‘Of course. You’ve just made today a lot brighter.’ He followed her inside. She could sense him behind her, could hear the patter of Darcy’s paws on the linoleum.
‘It’s just a sandwich and a cup of tea,’ Robin said, leaning against the kitchen counter.
Will stopped in the doorway, almost filling it. ‘Believe me, when you’re faced with clearing out your dead aunt’s four-storey house that’s been empty for over a year and has accumulated a leak and at least fifty thousand cobwebs, a cup of tea isn’t “just” anything.’
Robin began to dry the mugs, soaking up his gratitude and, if she was honest, the pleasing sight of him standing in her doorway. ‘If you’d gone down to Mrs Harris at the Seaview Hotel you wouldn’t be getting this treatment.’
‘I picked the right place then,’ he said. ‘Thank you, Robin. Is it OK if I come begging for my first cup of tea in about twenty-five minutes?’
‘Don’t push it,’ she warned, but as she listened to her unexpected guest climb the stairs, followed by his curly-haired and completely adorable companion, she realized she would be happy to make him as many cups of tea as he wanted. Not only because she’d enjoyed the brief amount of time she’d spent in his company, but also because she hadn’t been inside Tabitha’s house for years, and she still felt bad about not making more of an effort to see her on her fleeting return visits from London.
She wanted to see the task that Will was faced with. She wanted to see if the house brought back any childhood memories, to find out how her loving and eccentric neighbour had lived the last years of her life, and whether there were any clues, any proof as to the origin of the plaque on the wall. Despite the promise of fifty thousand cobwebs, she was desperate to see inside number four Goldcrest Road.
Robin pressed her hand against the blue plaque next to the tall, black front door with the brass knocker and remembered, when she’d been much smaller, standing up on tiptoes to try and touch the cool, smooth surface. Now it was level with her shoulder. She read the familiar words: Jane Austen, 1775–1817, Noted Novelist, stayed here during the summer of 1804.
Why would it be here if it wasn’t true? Why was everyone so sceptical about it? It wasn’t just Molly who laughed it off whenever she mentioned it; her mum and dad had never entirely believed it, and Tim had always rolled his eyes. She’d read Persuasion, and lots of it was set in Dorset. Lyme Regis with its Cobb wasn’t far away, so surely it was plausible. And what reason could Tabitha have had to fabricate it? Maybe, now that Will was here, with his knowledge of historical houses, they would be able to get to the bottom of it. Maybe he knew the truth already.
She lifted the brass knocker to announce her arrival, but the heavy door moved forward a fraction and Robin realized it wasn’t closed. She pushed it slowly inwards, peering into the gloom.
The first thing that she noticed was the dust. The air was thick with it, dancing in the shaft of sunlight she’d let in, and there was a pervading smell of damp.
‘Hello?’ she called. ‘Door-to-door tea service?’ She stood in the hallway, listening, her eyes drawn to the telephone table below a gold-framed mirror hanging over thick green wallpaper, a white, rotary-dial telephone almost glowing in the sunlight. She had a vivid memory of lifting the heavy receiver, dragging the dial round with her finger, calling random numbers purely because it was so much more exotic than her parents’ push-button telephone.
‘Hello?’ she tried again, and this time she heard a series of clunks and bashes from upstairs, and then Darcy appeared, padding slowly down the stairs as if she wasn’t used to such a steep descent.
Robin crouched and put the cup of tea on the floor, already rehearsing her counter-argument for when Will finally made an appearance and discovered his drink was no longer hot. ‘Darcy,’ she whispered, holding out her arms as the small dog came towards her, and gathering her into an embrace. ‘You’re so cute,’ she whispered. The dog licked her chin and, putting a paw up on her shoulder, let out a sound that was halfway between a bark and a whine. Robin laughed, kissing her on the head, her fur impossibly soft.
‘Where’s Will?’ she asked. ‘Where’s your master?’
‘Master? I like the sound of that.’ She heard him before she saw him, his boots heavy on the stairs, and when he appeared in the dim light of the hall he was drying his hands on a piece of old sheet. Robin could see that he was soaked again, and also filthy, with dark streaks on his T-shirt and black smudges across his forehead and cheeks.
‘I brought you tea,’ she said, pointing at the mug but refusing to release her grip on Darcy. ‘What happened? Did you find the leak, or have you been investigating the chimney?’
He ignored her last remark. ‘I’ve found one of them. The roof is in serious need of repair, but I think the plumbing’s shot too. I doubt if Tabitha had any maintenance work done here in the last five, or even ten years. This place is a mess.’
Robin nodded slowly, glancing around. ‘How do you know that?’
Will frowned, crouched in front of her and picked up his tea, nodding his gratitude as he sipped it. ‘Thank you for this. What do you mean?’
‘I mean,’ she said, ‘how do you know it’s a mess when everywhere’s so dark? It’s like a classic haunted house.’ She winced when she realized what she’d said. ‘Sorry, that was insensitive.’
Will shook his head. ‘I get your point, but I blew the fuses when I tried to turn on the light last night, and one of them needs replacing before I can get the electricity working.’
‘So why not use that most exciting and recent of inventions?’ Robin let go of Darcy, stood and moved towards the room on the right of the hallway, but tripped on something she couldn’t see and bashed her shoulder against the wall.
‘What’s that?’ Will asked, following her. He touched her arm gently, whether to get her attention or steady her, Robin wasn’t sure.
Undeterred, Robin found the edge of the curtain and pulled it dramatically backwards. ‘Sunlight,’ she announced, the word becoming a splutter as the movement released at least a year’s worth of dust into the air. She turned away, coughing into her hands.
‘Great reveal,’ Will said, deadpan. ‘Go as well as you’d planned?’ His cough was deep but efficient, and Robin thought he was probably used to clearing his throat in rooms full of dust.
She tried to give him a withering look, but her eyes were streaming. She blinked just in time to see Will’s jaw tighten, his expression unreadable as he surveyed the room.
Robin did the same.
It was Tabitha’s living room. The solid, green, William Morris-patterned sofas facing each other, the lace runners along the backs discoloured an unappealing yellow, the cherry wood coffee table matching the dresser on which were a number of small china sheep. The rest of the collection, she knew, were in glass cabinets in the dining room on the opposite side of the hall. Robin had played cards in here, eating Tabitha’s homemade scones thick with unsalted butter. Gin Rummy, Snap, sometimes dominoes. Even Tim, she remembered, liked coming round to see Tabitha, and they’d often stayed until they were called back next door for dinner.
Why hadn’t she kept in touch with her properly? Robin felt a surge of anger at herself. The older woman had been so much a part of her childhood, but had quickly become out of sight and out of mind once she’d moved to London, rarely seeing her on her return visits to Campion Bay. Either she’d been too caught up with Tim, or – after they’d broken up – the fledgling business she was starting with Neve. Planning, researching locations and luxuries, her head