Page 30 of The House of Hopes and Dreams
‘Along with the tower, the cellars are supposed to be the remnants of the earliest building that stood there.’
‘Wasn’t it because there were too many stairs that you decided to sell your flat?’ I asked.
‘Partly. I mean, I knew four narrow, steep flights would be a bit much for quite some time, but I never wanted to live permanently in Dulwich anyway, it was Daisy’s idea,’ he said. ‘And actually, my uncle had a small lift put into the tower that goes up to the bedroom level, so I can use that if my leg aches. Or aches more than usual,’ he amended honestly.
Carey had spent the money he’d inherited from his father to purchase a tiny old cottage in Devon, which he’d used as a base while he moved around the country, working with stone masons, blacksmiths, thatchers, carpenters, upholsterers … learning myriad skills. Then he’d renovated and restored his own cottage, and the book he wrote about that led to commissions to restore and make over other cottages, and finally to his hugely successful TV programmes.
‘Have you sold the flat now?’
‘Yes, it went almost instantly and I’m about to complete on the sale, so that will give me some capital to use to start restoring Mossby, along with the bit my uncle left me. I’ll have to find some means of making the house pay its own way eventually, though. Maybe Nick will sell the pilot about the restoration and a new series, that would be a start. And I expect we’ll come up with some more ideas,’ he added optimistically.
I noted the royal ‘we’.
By now we’d reached the lay-by and he opened the door to a large, nondescript estate car in an odd shade of limey-gold.
‘This is a bit different from what you usually drive, Carey?’
‘The old Land Rover wasn’t going to be easy until my leg was stronger, or any manual car, so I looked for an automatic. This will still be roomy enough for when I need to transport bulky materials about.’
‘The colour reminds me of those chocolate lime sweets we used to get from the village shop when we were little—’ I began, settling into my seat, then broke off abruptly as I registered an ominous low, rumbling growl right behind me. Turning quickly, expecting to be facing an angry lion at the very least, I found myself instead almost nose-to-nose with the most ill-favoured black Chihuahua I’d ever seen in my life.
It was staring at me through the mesh front of a pet carrier, which had been strapped to the back seatbelt fittings. Its eyes glowed like dark coals and two over-long front canine teeth stuck out as it lifted its lip to growl again.
I’d seen more prepossessing animals, but then, I’d always had a soft spot for an underdog, and it was kind of cute in a little-demonic-gremlin kind of way.
I cast a questioning gaze on Carey.
‘That’s Fang, the dog Daisy pestered the life out of me to get her last year. She’s dumped him back on me because she can’t cope with him. The breeder must have lied about him being a pure Chihuahua, too, because he outgrew his chichi designer dog-carrier in about a month. That seemed to be the decider for Daisy.’
‘She can’t possibly have called him Fang!’ I’d met Daisy a few times and she hadn’t struck me as having a mind capable of being even remotely original. Or a sense of humour.
‘No, she called him Tiny, but Fang suits him better. He’s a vampire.’
‘He does look a bit like one.’
‘He bites like one, too – mostly men and on the lower leg, because that’s as far as he can reach,’ he explained. ‘Not me, though, because we came to an early understanding that it wasn’t a good idea to bite the hand that usually remembered to feed you and fill your water bowl.’
‘Right,’ I said, turning to look at the little dog again. I’d always wanted a dog, but in addition to Julian having an allergy to them, I couldn’t have taken one to work with me. No matter how well you cleaned up a stained-glass workshop, there were always sharp bits about to cut unwary paws.
‘I think I chose the wrong puppy from the litter,’ Carey said. ‘The bitch’s owner assured me he was the best, but she probably just wanted to get rid of him. Daisy dumped him in the flat for Nick to find, after she’d arranged to meet him there to pick up a couple of things and give him her set of keys.’
I already thought Daisy was totally callous: first she’d dumped Carey at the very moment he needed her most, and then her dog! Mind you, I’d never really taken to her: she might be stunningly pretty, but she had a brittle veneer and I wasn’t quite sure what would be underneath if it cracked. Nuts, possibly.
‘Poor little thing! Did Nick look after him till you got out?’
‘No, he’d already bitten Nick, so he wasn’t very keen. I had to put him in kennels, but even they asked me to take him away again a few days later, which is why I’ve had to bring him with me. I’d like to re-home him, but I’ll need to get a dog psychiatrist on to him first. Dog rescue centres don’t want pets that bite.’
‘You should keep him for company,’ I suggested, and peered into the cage again. ‘Hello, Fang. Who’s a cute little boy, then?’ I cooed.
Fang stopped growling and fixed me with an incredulous stare from his slightly protuberant eyes, as did Carey (though happilyhiseyes aren’t protuberant).
‘Has this nasty man misunderstood your deep, dark and troubled soul?’ I continued, and Carey snorted with laughter as he drove out of the village and set off down the network of small lanes as if he knew the way back to Mossby by instinct. Some people just have the ability to glance at a map once and they know where they are – not a knack I possess myself.
We finally emerged on to a larger road I recognized, which connected the village of Middlemoss with Great Mumming. We passed a large hotel and a petrol station by the turn to Halfhidden, a hamlet that had been in the local news quite a bit lately. I was going to tell Carey about it when, round the next bend, Mossby itself suddenly appeared like a mirage: a white, strangely modern stucco façade perched high above us, a square stone tower forming the left corner. A steep series of terraces dropped down to a lake below, where there was an old boathouse. Even though I’d been there once before, it was still dramatic enough to make me catch my breath.
Carey pulled in, so I could get a good look at it.
‘Picturesque, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘Mind you, the natural stone would have fitted into the landscape better, but there are a lot of white Arts and Crafts houses in the Lake District, so it’s not that unusual for the time. You can’t see the Elizabethan wing and the servants’ quarters – they’re behind it.’
