The Family Game(70)

‘It made her sad so he rescued it, brought it home to America? Like a dog at the pound?’

Edward chuckles. ‘Yeah, I guess. But you have to remember, JL basically owned logistics back then, so it was nothing to him to move things. To build. If you wanted to get anything in the US from A to B, you had to pay John Livingston Holbeck’s companies to do it for you. So, he could cover a lot of ground on a whim.’

I nod, conceding the point. He had a monopoly, or close to one. Back then you had no choice but to make J. L. Holbeck richer.

‘So,’ Edward continues, ‘he shipped the house over, bricks and all, and had it reconstructed here. It was an enormous project, took them two years to finish. He brought over Hungarian stonemasons, landscapers, set up a kind of village of workers. He wanted it to be perfect for Alma.’

‘Romantic,’ I mutter under my breath, because if I’m honest I have to wonder whether Alma really did want a giant stone house erected in the middle of nowhere, miles from anyone she knew. Though, then again, perhaps she did, and maybe I’m being unfair.

‘I can’t wait for you to see the place,’ he says, his eyes on the road. ‘You know, you can get used to things, having things, and it’s only when you show other people that you see it again. With fresh eyes.’

The blue arrow on the sat nav glides on, unstoppable; we’re nearly there. Nerves flutter inside me like something trapped.

The trees on one side of us begin to recede from the road and are suddenly overtaken by a high and ominous wall. The perimeter of the vast Holbeck property, its stone topped with razor wire, like a federal complex, a fortress. So much wealth within its walls, I imagine it probably warrants such fortifications.

Edward clicks on the car’s indicators, even though we are the only car on the road, and we begin to slow.

We idle in front of an enormous set of wrought-iron gates, their Hieronymus Bosch tangle of vines and creatures shuddering open to reveal a long evergreen-lined driveway beyond. Edward’s hand slips into mine and squeezes.

‘It’s okay to be nervous,’ he tells me. ‘I’m nervous too.’ We begin our steady crawl up the winding drive and I watch in the rear-view as the twelve-foot-high gates swing firmly shut behind us.

As we proceed along the winding driveway, the sheer size of the estate becomes apparent. The house is still nowhere to be seen but the road spools on with no sign of ending. After a while the trees flanking us loosen to reveal the rolling parkland beyond. I pick out the slow-moving forms of deer, their tawny hides coming into view as they raise their heads from the grass.

Then I catch sight of it, in the distance, rising from the landscape. The size of it is breathtaking.

Immaculate ornamental gardens rise up to meet its wide stone steps and there, the hulk of the building crouches, like a creature lying in wait. Four floors, glinting window upon window all the way up to the spirelike crenellations that top each of its four wings. It is monstrous and overwhelming in its scope.

Another tunnel of trees swallows us and my view is blocked once more as I feel our speed creep up. When we break through into the open again, I catch sight of a massive maze, growing in the centre of the lawns that lead up to the house. Beyond it a long ornamental fountain flows right up to the stairs leading up to the house.

I marvel at the money it must have cost J. L. Holbeck to create this place – the extent of it, the vision required to even conceive of the idea, as if somehow with enough money reality can become malleable.

‘Jesus,’ I say with a sharp intake of breath, and I feel Edward’s eyes on me, concern tangibly pulsing from him. He’s worried I don’t like it, that it’s too much, but I cannot pull my eyes from the building as we glide towards it. Pale, weather-worn marble statues stand sentinel on the edges of the lawn running all the way up to The Hydes, their plinths staggered at intervals, their bodies arranged in classical poses like so many frozen people. And above them the quiet darkness of the building rises up to a castellated summit, its darkly balustraded peaks popping starkly against the cloudy winter sky.

‘It’s so big,’ is all I manage as the car bends around to the front of the building, the flutter inside me morphing into dread. Robert is in there; they all are.

The Hydes is a foxhole and I am a rabbit. A stupid, pregnant rabbit.

Edward cuts the engine and turns in his seat to look at me.

‘You okay? You look a little…’

I decide to be as honest as I can. ‘I’m fucking terrified, Ed,’ I huff out.

He gives my hand a quick kiss.

‘You are amazing and I love you. They love you. Look at me. This will be fun; Christmas will be fun.’ I mustn’t look convinced because he chases it up with more. ‘We can go home. Right now. If that’s what you want?’

I take in his concern. The idea alone is more than I dare to allow myself to indulge in. I can leave this place, but I can’t stop what’s going to happen from happening.

‘No, it’s fine. I’m just—’

‘You don’t need to impress anyone. Everyone likes you. Matilda, Mom, Olly, everyone. Even Dad, and he’s a tough nut. And you don’t need to worry about what they’ll think of the pregnancy. They’ll love it, trust me. They will love it.’

‘That’s kind of what I’m worried about, Ed. I’m not sure I want them to be too into it. I’m not sure I want them to be too into anything.’