She began to walk across the gravel, her footsteps alarmingly loud on the loose stones. It had rambled, this old house. One wing had been razed to the ground, but the centre section still stood as tall as the first floor, with the ornate doorway set beneath a giant slab of golden Cotswold stone. The door was oak, and ajar. Cautiously, Ruth went forward and pushed it gently inwards.

  It moved with a creak. Beyond lay what had once been the hallway, but the floor was broken and charred, exposing great voids of black space, so there could be no question of going farther. But the great stone fireplace still stood, and the remains of an enormous staircase.

  She was filled with frustration. Having come so far, she could go no farther. The place was a death trap. After a little she backed away, pulling the door shut behind her. She turned, and saw the man walking across the grass towards her.

  His hair was dark and curly and a black Labrador ran at his heels. As Ruth stepped out from under the doorway the Labrador barked, but the man quietened him with a movement of his hand.

  ‘It’s dangerous,’ he told her. ‘You mustn’t go in. I put up a Keep Out sign, but the boys from the village must have knocked it down.’ He had a thin face, dark eyes and an unmistakable air of distinction.

  ‘Have you come to see the stable house? You’re Miss – Conway, I think Mr Redward said.’

  ‘Yes. Ruth Conway. Was it you he telephoned?’

  ‘Yes. I’m Gavin Armitage.’

  ‘Do you own all this?’

  ‘Yes.’ He smiled then, wryly, but it changed his whole rather forbidding appearance. ‘What remains of it.’

  ‘I can’t bear it.’ She turned back to look at the sad, scarred face of the old house. ‘It must have been so beautiful.’

  ‘It was.’

  ‘Mr Redward told me it burned down after the last owner died.’

  ‘Yes.’ He added, as though it were of no consequence, ‘She was my grandmother. She loved the house almost more than life itself. She’d been born here and she was married from the house, and she had all her children here, and she lived here as a widow, and finally died, quite peacefully, in her own bedroom.’

  ‘Was she an only child?’ Ruth prompted.

  ‘No. She had a brother and a sister. The brother was killed in the First World War, and the sister eloped with the gardener’s boy and was never heard of again. So when my grandmother married, her father made Stenton over to them. But it was always her house. From beginning to end, it was her house.’

  ‘She must have been a lady of some means to have kept a place this size going.’

  ‘She didn’t have means so much as determination. After she was widowed, she decided that nothing would make her give up the house, so she opened it to the public. Summer Saturdays and Sundays you could scarcely move for visitors, and my grandmother was always there, either showing people around, or brewing up another urn of tea, or talking flowers to any person who showed the slightest interest.’

  ‘She sounds fun.’

  ‘She was.’

  ‘And now it all belongs to you?’

  ‘Yes. My father’s still alive, but he lives and works in London. For some reason Stenton never meant that much to him. But my grandmother knew that I loved it just as much as she did. She wanted me to live here. But the old house had other ideas. It was uncanny. As though it didn’t want anyone but her to live here …’ His voice died away. And then, with a smile that was both apologetic and faintly embarrassed: ‘Don’t know why I’m talking so much. You’ve come to see the stable house, not to have your time wasted.’

  ‘It’s not wasting time, I assure you. Go on telling me. Where do you live?’

  ‘That was no problem. Stenton isn’t just a house, it’s an estate, with a farm. I live in the farmhouse and try to make the land pay its way. It’s a struggle. But that’s why I want to let the stable house.’

  * * *

  She said nothing to this. After a little, in a changed tone of voice he said, ‘You know you sound like an Australian …’

  ‘That’s because I am one.’

  ‘Why should you want to rent a house in the Cotswolds?’

  She shrugged. ‘I just do.’

  ‘Come along then. I’ll take you to see it.’

  She followed him and the dog around the side of the charred walls to where, within an old stable-yard wall, a cottage had been newly converted. The windows were bright, the roof re-tiled, the front door painted a cheerful blue.

