Page 13 of Snowfall Over Halesmere House
‘It’s fine.’ Ella was still smiling. ‘Have I passed the test, then? Can I stay?’
She meant her question to be light-hearted and suddenly it wasn’t. She heard the catch on the last three words, the realisation that she wanted to be at Halesmere, to help take care of the children if she could. Her immediate future was in Max’s hands right now, and she hoped he would allow her to make a temporary life here.
He stood up and Ella quickly followed as he offered a hand across the coffee table. ‘Yes, you can stay, Ella Grant. I’m sure you’re already discovering it’s mostly a madhouse.’ He hesitated. ‘I apologise for being rude to you yesterday, I was taken aback to find a stranger holding hands with my children. I’m not a big fan of surprises or being backed into a corner, which is precisely why my mother invited you without telling me. Let’s hope this works out well for all of us.’
Chapter Five
Max followed Ella out of his office, and she was relieved to find the reception room mercifully clear of any more people who might wish to interrogate her. He opened the door to the courtyard and Prim bounded away.
‘Look, Ella, however much my mother thinks she’s in command of my calendar, I can’t show you around now.’
‘I understand. And that’s fine.’ Ella didn’t mind in the least; she’d be perfectly happy getting a feel for the place on her own. She wasn’t sure she was ready for Max giving her the grand tour and trying to reconcile himself to the role his mother had brought her in to fulfil.
He found his phone, ran a finger across the screen. ‘Let’s plan a meeting for Monday morning after I’ve walked the kids to school. Then we can go over your notes and I’ll explain where we’re up to with the house. Other than being coerced into cooking pizza tonight, it’s probably better you take the rest of the weekend to settle in.’
He glanced towards the yellow door sitting at the top of the steps across the courtyard. ‘How’s the flat? I haven’t been in there for months and from what I remember it’s not exactly boutique.’
Ella opened her mouth, wondering where to start.
‘Oi Max, where’ve you been ’idin’? I need a word.’
She spun round to see a man strolling towards them, Prim walking happily beside him. He had a pencil tucked behind an ear, one hand deep in a pocket of his donkey jacket, its shoulders a bright orange splash against the black material. He grinned at her and slid his other hand, covered in a range of interesting tattoos, over the rough stubble on his jaw. He wasn’t much taller than her, with broad shoulders and a barrel chest over stocky legs.
Max offered a smile that softened the lingering tension. ‘I’ve not been hiding, Stan, just busy. Can it wait until later? I’m about to take Lily and Arlo out and see a client.’
‘’Spose so, it’s only trees that want cuttin’ down, don’t ’spose they’ll grow much bigger between now an’ next week. So who’s this, then?’ His glance slid to Ella. ‘You ’ere about one of them empty studios? Watch out for Max, ’e’ll be chargin’ you double if you’re not careful. Comes up ’ere from London an’ thinks ’e can pull the wool over our eyes. Thinks we was born yesterday.’
‘Ella, this is Stan.’ There was a wry amusement in Max’s voice. ‘He’s the one you need to watch out for, not me.’
Stan snorted, wiping his hand on trousers covered in sawdust before taking the one Ella had proffered. ‘Don’t listen to ’im, young Ella. I’ll look after you, any problems you come to me. Salt o’ the earth I am. ’eart o’ gold, too big for me own good. Accordin’ to my missus, anyway. So it’s a studio, is it?’
‘Actually, I’ve just been appointed as the new house manager. It’s great to meet you, Stan.’ Ella hoped Max wouldn’t mind the job title; it had been Noelle who’d suggested it. ‘I’m definitely not an artist, I wouldn’t know where to start with a painting or a pot.’
‘You what? ’Ouse manager? What’s all that about, then?’ Stan aimed a suspicious glance at Max as he let go of Ella’s hand and scuffed the ground with a worn boot.
‘If you want the full story then you’d better ask my mother. And less of the cheek about me, thanks.’ Max shook his head. ‘Ella will have enough to do without you feeding her nonsense. She’s going to be managing the holiday business and probably keeping an eye on you, heaven help her.’
She noticed Max hadn’t mentioned his children and wondered if he’d avoided doing so on purpose, keeping her role here more professional and less personal.
‘Well, things are lookin’ up, even if you don’t look tough enough to pull the skin off a rice puddin’. No offence, mind.’
Stan grinned again and Ella laughed. She’d met far worse than him in her career and wasn’t bothered in the least if someone wanted to pull her leg. She could give as good as she got, and better when it suited her.
‘And what do you do here, Stan? Are you an artist too?’
‘Do I look like one?’ He rolled his eyes. ‘General dogsbody, that’s me, came with the ’ouse when Max bought it. Been ’ere for years, came up to marry my missus an’ never left. Anythin’ broken, I’ll fix it. Grass needs cuttin’, I’m your man. Boilers, basic electrics, I can turn me ’and to anythin’. You get the picture, Ella.’
She did, and good handymen were very hard to find; she’d be looking after Stan and making sure to keep him on side. There was bound to be plenty she could find for him to do, starting with the broken rung she’d discovered on her ladder in the flat. And he looked like a man for whom the quickest way to his toolbox was through his stomach.
‘You need anythin’ doin’, Ella, come an’ see me. Not Max, ’e’s too grand for us lot, what with ’is telly gardens an’ all that malarkey.’ Stan pointed a gnarled finger at Max.
‘Now you know that’s not true, Stan. I’d like a beer in the pub with the gang at the end of a long day as much as anyone, but I can’t, not with Lily and Arlo to take care of.’
‘Aye, well, my missus’ll be down ’ere like a shot to look after them kiddies when you need ’er. Our Pearl’s waitin’ for our own grandkids to come along an’ it’s not ’appenin’ quick enough for ’er. An’ she ’as to knit for someone.’
‘Yes, they love the Christmas hats she made, Stan. Even you might be impressed if you saw the name tags I stitched into them.’ Max shifted the messenger bag to a shoulder.
‘You never did?’ Stan fixed an astonished gaze on him. ‘Stitched them in yourself, did you? Well, our Pearl will never believe that when I tell ’er.’
