you so much, Mrs Delamere,’ I said. ‘I have really enjoyed imagining my ancestors living here. It’s a wonderful house.’
‘It is, yes.’ She shook her head. ‘Sadly it’s too much for Harold and me nowadays. We shall soon have to think about moving out and into somewhere smaller. But I hate the thought of developers carving it up into flats, and I’m certain that’s what would happen. We’ve been approached by a couple of developers already.’
‘Mmm, yes, I can see you’d want it to stay as it is.’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t mind the idea of it being done up inside. Lord knows it needs it – tastes have changed and I know it’s very dated. But I’d want to think of it remaining as a single family home. Ah, well.’ She caught hold of my hands and leaned in to kiss my cheek. ‘Katie, it’s been so lovely to meet you. I hope you’ll come again – I’d love to hear more about how you researched your ancestors, and how you knew they lived here.’
‘Well, it was all via the census records,’ I said, as I slipped on my coat. ‘They’re available on the internet now, which makes it all pretty easy.’
Vera smiled. ‘I’m afraid we don’t even own a computer.’
As I left the house I sensed someone’s eyes on me, and turned to look back. Vera was standing at the study window, watching me go with a wistful expression on her thin face. I waved, and she smiled and waved back. I crossed the street and took a few photos of the house for my records, then headed back home to Southampton. As I drove back down the motorway I wondered what kind of mood Simon would be in. Hopefully he’d have got over himself by now. I was buzzing with excitement about having seen inside my ancestors’ home and wanted to be able to share it with him.
Simon was in the kitchen, stirring a pot of bolognese sauce for the kids’ tea. I put my arms around him from behind, stretched up and kissed the back of his neck.
‘Mind out! You nearly made me knock the pan over.’ He shrugged himself out of my hug.
‘Sorry. I’ll take over if you like.’ I gave the pot a stir then waltzed off around the kitchen. Our four-year old, Thomas, came in pushing a small yellow digger along the floor and making engine noises. He giggled when he saw me dancing. I scooped him up and danced with him.
‘Hey, not while I’m cooking!’ said Simon, brandishing his wooden spoon. ‘There’s no space in here for mucking about. I take it from your happy dance that you found what you were looking for?’
‘Yes, I found the house!’
‘What house was this?’
‘Oh, Simon, I told you this morning!’ I put Thomas down. He retrieved his digger and resumed excavations in the hallway. ‘It was the house where the St Clairs lived, for over a hundred years. My great-great-grandfather William St Clair would have been born there, and his father Bartholomew before him.’
‘Ah, yes. You’ve been rummaging around in the pointless past again while I look after the future, a.k.a. our children. So you got a photo of this house?’
‘More than that – I went inside! The owners are a lovely elderly couple called Harold and Vera Delamere and they remember how the older folk in the village told them stories of Barty St Clair when they moved it. Apparently he was a bit strange. Very sociable but wouldn’t let anyone in the house. Maybe he was hiding something – ooh, maybe there’re some skeletons in my ancestors’ closets!’
‘Good stuff. I don’t get this obsession with your ancestors, but whatever floats your boat, I suppose.’ He grinned, and patted my shoulder. His way of apologising for the morning’s row. I smiled back, accepting the apology.
‘Kids! Dinner’s ready!’ Simon called. He plonked three plates of spag bol on the table, then left the kitchen. Looked like supervising the kids’ dinner time was going to be my job, then. Fair enough. I’d had my time off. I helped Thomas climb up onto a chair, and ruffled Lewis and Lauren’s hair as they sat at the table.
‘Hey, mind the gel!’ Lewis ducked away from my hand. Only ten but already spending hours in front of the mirror before school each day.
‘What do you want to put gel in your hair for, you’re not a girl.’ His twin sister Lauren flicked his ear. ‘With those spikes you’ll puncture the ball when you next play rugby with Dad.’
‘You don’t head the ball in rugby, derrr,’ retorted Lewis. ‘Don’t you know anything?’