  ‘Have you got the key?’

  Ruth took it from her pocket and gave it to him. He opened the door, and she followed him inside.

  ‘That’s the sitting-room, and then beyond it the kitchendining room. This faces east, so you’ll get all the morning sun. And there’s a utility room in here …’ He opened a door, and they peered inside. ‘Clothes washer and a dryer. And upstairs – ’ she followed his long legs up a steep stairway, carpeted in cherry red – ‘there are three bedrooms, two with basins, and a bathroom, and an airing cupboard.’

  Downstairs again, they returned to the sitting-room. ‘There’s central heating, of course, but an open fire as well. If you like, I can sell you logs from my saw-mill …’

  ‘What a farce this is!’ he remarked. ‘You’re not interested in renting this place, are you?’

  She shook her head. ‘I got talked into coming by W. T. Redward.’

  ‘That’s no answer. There’s something fishy going on.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘Finding you nosing around the ruins of the house. And this – I noticed it at once.’ And he reached out a hand and took up the heavy gold medallion, holding it in his palm.

  She looked back into his face. His dark eyes were watchful.

  ‘What does that tell you?’

  ‘My grandmother had the twin of it. I have it now. Mine is the head of a woman. I think they must have been struck as a love token, or a seal of engagement. They’re very old and very valuable. My great-grandfather brought them back from Italy, and gave one to each of his daughters as an eighteenth birthday present. So this one belonged to …’

  ‘Amy,’ said Ruth. ‘The one who eloped with the gardener’s boy and was never heard of again. My grandmother.’

  ‘What became of her?’

  ‘They sailed to Australia, and they married. The gardener’s boy was my grandfather.’

  ‘Did they make a success of their life together?’

  ‘Very much so. Although he was a man of humble birth and, I suppose, little formal education, he was a hard worker and he had a sort of natural astuteness. In time he bought land, raised sheep, built a house. That grew into the sheep station where I was brought up. My father still runs the place. It’s called Turramoolagong.’

  ‘Turramoolagong,’ he repeated, and began to laugh.

  ‘What’s so funny?’

  ‘I never realised I had a second cousin called Ruth Conway living in a place called Turramoolagong. Life is full of surprises.’

  ‘Second cousins? I suppose we are.’

  ‘How long have you been in this country?’

  ‘Just six months. My grandmother died and left me a little money. She said in her will it was to pay my fare back home, as she resolutely called England all her life. And I’d trained as a nurse, working mostly with children, so living in London I can earn my keep, and more, being a nanny. I’ve a good job right now, for three months – this is just my weekend off – but when this job is finished I hope I’ll have saved enough to get around and see a bit of the country.’

  ‘But why Stenton? Why did you come to Stenton?’

  ‘Oh, Gavin …’ His name came out quite naturally, as though she had been using it for years. ‘If only you knew how much I know about the place. Granny used to talk on and on about how it used to be when she was a girl, and I would listen forever, hearing about the parties and the picnics and the Christmases, with a tree in the hall so tall that it reached to the third landing. I knew how the house looked, every brick and stone of it, long before I drove the car through the gates. That is why I wanted to go in, and be there. Walking through the rooms, even if they were ruined and charred and windowless. But of course I couldn’t even do that.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘That the house, like the two old ladies, is dead.’

  * * *

  All this time, as they talked, he had been holding the medallion. Now he let it go, and she felt its weight drop against her breast. ‘So what happens now?’ he asked.

  Ruth shrugged. ‘I return the key and drive back to London.’

  ‘But you’ve got a weekend off. Don’t you want to stay? Stay,’ he pressed her. ‘Not in a pub or an hotel, but with me. I’ve masses of space and a guest room – also a housekeeper.’

  ‘What will your wife say when I turn up?’

  ‘Blessed girl, I haven’t got a wife.’

  ‘I’d like to stay,’ she said simply. ‘I think we’ve got a lot to talk about.’

