Her Own Rules (11 page)

“Only too true!” Patsy peered ahead, cursing under her breath. The heavy rain was slashing against the windshield, so that everything looked blurred despite the wipers. “I hope this awful weather is going to let up soon. It’s just miserable.”

“Do you want me to drive?”

“No, no, I’m okay. And I know this road like the back of my hand. Don’t forget, it leads to the north of England.”

“Your favorite place.”

“One of them anyway,” Patsy said, smiling to herself.

Meredith fell silent, her thoughts taking over.

Patsy concentrated on her driving. There was a strong wind blowing, and she suspected it was bitterly cold outside; the road had recently grown slick, icy, suddenly slippery because of the freezing rain and sleet.

As she drove on, her eyes fixed ahead, she thought of Meredith and how she had gone to Silver Lake all those years ago, how her life had been transformed overnight. What an extraordinary story it was. She knew that Meredith had become indispensable to Amelia and very quickly; the two women had developed a symbiotic relationship. Meredith had once told her how Jack had come to rely on her as well, teaching her so much about the management of the hotel, teaching her everything

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he knew about business. Yes, Meredith had confided a great deal about her years with the Silvers, but not much else about herself. She never talked about her earlier life in Australia. In fact, everything before the Silver Lake years seemed to be clouded in mystery. It was as if there were another part of her life, a secret part that Meredith did not want anyone to know about.

Patsy had no inclination to pry, ask questions; that was not her way. She respected Meredith’s desire for privacy.

Meredith turned to her and said, “This may sound funny to you, but I have a feeling you prefer the inn in Ripon. Skell Garth is your favorite of the two, isn’t it?”

Taken aback, Patsy exclaimed, “Why do you say
that?
”

“I just know. I’ve put two and two together from the few things you’ve said. Anyway, you love Yorkshire so much, it’s where you grew up.”

“As I’ve been telling you all along, I want you to be the judge, Meredith, I really do. I don’t want to influence you, set you up in advance.”

“What’s wrong with the one in the Lake District?”

“Nothing. You’ve seen the pictures.”

“Yes, and it does look gorgeous, and so do the gardens and the view. You’ve said it’s luxurious, beautifully done, and yet there’s a
but
in your mind; I know you.”

“Too many cushions,” Patsy muttered.

Meredith began to laugh. “I’ll never live that 110 / Barbara Taylor Bradford

down, will I?” she said, remembering a comment she had made about another inn they had considered six months earlier. “So what you’re saying really is that it’s
overstuffed, overdecorated
.”

“Sort of…lots of luxury and comfort, and I think the place does make you feel terribly pampered. But despite all the lovely fabrics and rugs and nice antiques, there’s nothing unique or different about Heronside. There’s nothing there that’s gone awry. You’ve always told me that it’s important for a room to be slightly askew, a bit ‘off.’ You said it makes a place interesting.”

“Oddities add character, and that’s something we have always taken into consideration.” Meredith looked at her partner and friend, and nodded to herself. “I
feel
you don’t like Heronside.”

“I don’t
dislike
it,” Patsy answered, speaking the truth.

“Look, why are we going there? Why not go directly to Ripon?”

“Because it is a wonderful inn, and I want you to see it for yourself. It doesn’t need much money spent on it, since it was redone two years ago, and the views are magnificent. Also, I’m not sure I’m right about it.

Truly, Meredith, I want
you
to make the decision.”

“All right, I will. But you’re not often wrong, Patsy.

We have very similar tastes.”

CHAPTER NINE

T
he morning was clear and cold, the kind of crisp, bright day that Meredith liked. The sky was a dazzling blue, without a cloud, and the sun was shining; while this offered little warmth, it added radiance to the day.

Just as the clock turned nine on Tuesday morning, Meredith was bundled up in boots and a sheepskin coat, walking through Studley Park. The stately avenue of lime trees down which she hurried led to Studley Church, just visible on top of the hill at the end of the avenue. She knew, from Mrs. Miller’s directions, that within a few minutes she would be at the abbey.

