There were two ways into our village, one that passed by Wuthering Heights and another that came past the golf course and Thrushcross Grange. Edgar took the gold course route which was a little disappointing because I was dying to see home. I wondered if it was habit or tactical on Edgar’s behalf.
‘I’m going to drop home tomorrow and check on my place,’ I told him.
‘Sure. Did you want to go there now?’ he offered, prepared to spin the car around.
‘No, tomorrow is good. I’m sure you’ve got a few things you need to do without me around.’
He smiled. ‘I love that you’re not the clingy type.’
Note to self; don’t be the clingy type!
‘Do you still own that place with Heath?’ he asked. I suspected he knew the answer.
‘Yes. It’s our family home. But Lockwood tells me he’s away this weekend because the stand-in is filling his shoes. He’s gone to Brighton,’ I said.
‘Yeah, Isabella told me,’ he added.
I turned to look at him.He’s in Brighton with Isabella. For fuck’s sake.
Edgar saw my expression. ‘Isabella has a modelling gig there and I think she invited him for the weekend.’
‘Good,’ I said, trying to sound super nonchalant. ‘I didn’t want to run into him at home.’
Aagh, the knife in my heart just twisted. I was wondering why he was going to Brighton and if it had something to do with his so-called film, but no, it had something to do with his love life! Why would he do this? Why would he be with her when she was so not his type? Why would he agree to do a film now when he wouldn’t do one when I encouraged him to consider it? I hate you, Heath. I love you too.
Edgar slowed the car down and put the right indicator on. I couldn’t see anything but a row of trees and then, as we turned, Thrushcross Grange came into view.
‘And … we …are… home,’ Edgar said, drawing out his sentence as he hit a remote, opened the gates and we drove slowly up the driveway towards the house.‘We’ve got the place to ourselves this weekend,’ he said, and gave me an inviting smile.
‘Oh, I thought it was just you and Isabella that still lived here anyway, on and off,’ I said.
‘We do. But there’s our property managers—Mr and Mrs Cartwright—they live at the cottage on the adjoining estate. They are both oldies now but they’ve been with the family for a hundred years.’
‘Wow, that long,’ I teased.
He laughed. ‘They are officially retired but I want them to use the cottage because they’ve earned it.’
‘You big softie,’ I said, giving him an adoring look. ‘I’m so glad you look after them.’
‘They’re like family,’ he said. ‘Besides their standards are old world and second to none – so, they do a great job of managing the cleaners and gardeners, and any contractors we need since Isabella and I aren’t here much. It’s good to have someone present. You know what I mean?’
Oh sure, I’ve given my staff the weekend off too!
I nodded. I do understand. Mum and Dad had a very good team when we owned the estate, especially in the stables, but as Dad got older and Mum passed away—I still can’t say the ‘D’word—we had to let them all go and then the estate was transformed into the exclusive townhomes. We weren’t the first to do it in the district, we were one of the last, but it feels right now. The pressure of running an estate like Thrushcross Grange would be too much.
I tuned back into what Edgar was saying about being alone this weekend.
‘Given our visit, Mr and Mrs Cartwright took the opportunity to visit their grandkids. Mrs Cartwright showed me the photos once, Lord save me.’
‘From kids or the photos?’ I asked. He laughed but didn’t answer.
The driveway went on forever, seriously.
‘Do you always call them that?’ I asked, ‘not by their first names.’
‘No way,’ he said. ‘They were here before I was born and they’re ancient, I wouldn’t dream of it.’
‘That’s lovely,’ I said, respecting him even more. ‘And what do they call you, just out of curiosity?’