Hidden Cottage (12 page)

Within no time, he grew dissatisfied. Just as he feared, the piano hadn’t travelled well. He would need to find a piano tuner.

He stared out of the open French windows at the garden and down the sloping lawn to the still water beyond. A heron was standing to attention on the bank; like the peacock, it seemed to be at home here. The sweet sound of birdsong filled the languid air and far away he could hear a woodpecker drilling. These were the sounds he remembered. And music. Always music. And all too often it was Rachmaninov.

He drank some more of his champagne and thought of his visitors that afternoon, in particular Mia Channing. He was just recalling the unusual colour of her eyes when he heard a soft thud on the wooden floor of the veranda, then through the French windows a head appeared. ‘Oh, it’s you again, is it?’ Owen said aloud, thinking that twice now the bird had interrupted his thoughts about Mia Channing.

Putin surveyed him steadily, then took a couple of steps inside.

‘Oh, no you don’t!’

The bird held its ground.

‘
Out!
’

The bird shrugged as though saying,
suit yourself
, and then slowly plodded off.

No more than a minute had passed when a crash from outside had Owen going to investigate.

Putin was standing on one of the chairs with his beak in the neck of the champagne bottle, which was now lying on its side. Seeing Owen, he withdrew his beak and looked up belligerently, as if challenging Owen to stop him.

Owen laughed. ‘Go right ahead. Be my guest.’

Back inside the house, he heard his mobile ring.

When he answered it and realized who it was and that the news was good, he grinned with pleasure. ‘That’s fantastic,’ he said. ‘I’ll expect it tomorrow then. About two. You’ve got the address and the directions, haven’t you? Yes, that’s right, The Hidden Cottage, Little Pelham. That’s great. Thanks for letting me know. Goodbye.’

He ended the call and, tapping the mobile thoughtfully against his chin, he decided to lock up the house and go for a wander – to Cloverdale Lane, to see where he’d lived thirty-four years ago.

Chapter Fourteen

Jensen checked his bank balance online and saw that his fee had been paid on time and without the need for a reminder. He hated sending a reminder; it made him look desperate. And he wasn’t desperate. Work was going well, better than he could have hoped for. People seemed to like what he did for them. He worked fast and was reliable; those were his key attributes. The rest was all smoke and mirrors. But not flannel. He never misled a client; he was always honest and direct and very much to the point. Case in point was the job for which he’d just been paid. Originally the travel company that specialized in upmarket escorted tours in Eastern Europe had wanted him to do a patch-up job on their website, but after one look at it he’d told them straight out that the site was a dated mish-mash and needed a massive redesign, that patching and tweaking would only lead to further problems. He told them he could not only provide a problem-free site but one that would be user-friendly and would be guaranteed to bring them in more business. It took them forty-eight hours to be convinced he was right, but then they gave him the go-ahead. Three months later, they were delighted with the new site and were now paying him to manage it.

Getting up from his desk, he crossed from his office to his kitchenette in three short strides and put the kettle on. There was just time for a cup of coffee before he had to collect Madison from school. In preparation for a job this evening Tattie was having her hair and nails done. Occasionally when she didn’t have time to go to the salon to get her hair styled into what she called the classic Marilyn smooth-glam-wave look, she wore a wig, but she preferred to do the job properly. She didn’t like short cuts. Or cheating people. ‘I don’t want people to feel I couldn’t be bothered,’ she would say. ‘They want star quality and that’s what I’m paid to give them.’

Pleasing people was important to Tattie. As was laughter. She said there wasn’t enough of it in the world. Jokes and amusing anecdotes came so easily to her. She was irrepressibly upbeat, endlessly positive, always able to find something good to say about a person. Being so resolutely optimistic, her glass wasn’t so much half-full as full to overflowing. There really wasn’t a pessimistic bone in her body. He had never met anyone like her before.

There were times when he could believe that her spirited personality was rubbing off onto him, grinding away at his rock-solid propensity always to think the worst. He once said to her how ironic it was that she impersonated a woman who lost herself to self-doubt and depression when she herself was the opposite. ‘I’ve had my moments, JC,’ she said. ‘Oh, I’ve definitely had my moments. We all have. No one’s immune. But when you’ve learnt how to be happy, you just know the alternative isn’t worth a dime.’