‘More than you, stupid.’ Lauren swished her blonde mane over her shoulder and stuck out a bolognese-encrusted tongue in his direction.
‘That’s enough, you two,’ I said. ‘Eat up and if you can’t speak nicely to each other don’t speak at all.’
They glared across the table at each other but otherwise got on with it. Little Thomas, as usual, was keeping his head down and out of trouble. He caught my eye and flashed me a winning smile. Apart from the strand of spaghetti that was slithering down his chin it was one of those expressions you just wish you’d caught on camera.
I made myself a cup of tea while the children finished their dinners. Once they were finished and the kitchen was clean, I sat down at the table sipping my cup of tea, and drifted off into a pleasant fantasy in which the Delameres sold up and somehow Simon and I could afford to buy the house, move in and discover all its secrets.
Chapter Four: Hampshire, December 2012 (#ulink_3bcfea9f-5a80-566e-9dee-1cd1c58db3d8)
‘I know,’ I said, decisively, ‘let’s take Mum and Dad out for Sunday lunch at the pub this weekend, rather than cook it here. It’s always a squash when they come for dinner, and it’d be lovely to have someone else do all the work.’ It was a few weeks after my visit to Kingsley House. Simon and I had managed not to row again, mainly because I’d not said a single word more about my ancestry research, and he’d foregone another rugby practice to take the whole family out to see The Polar Express at the cinema.
Simon put down the book he was reading and peered over his glasses at me. ‘OK, and maybe your dad will want to pay…’
I threw a cushion at him. ‘No, we’ll pay, you tight git. It’s supposed to be Dad’s birthday dinner, after all. Anyway, we can easily afford to since your promotion and pay rise.’
He hugged the cushion and threw his feet up onto the sofa. It was a cold, dark evening – one of those where you wish you had an open fireplace instead of a gas fire, when you just want to cuddle up with a blanket and a good book. And maybe a glass of wine.
‘Fancy a glass of wine?’ I said.
‘Yeah, go on then.’ Simon swung his legs off the sofa and stood up to fetch a bottle. ‘Arrgh, what did I tread on?’ He hopped around then sat back down to investigate the damage to his foot.
‘Lego, I expect. Lewis had some in here earlier.’
‘When’s he going to grow out of Lego?’ grumbled Simon, kicking the offending piece under the Christmas tree.
‘About the same time as Thomas grows into it,’ I replied. ‘I’ll get the wine, seeing as you’re incapacitated.’
‘Thanks. What we really need is a bigger house. One with a playroom, so we can keep the lounge clear of toys and the kids can injure themselves on their own Lego without involving us.’
I went to fetch a couple of glasses and a bottle of Pinot Noir from the kitchen. Simon was right – we had outgrown this house. The two boys had to share a room, which didn’t work very well because of the difference in their ages. The kitchen was a reasonable size but had to double as a dining room. Just about OK for the five of us but hopeless if we had visitors. And the garage was stuffed to bursting with bikes, gardening tools and DIY debris.
‘Do you mean it?’ I asked, as I returned with the wine.
‘Mean what?’
‘What you said about wanting a bigger house.’
He frowned, stared at the ceiling as though looking for an answer written on it, then sat upright. ‘Yeah, I think I do. How do you feel about moving?’
‘Well, I love this house, but we do need more space.’
‘Right then, let’s start house-hunting.’ He grabbed my laptop from the side table which doubled as a desk, and started tapping the keys.
‘Really? Right now?’ Was he serious or just fooling? Sometimes it was hard to tell with Simon.
‘No time like the present, eh? And no harm in looking.’ He grinned and patted the seat beside him. I sat down, and a moment later we were browsing a list of houses in Southampton which matched our criteria: four bedrooms, garden, two reception rooms. It was nice to do something together, as well.
I pointed to a Victorian three-storey semi. ‘That one looks good.’
‘Bit pricey.’