  ‘Yes, I think we have. And I want to show you the twin to your medallion,’ he said. ‘And we can pore over old photograph albums and read old diaries and wallow in nostalgia.’

  He then leaned forward and set a kiss upon her mouth, a swift and unpassionate kiss that was more a greeting than a gesture of affection.

  In Ruth’s car, with Gavin behind the wheel, and the black Labrador sitting up in the back seat like a person of much importance, they drove back to the village and the estate agents’ office. Ruth got out of the car and crossed the pavement to try the door. It was, however, locked. W. T. Redward had not yet returned. She took the key out of her pocket and …

  For a moment she hesitated, thoughtful, standing there with the key in the palm of her hand. A very ordinary little latchkey, opening the door to an ordinary house which she had never even wanted to see. But it had opened other doors as well, perhaps changing the whole course of her life. A door to the past. A door to the future. Who could tell?

  She smiled, and dropped the key through the letter-box, and then turned and went back to where he waited for her. Her second cousin. Her new friend. Gavin.

  A Fork in the Road

  Maggie was late. This was nothing unusual, and in the two years that he had known her, Alistair had spent more time than he cared to contemplate waiting for her to show up. But this was going to be a special evening – an expensive evening – and he had taken some trouble with his own appearance: buttoned on a new shirt, shined his shoes, carefully chosen a tie. After all this effort, it was faintly galling to find himself, yet again, sitting on a bar stool, waiting for Maggie.

  The Candide was his favourite restaurant – exactly the right size, the right lighting, the right smells. He thought, This is one of the places I shall miss if I leave London. There’ll be nothing remotely like this in the frozen North.

  There were other things he’d miss. The sounds of London: tugs hooting on the river and the cry of wheeling gulls. The sights: the evening skies and the Tate Gallery. And most of all, the sensation of being at the heart of things, with friends, and with Maggie …

  ‘Darling, I’m late, I’m late, but here I am …’

  And there she was, tall as a beanpole, bearing down on him, laden with bags. Her milk-pale hair was scraped back from her face and pinned into a tiny bun. She wore dark glasses, and tottered slightly as she approached him, as though she had run six miles in order to finally arrive at his side.

  He relieved her of her bags, and she climbed on to the stool beside him, then went into a long and familiar string of excuses.

  ‘I haven’t even been home to change, and you’re looking so handsome. Is that a new shirt? Anyway, I’ve been with Sebastian all day, closeted in his beastly studio.’

  Alistair smiled. Sebastian was the best-known fashion photographer in the country, and Maggie was his favourite model, yet they never seemed to do anything but row.

  ‘Anyway …’ She took off her glasses and he was confronted by her amazing eyes, made enormous by smudges of kohl. ‘Here I am, and what’s the celebration?’

  ‘No celebration.’

  ‘But darling, there has to be. Nobody ever comes here unless they’re celebrating. Or else drowning horrible sorrows. It’s far too expensive.’

  ‘I don’t think it’s either.’

  ‘But it is something.’ Despite her dotty mannerisms, Maggie was no fool.

  ‘Yes, I’ll tell you over dinner.’

  * * *

  He duly told her. ‘I’ve been offered a new job. In Edinburgh. Barkers has decided to open a new property office up there. There’s a great market in the area with all these oilmen in from all over the world.’

  ‘But why you? What does Barkers want you to do?’

  ‘Start it up. Run it. I haven’t given them an answer yet.’

  ‘Do you want to go?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Is this why you brought me here tonight? To tell me this?’

  ‘I have to talk about it with someone. And you seemed the obvious person.’

  She eyed him thoughtfully. ‘Am I involved?’

  He found that he had no answer. She had been part of his life for two years now. He was very fond of her. She made him laugh. She was part of London, one of many things he did not want to leave. He didn’t even know whether he could bear to live without her.

  He said, ‘You wouldn’t want to come to Scotland.’

  ‘Are you asking me, or stating a fact?’

  ‘Just feeling my way.’

