A Winter’s Tale (3 page)

‘I’m a very
distant
cousin and since I didn’t go to live at Winter’s End until shortly after you and your mother had left, you wouldn’t remember me. But I’m sure you’ve heard of me?’

‘No I haven’t,’ I began—and then the full import of what he had just said sank in, shaking me to the core. I exclaimed incredulously, ‘What do you mean,
you
lived at Winter’s End?’

I’d always imagined Winter’s End and Grandfather and the twin aunts and the little dogs and
everything
just going on for ever, like a scene securely enclosed in a snowglobe. Even if I could never get back into that closed world again, at least I had been able to take it out and give it a shake occasionally…But now it seemed that this stranger had almost immediately taken my place there!

He misread my amazement as suspicious disbelief and flushed crossly. ‘If you must know, my mother was your grandfather’s cousin and we lived in New Zealand. She died
when I was five, and when my father remarried I was sent back home.’

‘Oh,’ I said uncertainly, because despite his hair not having the true red-gold Winter tint he
did
have a look of my mother, now I came to consider it—or how she would have looked in a rage, if she’d ever had one. While ‘feckless’ and ‘stoned’ would have been the two words that summed my mother up best, she was good-natured to the point where it was a serious handicap in life. ‘But why are you here? And why did you think I would be expecting you?’

I must have sounded as genuinely bewildered as I felt for the anger in his eyes slowly thawed and was replaced by something like speculation. ‘You mean you don’t know anything about me? And you haven’t heard the news yet?’

‘No! And what news?’

‘That William Winter is dead, for a start,’ he said bluntly.

‘Grandfather’s
dead
?’ Things seemed to blur dizzily around me and I sank down onto the top step of the caravan.

‘Dead for months. And while I, as the last male descendant of the Winters, get the title, I don’t suppose you will be surprised to learn that he left Winter’s End and everything else to
you
.’

My vision cleared and I looked up to see that he was eyeing me narrowly.

‘W-Winter’s End?
Me?
You’re mad or…or there’s some mistake!’ I stammered. ‘He’s only seen me once since we left, and he didn’t seem to like me any more then than he did when I was a little girl!’

‘
Once?
’ It must have been obvious that I was telling the truth, for his expression slowly altered to a rueful smile of singular and quite dazzling charm, exuding such warmth that, despite my state of numb shock, I found myself returning it.

‘Sorry, I seem to have got hold of the wrong end of the stick. I’ve made all the wrong assumptions! What on earth
must you think of me? Look, let’s start again, shall we?’ He took my hands and pulled me to my feet. ‘Sophy, I’m
delighted
to meet you at last!’

Then, enfolding me in his arms, he kissed me on each cheek before taking my hands again and stepping back to look at me with what appeared to be genuine admiration.

But do not think I was entirely inactive during this embrace—no, I was actively inert and acquiescent. I hadn’t had my hands on such a gorgeous man within living memory, even one with a dodgy temper who had just told me things I didn’t want to hear—
and
some I couldn’t believe.

You
try dating in a small village, while juggling a low-paid and exhausting job and turning your hobby into a little business on the side, all under the critical and jealous eyes of your daughter. None of my potential suitors had made it past first base. If I actually managed to find a babysitter and got out of the house with a man, you could bet your bottom dollar Lucy would be running a high fever or throwing out interesting symptoms before I reached the end of the street.

And I hadn’t had much more luck since she went off to university. All the men in my age bracket seemed to be looking for skinny young blondes. That, or they had a serious impediment they forgot to mention, like a wife.

So now, enfolded in softest cashmere and anaesthetised by Amouage Gold Pour Homme, if I had any conscious thought at all it was along the lines of, Yes! Bring it on!

Ten minutes later we were sitting in my icebox of a caravan drinking coffee and talking like old friends.

‘So you see,’ Jack was explaining, ‘we didn’t even know old William had found you until the will was read. He’d tried and failed to discover where you and your mother were in the past, of course. Then when your mother…’ he searched for a tactful phrase, ‘when your mother was brought
home, he tried again to trace you—but on the wrong side of the Atlantic, since we assumed you would have been in America with her. After that we thought he’d given up, until we discovered he’d secretly left you Winter’s End and,’ he shrugged and smiled charmingly, ‘we thought
you
must have finally got in touch with
him
and managed to persuade him into leaving you everything.’

‘No, he traced me through an advert for cushions I put in a magazine, and a few months ago he simply turned up out of the blue. And although it was lovely to know he’d never stopped trying to find me, I don’t know why he bothered, because he spent most of the time lecturing me about where I’d gone wrong in life and which decisions I could have made better. He’d hired a private eye to dig into my past, so he even knew things I’d forgotten. He didn’t look much different from how I remembered him, either…except he seemed frailer and his hair was white, of course.’

I looked back at my early memories of him: a tall figure with the Winter pale red-gold hair, bright blue eyes and the beard of a biblical prophet. (The only one of those attributes I don’t regret not inheriting is the beard.)

‘So that’s the only time you saw him?’ Jack asked, accepting another refill but declining anything to eat. I’d laid out before him everything I had in the way of refreshments—two cherry-topped coconut pyramids and a carob-covered rice cake—but going by his expression, I don’t think he recognised them as food.

I took the rice cake myself, the pyramids, crumbly and sticky, being a bit hard to eat neatly in company. ‘Yes, he just turned up one afternoon on my one day off—but of course the private eye would have told him when I’d be in. Lucy was home and she is
so
defensive that she and Grandfather spent most of the time trying to score points off each other.’ I shuddered. ‘They actually seemed to enjoy it, but
I hate arguments and fights. He didn’t suggest we visit Winter’s End, either—he said it was too late and would just stir things up.’

