Page 5 of Snowfall Over Halesmere House
It was impossible to miss the scruffy yellow door to her temporary new home, as Max had said. She wished it looked a bit more cheerful as she shivered in the frosted air. It sat proudly on the first floor of a small, narrow building, separate from the stables and the barn, with a set of steps leading up to it. A single window stared straight down into the courtyard; empty terracotta pots were plonked haphazardly on each uneven step. Another door, padlocked, was tucked beneath the steps and she climbed up warily, catching the welcome scent of a white winter-flowering honeysuckle in another pot, its stems wound around a flimsy wooden trellis tacked onto the door frame.
It took her two attempts to get the rusty old key to unlock the door, but she finally shoved it open, almost tripping on a thick mat as her eyes tried to adjust to the gloom. She fumbled for a switch and found one; anything to chase away the dark. She blinked rapidly as a bulb hanging from the ceiling without a shade lurched into life. Noelle had been even more elusive about the flat, only casually dropping in that it was ‘tiny,chérie, a little outdated.’ Ella saw now exactly what she had meant and leaned wearily against the door, wondering if she was on the wrong side of it. Perhaps she should be running for the hills after all.
She could see everything but the bathroom from where she stood. Two shabby red armchairs had been abandoned in front of an elderly black stove, separated by a coffee table, incongruously modern, with a tatty red and green rug on the wooden floor beneath it. A tall, thin bookcase in white stood to the right of the window, which was framed by faded, lime-green curtains, a colourful slash against walls also yellow, like the door.
It looked very much as though someone with a paintbrush and zero colour sense had let rip. Ella didn’t want to hate it as much as she did, but she really couldn’t help it when her gaze landed on the poky square at the far end that was her new kitchen. It couldn’t have been more of a contrast from the kitchens she usually worked in. She crossed the room in six strides and glanced in cupboards, ran a hand along a beige Formica worktop, hoping for more daylight tomorrow through the small window at the back.
Sliding open the only other door bar the front one, she discovered her shower and toilet. Calling it a bathroom was definitely stretching things and she would really miss a good soak in a proper bath. Dylan would be concerned if he could see her now and she shook away a shiver of fright. She took a few images on her phone but decided not to send them yet. He might be working in France as a ski instructor for the winter, but she knew he’d come and scoop her up if he sensed she was unhappy here. She’d have to work hard to pretend; he knew her well. She had to try, to give it a go, however horrible this flat and Max’s antagonism was.
She and Dylan had met at university when they were studying for their professional chef degrees. She hadn’t liked him at first and had been determined not to fall for his charms the way everyone else seemed to do. Gorgeous and competitive, he seemed to collect new friends and casual girlfriends with effortless ease. Then one night in a bar they’d found themselves pushed together and had started chatting. Dylan had just broken up with another girlfriend and Ella had recognised how he wore his confidence as a layer, protecting himself from those things he didn’t want the world to see, just as she did.
From then on, they’d stuck together and never minded their closeness confounding the general opinion that they must be a couple, instead preferring to play up to those assumptions if it suited them. They’d remained friends through differing placements, demanding jobs and, for Dylan, two years in a Barcelona restaurant and a beautiful Spanish wife. When his marriage had ended after six months and he’d returned to England devastated, Ella had suggested a role with her own employers to see him through. Dylan had accepted and until now, they’d shared her flat on the outskirts of Brighton.
She noticed a missed call from her mum and the voicemail icon. She’d ring her back later; her mum was probably just checking Ella had arrived safely and wanting to catch up on their plans for Christmas.
A ladder led to a mezzanine bedroom over the kitchen and half of the sitting room. She climbed up, noting the plastic rail for hanging her clothes. A pair of stumpy pine drawers either side of a metal-framed bed was the only other storage. It wasn’t going to take much more for her to lock the door, toss the key back at Max and race to her parents’ house. Maybe she wouldn’t make it through his interview test tomorrow and she’d be on her way after all.
But first there was tonight to get through. Ella ran back across the courtyard to bring some basics from her car. There didn’t seem much point in fetching everything for what might turn out to be one night only. Back in the flat, she sank down onto the bed and stared at the silent and shadowed courtyard. The mattress was softer than she’d expected, lumpy too, and she had a pang of longing for her own comfortable flat. She slithered back down the ladder, swearing loudly when she slipped on a broken rung near the bottom. There was a sudden clatter at the window, and she spun round worriedly to look through it. Someone was standing at the bottom of the steps and there was no mistaking that hat. She opened the door, dodging another shower of stones she hoped were being aimed at the glass and not her.
