Page 48 of The Importance of Being Emma
‘It’s a sad story. One of Ashridge’s previous owners, Earl Brownlow, had it built in 1917 as a memorial to his wife, Adelaide. She was said to be a great beauty, very kind-hearted and a wonderful hostess — which brought people like Disraeli here, and Oscar Wilde, and the Shah of Persia. After she died, the Earl was heartbroken and walked to that cross every day.’
Emma let out a long breath. ‘It’s not a sad story, it’s beautiful. That’s what I call true love.’
‘They were lucky, then,’ I said. I hesitated for a moment, overcome by a strange feeling of melancholy, then squared my shoulders. ‘This way.’
I swung open one of the two massive half-glazed doors and let her through. She took a few steps, then paused to gaze up at the richly decorated ceiling and sweeping stone staircase. I smiled to myself and went past her to the desk.
The receptionist gave me a cheeky grin. ‘Hi there, stranger.’
‘Hi, Steph. How are you?’
‘Very well, thank you. Just sign in as usual, Mark, here’s your name badge and a visitor’s badge for your companion. The door code’s 315 today and you’re in room 210, that’s Greenborough building in case you’ve forgotten. Here’s the key.’
I stared at her. ‘Didn’t I cancel the room booking?’
‘No — at least, there’s nothing in our records. So you booked a room originally, but now . . . ?’ Her voice trailed off as she looked over at Emma.
I gave a nervous laugh. ‘My, er, plans have changed. I’ll pay for the room, of course, but we won’t be needing it.’
Emma appeared at my side. ‘Yes, we will,’ she put in, smiling at a bemused Steph. ‘Since Mark’s paying for it anyway, we can use it to change for dinner.’
Being alone in a bedroom with Emma, even for a little while, was a daunting prospect. But I heard myself saying heartily, ‘Yes, why not?’
* * *
~~EMMA~~
Ashridge just blew my mind.
The Learning Resource Centre was a revelation compared to your average library; some sort of barn conversion, a superb mix of modern technology and olde-worlde ambience. We did what we’d come to do — found a couple of relevant Mintel reports and printed off tables of statistics on dining out and gourmet food sales — but mostly I just wandered about, spellbound. Then Mark took the bags to our room while I sat in a large conservatory, looking out into the walled garden beyond. He wasn’t gone for long, but I missed having him there to share my enthusiasm. Ten minutes later I was glad to see him striding towards me, relaxed and smiling, a different person from the last few days.
We meandered through the gardens, enjoying the sun’s lingering warmth on our faces. Even at this time of year there was plenty of colour: red and gold Japanese maples, mauve Michaelmas daisies, yellow-green larch fronds. There were formal areas edged with regimented miniature box hedges, not a leaf out of place; and away from the house there was more of awilderness, bushes spilling over grassy paths and vaults of trees arching across the darkening sky.
I went as near to the boundary fence as the undergrowth — and my new Gucci boots — allowed, and stared at the rolling fields and woods beyond, wondering if the view had changed much in the last thousand years.
I turned to find Mark looking at me.
‘Penny for your thoughts?’ I said gently.
He flushed. ‘They’re not even worth that.’ Then, glancing at his watch, ‘Time to go indoors, it’ll be pitch black soon.’
I tucked my arm through his as we walked back in the direction of the house. ‘I’m going to soak in a lovely hot bath — our room does have one, doesn’t it? Or do you want to do some mentoring first?’
He cleared his throat. ‘Not at the moment. Not here.’
I frowned; the break-up with Tamara was obviously having more impact than he cared to admit. ‘OK, we can leave that for another day, it just needs to be soon. Philip’s started messing me about, and on top of that I’ve now got Saint Jane to contend with.’ I pulled a face. ‘If you don’t hurry up I’ll be needing psychiatric treatment, not mentoring.’
His laugh sounded a little strained. ‘I’ll get Cherry to fix up a meeting for next week, if at all possible.’
‘Thanks. Oh, is this the way to our room?’ We’d left the main path and gone down a few steps to a modern two-storey building. I let go of his arm while he keyed in the door code, then followed him into a brightly carpeted entrance hall and along a corridor to the right. He unlocked room 210, switched on the light and stepped back.
I breezed past him and had a quick look round. ‘Smallish, but it’s got everything we need. Double bed if you want a power nap, TV if you don’t. The bathroom’s tiny, no room to swing acat, but at least there’s a bath as well as a shower. Do you mind if I go in there first?’
I didn’t wait for his answer but took off my coat and hung it in the wardrobe. My dress carrier was already there, so I unzipped it and shook out my dress — a Wedgwood blue floaty thing I’d picked up in Selfridges. Since it was sleeveless, I’d brought a little silvery jacket for extra warmth.
‘No, go ahead,’ he said. ‘I didn’t get much sleep last night, so I think I’ll have that power nap you mentioned.’ He drew the curtains, then flung his coat and jacket over a chair.
I picked up my toilet bag and turned to him. ‘You know, if you don’t fancy driving home tonight, we could always stay here. I’m sure Dad won’t mind when I explain how tired you are.’