At the time that had hurt and I had wondered why he had gone to the trouble of finding us at all, but then he had added that he wasn’t in the best of health and had just wanted to assure himself that we were all right.

Which we were, of course—totally penniless, but all right.

‘Who’s Lucy?’ Jack asked.

‘My daughter. She’s twenty-two, and out in Japan teaching English for a year…at least, I hope it’s only a year, because I miss her terribly.’ I cupped my hands around my own mug and stared down into it. ‘But you did say that Grandfather left me Winter’s End, didn’t you? I didn’t imagine that? Only I’m sure you
can’t
be right because—I mean—why on earth would he? It’s too incredible to be true! And in any case, surely I would have been told about it by now if he had?’

‘You haven’t, because the solicitor had strict instructions from my uncle to wait until the estate was settled before contacting you—or telling the family where you were. He knew there would be a fuss because, you see, I was brought up expecting to take on Winter’s End as the next
legitimate
heir…even if you turned up again, which of course you didn’t. But it wasn’t entailed on the next male descendant, so he was free to leave the estate to who he liked.’

‘So, why did he do it?’ I asked, ignoring this slur on my birth.

‘My uncle and I didn’t see eye to eye about some things: he just couldn’t understand modern business methods, for a start. And he’d been draining the money that should have gone to keep the house in good repair into his garden restoration schemes instead, but when I remonstrated with him, he flew right off the handle.’

‘So when the will was read you naturally assumed I’d schemed to get him to leave Winter’s End to me?’

‘Yes—sorry about that! But you can understand how I felt, can’t you? The old man must have been senile to do such a thing—I love the place and I’d grown up believing it would one day be mine, that’s what made me so unreasonably angry. As soon as I managed to find out where you lived I thought I’d come up here and make you an offer for Winter’s End, but temper got the better of me!’

‘Make me an offer?’ I’d started to be convinced I was in some strange dream and would wake up again any minute. ‘You mean, you want me to
sell
Winter’s End to you?’

‘Yes, just that. I could challenge the will because William was clearly unhinged when he wrote it—but this way seems more civilised.’ He leaned forward and took my hand in his, looking down into my eyes in a way that made the caravan seem suddenly very much warmer. ‘Listen, Sophy, it’s the only practical thing you
can
do, because I’m afraid you’ve inherited a total white elephant and all the liabilities that go with it. Winter’s End is falling down and has been for years, because of all the income being diverted into the garden restoration. He even took out a bank loan against the house to fund the final stages. It’s got wet rot, dry rot, woodworm…you name it, and it’s got it. And there aren’t even any major assets you could sell off. There was one decent painting, a Stubbs, but William arranged for it to go to the nation in lieu of death duties.’

Despite the mesmerising effect his nearness and those devastating blue eyes were having on me, it occurred to me that Grandfather seemed to have had it all worked out—not the actions of a senile man.

‘But
you
still want Winter’s End?’ I asked him curiously.

‘Yes, it’s my family home, after all, where I was brought up…I love it. And I’m a property developer, a very
successful one, so I know what needs to be done and I can afford to do it.’

‘I understand. I was just starting to feel the same way about my cottage, even though it didn’t belong to me.’

He looked seriously at me, his eyes frank and earnest: ‘Please let me buy it back, Sophy! I’ll even pay well over the market value—how about that? It can’t mean anything to you, can it, since you left it when you were a small child? And I don’t suppose you could afford the upkeep, anyway.’

I said slowly, ‘No, I—no, how
can
it mean anything to me? I was eight when I last saw it.’

‘
Liar!’
said a voice in my head—Alys’s voice, tenuous and far away, as if speaking down a very bad telephone line, but instantly familiar to me even after all these years.

Alys, are you back again?

But if she was, she was now silent. Maybe my subconscious had simply ascribed her voice to my innermost thoughts? For of course I did long for Winter’s End—but the Winter’s End of my childhood, before Jack took my place and everything changed—and there was no way back to that.

‘You could come and visit whenever you liked anyway,’ he offered, with another one of those glorious smiles. ‘We’re family, aren’t we? And now I’ve found you, I’ve no intention of letting you get away again!’

I sighed and shook my head. ‘You know, it’s
so
ironic! I was waiting for an angel to come to the rescue—but now it’s too late. Only a week ago I’d have jumped at the chance without a second thought, because I could have bought my cottage and not had to move out.’

He looked puzzled, so I explained what had happened, and then he suggested I could still make the new owners of the cottage an offer they couldn’t refuse.

‘I could, but they are rich City types who’ve bought it for a holiday home and I don’t think they would be likely
to sell it even at more than its value. They’re busy ripping out every original feature and tossing the cottage’s entrails into a skip, so all the things I loved about it have already gone. If there is one thing my early life has taught me, it’s that when everything changes, you move on—and you can never go back and expect things to be the same.’

Not even at Winter’s End, except in my dreams…

‘But you could buy somewhere new?’ he suggested. ‘I expect you’ve got friends here?’

‘Not really. I know a lot of people but I’ve only got one
real
friend, from way back, and she tends to move around a lot.’

In fact, she moved around permanently; but Anya, with her dreadlocked red hair and her home made from an old ambulance, was probably a world away from the sort of people my cousin Jack knew.

‘Well, now you’ve got me,’ he said, giving my hand another squeeze and then letting it go. ‘Whatever you decide, we’ll always be friends as well as distant cousins, I hope. But I know, when you have thought it over, you’ll realise that the right thing to do is to sell Winter’s End to me, to keep it in the family.’