‘Ella,’ Noelle hissed, glancing furtively over her shoulder. ‘Are you alright?’
Yes? No? Both had an element of truth to them, and Ella shrugged. ‘I’m okay,’ she called down.
‘Bon, I’ve brought you some supper, but Max mustn’t find me here.’ Noelle picked up a bag at her feet, waving it at Ella. She was still shifty but at least the hissing had stopped. ‘Would you mind coming down to collect it,chérie, those steps terrify me. One day I will wake up and find myself at the bottom, my arms in pieces, and then how will I paint?’
Ella thought it was quite possible that she’d be in plaster too if that dodgy rung on the ladder had anything to do with it. She tried to avoid the empty terracotta pots, but one flew off and crashed to the cobbles, making Noelle shriek.
‘Sorry.’ Ella had already decided it would be better to get rid of them but probably not quite so dramatically; Noelle might prefer them intact. ‘Did it hit you?’
‘Non, I am fine.’ Noelle shoved the bag at Ella. ‘Here, your supper.’
‘Thank you.’ She took the bag, pleased to feel that whatever it contained it was at least warm.
‘And how is the flat?’
She wasn’t sure if Noelle was being sarcastic or not but what little Ella could see of her face beneath the hat seemed earnest. ‘Well, it’s small, as you said. A little old-fashioned.’ Downright miserable and cold to boot, was what she really wanted to say.
Noelle’s laugh was a throaty chuckle and she hastily checked over her shoulder again. ‘There is no need for you to be tactful,chérie,’ she whispered. ‘The flat requires considerable improvement and I have a plan, but Max must not know of it. Bear with me and he will arrange it, you will see.’
‘You think?’ Ella wasn’t quite so certain, whatever his mother might have to say about a plan, secret or not. ‘He wants to interview me properly in the morning and then he’ll decide if I can keep the job.’
‘A mere formality, Ella, do not let the interview trouble you. You are a very bright young woman, and he will see the sense of my decision.’ Noelle nodded, as though trying to convince herself. ‘Max believes he must always be in control, and he would never admit it, but I know him, inside and out. All will become clear, and then you will understand. I am sorry but it is better that you eat alone in the flat tonight. I hope you sleep well, and I will see you tomorrow.’ Noelle placed a gloved hand on her arm. ‘I am sorry too for concealing you from Max and your lack of welcome from my son. But whatever he says, you are wanted, needed here. And Ella, you will come to know too that he is much more than the man you have met today. Welcome to Halesmere.’
She wasn’t expecting the quick kiss from Noelle on either side of her face before the older woman hurried away. Ella could only stare as she disappeared into the darkness, gone as quickly as she had come.
Ella ate her meal curled up in one of the armchairs. The fire was laid, a basket of logs nearby, and storage heaters were puttering out a bit of warmth that was probably racing straight up to the eaves. Once done, she put the tray on the floor and called her mum, desperately wanting to hear a loving voice to make herself feel less alone.
‘Ella, love, how are you? Hope the journey wasn’t too bad, your dad was checking traffic updates and muttering about the M40 and hoping you’d taken the M6 toll, not the other one. You know what’s he like. Is your flat lovely? What about the people, are they friendly? Have you seen the house yet, it looks gorgeous online, if a bit run-down. Ella? You there?’
She was, gulping back the emotion her mum’s comforting and familiar chatter had produced. ‘I am, it’s all fine.’ Not quite the truth but enough to let her mum think it was okay. Ella didn’t want to worry her so soon into this new adventure. If her dad thought she was unhappy she knew he’d be straight in the car and would fetch her back himself, never mind how many employment offers she had in writing or keys to yellow front doors.
‘It’s just a long way from Brighton, that’s all. And I didn’t manage to get here in time for a run before it went dark.’
‘Oh, Ella.’ Her mum’s voice had softened. ‘There’ll be other days, a rest would have been better for you anyway after that journey.’
‘A run would have been better than a rest, Mum.’ Ella hadn’t meant to be sharp. ‘Sorry, I am tired. How are you both?’
‘We’re fine, I was on the stall at the market again, it was really busy. And your dad’s been online half the day, looking at flights.’ Her mum paused. ‘Actually, we’ve got a bit of news.’
