educated European. Books on hunting, country walks, some biography — usually of military heroes — a little history. No classics, no poetry, no novels. Its easy chairs invite occupation, and are placed carefully beside tables laden with country magazines, the real reading-matter of the house.
The only room downstairs in which I ever felt relaxed is the drawing-room. I have virtually never visited the kitchen. Ceci, the cook, ruled supreme in her domain.
The staircase leads to a large landing and two corridors. One corridor leads past four suites down towards the large door to Edward’s room.
A shorter, panelled corridor leads past two other bedroom suites towards a heavy oak door and the room which over the years has been designated to Ingrid and me.
The bedrooms, all panelled and sometimes entered by two or three little steps, are genuinely charming. Each has a different eiderdown in flower pattern with matching cushions. They were all long ago embroidered by Ingrid’s mother.
Over time, the rooms have taken on the names of the flower or plant embroidered on the quilt — rose, or iris, or daffodil.
I knew this house so well and its rooms and its gardens, yet Hartley had not entered my soul. I visited Hartley and after nearly thirty years I remained a visitor. Would Anna be as impervious to its charms?
I stopped the car. My reverie was ended. Ingrid, Sally, and Jonathan came to greet me in the drive. ‘Edward’s on the phone in his room. Good journey?’
‘Mm. Very quick.’
‘Anna and Martyn will be here later. Anna had some work to finish. I asked Ceci to delay dinner until nine-fifteen. Hopefully, they will have arrived by then.’
‘Hello, sir.’
I nodded towards Jonathan, and decided against first-name terms for a while.
Ingrid linked her arm in mine as we followed Sally and Jonathan into the hall.
‘Edward put all the young people into his corridor, away from parents. We’ve got empty rooms the whole length of ours. Quite clever, don’t you think?’
‘Very.’
‘Come up and change.’
Our room was called Rose. The quilt, patterned in red, white and pink, was a potent reminder of lost days, and had an accusatory innocence as I entered.
Edward was in the drawing-room when I came down.
‘This is really wonderful of you all,’ he said. ‘Can’t tell you how much I appreciate it. Birthdays don’t mean so much now. Still, I suppose seventy-four is worth noting.’
‘Indeed it is.’ He looked well. He’d always had a glow about him, a kind of rosy hue. It suited him in old age.
‘Have a drink?’
‘Thanks, whisky please.’
‘Ingrid tells me Anna and Martyn will be along later.’
‘Yes.’
‘Nice of her to come. Must be a bit boring really. And Sally’s chap, I’m rather touched they should make the effort.’
‘Nonsense, Edward. You’re a favourite with all ages.’
‘Am I? Always wanted to keep in touch with young people. Gives one a feeling of continuity. Marvellous to have great-grandchildren. Any chance, do you think, before I pop off?’
‘Edward, I wish you great-great-grandchildren.’
‘Aha — always the diplomat.’
Ingrid came to the door. ‘They’re here. I’ll tell Ceci. They can have a quick bath and change, and then dinner. Perfect timing.’
Anna wore trousers. They were grey and tailored. This informal, country look altered her in some way.
Greetings over, she went upstairs. Later she returned in a dark blue dress that I’d seen before. She still seemed different. She’s ill-at-ease, tense, I thought. I’d never seen Anna ill-at-ease before.
Dinner was a quiet affair. Everyone was tired after their journey. It was a time for remembrances.
‘Anna, what memories do you have of home?’
‘Very few really. We travelled so much.’
‘I can’t remember a life without Hartley,’ said Ingrid.
‘Anna has her memories,’ said Martyn quickly. ‘But they’re more varied — impressionistic almost. Sally’s and mine are of Hartley,
The only room downstairs in which I ever felt relaxed is the drawing-room. I have virtually never visited the kitchen. Ceci, the cook, ruled supreme in her domain.
The staircase leads to a large landing and two corridors. One corridor leads past four suites down towards the large door to Edward’s room.
A shorter, panelled corridor leads past two other bedroom suites towards a heavy oak door and the room which over the years has been designated to Ingrid and me.
The bedrooms, all panelled and sometimes entered by two or three little steps, are genuinely charming. Each has a different eiderdown in flower pattern with matching cushions. They were all long ago embroidered by Ingrid’s mother.
Over time, the rooms have taken on the names of the flower or plant embroidered on the quilt — rose, or iris, or daffodil.
I knew this house so well and its rooms and its gardens, yet Hartley had not entered my soul. I visited Hartley and after nearly thirty years I remained a visitor. Would Anna be as impervious to its charms?
I stopped the car. My reverie was ended. Ingrid, Sally, and Jonathan came to greet me in the drive. ‘Edward’s on the phone in his room. Good journey?’
‘Mm. Very quick.’
‘Anna and Martyn will be here later. Anna had some work to finish. I asked Ceci to delay dinner until nine-fifteen. Hopefully, they will have arrived by then.’
‘Hello, sir.’
I nodded towards Jonathan, and decided against first-name terms for a while.
Ingrid linked her arm in mine as we followed Sally and Jonathan into the hall.
‘Edward put all the young people into his corridor, away from parents. We’ve got empty rooms the whole length of ours. Quite clever, don’t you think?’
‘Very.’
‘Come up and change.’
Our room was called Rose. The quilt, patterned in red, white and pink, was a potent reminder of lost days, and had an accusatory innocence as I entered.
Edward was in the drawing-room when I came down.
‘This is really wonderful of you all,’ he said. ‘Can’t tell you how much I appreciate it. Birthdays don’t mean so much now. Still, I suppose seventy-four is worth noting.’
‘Indeed it is.’ He looked well. He’d always had a glow about him, a kind of rosy hue. It suited him in old age.
‘Have a drink?’
‘Thanks, whisky please.’
‘Ingrid tells me Anna and Martyn will be along later.’
‘Yes.’
‘Nice of her to come. Must be a bit boring really. And Sally’s chap, I’m rather touched they should make the effort.’
‘Nonsense, Edward. You’re a favourite with all ages.’
‘Am I? Always wanted to keep in touch with young people. Gives one a feeling of continuity. Marvellous to have great-grandchildren. Any chance, do you think, before I pop off?’
‘Edward, I wish you great-great-grandchildren.’
‘Aha — always the diplomat.’
Ingrid came to the door. ‘They’re here. I’ll tell Ceci. They can have a quick bath and change, and then dinner. Perfect timing.’
Anna wore trousers. They were grey and tailored. This informal, country look altered her in some way.
Greetings over, she went upstairs. Later she returned in a dark blue dress that I’d seen before. She still seemed different. She’s ill-at-ease, tense, I thought. I’d never seen Anna ill-at-ease before.
Dinner was a quiet affair. Everyone was tired after their journey. It was a time for remembrances.
‘Anna, what memories do you have of home?’
‘Very few really. We travelled so much.’
‘I can’t remember a life without Hartley,’ said Ingrid.
‘Anna has her memories,’ said Martyn quickly. ‘But they’re more varied — impressionistic almost. Sally’s and mine are of Hartley,
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