The Long Gallery, chapters four and five.

Chapter Four

Daisy grabbed some lunch in the Georgian colonnade, The Pantiles, then left Tunbridge Wells, heading for her office at the nature reserve ten miles south. With her big move closing in, tension was beginning to draw around her like a constricting corset. Jeffries’ attitude had irritated her but also caused some apprehension. Notwithstanding his peculiar attitude, he had seemed intent on imposing himself as her overseer – something beyond his station and a capacity he wasn’t going to be allowed to engage in. However, in the confines of his stuffy office it might have been that she’d exaggerated his stance. Now, driving along the open road with the sun breaking through the clouds and the countryside a verdant green, Daisy began to question whether she’d acted negatively to Jeffries; whether it was she who was clouding the atmosphere, searching for problems that didn’t exist.

But why spend time considering such irrelevancies? She needed her sights set on her plan of action – one soon to be activated. With heightened resolve, Daisy turned into the lane leading to the nature reserve lodge and cast aside her meanderings.

Approaching her she saw the lodge’s green Land Rover with Adam at the wheel. He gestured for her to pull over, and she obliged by drawing into a lay-by. ‘Since you’re running late, I’m filling in for you at the school lecture at Silver Pines,’ he said, his floppy dark hair hanging out the window.

‘Oh – my, clean forgot,’ Daisy groaned, slapping her forehead. ‘Well, thanks for covering, anyway.’

‘No problem – oh, there’s some late mail on your desk. Ahm – how did your meeting go?’

‘You mean with Jeffries? Fine. The important thing is that most of the formalities are dispensed with – a few papers to sign and all sewn up.’

‘And you haven’t changed your mind?’

Here we go again, another prod. Daisy rifled her fingers through her hair. ‘No. Why the hell should I?’

‘Hey, don’t be so jumpy.” Adam leaned his arms on the Land Rover’s window rim and held out a hand. ‘It’s not like you; I only meant it’s a big step.’

Daisy gritted her teeth, resentment was surfacing, and she’d be damned if she’d listen to Adam’s endless doubts and reservations. ‘Will you back off? We’ve been through that. See you later.’ Without giving him a chance of reply, she slipped her car into gear, completing the remaining two hundred metres to the lodge at a faster pace than was good. That mental corset was tightening again, causing her to reflect once more on whether it was her own attitude that was the problem rather than those around her. Was she being jumpy as Adam had said? Was that what was causing any discord?

High on her list of priorities was the need to speak to Penny Finch and Alison Palmer, two of the girls in the office who were willing to join her at the Hall, if nothing else it would help with the upkeep, but firstly there was the morning mail to contend with.

Penny and Alison were busy on their phones when she walked in; the small pile of mail was neatly stacked on her desk and she fingered through it, only a typed rectangular envelope addressed to her personally drawing her attention. Noting the anchor-like logo in the top left corner she slit it open.

Headed, Anchor Estate Management, Portobello Mews, Bridgeford, Sussex, it read –

Dear Ms Truman,

As the new incumbent of Harvest Hall, might we offer our congratulations and sincere hopes that your stay at the Hall will be a lengthy and enjoyable one. May we also draw your attention to our estate management services, professionally run for over fifty years. We supply efficient and first-rate staff to estates such as yours and are able to maintain the everyday running of your property and surroundings to the highest possible standard.

I – or one of my associates will contact you personally in the near future to describe our services in greater detail; meanwhile, should you have any queries, please do not hesitate to contact the undersigned.

Yours Truly,

Richard Frobisher-French

Daisy frowned and held the letter out. ‘Is this normal procedure? And how the hell did they get wind of my move so quickly?’

‘Say again?’ Penny Finch had finished on the phone and was staring across inquisitively.

‘Oh – talking to myself. Most strange though – never mind, it can wait until later.’ Daisy slapped her hands on the desk. ‘Now – before I get down to business, are you two making plans to join me at the Hall?’ 

Red-headed Penny nodded and shot a glance at Alison, still busy on the phone. ‘Yeah, we both are. Well, I mean – we couldn’t let you live in that great big place all alone.’

‘Sorted.’ Daisy gleamed. ‘We’ll talk details later.’

