Read Online A Place in the Country by Elizabeth Adler - Free Book Online

unwilling to be fobbed off with platitudes about her dad loving her. “At least he could find the time to call me, or write.”
    Mark sighed. “There’s nothing I can do about that.”
    â€œNever mind.” She sounded so grown up and composed, Caroline wanted to cry for her. Then the oysters came and Issy even decided she liked them.
    They drank a bottle of excellent Puligny-Montrachet and a lot of laughter and good food later, Caroline decided it was time to take Mark to look at their barn.
    First though, she and Issy went to the ladies’ room. It was beautifully done up, with pretty wallpaper, linen hand towels, and mirrors that allowed you to believe you didn’t look half-bad, especially after a bottle of wine.
    â€œMom?” Issy called from the stall.
    Caroline was combing her hair, adding some lipstick. “Yes?”
    â€œI really, really like Mark.”
    â€œGood,” she replied cautiously. “I like him too.”
    Issy emerged, standing next to her, washing her hands. “Mom?”
    â€œWhat now?”
    â€œHe’d make a very good substitute father. And besides I know he likes you. I saw the way he looked at you.”
    â€œMark is a very good friend,” she said, noncommittally, waiting for Issy to dry her hands.
    â€œYeah, that’s good too. But with Mark we could go back and live in Singapore.”
    â€œIsabel Evans you are getting way above yourself,” Caroline said, shocked. “Enough. Right now, we’re going to show Mark our new home.”
    Standing at the bottom of the rutted driveway, Caroline thought her future home looked a lot better under the spring sunshine. The little tree had sprouted a few green leaves and the river slid gently past, throwing off sparkles here and there. She had been to look at her barn so many times by now she knew its layout and its history by heart.
    â€œIt dates from the early seventeenth century,” she told them and saw Issy turn away, deliberately not listening. “The stone was hewn by local men thought to be monks running from religious persecution under Cromwell, hiding out in the deep countryside, building their little house and the tiny secret chapel. Of course the chapel has long since disappeared but some of its stones can still be found under the grass.”
    She pushed open the squeaking barn doors and stepped into the flagged hall, which led into another enormous room. The floor was covered in worn linoleum, and there was a raised platform at one end, for the band and the dancing, Caroline supposed. A passage off the hall led to a squalid kitchen with an ancient cooker and a worn stone sink. Double French doors opened from that onto a small walled courtyard. A spiral stone staircase led up to a beamed room filled with a watery-river light. Another short turn in the stairs led to three more rooms and a fifties-style pink-tiled bathroom that matched the kitchen in its squalor.
    Outside, across the little courtyard and through a gate, was a tiny cottage. One corner had been made over into a kitchen and upstairs was a bedroom and small bathroom.
    Best of all, though, Caroline thought proudly, was the terrace: the lovely curve of the river, and she imagined herself sitting on that low stone wall on a lovely summer morning, with a cup of coffee, and her dreams.
    Looking at the two of them, though, she realized they didn’t understand. Only she saw the barn this way. Only she saw the bones of the place, stripped of its ugly linoleum and Formica, its sordid kitchen and bathroom. Only she could imagine it, warm and cozy with an Aga in winter, cool and sunny and filled with light in summer, alive with Issy’s young friends while she barbecued burgers on the terrace for them and eavesdropped on their conversations.
    Mark was looking at the faded sign, Bar, Grill, and Dancing. He said, “They must have had a license for this place. I’ll bet you could reapply for