Property of a Lady

‘That would suit me very well.’


This time it was the ringing of a phone that jolted Michael out of Harriet’s world and into the present. He swore, then remembered it might be Jack returning his call and snatched up the phone.

It was not Jack. It was the Dean’s office, reminding him about the Dean’s end of term lunch next week. Would he be attending – he had not yet let them know. Oh, he would? Excellent. They were promised they would be given a goose this year; it was nice to have a goose at Christmas, wasn’t it?

This innocent remark upset Michael’s gravity so much that he had to cover the receiver with his hand, and the voice on the phone had to repeat the next question, which was whether he would be bringing a guest.

‘Probably not,’ said Michael, repressing a sudden picture of himself walking into the Dean’s lunch with Nell. It was an attractive idea, but it was not really practical. He could not ask her to drive all the way to Oxford just for a couple of hours, and then back again. She would have to leave her shop unattended, and she would have to make arrangements about Beth. No, it was not practical at all.

He rang off and picked up Harriet’s journal again. The entry he had been reading looked as if it ended on the next page; he flipped over a couple of the remaining pages and saw with a sinking heart that they were badly faded and spotted with damp. Large sections looked as if they might be illegible. Damn.

But he would read to the end of the current entry.

22nd February, cont’d

The builder’s visit has cheered me up, and I’m able to view the house with a friendlier eye. Also, if I’m to have work carried out, I ought to be on hand to supervise it. I shan’t understand the technicalities, of course, and I dare say I’ll be shockingly overcharged for some things. But I think I need to be here.

Can I face that? Another two or three weeks at the Black Boar? More of those friendly little journeys along Blackberry Lane? There’ll nearly be wood anemones and primroses in the meadows by then.

After the builder went, I walked through the gardens. I might even start to put them into some order while they get on with the house. I looked for the apple tree Elvira talked about, but it’s not there. It’s possible to make out traces of what might once have been a small orchard, but it’s difficult to be sure of anything. It’s like stepping through a ghost world, where nothing is quite alive, but nothing is entirely dead. There’s the remains of a huge mallow though, and also a lilac bush, and I think with a little work the gardens could be made beautiful.

I believe I can stay here a little longer, after all. I’ve listened very hard, but there’s no hint of the faraway singing I heard last time. There’s certainly no hint of any intruders, either. I’m becoming more convinced than ever that my experience that afternoon really was a dream. And I do like it here, I really do.

So perhaps I shan’t pack up and leave.