  ‘If you’re asking me, the answer is no. I couldn’t work away from London. I couldn’t live away from London.’

  ‘And I’m not that important to you anyway.’

  ‘Darling, of course you’re important.’

  He hesitated, then took a sip of wine. ‘If I asked you to marry me, would you?’

  They stared at each other in astonishment, as though it was not Alistair who had said these words, but some other person.

  ‘Who’s talking of getting married?’ she asked.

  ‘Pretend it’s hypothetical. Would you?’

  ‘Not if it meant living away from London. I’d go mad.’

  ‘How can you be sure when you’ve never been to the place?’

  ‘I have been to Edinburgh. I nearly froze to death.’

  ‘It’s a great place. I spent four years there at university.’

  ‘I can’t imagine it.’ She gazed at him, screwing up her eyes. ‘But then I can! You, all wound up in mufflers and tweed, making instant coffee in some freezing attic.’

  ‘Wrong. I lived with a delightful family who took me to their bosoms as though I were their son.’

  She laughed suddenly. One of Maggie’s most endearing traits was her sense of humour, which bubbled up when least expected. ‘Can you speak with an Edinburgh accent?’

  He said, ‘Ay had an Ant Mod once, but she dayed,’ and then they were both laughing and didn’t talk about the new job or Edinburgh any more.

  * * *

  He took her to her flat, then walked home along the river. He was not sure whether he was disappointed or relieved by the evening. He knew only that he was twenty-eight, that he had come to a fork in the road, and that he didn’t know which way to go.

  The prospect of leaving Maggie left an emptiness that he could not imagine filling. He had asked her to marry him on a whim, and she had given him no sort of answer. Except that she wasn’t going to consider moving North. But on the other hand, did he love her enough to give up the new appointment and stay in London? He realised that he didn’t have the answer. All at once he was angry at himself for being so ineffectual. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and quickened his pace. Ten minutes later he was back in his own flat, dialling his boss’s number.

  * * *

  Two days later he was in Edinburgh, casing the market, getting the feel of the place again. It was February and bitterly cold. He had forgotten the winds, whistling up the wide streets from the north. He had forgotten the immensity of the sky, the towering hulk of the castle, the stones of houses gleaming in the cold, pure light. All of it was familiar, and yet new.

  By five o’clock, he was back in his hotel room, putting through a call to his office. When the business end of their call was through, his boss said, ‘That sounds good, Alistair. Worth going ahead.’

  ‘I’ll get it all written down before I come back.’

  ‘When will that be?’

  ‘I’ll drive home tomorrow.’

  ‘Don’t rush it. Enjoy yourself while you’re there.’

  Alistair grinned. ‘I’ll do that, I’m having dinner tonight with the family I lived with when I was up here at university.’

  When they had hung up, he sat and made a few notes for his report, then changed and went downstairs to wait for Janey. ‘I’ll come and fetch you,’ she had said, insisting that the new one-way streets would confuse him. So he had let himself be persuaded and now sat and watched the revolving door and wondered if he would recognise her.

  When she came, she looked exactly the same. They met in the middle of the lobby and hugged. Six years had passed, and she had married and had two children, but all this seemed to have had no effect at all upon her appearance.

  ‘Oh,’ she said, looking at him. ‘You haven’t changed a bit. What a relief.’

  ‘Nor have you. You look exactly the same.’

  She had dark hair and bright blue eyes and a smile that warmed the heart. ‘I can’t tell you how excited we all are. Mother’s killed a fatted calf – well, actually plucked a brace of pheasants – and Dad’s promised to try not to be caught up at the hospital. Oh, let’s go …’ She shook his arm. ‘We haven’t any time to waste.’

  In the car, she brought him up to date on the family. ‘We split the house in three. It got far too expensive to keep warm, so we had a hideous year with builders, and now it’s three flats. George and I and the children live on the top floor, and then Mother and Dad and Henrietta live in the middle and we’ve let out the basement.’