‘You know Adam will be miffed, don’t you? I reckon he sees himself as your protector. He’s only just now been harping on about how unwise this is ...’ Penny pressed a hand to her chin. ‘Is it?’  

‘Oh, don’t start my off on that,” Daisy huffed in frustration, and don’t listen to him, either, I don’t know what he’s getting so worked up about.’ She sighed, further irritated by the ‘protector’ label that Penny had just attached to Adam. It did nothing for her good humour. A ‘protector,’ was one thing she didn’t need.

As far the niggling uncertainties that been chipping at her resolve were concerned, she’d keep them to herself for the time being; if the girls didn’t like it, then … still, it wouldn’t do to raise the girls’ doubts unnecessarily before they’d even moved in. Their presence, when all said and done, could only be beneficial to her. It was time to be a little more open.

She leaned forward in her chair. ‘Look, there are some things I don’t understand at the moment, I’ll admit. I can’t really elaborate, but they’re not stopping me taking it up.’ Directing her gaze at Penny, she added, ‘If you’re having second thoughts you can always ...’

‘No – we’re not passing up on our chance to reside in a country house.’ It was Alison, fresh off the phone who cut in. ‘Beats our current digs all ends up. So then, when are we moving in?’

Daisy relaxed a little. ‘That’s what I like to hear, enthusiasm. Just as soon as the paperwork’s finished.’ She grinned at her dark haired friend. ‘Now then, let’s go check out the reserve.’

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Five

The white Mercedes pulled up some thirty metres from the gates of Harvest Hall. Close enough for the two men within to observe that the eight-foot, steel-barred gates were steadfastly shut. Beyond them, the driveway ran through to meet the house at its westerly point, forming a crescent bereft of vehicles.

‘It seems we’re a bit premature.’ Taylor raised his balding scalp towards his companion in the passenger seat. ‘I’d say the Hall is still empty.’

‘A little forward planning won’t go amiss.’ French inclined his head and then stiffened, eyes homing in on the large house ahead. The two men sat in silence for over a minute before French spoke, turning to Taylor, the trace of a smile on his lean face. ‘You’re wondering why the fascination for Harvest Hall, I can tell by your expression.’

Taylor stretched out in his seat, ‘Well, it would no doubt be a substantial contract if you could secure it – a place of this size. But I sense something more on your mind, French, something other than the normal run of things may I venture to say, something you’re being somewhat secretive about?’

French let out a long, slow breath, continued his scrutiny of the house. ‘Let’s say this place has history, four hundred years of it, and that there’s been a lot of argy-bargy going on here – for countless generations.’

Taylor raised his bushy brows. ‘Okay, but why does that make this place such an attractive proposition?’

French inhaled loudly, letting the air slowly out through his nose. ‘I think there’s a reason why the old man left this place to a slip of a woman. The problem lies in finding that reason, hence the interest.’

Taylor grunted, placed his hands on the wheel. ‘You’re not making a lot of sense.’

‘Patience, dear man. We’ll leave it for a few days though not long enough for Miss Truman to get too settled. I’d hate this little number to fall through our hands ...’

French leaned forward, his eyes fixed suddenly on Taylor. ‘What is it, man?’

Taylor ground his teeth and contorted his lips before he spoke. ‘You’re not going to like this ...’

‘I suggest you let me be the judge of that; come on, don’t take all day.’

Taylor sighed, when he spoke his voice was just above a whisper. ‘Somebody just came through those gates. A figure dressed in grey from head to foot.’

‘Don’t talk nonsense man,’ French said curtly. ‘They’re plainly locked.’

‘Taylor’s grip on the wheel tightened, his knuckles whitening. ‘I know that,’ he said edgily. ‘It just …’

‘Then you’d better stop right there. I’m not a believer in ghosts if that’s the line you’re treading – and if you want out of this organization, there are other ways of saying so ...’

‘No, of course I don’t. It was obviously some trick of the light.’ Taylor shivered and then jerked his head, scanning the heavens. ‘The sun, in and out of the clouds the way it’s been. That’s what will have caused it.’

‘Maybe.’ French though, looked unconvinced, affording Taylor a stony look from his dark eyes. He raised a finger, crooked it. ‘But get a grip, right?’