Page 53 of The Last Casterglass
“You can’t be sure—”
He gave her a bleakly pragmatic look. “I’m pretty sure.” Determined to shake off his dour mood, he slipped his hand into hers. “But let me show you all of Pembury, and why I love it.”
They spent the next hour strolling along bridleways and exploring the little wood, walking along the pond and skirting the barns, as twilight drew in like a violet curtain being pulled across the sky. Even though he knew it was futile, Oliver couldn’t help but paint a picture of what he wanted to do—the big barn that would be a wedding venue, the cider press in the shed, the tree house playground he could build in the wood.
“It wouldn’t be anything as big as Casterglass—”
Seph squeezed his hand. “You don’t need to compare it to Casterglass.”
“I know.” He grinned wryly, shaking his head. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. This place is magical.” She paused to survey the view—fields rolling gently to a twilit horizon. “I can see how it would be the kind of place that burrows into your soul. A place to put down roots, to…” She paused, and then finished, “To be happy.”
Oliver had the sense she’d been going to say something else, and he wondered what it was. To settle down? To have a family? His mind buzzed with promising possibilities, before he remembered that none of it mattered, because shortly his uncle was going to tell him he was selling up.
“Come on,” Oliver said, tugging gently on Seph’s hand. “We should head back to the house before it gets dark.”
*
The Talk—Oliver thoughtof it in capital letters—came that evening, after they’d had a cosy supper around the kitchen table—a cottage pie from Waitrose, but Simon had never been a good or even adequate cook—and Seph had thoughtfully retired early, leaving his uncle to get out the port and two crystal tumblers, while Oliver followed him into the front room.
A few minutes later they were both settled in the old, embroidered chairs flanking the fireplace, with a generous inch of port to sip as the fire crackled merrily and the dogs stretched out on the old, worn rug in front of it, groaning in weary pleasure.
It was all very comfortable and civilised, Oliver thought with an ache of longing, a spurt of bitterness, for news he knew was going to break his heart.
“This conversation has been overdue,” Simon began. “I know you’ve been concerned about the future of Pembury Farm, as I have been, for some time.”
Oliver raised his glass to his lips before putting it down again, his stomach writhing too much to drink. “Yes, I have,” he replied quietly.
Simon gazed around the sitting room, with its smoke-stained beams, its sagging window frames, the old chintz sofa, and the Turkish carpet that had faded to a muddle of pastels. “I do love this place,” he said softly. “I always have. I never even wanted the grand estate, lost before my lifetime, of course. Just this place.”
“Yes.” Oliver found his throat was becoming thick. His uncle really did sound like he was about to break bad news—no surprise, of course, and yet now that the moment had come, it hurt, almost unbearably. If they both loved this place so much, why couldn’t they keep it? The only thing standing in their way was about a million pounds and Jack’s admittedly understandable need for his inheritance.
“And I am getting older,” Simon continued, rehashing familiar territory, since this was all stuff they’d discussed last summer, when Oliver had made his big pitch to take the farm on himself, and his uncle had remained less than convinced. A lot less.I know you mean what you say, Oliver, but it’s such a big job…“I can’t manage the stairs as well as I once used to,” he continued, “and it’s been difficult to keep on top of all the maintenance, especially without you here.”
Oliver thought of the parade of holidays and summers he’d spent at Pembury over his school and university years, working himself to happy exhaustion. “Yes,” he murmured, because there wasn’t really anything else he felt he could say.
“As you know, my hope was always that Jack would be willing to take this place on. I know he’s been keen to make his mark in the City, but one of the reasons I took him to Scotland was for one last attempt to get him to love this place like I do. Like you do.” Simon sighed and shook his head. “I think, as hard as it’s been, I’ve finally accepted that he doesn’t, and he never will.”
“No,” Oliver murmured in agreement, his voice little more than a whisper, his throat too tight to say anything more.Here it came…
“And so, I’ve reached a decision,” Simon announced, his tone heavy with import. He took a sip of port and then put down his tumbler to give Oliver a serious, intent look that he found he couldn’t look away from, even though he wanted to. He knew he really didn’t want to hear what was coming next. “And I admit, it wasn’t an easy decision to make,” his uncle continued. “In many ways, it goes against the grain, but it also, I’m glad and thankful to say, feels wonderfully right. And I hope, Oliver, even though I know that it affects you the most, you’ll agree with me.”
Oliver shook his head helplessly, knowing he would never agree with the decision to sell Pembury.I’ll be free, he reminded himself numbly.Seph and I will both be free, never having to tie ourselves to a place…
The thought, in that moment, was not remotely cheering.
“And so I’ve decided to give Pembury Farm to you,” Simon finished, and Oliver stared at him for a good ten seconds before he finally replied, his mind buzzing.
“Sorry—what?”
“I’m signing the farm over to you, Oliver. Jack has agreed. He was surprised at first, I admit, but he saw the sense in keeping Pembury in the family. He’ll get a good lump sum of money, anyway, which I am afraid is what he was most concerned about.”
“But…” Oliver shook his head slowly. He couldn’t quite believe it. No, sod that, he couldn’t believe it atall. “I thought you’d decided to sell.”
“I’d certainly considered it,” Simon replied seriously. “And I’m afraid, in order to give Jack an inheritance, I can give you the house, and only the house. No money to keep it running, so it might very well end up being a millstone around your neck. I’m also putting in the proviso that if you sell it in the next three years, Jack will receive ninety per cent of the money. After that, the percentage goes down each year until, after fifteen years, he would receive nothing. I know that might not seem fair to you, but Jack was concerned you might take the house and flip it. I told him nothing could be further from your mind, but…” Simon trailed off, spreading his hands. “It was a way to keep the peace, or at least an approximation of it. It hasn’t been easy for any of us.”
“I…” Oliver shook his head again. His mind was still spinning. “I don’t even know what to say. I thought you’d asked me to here to tell me you were selling the place. I was sure of it.”