me over to them, asks if I know Guy. After a few minutes chatting, she asks me in for a coffee. I accept happily and we start to walk towards the house. I’m assuming Guy is coming in, too, as the three of us have been talking about the work the Wintersons want done on their property, and it seemed as if the coffee invite extended to all. Guy must have assumed the same thing, for he’s taken a few steps with us until he stops uncertainly. Kate says brightly, ‘Thanks, Guy. I really appreciate you coming out today. And the job is yours, if you can start next week like you said.’
She says this warmly, but it’s clearly a dismissal. Guy takes the hint, says he’ll be back next week for sure, and says goodbye to us both. As we go inside Kate is chatty and happy, and I see that it never even occurred to her that Guy might be glad of coffee or tea before he set out on his next job. She obviously assumed he was in a hurry, I suppose, on to his next work place. It’ll take her a while to learn that few people are in a hurry down here, even if they do have several jobs, a family, and a full life to live. I wonder if I should say something; maybe it’s not too late and she can stop Guy from driving away. He did look dismayed when he realised he’d not been invited inside. But I decide it’s not my place to say anything. Kate is a good person, and seems a sensitive one in many ways. She’ll soon find out for herself.
‘Tessa, good to see you,’ she says as we go into the house. ‘It’s been hectic, trying to get the house right. Especially with Leon up in town.’
By town, she means London, where Leon goes at least once a month for the consultancy work he mentioned. As we settle into her spacious kitchen, Kate enthuses about the work Guy is going to do on their house. Already a brand-new Aga has been installed in the kitchen, a huge gorgeous red one. It fills up the width of the room and is pumping out heat despite the warmth of the day. Kate makes me a delicious cappuccino from the machine glistening on the new marble surface and I drink it blissfully while she tells me about the insulation they’re putting in, the Florentine tiles on the kitchen floor with the underfloor heating, and the wall-to-wall shelves for their collection of books, CDs, and DVDs in the sitting room. ‘Guy says he can do carpentry, so he might be making our bookshelves. Leon collects old books so we want something suitable to display them. I’ve heard from some of the villagers that he’s really good. What do you think?’
‘He’s excellent. I’ve seen some of his work. He’s a fine craftsman.’
She’s relieved. ‘I did wonder if I should get someone down from London. Actually, I tried, but I can’t get the furniture maker I know to come down here until mid-summer, far too late. It’s a shame. He does such beautiful work.’
‘Guy will be great,’ I reassure her. I’m relieved she couldn’t get her London carpenter. The locals wouldn’t have taken kindly to the hiring of an Up Country workman when there are so many good ones down here in need of employment.
‘I’m glad I asked you,’ Kate says. ‘I thought he was merely an odd-job man. I couldn’t believe it when someone at the shop said he was a carpenter.’
‘This is Cornwall,’ I say with a smile. ‘He does odd jobs, that’s true; he needs the money like we all do. But he’s also a terrific craftsman, like I said.’
Kate is going on with her plans. As she talks, a blackbird sings outside the open window. The two willow trees in the back are beginning to get that shimmering look trees get in spring, as if sprucing up for the great event of beginning anew. They’re lovely trees, quite old. The name of the house, Treetops, obviously came from them, and the copper beech that stands at the end of their garden. Behind it is a grass field, now filled with sheep. Ewes and lambs placidly feed and rest, ambling contentedly in the warmth.
Kate follows my look out
She says this warmly, but it’s clearly a dismissal. Guy takes the hint, says he’ll be back next week for sure, and says goodbye to us both. As we go inside Kate is chatty and happy, and I see that it never even occurred to her that Guy might be glad of coffee or tea before he set out on his next job. She obviously assumed he was in a hurry, I suppose, on to his next work place. It’ll take her a while to learn that few people are in a hurry down here, even if they do have several jobs, a family, and a full life to live. I wonder if I should say something; maybe it’s not too late and she can stop Guy from driving away. He did look dismayed when he realised he’d not been invited inside. But I decide it’s not my place to say anything. Kate is a good person, and seems a sensitive one in many ways. She’ll soon find out for herself.
‘Tessa, good to see you,’ she says as we go into the house. ‘It’s been hectic, trying to get the house right. Especially with Leon up in town.’
By town, she means London, where Leon goes at least once a month for the consultancy work he mentioned. As we settle into her spacious kitchen, Kate enthuses about the work Guy is going to do on their house. Already a brand-new Aga has been installed in the kitchen, a huge gorgeous red one. It fills up the width of the room and is pumping out heat despite the warmth of the day. Kate makes me a delicious cappuccino from the machine glistening on the new marble surface and I drink it blissfully while she tells me about the insulation they’re putting in, the Florentine tiles on the kitchen floor with the underfloor heating, and the wall-to-wall shelves for their collection of books, CDs, and DVDs in the sitting room. ‘Guy says he can do carpentry, so he might be making our bookshelves. Leon collects old books so we want something suitable to display them. I’ve heard from some of the villagers that he’s really good. What do you think?’
‘He’s excellent. I’ve seen some of his work. He’s a fine craftsman.’
She’s relieved. ‘I did wonder if I should get someone down from London. Actually, I tried, but I can’t get the furniture maker I know to come down here until mid-summer, far too late. It’s a shame. He does such beautiful work.’
‘Guy will be great,’ I reassure her. I’m relieved she couldn’t get her London carpenter. The locals wouldn’t have taken kindly to the hiring of an Up Country workman when there are so many good ones down here in need of employment.
‘I’m glad I asked you,’ Kate says. ‘I thought he was merely an odd-job man. I couldn’t believe it when someone at the shop said he was a carpenter.’
‘This is Cornwall,’ I say with a smile. ‘He does odd jobs, that’s true; he needs the money like we all do. But he’s also a terrific craftsman, like I said.’
Kate is going on with her plans. As she talks, a blackbird sings outside the open window. The two willow trees in the back are beginning to get that shimmering look trees get in spring, as if sprucing up for the great event of beginning anew. They’re lovely trees, quite old. The name of the house, Treetops, obviously came from them, and the copper beech that stands at the end of their garden. Behind it is a grass field, now filled with sheep. Ewes and lambs placidly feed and rest, ambling contentedly in the warmth.
Kate follows my look out
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