The Art of Inheriting Secrets(45)

Philip nodded. “It’s a big decision, but of course, it would be worse if you had an actual tie to the house, if you’d grown up there or something.”

“If I’d grown up there, it wouldn’t be a wreck, would it?”

“I suppose not,” he said mildly. “But it is now. I think the feeling is that it would be best left to fall down. These old piles are a terrible drain on estates.”

The wording was so close to something Haver had said to me that I smiled slightly and used an echoing technique that worked brilliantly in interviews. “A drain?”

“Oh, yes.” He patted his lips and rested his forearms neatly on the edge of the table, hands in soft fists as he warmed to his topic. “You’ve just no idea how many of my clients have lost everything over a doddering estate. Sentimentality is never a way to move into the future.”

“You must forgive my husband,” Rebecca said smoothly. “He finds history inconvenient.”

He laughed lightly. “It’s true. I’m a cretin when it comes to these things. You’re much better about this in America—if it doesn’t work, knock it down!”

I laughed with him. “It’s true, but even there, we have the historic register, and if something makes it onto that list, woe be unto you.” I scooped up more salad, let the sharp, fresh flavors roll through my mouth. Then, “That’s what everyone’s been saying here. Just as you said, Rebecca, the process for getting things by the committee that oversees listed houses is just grueling.”

“That was certainly our experience,” Philip said. “Rebecca had her heart set on the old farmhouse authentically restored, so we jumped through the hoops the old battle-ax set for us.” He glanced fondly at his wife, and I thought suddenly of Tony, the strapping thatcher.

“Philip charmed her, mostly. She didn’t want much to do with me.”

“I’ve had a couple of conversations with Jocasta Edwards, the Restoration Diva, and I’m hoping that she’ll have some good suggestions.”

“What?” Rebecca asked. “She’s helping you?”

“Not yet,” I said honestly, “but I think she might take on the project for her show.”

“That would be marvelous!” Philip cried. “She has resources you couldn’t hope to access on your own, no matter what your title.”

Rebecca held her hands in her lap. “But isn’t that a bit crass, putting your whole life on the BBC?”

“I don’t know about the crass aspect. If there’s any chance at all of saving Rosemere, I need all the help I can get.”

“But what if they discover terrible family secrets?”

“That could very well happen. I mean, who runs away from a happy life?”

She looked at me with a disappointment I couldn’t quite translate. In defense, I said, “Both George and Samir seem to think it’s worth saving. Maybe I do too.”

“George?” Philip asked.

“Samir?” Rebecca said at the same moment. “You mean Sam, the thatcher?”

“Yes,” I said. “And George is the Earl of Marswick.”

“Oh, oh! Yes, of course,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m not sure I’ve ever known his Christian name.”

“I can see the earl’s taken you under his wing,” Rebecca said. “But what does Sam have to do with anything?” She seemed genuinely bewildered.

“He’s been very helpful, actually. He’s the one who suggested Jocasta.”

“Okay, I’m sorry I’m not following.” Rebecca scowled prettily. “Who is Jocasta?”

“My fault. She’s the Restoration Diva.”

“Right, right.” She gave a little laugh and examined her wineglass as if it were to blame for the lapse.

Philip said, “You mean Samir Malakar, the writer who lives in Saint Ives Cross?”

“Yes,” I said, more emphatically. “Our families have been connected for over a hundred years, according to Samir’s father.”

“Is that so?” Rebecca eyed me, then looked at her husband. “Sam is a writer? How did you know that and I didn’t?”

His eyes shimmered, and I saw the droll set of his mouth before he said lightly, “Because I’m not a snob like my wife.” Taking a sip of wine, he added, “And I’ve read them. At least the first one. Never got around to the second.”

“I had no idea,” Rebecca said. “He’s very attractive, of course, and I knew he’d come back after uni, but—well.” She shrugged a shoulder. “Anyway.”

Philip stood and smoothly took our plates. “I’ve dessert, so don’t think you can sneak away.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I said.

Jocasta brought an architect, a surveyor, and a landscape historian with her when we met the following week. “I have good news,” she said, beaming as we met at the top of the gardens. “We’re a go!”

I grabbed her hands in my excitement. “Oh my God. That’s great news!”

“It is. I’m delighted, and if you don’t mind, I’m going to set these good people to work so we’ll know what we’re dealing with. Ian and Diana are going to follow them around and film, and you and I are going to sit down and talk everything out. Have you heard about the funding from America?”