‘What can we afford?’
‘Dunno, I’d have to do the figures. Say four hundred thousand maximum – that’ll give us an idea of what’s available. Good job I got that promotion.’
They all looked nearer the half-million mark. I began to get despondent as Simon scrolled through. There was no point compromising on size – might as well stay where we were. We wanted to stay in Hampshire near our parents. Mine helped out with childcare occasionally and Simon’s mum – adoptive mum – was suffering from dementia and needed support. And there needed to be good schools nearby.
‘Winchester would be good. That’d cut fifteen minutes off my commute to London,’ said Simon.
‘Yes, I like Winchester too.’ I reached over and selected Winchester from a dropdown list of areas, and we began browsing a new set of houses.
‘Period or modern?’ Simon asked.
‘Period, definitely. Something with character. More wine?’
‘Why not? Period for me, too. Cor, look at this one!’ He clicked on a thumbnail image to expand it. I gasped – I’d seen that house before. Kingsley House, up for sale! Simon would click onto the next house instantly if he knew, so I quickly covered my gasp with an exclamation.
‘Wow, gorgeous! What’s the asking price?’
‘Hmm, four-four-five. Bit out of our price range. Looks a bit run down. Could be worth a look, though.’
‘Really? You want to go and see it?’ My heart beat a little faster at the idea of having another look at that house. I wondered whether anything had happened to Vera and Harold Delamere to make them put it up for sale. They’d mentioned feeling they ought to move somewhere smaller but had seemed reluctant to put the house on the market. I hoped they were OK. I’d thought of them and the house many times since my visit.
Simon frowned at me. ‘Well, that’s how house-hunting works, isn’t it? You find something you like the look of, then go to see it.’
‘It’s just all a bit sudden. Have we actually decided we want to move?’
‘Do you want to?’
‘Well, it makes sense, so I guess I do…’
‘Great! So do I.’ He clinked glasses with me. ‘So if we’ve made the decision to move, we might as well start looking at properties sooner rather than later. Don’t you think?’
And so it was that on Saturday I found myself standing outside Kingsley House again, grinning from ear to ear, with a slightly grizzly Thomas who’d just woken up holding my hand. Simon had dropped us off and was busy parking the car further up the lane. The older children and the estate agent were with him. I tugged on the bell-rope and heard a distant jangling inside.
Vera opened the door and broke into a wide smile when she saw me on the doorstep. ‘Katie, how lovely to see you! But, I’m afraid we’re expecting visitors in a moment. The house is up for sale, you see.’
‘I know – it’s us who’ve come to see it,’ I said, shaking her hand.
‘You? Oh, how lovely! When the estate agent said a Mr and Mrs Smith wanted to see the house I didn’t think for a moment it’d be you!’
‘I know, it’s such a common name, not like St Clair. Listen.’ I spoke hurriedly, seeing Simon, Lewis, Lauren and the estate agent walking up the lane ‘My husband doesn’t know I was here before. I’d be obliged if you didn’t mention it. He’s not…well…he doesn’t get the whole ancestry thing, you know? I think it would put him off the house.’
Vera raised her eyebrows, but nodded. ‘All right. Mum’s the word. And who’s this?’ She crouched down to Thomas’s level, but he became suddenly shy and buried his face against my leg. She stood up again as Simon and the others crunched across the gravel driveway. ‘Come in, everyone. Would you like to take the little one into the study? I’m sure I can find something to amuse him while the rest of you look around the house.’
The estate agent, Martin, a skinny youth in a shiny suit, introduced everyone as Vera ushered us all inside. Martin set off on a tour with Simon, Lewis and Lauren, while I followed Vera into the study with Thomas.
Harold was dozing beside the fire, in much the same place I’d left him on my last visit. ‘He’s not been so good,’ Vera whispered to me. ‘That’s why we’re having to move. We’re going into one of those little retirement flats, in a new development near our son in Bournemouth.’ She sighed. ‘It’ll break our hearts to leave this place, but the time has come.’
