Merrin quickly got the hang of working on reception and more than liked her new position. And today it was a glorious morning. She sat at the French windows in her room and blinked, taking in the view from her bedroom, the beauty of which never failed to captivate her. The flat, manicured lawn beyond the patio was a constant wonder to her and she was thankful to those who worked hard to keep it looking just so. Having grown up on a wild and rocky outcrop, it amazed her that grass could be so neat, so vibrant, and not the spiky, untamed variety that sprouted between rocks, over the scrub land and on the cliff edge of Port Charles. This grass was entirely different, soft like nature’s carpet, and when time and circumstance allowed and after a quick look around to make sure no one was watching, she loved nothing more than to slip off her shoes and run across it barefoot, feeling the soft yield of the verdant blades under her feet, connecting her to the earth in the way that she so loved.
Here, everything was flatter, calmer: the weather, the land and her life. It was a pleasant even keel of an existence and she found it comforting. Waking up in a castle every day was an amazing thing and her surroundings never failed to fascinate her. The high stone walls had been renovated and the original structure added to since it had first been built in the late 1500s, but always sympathetically and with grand style, befitting a once baronial family home such as this. The cathedral-ceilinged hallways and wood-panelled dining room were beyond stunning, with the scent of history and stories lingering in the air. And the library had a vast inglenook fireplace where, rumour had it, the finest ancient oak had been burnt to keep King Henry VIII and his entourage warm one day and night while he courted Anne Boleyn. Merrin liked to admire the walls and carved wood, wondering who else had done the same during their brief presence on this earth. It certainly wasn’t a bad life, far from it, just not the one she had envisaged, and not the one she had wanted.
Lionel had recently found her running her fingers over the spines of the leather-bound books crammed on to the oak shelves of the library.
‘I think it’s a shame if they’re not opened and appreciated. Like having an instrument that’s never played or a vintage car that’s never driven – quite pointless if these things are reduced to ornaments. So please’ – he had gestured around the room – ‘help yourself.’
‘Thank you, but I’m not much of a reader.’
‘Ah, that’s the beauty of reading, it’s never too late to start!’
She waited for him to leave before shyly reaching for a faded red spine that called to her. Taking the delicate book into her hands, she marvelled at its gold inlay title and the marbled pattern on the edge of the pages.
‘The Passionate Pilgrim – A Collection of Poetry by William Shakespeare,’ she read aloud. ‘William Shakespeare. Might give the old dead bloke a go.’ She swallowed the memory of her dad saying something similar, unable to stand the way she missed him, feeling it in her throat like a physical thing and longing for one of his hugs.
It had been only a week after her almost wedding when, quite by accident, Merrin had ended up in this fancy resort in a market town on the edge of Bristol. Having driven along the M5 in her battered, beloved Vera Wilma Brown with her heart and spirit in tatters, eyes swollen from sobbing and a pain in her chest, longing for the home she had only just turned away from, she saw a sign for Thornbury. Her little car, in need of fuel, slowed and she too had a fancy for a restorative cup of tea and so followed the signs to this place she had never heard of. Knowing it was vital she got back on her feet as quickly as possible, her intention was that after a quick rest stop, she would carry on to the bright lights of Bristol, find a job – any job – and go from there. She would show Digby Mortimer, she would show them all that she was not destroyed by the event that had rocked her world, but only thrown a little off course.
Thornbury was a pretty place with a traditional high street crammed with pubs, coffee shops, half-timber-framed buildings and double-fronted Victorian terraces painted in pinks, pale blues and the colour of clotted cream. She noted the groups of women chatting with a coffee in one hand while they rocked the handles of a buggy with the other, and how she envied them. Older men sat outside the pub nursing pints, having animated conversations. People raised their hands in greeting to friends and neighbours on the other side of the street and it felt nice to be among it, as if she could inhale the friendly atmosphere of the place and use it to help heal her broken self. What was it Reverend Pimm had said? ‘Put yourself back together and that’ll be your job for a while; take time to do it, let it be your preoccupation.’
Well, Thornbury felt as good a place as any to do just that. A small market town where people seemed neighbourly, a bit like her beloved Port Charles, which had for her become tainted. Digby had done that. Taken it from her.
Merrin shook thoughts of home from her thoughts and considered what Ruby would say about the place.
‘Bloody boring!’
And Bella?
‘Not a decent fella in sight.’
‘Possibly, but it’s not you who is thinking about staying here, it’s me.’ Her whispered response.
At Milbury Court she had found her niche. Hard work, a no-nonsense attitude to any crisis and a warm manner had clearly made her stand out to the Milbury Fortescue family.
It had felt like a lucky happenstance when, sitting in a coffee shop on the high street, exhausted, the wind knocked from her sails and mentally frail, she had opened the local paper and spied an advertisement: ‘Staff Wanted. Accommodation provided’. On that day, still reeling from her loss and riven with humiliation, she had parked in the shadow of the grand and daunting castle fa?ade and tidied her hair. Then, drawing on every bit of courage she could muster, she had raised her trembling fist and knocked on the office door.
The first person she had called was her sister.
‘I just got myself a job.’ Her words sounded surreal; here she was, building a new life out of the rubble that remained of her confidence, trying to forge on physically when her heart yearned to be in the place she loved.
‘Well.’ There had been a long and awkward pause. ‘That’s that then. You really are staying away.’
‘I think—’
‘We know what you think, Merry, that you can do better without us around reminding you.’
‘It’s not that I think I can do better, it’s about what I need.’ Her voice had cracked; her sister’s suggestion that this was a glorious life choice was wounding.
Ruby had spoken slowly, tearfully. ‘I told you, I promised you I’d help you, be there for you, me and Bella both did, but we can’t do it while you’re God only knows where!’
She heard the croak to her sister’s voice.