Yesterday afternoon, when she and Patsy had arrived in Ripon, they had gone directly to Skell Garth House.

Situated between the tiny villages of Studley Royal and Aldfield, the house stood on the

112 / Barbara Taylor Bradford

banks of the little River Skell, as did Fountains Abbey on the opposite bank.

After the Millers had been introduced to her, Patsy had explained to the couple that they would like to stay the night at Skell Garth. Since it was midweek in winter, this had not presented a problem. There were plenty of available rooms and Claudia Miller had given them a choice.

“I think we’d like those two that adjoin each other on the top floor,” Patsy had said as they had followed the owners up the wide main staircase. “You know, the two that face Fountains.”

The minute they walked into the first of the rooms, Patsy dragged Meredith to the window. “Now, isn’t that the most spectacular sight!” she cried. “Behold Fountains Abbey! One of the two most beautiful ruined abbeys in the whole of England.”

Meredith stared out across the sloping lawns and gardens of Skell Garth House, now obliterated by a covering of snow, her eyes fastening on the abbey. It rose up out of glistening white fields, huge, dark, monolithic, silhouetted against the fading greenish sky, an ancient tribute to God. And she caught her breath, struck by its beauty. She agreed that it
was
magnificent.

That was the only word to describe it, she thought.

“And it’s one of the best preserved abbeys in the country,” Bill Miller had pointed out. “There are stonemasons working on it all the time, trying to keep it from crumbling away. It’s a national treasure, you know.”

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At that moment, and for a reason she could not fathom, Meredith had made up her mind to take a closer look, feeling oddly drawn to those ruins.

After they had taken tea with the Millers, the rest of the afternoon had been devoted to a complete guided tour of Skell Garth House, which dated back to the nineteenth century. By the time they finished talking with the owners, going over all aspects of the inn and the pros and cons, it had grown dark outside. I’ll go tomorrow, before we leave, Meredith resolved, filled with determination to visit the ruins, a determination she did not quite understand.

This morning, when she was finishing her breakfast, Claudia Miller had come into the dining room to see if Meredith needed anything else. She seized the moment and asked her how to get to the abbey from the inn.

“You’ll have to approach it on foot, that’s the best way. Wear a pair of wellies, if you’ve got them with you, or boots. There’s still a bit of snow out there by Studley way.” Claudia then gave her explicit directions.

And I’m almost there, Meredith told herself as she finally reached the top of the hill at the end of the avenue of limes. She glanced over at Studley Church, so picturesque in the snow, and at the obelisk nearby; she then directed her gaze to the lake below, glittering in the sunlight. The river Skell flowed beyond it, and there, just a short distance upstream, was the abbey.

114 / Barbara Taylor Bradford

Meredith stood for a moment longer on top of the hill, shading her eyes against the sun with one hand, thinking that Fountains looked more imposing than it had the previous afternoon. But of course it would, she told herself. She was, after all, much closer to it now, viewing it with the naked eye, not through a glass window from a distant house.

Unexpectedly, Meredith shivered. She felt as though a cold wind had blown around her, through her. But there was no wind that morning. Someone walked over my grave, she muttered under her breath, and then wondered why she had thought this, wondered how she knew such an odd phrase. She had never used it in her life before.

A strange sensation came over her. She stood very still, all of her senses alert. Instantly, she knew what it was…a curious feeling that she had been there before, that she had stood in this very spot, on this very hill, gazing down at those medieval ruins. It seemed to her that the landscape below her was familiar, known to her. She shivered again. Déjà vu, the French call it,
already seen
, she reminded herself. But she had not been there before; she had never even been to Yorkshire.

Yet this ancient place stirred something in her. The ruins beckoned, seemed to pull her forward urgently; she set off, began to hurry down the hill, her boots crunching on the frozen snow. She was almost running, slipping and sliding in her haste to get there. Several times she almost fell but managed to recover her balance and go on running.

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At last, somewhat out of breath, she was hurrying into the center of the ruined Cistercian monastery.

