before he retired.’ Her accent was more West Country than Welsh.
‘Oh . . .’ Nell tried to smile as the woman pumped her hand. ‘Yes, I’m Ellena Jones. But call me Nell.’
‘Well, Nell, lovely to meet you at last. Daniel - Mr Guthrie - told me you were coming. He’s waiting in his office. I’m the cleaner, Angie Evans. The caretaker - Daffyd - he’s my husband. Come this way, follow me. Don’t you have lovely children? What’s your name, hon?’ She looked at Joshua. ‘You’re a handsome lad, aren’t you?’
‘Am I?’ he said. ‘I thought you had to be a grown up to be handsome?’
‘No, hon, of course not.’ Angie smiled. ‘I bet you’re as good-looking as your dad, eh? Take after him, do you?’
Nell inhaled too sharply, and experienced that same wrench in her gut she often felt when someone talked to the children about their father, out of the blue. Angie Evans was right, though. As far as Nell was concerned, no man had ever been quite as arresting as her husband. From that first glimpse of him across the dance floor at her sister’s country house wedding, to that last morning together over five years later, he had remained just as compelling, just as heart-stopping. The passage of time or the stresses of life seemingly having no effect on him.
Disorientated, Nell realised she was flushed with heat. She’d clearly piled on too many layers. Joshua grabbed her hand again, and almost as if he was leading her gently back to the here and now, she blinked and focussed on her surroundings.
‘Mr Guthrie,’ called Angie Evans, as they rounded a corner. ‘Your visitors have arrived.’
Nell tensed, as the tall, slim figure of a man hurried out of the office at the far end. He wore a smart shirt and tie, but no suit jacket to match the dark trousers. This was another man who had once had a crippling effect on her, if not quite to the same degree. Way back in the past, though, because time wasn’t being so kind to Daniel Guthrie.
Although Nell had recognised him easily the other day, it was a lie when she’d claimed he hadn’t changed that much. The golden, charismatic Adonis the girls at St Cecil’s had drooled over had been replaced by a tarnished, harrowed-looking human. He seemed older than his age, with more than just a few flecks of grey in his messy, fair hair and fine lines and shadows under his eyes.
Like The Picture of Dorian Gray , thought Nell, except there was no canvas for his misdemeanours to transfer themselves to.
‘Thank you, Angie.’ Daniel smiled and nodded at the cleaner. ‘We’ll probably see you around in a little while, when I give them the tour.’
‘OK. Laters.’ Angie beamed at the small group and bustled off, disappearing around the corner.
‘Right,’ said Daniel, rubbing his hands together. ‘Do you want to come through?’
They followed him into a plainly decorated room, with a short, sagging sofa along one wall. A potted plant seemed to have taken over a corner of the office, like a Triffid.
He gestured to Joshua and Freya to take the sofa, as Nell lowered herself primly into a hard plastic chair. Daniel rubbed his hands again, and went to sit behind the desk.
‘Right. So. Where to begin . . . ?’ He started shuffling papers around.
‘I’ve got their uniform together,’ said Nell, keeping her tone efficient. ‘Emma helped out. She had a few jumpers Rose and Ivy had outgrown. And I went into town and bought trousers and skirts and other bits. They used navy down in London, not grey.’
She had finally managed to pin her sister down the day their father had left, cornering her about Daniel. Emma had claimed charmingly that she’d only lied by omission, and instructed Nell to give Daniel a chance. She’d even managed to sound sincere, not rude or clichéd, when she’d told Nell to act her age and not her - UK - shoe size. Emma had always had that knack, Nell grudgingly acknowledged, but she had no intention of following her advice. In
‘Oh . . .’ Nell tried to smile as the woman pumped her hand. ‘Yes, I’m Ellena Jones. But call me Nell.’
‘Well, Nell, lovely to meet you at last. Daniel - Mr Guthrie - told me you were coming. He’s waiting in his office. I’m the cleaner, Angie Evans. The caretaker - Daffyd - he’s my husband. Come this way, follow me. Don’t you have lovely children? What’s your name, hon?’ She looked at Joshua. ‘You’re a handsome lad, aren’t you?’
‘Am I?’ he said. ‘I thought you had to be a grown up to be handsome?’
‘No, hon, of course not.’ Angie smiled. ‘I bet you’re as good-looking as your dad, eh? Take after him, do you?’
Nell inhaled too sharply, and experienced that same wrench in her gut she often felt when someone talked to the children about their father, out of the blue. Angie Evans was right, though. As far as Nell was concerned, no man had ever been quite as arresting as her husband. From that first glimpse of him across the dance floor at her sister’s country house wedding, to that last morning together over five years later, he had remained just as compelling, just as heart-stopping. The passage of time or the stresses of life seemingly having no effect on him.
Disorientated, Nell realised she was flushed with heat. She’d clearly piled on too many layers. Joshua grabbed her hand again, and almost as if he was leading her gently back to the here and now, she blinked and focussed on her surroundings.
‘Mr Guthrie,’ called Angie Evans, as they rounded a corner. ‘Your visitors have arrived.’
Nell tensed, as the tall, slim figure of a man hurried out of the office at the far end. He wore a smart shirt and tie, but no suit jacket to match the dark trousers. This was another man who had once had a crippling effect on her, if not quite to the same degree. Way back in the past, though, because time wasn’t being so kind to Daniel Guthrie.
Although Nell had recognised him easily the other day, it was a lie when she’d claimed he hadn’t changed that much. The golden, charismatic Adonis the girls at St Cecil’s had drooled over had been replaced by a tarnished, harrowed-looking human. He seemed older than his age, with more than just a few flecks of grey in his messy, fair hair and fine lines and shadows under his eyes.
Like The Picture of Dorian Gray , thought Nell, except there was no canvas for his misdemeanours to transfer themselves to.
‘Thank you, Angie.’ Daniel smiled and nodded at the cleaner. ‘We’ll probably see you around in a little while, when I give them the tour.’
‘OK. Laters.’ Angie beamed at the small group and bustled off, disappearing around the corner.
‘Right,’ said Daniel, rubbing his hands together. ‘Do you want to come through?’
They followed him into a plainly decorated room, with a short, sagging sofa along one wall. A potted plant seemed to have taken over a corner of the office, like a Triffid.
He gestured to Joshua and Freya to take the sofa, as Nell lowered herself primly into a hard plastic chair. Daniel rubbed his hands again, and went to sit behind the desk.
‘Right. So. Where to begin . . . ?’ He started shuffling papers around.
‘I’ve got their uniform together,’ said Nell, keeping her tone efficient. ‘Emma helped out. She had a few jumpers Rose and Ivy had outgrown. And I went into town and bought trousers and skirts and other bits. They used navy down in London, not grey.’
She had finally managed to pin her sister down the day their father had left, cornering her about Daniel. Emma had claimed charmingly that she’d only lied by omission, and instructed Nell to give Daniel a chance. She’d even managed to sound sincere, not rude or clichéd, when she’d told Nell to act her age and not her - UK - shoe size. Emma had always had that knack, Nell grudgingly acknowledged, but she had no intention of following her advice. In
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