Page 45 of The Love Letter

Eventually, he turned off the motorway and Joanna gazed out of the window at the wide-open fields that gently rose and fell into the distance. The countryside wasn’t as dramatic as the Yorkshire moors, but she enjoyed not being hemmed in by tall buildings. The plants and animals were buried deep in their winter habitats, tucked beneath layers of snow that reflected the sunlight shining from a spectacular cloudless sky.

Marcus drove through a series of narrow country lanes with high snow-topped hedges. Finally, he turned the car into a gated drive and the house came into view. It was a large and obviously ancient thatched house, two storeys high, built in pale grey brick. Moss grew on the thatch – a sharp green amongst the patches of white snow – and icicles dripped gently under the eaves around the small lead-paned windows, glistening in the sun.

‘This is it,’ he said. ‘Haycroft House.’

‘It’s beautiful,’ she breathed.

‘Yes. Sir Jim bequeathed it to Zoe’s son, Jamie. Lucky old him,’ Marcus added rather bitterly, Joanna thought. ‘Stay there while I get the key.’ He jumped out of the car and headed for the water barrel that stood at the back of the house. Digging underneath the left side of the barrel, Marcus’s fingers had to break through solid ice before he felt the large, old-fashioned key that would gain them access to the front door. ‘Thank God for that,’ he muttered, blowing on his numbed fingers and returning to the front of the house.

Joanna was already out of the car, peeping through the mullioned windows.

‘Got it.’ He smiled as he put the key in the lock of the solid oak door and turned it.

They entered a dark, beamed hall that smelt of wood smoke. Marcus switched the light on and Joanna was startled by a fierce bear’s head glaring down from above her on the wall.

‘Sorry, I should have warned you about Mr West,’ Marcus said, and reached up to pet the bear’s straggly fur.

‘Mr West?’ she repeated, shivering – the house was possibly colder inside than it was out.

‘Yeah, Zo named him after one of her scary teachers at school. Don’t worry, it wasn’t shot locally,’ he teased her. ‘Come on, it’s freezing. We’ll light a fire in the sitting room. Could be a case of body heat to prevent hypothermia, you know,’ he quipped.

Purposely ignoring his comment, Joanna followed Marcus into a cosy sitting room, full of old sofas piled high with cushions. One wall was lined with shelves that held leather-bound books and family pictures. As Marcus searched for firelighters, Joanna studied the photographs more closely. She recognised Zoe Harrison as a little girl, beaming in the arms of Sir James Harrison. There were numerous shots of her at different ages, in her navy school uniform, or sitting on the back of a large chestnut horse, then others of her with Jamie, her son, grinning from ear to ear. Joanna searched for a picture of young Marcus, but found none. Before she could turn to ask, she heard him shout triumphantly.

‘Let there be warmth!’ he decreed as the firelighters he had thrown into the grate flared up, sending shadows dancing up the rough lath-and-plaster walls. He added some tinder, then placed a couple of logs on top. ‘Right, that’ll soon warm the place up. Now for the heating.’

Joanna followed Marcus through to a heavily beamed kitchen, complete with grey-flagged floors and an ancient range. Marcus opened one of the heavy iron doors and stuffed some newspaper inside, then threw in coal from the bucket and lit it.

‘It may not look impressive and I can assure you it isn’t,’ he grinned. ‘Oh, for good old gas central heating. Dad went on at Sir Jim for years to install a proper system, and he refused. I think he rather enjoyed freezing his nuts off. I’ll just go and brave the cold once more and get the supplies from the car.’

Joanna wandered around the kitchen, enjoying its original rustic charm. An old airer was suspended above the range and a herb rack hung from the ceiling, still full of dry, cracked bay leaves, rosemary and lavender. The pitted oak table had clearly seen years of use, and the assorted open-fronted cupboards were crammed with a jumbled mix of tins, glass jars and china.

Marcus arrived with a cardboard box full of food. Joanna noticed two bottles of champagne, delicacies such as smoked salmon, which she loathed, and caviar, which she loathed even more, and wondered whether she’d either starve or freeze to death this weekend. From the amount of alcohol Marcus had brought, at least she could do it drunk. Joanna helped him unpack then retreated to the relative warmth of the range.

‘You’re awfully quiet,’ he remarked, as he stowed the cold foods in the refrigerator. ‘Is there something I can do? I know it must be a bit odd, staying with a man you hardly know . . .’

‘It’s all right, Marcus, I’ve just had a lot on my mind. Work stuff,’ she clarified. ‘I really appreciate you taking the weekend to help me with my research.’

‘As much as I’d like to have you believe it, I’m not completely altruistic,’ he said. ‘I was hoping to have some fun with you this weekend.’

She raised an eyebrow at him.

‘Get your mind out of the gutter, Jo,’ he said, mock-shock on his face. ‘I meant sparkling conversation, and maybe a trip to the pub. Now, how about we go up to the attic and get out some of the boxes? The best thing is to bring them down and work through them in front of the fire.’

She followed him up the creaking wooden stairs to the galleried landing. Marcus took an iron rod that was leaning against the wall and hooked it into the handle above him. A set of dusty metal steps appeared as he pulled on the rod. He climbed up and pulled a piece of string that immediately flooded the attic above them with light.

He offered her his hand. ‘Want to come and see just what we’ve decided to take on?’

She gripped his hand and climbed the steps behind him. Stepping out onto the hardboard floor of the attic, she gasped. The entire space, which must run from one end of the house to the other, was filled with tea chests and cardboard boxes.

‘Told you he was a hoarder,’ said Marcus. ‘There’s enough stuff to fill an entire museum up here.’

‘Have you any idea if there’s any chronological order to all this?’

‘No, but I’d presume the stuff nearest us, the most accessible, is also the most recent.’

‘Well, I really need to start from the beginning, as far back as we can possibly find.’

‘Very good, milady.’ Marcus pretended to doff his cap. ‘You have a wander and point out the boxes you want taken down first.’