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Authors: Samantha Tonge
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and seemed better suited to the set of a haunted house horror film.
On closer inspection, I could see that the rugs were worn and wall carvings chipped. Plus the tiled floor was cracked, the tapestries faded and one corner of the ceiling showed signs of damp. It was like stepping back in time, what with no telly or computer and no comfy bean bag or gaming chair to chill out on.
‘This used to be where the Croxleys received run-of-the-mill guests,’ he said. ‘VIPs were received upstairs, in the High Drawing Room.’
‘Like who?’ I said.
‘Depends on the era— military men, politicians, foreign statesmen, people from the world of entertainment… Noel Coward, the playwright, visited my great-grandparents – like him, they adored jazz.’
We left the room and made our way down a dark mahogany-panelled corridor, eventually coming to another door, on the right.
‘That leads to the library,’ said Edward, ‘which is opposite…’ we entered a room on the left ‘…the Drake Diner.’
Wow. It stretched across the back of the house, with patio doors opening onto the cute courtyard. I gawped at the oak panelling all the way up to the ornate ceiling and admired the family coat of arms and gold-framed landscapes… I’d never been in a place like this without a ticket and tour guide. Feeling as out of place as a pop star at the Proms, I fiddled with my watch. Edward glanced sideways.
‘You look, um, quite satisfactory, Cousin,’ he said. ‘Come on—let me introduce you to our friends.’
Jeez, Edward was in no danger of overdoing the compliments! But I was beginning to realize that, with him, less was more. And at least he was no different with anyone else. This included the gushing Mrs Viscount – yes, I really did call her that – well, I’d never come across the word, apart from when Dad used to buy these wrapped minty chocolate biscuits. How was I supposed to know it was ‘Viscount ess ’? Edward announced that her brooch was ‘an interesting size’ and then commented on the Viscount’s ‘unusual’ tie. Yet a large dollop of charm did appear when he talked to their sophisticated daughter, the Honourable Henrietta Hamilton-Brown. Edward admired her brunette hair, swept up into a high bun. He said it looked ‘delightful’—then ruined it by chatting to her about the state of the Euro. Borrrrrring.
‘It’s super to meet some of your wider family, James,’ said the Viscountess to the Earl as we sat at the long dining table in padded tapestry chairs.
I squished back comfortably and did my best not to stare at the big fluffy mic the sound guy had just manoeuvred over our heads. ‘James’ sat at one end of the table, in between the Viscount – Ernest, as he insisted I call him – and his wife, Annabel. Next to her was Henrietta, with me and Edward opposite. My Uncle Pete would have loved this table for pasting his wallpaper on. It must have seated, ooh… at least twenty toffs.
I tipped my chair back (a habit I’ve always had) and smiled across at Annabel. Right, time to have a crack at conversation. I didn’t fancy politics or the recession. That left personal stuff and the weather.
‘Have you had to travel far this evening?’ I asked.
‘Only for an hour,’ she said. ‘The last half of the journey was through such heavenly countryside.’
‘We adore visiting here,’ said Henrietta and beamed at Edward. ‘Tell me, what’s the state of apple prices this year? Are they still in the doldrums because of the economic downturn?’
I did my best to look brainy as they discussed, in great detail, when it would be best to bring contract workers into the orchards. Henrietta’s comments sounded so eloquent. How delicately she sipped her wine. He even let her straighten his tie. Jeez, she was like some automated Stepford wife!
‘And how’s the car boot business?’ she said.
‘Not bad,’ said Edward. He caught my eye. ‘I rent out the acres of land that stretch to the left,
On closer inspection, I could see that the rugs were worn and wall carvings chipped. Plus the tiled floor was cracked, the tapestries faded and one corner of the ceiling showed signs of damp. It was like stepping back in time, what with no telly or computer and no comfy bean bag or gaming chair to chill out on.
‘This used to be where the Croxleys received run-of-the-mill guests,’ he said. ‘VIPs were received upstairs, in the High Drawing Room.’
‘Like who?’ I said.
‘Depends on the era— military men, politicians, foreign statesmen, people from the world of entertainment… Noel Coward, the playwright, visited my great-grandparents – like him, they adored jazz.’
We left the room and made our way down a dark mahogany-panelled corridor, eventually coming to another door, on the right.
‘That leads to the library,’ said Edward, ‘which is opposite…’ we entered a room on the left ‘…the Drake Diner.’
Wow. It stretched across the back of the house, with patio doors opening onto the cute courtyard. I gawped at the oak panelling all the way up to the ornate ceiling and admired the family coat of arms and gold-framed landscapes… I’d never been in a place like this without a ticket and tour guide. Feeling as out of place as a pop star at the Proms, I fiddled with my watch. Edward glanced sideways.
‘You look, um, quite satisfactory, Cousin,’ he said. ‘Come on—let me introduce you to our friends.’
Jeez, Edward was in no danger of overdoing the compliments! But I was beginning to realize that, with him, less was more. And at least he was no different with anyone else. This included the gushing Mrs Viscount – yes, I really did call her that – well, I’d never come across the word, apart from when Dad used to buy these wrapped minty chocolate biscuits. How was I supposed to know it was ‘Viscount ess ’? Edward announced that her brooch was ‘an interesting size’ and then commented on the Viscount’s ‘unusual’ tie. Yet a large dollop of charm did appear when he talked to their sophisticated daughter, the Honourable Henrietta Hamilton-Brown. Edward admired her brunette hair, swept up into a high bun. He said it looked ‘delightful’—then ruined it by chatting to her about the state of the Euro. Borrrrrring.
‘It’s super to meet some of your wider family, James,’ said the Viscountess to the Earl as we sat at the long dining table in padded tapestry chairs.
I squished back comfortably and did my best not to stare at the big fluffy mic the sound guy had just manoeuvred over our heads. ‘James’ sat at one end of the table, in between the Viscount – Ernest, as he insisted I call him – and his wife, Annabel. Next to her was Henrietta, with me and Edward opposite. My Uncle Pete would have loved this table for pasting his wallpaper on. It must have seated, ooh… at least twenty toffs.
I tipped my chair back (a habit I’ve always had) and smiled across at Annabel. Right, time to have a crack at conversation. I didn’t fancy politics or the recession. That left personal stuff and the weather.
‘Have you had to travel far this evening?’ I asked.
‘Only for an hour,’ she said. ‘The last half of the journey was through such heavenly countryside.’
‘We adore visiting here,’ said Henrietta and beamed at Edward. ‘Tell me, what’s the state of apple prices this year? Are they still in the doldrums because of the economic downturn?’
I did my best to look brainy as they discussed, in great detail, when it would be best to bring contract workers into the orchards. Henrietta’s comments sounded so eloquent. How delicately she sipped her wine. He even let her straighten his tie. Jeez, she was like some automated Stepford wife!
‘And how’s the car boot business?’ she said.
‘Not bad,’ said Edward. He caught my eye. ‘I rent out the acres of land that stretch to the left,
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