By, Debbie Hewson
Caroline had always loved Hapsford Manor, as a child her greatest treat was to walk through the house, and run through the gardens, imagining the lords and ladies who had walked there before her. Later, she had volunteered, and helped with the gardens, and then in the house. Her enthusiasm for the Tudor mansion was rewarded with a full-time job, in the ice cream kiosk, working her way up from there through tour guide, and finally she was the assistant manager.
She locked up every evening, making sure the building and exhibits were secure, and she was always the last to leave. Her car the last in the car park, and her smile as she locked the door, a good night to an old friend.
The weekends were the busiest times, and school holidays, but as expected, that Wednesday in October was not busy, and it was getting dark by half past four. She sent the staff and volunteers home, and walked through the house, turning off the lights, as she went. The heavy door was only used for visitors, she slipped through the side door, and looked up, surprised to see that she had left a light on at the other end of the house. Shaking her head at her own stupidity, she let herself back in and turned on the lights, making her way back through the rooms, to the room they had set up as a servant’s bedroom. The light was off. She shrugged. She was tired, perhaps she had been mistaken.
The room looked different, the night clothes were left unfolded and the bed was less tidy than usual. She straightened the room and laid out the night clothes. She closed the door slowly, and walked through the kitchen, lining up the spoons on the kitchen table, so that they were straight. The long gallery was her favourite room, with leaded windows to one side, and a view across the park and the driveway. Tapestries hung along the other opposite wall, hand stitched and huge, they had always fascinated her, the hours of work, so painstaking and beautiful, still so vivid hundreds of years after they had first been made. There were repairs here and there too, where they had been damaged over the years. One, famously, had been damaged when Cromwell’s army had taken the manor, and the family had pulled the tapestries out of the way to hide them, snagging one on something.
She stepped over the velvet ropes, and looked closely at the tapestry, there, in the very centre of a white flower, was a tiny group of red stitches. They stood out, and looked a little clumsy against the tiny stitches of the original. Reaching out, she touched the red stitches, running her finger across them from right to left.
A sound behind her startled her. Spinning around, the velvet rope was gone, and a man in a dark suit walked towards her, leaning heavily on a cane. She stepped away from the tapestry, watching him.
“Hello.” The cut glass accent was clear in one word. “I’m not sure that I have met you before, are you the new girl?”
Caroline nodded, not sure what to say.
“Good. Wonderful. We need the help with all the chaps away. You land girls have been a complete joy to have here. I am here alone you see, since my wife passed away.” She fell into step with him. “It’s a rather wonderful place, I hope you will enjoy it here.” We walked slowly, at his pace. The whole building was different, the heavy drapes were pulled tightly together, and the floors and carpets looked dusty and uncared for.
“You have arrived at an opportune time, the girls are looking forward to some company. My nephew Tom will be down tonight, bringing some chums of his with him, and we have rigged up the gramophone. There will be dancing, we hope.” He smiled, his deep-set brown eyes creasing at the edges.
The girls were waiting in the great hall, the wide flagstone floor would be the perfect place to dance. I was introduced to Doris, Kathy, Jennifer and Theresa. They seemed friendly and excited, especially when a car pulled up outside and in bounded six men in their early twenties. It was easy to see which one was Tom, he looked like his Uncle, the same warm eyes, and easy smile. Jennifer lost no time, and soon there were records playing, and we were dancing. It had been a long time since I had danced in a man’s arms, and it felt rather wonderful. They all danced with everyone, and then we stopped for tea, because it was all that we had. Tom brought his cup over to me. His smile was easy, but his eyes were shadowed.
“I am so glad you’re here with my Uncle. He gets lonely rattling about in this big old place.” He clinked his cup with mine. This whole thing was so strange. “Thank you for setting this up. A break from thinking about what comes next is very welcome, and I have enjoyed dancing with you, very much.” He smiled down into her face.
She thought, just for a moment that he might kiss her. She would not have minded. At all. He pulled away, though, and Jennifer put another record on. They danced again, and again, until her feet were hurting.
The time came for Tom and his friends to go; they loaded themselves into the truck, and waved goodbye. Tom ran his fingers down the side of her face.
“I’ll be back to see you, Caroline,” he whispered.
She reached up and touched her lips to his cheek.
“Stay safe,” she whispered into his ear.
They drove away, waving and shouting, and they all went inside. The girls went to bed, but Caroline volunteered to wash up the tea things. On her own again, with too many thoughts, she pushed the cups and saucers into the cupboard, and walked through to the long gallery. Her fingers tracing the side of her cheek where his had lingered. The tapestry was waiting. The red stitches bright as berries. Caroline held her finger out in front of her, and traced the stitches left to right, keeping her eyes shut. Slowly, she opened them, and found the velvet rope was back in place, and so was she.
She turned off the lights, and locked the door, then climbed into the car. Her fingers traced the line his fingers had made, and checked that all the lights were out this time.
She knew the history, better than any of her tour guides. Tom Hapsford had been in the RAF, and had been shot down, and listed as missing in action in 1944. She had spent the evening dancing with him, though, of that she was certain. A tear slipped from her eye when she pulled up at the gates, and the cold October wind blew through the trees, whipping the last of the leaves into the air. She loved this place, and always would. Of all the men she had gone out with, none had measured up to him, and he had been dead for seventy-seven years.
Her Mum was right, she spent her life living in the past, and buried in the stories, at the manor. Her foot over the brake pedal, she looked in the rear-view mirror. The light was back on. She pushed the gear stick into reverse, and turned on the driveway, driving fast back towards the house. He was waiting for her by the front door.
“Tom?” She stumbled out of the car.
“Caroline, I came back for you. Couldn’t stay away.”
She ran into his arms, feeling the warmth of him against her.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” His hands held her face, his eyes searching hers, as his lips gently caught hers. “Say you feel the same.”
The wind blew across the park, chilling them both.
She would never be sorry to see the staff pack up for the evening, because that was her time with Tom, every night, they had the whole manor to themselves, and time was on their side.
***
The Green Shoe Sanctuary 