Surely someone had heard me enter? But no one came, so I waited patiently in the cold, dilapidated neoclassical entrance hall. There was a dim electric wall sconce glowing, only just bright enough for my eyes to dart in and out of empty alcoves, rise up a fluted alabaster column, cling to the corner of the Corinthian capital whose broken leaf had dropped as if it were autumn, scoot along the high-coved cornice, paint peeling along the way, then spiral up, up, up the full height of the house into one big, black sinister dome. The silence was magnified in the empty void and as my gaze fell from the glass cupola down to the hall I felt myself break into a cold sweat. Pull yourself together, Susie, I said – if you’re going to be a good tutor you must muster more confidence than this. But there wasn’t a singly homely attribute in here. No flowers, no stray shoes, no junk mail, no coat hooks, no wafts from the kitchen and no chitter chatter. I wanted to curl up and magic myself back home. I suddenly missed the smell of my new pomegranate diffuser, the stripy tea cosy I’d knitted in a flash of way-beyond-one’s-years in December and the sheepskin slippers I splashed out on at New Year.
I took in a deep breath and drew what sense of belonging I could from Robert Adam’s harmonious proportions. But that only went so far…where was everyone? I knew I’d got the right day – I’m so (some would say boringly) organised I could never get something like this wrong. But, as I waited and shivered and stood there feeling lonely, I picked up on a tinge of sadness in the atmosphere. Have I come to an unhappy place? Or does it just need a lick of paint?
Straight ahead of me was an arch leading into the main body of the house where an imposing staircase came straight down from the second floor in one fell swoop. Opening its jaws in arrival to the newcomer. A welcome of sorts. All of a sudden, a liver cocker spaniel came rushing down it, doing his very best not to trip on his ears.
Yes. A pet. There’s nothing like a dog to make a house a home. Perhaps this one has been longing for a friend?
‘Hello, poppet,’ I said as he approached me, wiggling his bottom on the black and white marble floor. Wiggle wiggle wiggle it went as his beady eyes glazed with excitement and I felt myself smile at last.
My hand shot out to pat him, but this dog wasn’t going to let me cuddle him just yet. He paused a few feet away, looking up at me, now thumping his tail.
Thump, thump, thump it went and the longer I waited for a human being to appear the more ominous the sound became. I felt a tension build between us – this pet was weighing me up.
‘Hello…’ I called out, and the dog began to whine. Then, following my second slightly louder, less quivery ‘Hello’, came a ‘Coo-ee, who’s there?’
The spaniel turned to look and through the arch emerged the bright lustre of flame-red hair, tucked and tied above the shoulders of a woman dressed in a cosy long kilt. ‘Zoe Muchton,’ she said as her hand shot out, and with the same speed a smile appeared on her face. By no means a beautiful face, but one that wore expression well and left me in no doubt this woman was genuinely pleased to see me.
‘You must be Susie Mahl. Well done for finding your way here.’ (This meant everyone else had arrived.) ‘I do hope the snow didn’t cause you any problem. It’s only just begun falling. I rather like it. A layering on the roof gives a little bit of insulation. It’ll make the bedrooms ever so slightly warmer. A good thing, wouldn’t you say?’ Her eyebrows rose with enthusiasm and her pupils swelled.
‘Yes. But,’ I told a slight fib, ‘your house doesn’t feel cold to me.’
‘Nonsense.’ Zoe looked down at the dog, which had come to heel. ‘You and me, Haggis, we know how cold it can get. Haggis, this is Susie; Susie, this is Haggis. I think you’re going to be the best of friends.’
I bent down and ruffled his ears, craving some love in return. But no, Haggis’s eyes were fixed on his owner, worried she might bark if he dared share his affection.
‘Now, come, Susie.’ Zoe tapped me on the shoulder and I followed her through the arch. ‘Dump your luggage there at the bottom of the stairs. Haggis will guard it and we’ll go into the sitting room and get the introductions over with. The sooner we have the sooner we can all relax.’
Her energetic arm stretched for the handle but a BANG to our left stopped her in her tracks. I turned, startled. A skin-headed man in a tweed waistcoat and hunting-stockinged feet stumbled his way through a door behind the stairs. The keeper I’ll bet.
‘Stuart?’ said Zoe with a sing-song in her voice.
‘Can I have a word?’ He was frantic.
‘Now’s not the time, I’m afraid, we have a house party, you know, for the painting week and they’ve only just arrived.’
If Zoe isn’t flustered then neither am I. Well, at