She gently shook Harold’s arm to wake him up. ‘Harold, look who’s here to view the house.’
He blinked twice at me, then smiled. ‘Katie St Clair! So are you going to buy our house, then?’
I laughed. ‘Well, I’ll have to see what my husband Simon thinks. He’s having a look around now, with the kids.’
‘And you’d better go to join him, or it’ll look odd,’ said Vera. ‘Now, Thomas, shall I fetch you something to play with? I’ve got a box of old Matchbox cars somewhere. I used to keep them for our grandchildren. But they’re all grown up now.’ She opened a low cupboard in the old shelving unit and pulled out a Tupperware container. Thomas trotted over and started rummaging through it happily, pulling out diggers and police cars, tractors and racing cars. Harold pulled out one and showed him how the doors opened.
‘Look, Thomas. It’s an old Ford Anglia. Like the first car I ever owned!’
Thomas inspected the battered toy. ‘Daddy’s got a Galaxy. We came in it today. It’s red.’
‘Oh, I like Galaxies,’ said Harold. ‘Lovely big cars.’
Behind him, Vera gestured to me to follow her out to the hallway, leaving the ‘boys’ to discuss cars.
‘It’s lovely to see him playing with a child,’ said Vera. ‘Does him good.’
‘Thomas loves cars. Your Tupperware box is the perfect thing to keep him happy.’
‘You’d better go and join the tour. I believe they’re upstairs now. I’ll make us some tea, and squash for the children?’
‘Perfect,’ I said, and trotted upstairs to find Simon and the kids who’d reached the two attic bedrooms.
‘Mum, I want to have this room,’ said Lauren. ‘I love the slopey ceilings. But I don’t want Lewis in the other room up here. I want this floor all to myself. Can I?’
‘Sweetheart, we haven’t even decided whether to buy this house or not. It’s a bit over our price range.’ I looked at Simon as I said this. He was chewing his lip, a sign that he was deep in thought. ‘What do you think, Simon?’
‘Got loads of potential. And I’ve always quite fancied a project house. Do you like it?’
‘I love it. Absolutely love it,’ I said. Martin grinned, no doubt seeing pound signs spinning in front of his eyes.
‘You can’t have seen much of it yet,’ said Simon. ‘But it is the kind of place which grabs you, isn’t it?’
He had no idea just how much it had grabbed me. I nodded, as we went back down the narrow stairs to the first floor.
A few minutes later, our tour was over. Lewis and Lauren went out to explore the garden, while Martin watched them nervously from the kitchen. Simon and I returned to the study where Thomas was parking cars along the edge of the hearth rug. Harold looked up as we entered.
‘Mrs Smith, do please sit down.’ He gestured to the chair opposite him, beside the fire. ‘We’ve been thinking. Are you serious about wanting to buy this house?’
I sat, and glanced at Simon standing beside me, wondering how we should reply. I loved the house and could think of nowhere I’d rather live, but it was out of our price range. How could we say we were serious about it when we knew we couldn’t possibly afford it? Simon looked lost for words too. Before either of us had chance to frame an answer, Harold continued.
‘Because if you are, I think we would be very happy to sell the house to you. Vera and I always hoped another family would buy the house, rather than a developer. We’d hate it to be mucked about with and turned into flats. We’ve had plenty of offers from developers, but have turned them all down, hoping a family would come and look at it. And we decided,’ here he looked at Vera who nodded encouragingly, ‘that if a family we liked came to see the house, we would reduce the price for them.’
I stared at him, and then at Simon. Was I hearing this right? They’d reduce the price if we wanted to buy? I blinked, and opened my mouth to speak, but again, Harold got in there first.
‘I think four hundred thousand would be plenty for us. The retirement flat we want to buy is much less than that. No sense in us being greedy. Would you like to discuss it?’
I nodded, dumbly. Simon looked stunned.
