Page 148 of Kiss Heaven Goodbye

‘You’re a photographer with two wonderful children, turning up with one of the world’s greatest living artists. I’d say that was a little better than working out, Grace Ashford. And how’s your brother these days? He seems to be doing well if the papers are anything to go by. I believe you also knew Alex Doyle and Sasha Sinclair? The pupils get very excited when they hear those two are ex-Danehurst.’

Grace gave a thin smile. ‘Well, I think I’d better sneak off while the twins aren’t looking,’ she said. Across the driveway, they were both talking excitedly with other children. ‘But do keep a watchful eye on Olivia. She can be a handful.’

‘They always are, Grace.’ The headmistress smiled. ‘Give me the girl of eleven and I’ll give you the woman.’

‘That’s what I’m afraid of,’ said Grace.

Julian drove back, sitting in silence as Grace wept, waiting for the storm to pass.

‘Sorry, darling,’ said Grace finally as she wiped her face and blew her nose. ‘It’s been quite a day all in all.’

He squeezed her knee. ‘Don’t worry, I’ve got something to take your mind off it.’

‘What is it?’ asked Grace.

‘You’ll see.’

He took a detour around some smaller B roads, cutting across country back towards Oxford, driving through pretty chocolate-box villages and leafy glades. They pulled off the road and proceeded down a long winding drive, flanked with lime trees, which seemed to go on for ever. Grace could see no clues as to what this place might be. Not a farm – too well kept; not a big hotel – no golf buggies or helpful signs ‘to the Spa’.

‘It’s massive,’ she said when she finally saw the stately home in front of her. A huge high-gothic mansion complete with castellations and stained-glass windows.‘Very Brideshead,’ she added appreciatively.

‘At the risk of sounding like a geek, Brideshead was actually filmed at Castle Howard in Yorkshire,’ said Julian, pulling up a little way from the front. ‘But Toddington Hall was designed by the same architect. It’s Grade I listed, naturally. Thirty-five thousand square feet of space.’

‘Well, I think it’s a work of art.’

Julian grinned. ‘I’m glad you said that,’ he said.

‘Why?’

‘Because I’ve bought it.’

She laughed with surprise. ‘What?’

‘Why not?’ he said, shrugging.

‘Well for one thing, look at it.’ She giggled.‘It’s like the Taj Mahal. It isn’t just a house, it’s a national monument. It’s not the sort of thing you buy on impulse, like a pair of shoes.’

‘I did give it some thought,’ he said, reaching into the glove compartment for some papers.

‘I can see you’ve got a plan.’ She laughed.

They got out of the car and took in the lazy September sun spilling across the honey-stone façade.

‘I thought this could be a project. Our project,’ he said putting his arm around her shoulder.

‘Our project?’ she said.

‘We should renovate it together,’ he said, unfolding the paper he was carrying and spreading it over the Jeep’s bonnet. It was a set of blueprints for the revamp. ‘I thought that whole east wing would be perfect as a gallery for my work and for other artists,’ he said, pointing to the plans. ‘We could make it as important as Tate Modern. I thought you could look after the living quarters. Add those girlie little t

ouches you’re so good at.’

‘Hey!’ she said, punching him on the arm.‘But this will take years, won’t it?’

‘Not that long. Besides, as it’s closer to the kids’ school, you could see them at weekends.’

She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.

He lifted her up on to the bonnet of the car, standing between her legs.