‘Can you teach me the trick?’ he’d asked, half-joking, half-serious.

She’d smiled. ‘Already working on it, JC.’

He had feared her opinion of him might have altered after his birthday – after she’d seen the way he and his father behaved around each other – but all she’d said was that it was a shame when two people couldn’t get along. His taking her to Medlar House had in many ways been a test, to let her see how his father brought out the worst in him. But there had been no judgement from her, no condemnation, only acceptance. And he loved her for that.

Love. He could scarcely believe it, but it was true: with miraculous and implausible speed she had made him feel something he didn’t know he was capable of feeling. It was as if she had opened a door that had always been there, but for which he’d never had a key. Walking through that door was like entering a world that was both familiar yet wholly unfamiliar.

To his even greater surprise, having Madison in his life was an unforeseen bonus. She was great. But not at all like her mother. Much more of a worrier, she doubted her ability at times and hated to be the centre of attention. ‘She takes after my father,’ Tattie had told him, ‘a smarter man never lived, but he’s an anxious, shy man.’

The mug Jensen was now drinking his coffee from had been Madison’s birthday present to him – on one side was a picture of him pulling a face and on the other there was a photo of Madison with Tattie. ‘She organized it all herself,’ Tattie had explained with happy pride. ‘She found the photos on the computer, went to the shop and paid for it with her own money.’

Jensen had been touched that a nine-year-old who had known him for so short a time had gone to such trouble. He’d promised her he’d always use it while he was working, that no other mug would do from now on. She’d then told him to close his eyes, that she had another surprise for him. ‘
Ta-daar!
’ she’d sung out, revealing a birthday cake. ‘I made it,’ she’d said, ‘at Lauren’s.’ He could see her lower lip wobble when she’d said her friend’s name and he had quickly distracted her with a thank-you hug. Only an hour beforehand she had been crying on the sofa with him because she was losing her best friend. His experience in dealing with distraught children was equal to his knowledge of astrophysics and so all he could do was put an arm around her and let her cry. That was how Tattie had found them when she returned from the shop with the milk she’d gone for. He could tell that Tattie was shocked by the news, but more so because, as she later said, she’d have thought Lauren’s mother might have at least hinted that this was on the cards.

When he’d blown out the candles on his birthday cake, having been instructed to make a wish, he’d wished for Madison to find a new friend after Lauren and her family had moved away. He was no expert on these things, but he was sure Madison was the kind of girl who needed a close friend. He hadn’t been like that as a child; he’d been a bit of a loner. Although when he thought about it, his sister Eliza had been the nearest thing to a best friend for him when he’d been growing up.

The ringing of his mobile on his desk interrupted his thoughts. It was his mother.

The mothers at the school gate, together with a smattering of dads, nannies and grandparents, were now quite used to seeing him there and no longer gave him the wary who-the-hell-is-he? eye. He didn’t blame them. He knew he didn’t look like one of them, a bona fide relative or paid child carer. But that was OK. Fitting in had never been his thing.

Hovering at the back of the group and listening through his headphones to Morrissey singing he’d go out if he only had something to wear, he felt a tap on his arm and turned to see Lauren’s mother. He stopped Morrissey mid-flow, took off the headphones and let them hang around his neck. Five days had passed since Madison had learnt that Lauren’s family was moving away and Heather had gone to great lengths to apologize to Tattie about keeping it from her. Apparently it was a secret and she couldn’t tell anyone about Ross’s new job, it was all very hush, hush.

‘Hi, Jensen,’ she said, ‘Tattie busy?’

‘She’s at the hairdresser’s preparing for a job.’

‘What’s it tonight, then?’

‘A corporate do; she’s presenting prizes to a bunch of salesmen of the year. Before I forget, she wanted to know if it’s still OK for Madison to have a piano lesson after school tomorrow?’

‘Yes, it’s fine, no problem.’

The bell rang and within seconds a noisy swarm of children appeared in the playground. Jensen spotted Madison and Lauren bringing up the rear deep in conversation, matching bags slung over their shoulders, their socks sagging identically.

Their goodbyes said, Jensen and Madison turned left to walk home and Heather and Lauren turned right to go in search of their car.

