Page 93 of The Uprising
Cara knew George was right. They must both live in the moment and seize the day instead of constantly thinking about the other timelines. She didn’t want them to miss the wonderful life they had created. They settled into their seats and she looked forward to the relaxing train journey from London to York. She had to trust everything was working out in Tudorville because there was nothing more she could do from here. And there was nowhere she would rather be right now, than here with her husband.
An hour later she drifted off to sleep and dreamed of the day they would move into Willow Manor. Then she awoke in a panic. ‘What happened to Willow Manor?’ she said.
George glanced up from his book, ‘Nothing, my love. Hush, you were dreaming, that’s all. We’re about halfway; go back to sleep. I’ll wake you up when we’re almost there.’
Cara’s head rested against the seat as the train sped through the countryside. Something terrible had happened in her dream but she couldn’t remember what. She felt an aching sense of emptiness, as she tried to fall asleep again. Her heart thudded.
It was only a dream. Or was it?
Chapter 27
York - Present day
They slept well that night and George awoke to the sound of the birds. He read for a while until Cara stirred.
‘Good morning, darling. I’ll make us some coffee shortly,’ he said, leaning over to kiss her.
After breakfast they wrapped up warm and went for a walk by the river. The sharp wind whipped up the surface of the water into choppy waves and the sky was a dull grey.
‘I can’t get hold of the agent,’ said Cara, running a hand through her windswept tangles.
‘Have you tried his office?’ asked George.
‘I’ve tried loads of times; the office number just rings and rings, and his personal phone doesn’t connect at all.’
‘Maybe you mixed up your contacts?’
‘I don’t think so, but you can take a look when we get back,’ she said.
Later that day, Cara pushed her phone across the coffee table to George, and he intercepted it with one smooth movement.
‘What’s the surname?’
‘Hamilton.’
George checked her address book, typing in several options, before he raised his eyes. ‘I can’t find any John with that surname or anything like it. Is it J-o-h-n or J-o-n?’
‘J-o-h-n, but I searched the other way too.’
‘That’s odd.’
‘I can’t see any calls to him in my call log either. Maybe I lost some contacts with my recent update.’
‘Possibly.’
‘I really think we need to make sure he submitted our offer as I only sent him a quick text. How about we pop over to Willow Manor and see if we can meet the owner? It might be faster that way, anyhow.’
George took a final sip of his tea, grabbed his car keys and said, ‘Okay. Let’s go.’
It was only two o’clock, but the rain had been lashing down since they hurried in from their walk, and the sky was a moody, purple-tinged grey, and threatened to turn black. Rain drops bounced onto the Porsche’s windscreen relentlessly, and then trickled downwards in large pear-shaped droplets before being disrupted by the hectic paced windscreen wipers. Cara shivered and turned the dial up on the heating. The warm air and the motion of the car seduced her into a light doze. She jumped and opened her eyes as the car edged its nose towards the hotel driveway.
‘The gates are closed,’ said George. ‘Didn’t you say the hotel was open last time you visited?’
‘Yes, and it was full, judging by the carpark and the number of people strolling around the gardens.’
‘I’ll nip out and see if there’s an intercom we can buzz to open the gates,’ said Cara, stretching her arms out in front of her. ‘It’s a shame I didn’t think to bring an umbrella.’ She pulled her coat on and dashed out of the car, without waiting for George to reply.
He turned on the radio and watched her approach the gates, as he hummed along to a haunting piece of music on the classical music channel.
