Bruce declined to take an afternoon off work to meet Mr Broughton. ‘I don’t need to be there,’ he said. ‘We’ll want everything in writing, anyway, before we decide to go ahead.’
Wendy therefore met the builder alone. He was a short, stocky man of few words, who explored in an unhurried manner and seemed reluctant to be drawn into any kind of conversation. He managed a lit pipe between his lips, while his hands were busy pulling away bits of crumbing plaster, poking into the backs of cupboards, and periodically working a stub of pencil against the pages of a dog-eared notebook. He began his inspection by standing in the front garden, where he shaded his eyes, peered up at the chimney stack, then shook his head before making a note, and he finished it in the little courtyard at the back of the house, where he finally removed the pipe from his mouth and used it to gesture up at the landing window. ‘D’you know what that is?’ he asked.
Deciding that ‘a window’ was not the correct answer, Wendy shook her head.
‘That’s a Venetian window, that is. You don’t see so many of them about now.’
‘No.’ Wendy thought she had probably never seen another like it.
‘About two years ago I had a client who got us to brick right across the arch; blocked it up completely, to accommodate some double glazing.’ The recollection seemed to so incense Mr Broughton that he knocked out his pipe against the outhouse wall and replaced it in the top pocket of his jacket, as if unable to enjoy his tobacco in the contemplation of such vandalism.
‘I want to keep this one just as it is.’
Mr Broughton nodded. ‘In a right bad way, this lot.’ He gestured to take in all the outbuildings.
‘I would like them repaired and reroofed. Apart from installing things like central heating and a modern kitchen and bathroom, I want to restore all the actual buildings so that everything is as close as possible to how it was originally. The only exception to that is the place I showed you where I would like the hall cupboard and the pantry knocked into one, to make a small study.’
The builder grunted and wrote down something else, but her commitment to retaining the building – as far as possible – in the spirit of the original seemed to thaw him, and he unexpectedly volunteered the information that the bricks had probably emanated from a local brickworks, affectionately patting the wall alongside the kitchen door as he did so. ‘Course,’ he said, stepping back inside and hauling a strip of mouldering wallpaper away from the wall, ‘them old chaps had never heard of damp courses. They seen the water travel down the walls, but they didn’t appreciate that it could travel up them and all. They knew craftsmanship, though.’
‘But can you sort out the problem with the damp?’
‘Oh aye,’ he said, as they made their way back through the house. ‘There’s nothing here as can’t be fixed. It’ll take time though, and it won’t be cheap. I’ll make you out a full estimate this evening and get it in tomorrow’s post … No, Mrs Thornton, I’ll not be giving any rough guesses. That’s not the way I do business. Let me lay it all out proper so’s you and your husband can think about it. By but it’s a grand old place, I’ll say that.’ He extended his hand and smiled for the first time, nodding as he headed towards the front door and repeating by way of a farewell, ‘A right grand old place.’
Though the estimate was well within the scope of Wendy’s inheritance, Bruce remained unenthusiastic. ‘Broughton is sure to go over budget,’ he said. ‘Builders always do.’
‘It doesn’t really matter. Even if it costs almost twice as much, we can still easily afford it.’
‘But surely you don’t want to fritter away every penny? You have to consider whether you will end up spending more than the house is worth, just in order to make it habitable. It’s not as if we need a house that big.’
‘But surely we can have some things that we want, whether we need them or not. Isn’t that the definition of having enough money? Even if Mr Broughton goes over budget, there will be plenty of change left out of thirty-seven thousand. To say nothing of the equity from this house.’
‘Well, we won’t be frittering that away on any mad schemes like this, I can tell you. This house is a shared asset.’
‘Oh, Bruce, we won’t be frittering anything away. We’re using the inheritance money to get ourselves a lovely home. I don’t understand why you are being so negative about it. And the money I’ve inherited is a shared asset too. All my worldly goods with thee I share.’
‘For richer, for poorer.’ Bruce laughed. ‘Anyway, those weren’t the promises you made to me. We were married in the register office, remember? But as you’re so determined, you’d better go ahead.’
Wendy jumped out of her chair and hugged him.
‘Hold on …’ He held her at arm’s length, laughing. ‘I haven’t finished. The condition is that you will have to take responsibility and deal with the builders. Your dream house, your project.’
‘I know you’re just teasing. You know I don’t know anything about DIY.’
‘I am not teasing. And this is a bit more than DIY, my girl. You are going to have to be the person the builders answer to because I’ve got a huge amount on at work. If you want to go ahead then you will have to take responsibility and manage things.’
Wendy took a deep breath. ‘Mr Broughton knows what he’s doing. He won’t