‘Any homework to do?’ Jensen asked as they walked along the street, Madison’s warm and slightly sticky hand in his.

‘Just some spellings to learn. Will you help me?’

‘Of course.’

‘Is it a sleepover night?’

‘Yes. Is that OK with you?’

She looked sideways at him. ‘Why do you always ask that?’

‘Because, you know, I don’t want to be in the way.’

Making no comment on this, she said, ‘Can you make one of your special breakfasts in the morning before I go to school? Some porridge would be nice.’

‘Consider your order placed, mademoiselle.’ He put on an exaggerated French accent. ‘And would the pretty mam’zell care for brown sugar, honey or syrup with her porridge?’

She giggled and added a little hoppity-skip to her step. ‘Syrup, please.’

They walked on to the end of the street and he paused outside the shop where they often stopped to pick up something for tea. ‘Do you have any bananas at home?’ he asked.

She shook her head. ‘Only apples.’

‘Let’s get some; I’m in the mood for a fried banana sandwich. How about you?’

Her eyes lit up.

They were sitting at the table, their plates empty, the sweet smell of cooked banana overlaid with cinnamon filling the kitchen. Jensen had Madison’s spelling list in his hands and Madison had her eyes closed; she did it to help her concentrate.

‘Right, here we go,’ Jensen said. ‘
Accept
.’

‘A.C.C.E.P.T.’ she responded, sounding each letter carefully and without hesitation.

‘
Except
.’

‘E.X.C.E.P.T.’

‘
Excited
.’

‘E.X.C.I.T.E.D.’ Madison opened her eyes and looked at Jensen. ‘Lauren was excited today,’ she said.

‘Oh yes. Why’s that?’

‘She’s going to see her new house on Saturday. She’s going for most of half-term. She’s really excited because she’ll be living nearer her grandparents and will be able to see them lots more than she does now.’ She pursed her lips. ‘I wish I had grandparents I could see more often.’

What on earth was he supposed to say to that? ‘Do you wish you were back in America?’ he asked carefully.

She gave his question some thought. ‘Mmm . . . sometimes I do. But mostly not. Maybe when Lauren’s gone I will more.’

‘That’s understandable.’

‘But if I was in America I’d miss you.’

‘I’d miss you too.’

‘Would you? Would you really?’

‘Yes really.’

‘You could come with us.’

He smiled. ‘Let’s get back to the spelling test, shall we?
Expect
.’

She closed her eyes. ‘E.X.P.E.C.T.’ She opened her eyes again. ‘Wouldn’t you want to come with us?’

‘It’s not quite as simple as that.
Expand
.’

This time she didn’t bother to close her eyes. ‘E.X.P.A.N.D. Adults always say things aren’t simple. They like things to be complicated and difficult.’

‘I’m not sure it’s a matter of choosing things to be complicated or difficult. Life just often is.’

‘Only because grown-ups make it that way.’

He smiled again. ‘That’s certainly true of some people.’

‘Do you love Mum?’

Wow, he thought, where did that come from? ‘You’re not meant to ask personal questions like that,’ he said, keeping his voice neutral and his expression bland, ‘it’s against the rules.’

‘
See!
You’re making things difficult. It’s very easy, yes or no?’

‘OK, I give in, you’re right, it is easy.’

‘So?’ She pinned him with a laser-strength gaze from behind her glasses. ‘What’s your answer?’

‘Yes, I do love her.’

Madison smiled and nodded slowly, like suddenly she was the wisest person on the planet. ‘That’s good. Have you told her you do?’

‘Not in so many words.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because . . .’ He swallowed.

‘Because what?’

‘Because I’m an idiot.’ He tapped the table with his forefinger. ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘spellings.
Surprise
.’

‘S.U.R.P.—’ She stopped. ‘Surprise isn’t on the list.’

He smiled. ‘I was teasing you because I have a sort of surprise for you. But we need to check with Mum first.’

‘What is it? Tell me!’

‘How would you like to go away for a couple of days?’

‘Where?’

‘To meet my mother.’

‘Really? Will we stay in the village Mum told me about, where you used to live? Will we see the peacock? And real thatched cottages?’

‘Better than that, there’ll be a fete, which you’ll be able to join in with.’