It was roofless, open to the vast arc of sky floating above it like a great canopy of blue, and the glassless windows were giant arches flung against that empty sky. Meredith stood there, turning slowly, her head thrown back as she gazed up at the soaring stone walls, jagged and broken off at the top…the immense col-umns only partially intact…the cracked flagstones covered now in pure white snow. A sense of timeless-ness enveloped her.

As she looked around, absorbing everything, her heart clenched, and she felt a strange sense of loss. So acute, so strong, so overwhelming was this feeling, tears came into her eyes. Her throat closed with such a rush of emotion she was further startled at herself.

Something was taken from me here…something of immense value to me.
I have been here before
. I know this ancient place…somehow it’s part of me. What was it I lost here? Oh God, what was it? Something dearer than life. Part of my soul…part of my heart.

Why do I feel this way? What do these ruins mean to me? She had no ready answers for herself.

Meredith stood perfectly still in the middle of the ruined abbey. Unexpected tears ran down her face, warm against her cold cheeks. She closed her eyes, not understanding what was happening to her; it was as though her heart were breaking. Something had been taken from her.
Or someone
. Someone she 116 / Barbara Taylor Bradford

loved. Was that it? She was not sure. The only thing she really knew at that moment was that she was experiencing an immense sense of deprivation.

Opening her eyes, moving slowly, she went and stood near one of the walls of the monastery, resting her head against its timeworn stones. There was a stillness here, a quietness that was infinite; it calmed her.

Far away, in the distance, she heard the call of a lone bird high on the wing. There was a sudden rush of wind through the ruins, a moaning, sighing wind, and then everything was still, silent again.

She began to walk toward the cloisters, moving like a somnambulist. She knew the way. Once inside, she was protected from the wind. And there was no sound at all. Just perfect silence in these great vaulted halls of the cloisters.

Pain, she thought. Why do I feel pain and hurt and despair? What is it about this place that makes me feel like this? What does Fountains mean to me? She did not know. It was a mystery.

When Meredith returned to Skell Garth House an hour later, Patsy was waiting for her in the sitting room.

“My God, you look frozen to death!” her partner cried as she walked in. “Come and sit by the fire and have a hot drink before we leave for the airport.”

“I’m all right.” Meredith took off her coat and Her Own Rules / 117

walked across to the fireplace, warming her hands in front of the flames for a moment.

“I couldn’t believe it when Claudia told me you’d gone to Fountains Abbey. And in this weather. If you’d waited for me to come down for breakfast, I would have driven you there. At least, I would have driven you as close to the abbey as
I
could get.”

“I enjoyed the walk.” Meredith sat down on a chair, turned her head, gazed into the flames burning so fiercely.

“I’ll go and order a pot of tea,” Patsy said, jumping up. “Would you like something to eat? Pikelets, maybe? I know you enjoy them as much as I do.”

“No thanks, not now. The tea would be nice though.”

When Patsy came back, she threw Meredith a curious glance. “This may be a strange thing to say, but you look quite white, as if you’ve seen a ghost.” Then she grinned and added, “A couple of Cistercian monks perhaps, walking around the abbey’s ruins with you?”

When Meredith did not respond with a gale of laughter, as she usually did, but looked at her oddly and remained silent, Patsy stared at her harder.

“
Is
there something the matter, Meredith?” she probed.

At first Meredith was silent, then said, “No, there’s nothing wrong. But I did have a funny experience at Fountains.”

“What happened?”

118 / Barbara Taylor Bradford

“I was drawn to the ruins. It was as though a
magnet
were pulling me forward. I practically ran there from Studley Church. I almost fell a couple of times. The thing was, Patsy, I couldn’t wait to get there, to be in the middle of those ruins. And once I was standing in the center of them, I felt as if I knew that place so well.

It was curiously familiar. And then something happened to me…I had this immense sense of loss. It was so overwhelming, I was shaken. I can’t explain it, I really can’t.” Meredith stared at Patsy. “You probably think I’m crazy…Anyway, Fountains Abbey
does
mean something to me, of that I’m sure. Something special.

And yet I can’t tell you why that is so. I’d never heard of it until the other day. And I’ve never been there in my life.”