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TESS OPENED HER EYES and groaned. The bedside clock said it was seven o’clock and she had planned a lie-in. But once awake it was hard to go back to sleep. Her active mind wouldn’t allow it. She pulled herself up in the bed and yawned. At least she would have more time at the house, she thought, in an effort to see the bright side. Still yawning, she padded across to the window and peeked outside. Light clouds hid the sun, but at least it was dry and mild. While in the shower Tess went over the previous evening’s meal and the promising outcome. Possible architect/builder and even better, possible job. The thought made her smile and banished the last traces of tiredness. Things to do and people to see, and all that jazz.
A full English breakfast completed the transformation to eager clearer of dusty, clutter-filled houses and Tess set off briskly down the road towards the house. Her house. It still felt strange to call it that, and she sent up thanks to her aunt. Had she known Tess needed something to jolt her out of her old life? Or was that a fanciful thought? Ever the scientist, she was wary of anything psychic, but Doris had had a reputation, according to her mother, of being a ‘white witch’. Her mother had preferred the epithet ‘mad’. Islanders were drawn to stories of witches, fairies and ghosts and Tess had read, wide-eyed, a couple of books on Guernsey folklore as a child, given her by Doris, which had caused her a few sleepless nights. Once living in England, she had put such ‘foolishness’ as her mother called it, behind her. Now, approaching her front door, the old memories stirred and Tess remembered what Elaine had said about the house being considered unlucky. Telling herself it was only her mother’s annoyance at being overlooked by Doris, she unlocked the door and went in.
The trapped air still smelt musty but not as sickly as it had, which was a relief. Once she had opened the downstairs windows, there was a welcome draught of fresh air and Tess eyed the remaining piles of books and papers in the dining room with less hostility than the previous day. She only had a few boxes left and once they were full she planned to sift through the papers in more detail, looking for she knew not what. But there must be something here, surely? Connecting her to Eugénie? Tess was engrossed in trying to decipher her aunt’s scribblings when her mobile echoed around the room.
‘Hi, Tess speaking.’
‘Hello, Tess, Andy Batiste. Jonathan asked me to call you. Is this a good time?’
‘It’s fine, thanks for calling. Jonathan’s told you about my house?’
‘Yep, and actually I worked on a similar property in Hauteville a few years ago. You’re a lucky woman, they’re great houses.’
Tess grinned as she looked at the state of the room she was in.
‘I hope this can be, it’s not at its best at the moment. Would you be free to come round and give me some advice, please? Tomorrow, ideally.’
‘Sure, no problem. Shall we say nine thirty?’
‘Great. See you then.’ Tess clicked off her phone, relieved she was going to have professional advice. She then dialled Colette’s number to thank her for the dinner and to say Andy had called. Then it was back to the sorting and filling more bin bags with rubbish.
By mid-afternoon Tess had had enough. Without more boxes she was limited in what she could achieve anyway, she told herself. The sun had finally made an appearance and it was time to get out for a walk and breathe the ozone-laden air instead of the musty, stale air of the house. Once outside she took a deep breath before heading down towards Cornet Street and the harbour. There was hardly anyone about when she reached the front and for a moment Tess wondered why. Then she remembered. It was Sunday! And Guernsey was closed on Sundays. Or as good as. Shops, restaurants and cafés offered silent windows as she walked past and she could only hope there would be a café somewhere for a cup of coffee. In compensation she had the area around the harbour virtually to herself and she enjoyed strolling around the Albert Pier and looking at the few visitors’ boats moored alongside. A gentle breeze carried the invigorating smell of the sea and Tess felt her shoulders relax. She then set off around Havelet Bay towards the bathing pools and the iconic Half-Moon café she remembered from her childhood, perched on the edge of the bay with one of the best views of the area. With a bit of luck they would be open and as she drew nearer the parked cars outside made her smile. Minutes later she was inside, coffee in hand and gazing out at Castle Cornet and the islands beyond. A close-up of the view from her house. She let out a deep sigh of satisfaction. Yes, she was coming home. And not before time.
The next day Tess was on the phone to the removal company ordering a delivery of boxes when the doorbell rang. She finished the call, confirming a load would be dropped off within the hour, and went to open the door.
‘Hi, I’m Andy. And you must be Tess?’ A tall, slim man in his early forties smiled at her.
‘Yes, do come in.’ She opened the door wide, suddenly conscious of the mess she was inviting him into.
He must have sensed her discomfort, saying, ‘Don’t worry, I’m used to surveying rundown houses and you wouldn’t need me if it was in good condition, would you?’
She laughed.
‘You’re right. Just excuse the mess, as my aunt was a hoarder extraordinaire. Let’s start in here.’ She led him around the various rooms and Andy made notes on a clipboard, making the odd comment about original features and great potential. Once back downstairs Tess suggested they go into the garden while they talked.
‘Sorry I can’t offer you a drink, but you’ve seen the kitchen,’ she said, with a grimace.
‘No worries. Well, the house could be gorgeous, but will cost a lot of money if you want to go to town,’ he paused. ‘Or you could also bring it up to modern standards without spending as much. Essentials would include rewiring, new plumbing, heating and new bathroom and kitchen.’ He cast his eye upwards over the brickwork and what could be seen of the roof. ‘As far as I can tell at this stage, the house is sound – no signs of damp or rot – but has had little spent on it for decades.’
‘That’s what I’d thought, or rather, hoped. What would you count as “going to town”?’
‘You may have spotted your neighbours have a conservatory?’ She nodded. ‘Well that and an upgrade of the attic rooms would be pricey, but result in a spacious and elegant family home.’ He gave her a questioning look.
‘I see. To be honest I’m not sure what I want. I’m single but that might change and I do like the thought of lots of space.’ She chewed her lip.
‘Even without the extra rooms you’d have a good sized house. You could always add a conservatory later. And the same with the attic rooms. We could allow for that with any designs we draw up now.’
‘Sounds good. I don’t know what I can afford until I’ve spoken to a builder, which leads me to my next question. Jonathan thought you’d know the good ones.’
Andy nodded.
‘I can certainly give you some names. A lot depends on who would be available, if you’re looking to proceed quickly. What’s your time frame?’
‘I’m looking to move here in about three months, but I realise a builder might not even have started by then, so will have to rent, or buy a tent!’ she laughed.
‘At least it’ll be summer!’ He scratched his head. ‘I know one guy who might be free soon. He had a big project lined up, but there’s been a delay. He’s actually a developer but might be willing to come on board. Name’s Jack Renouf and...’
‘No!’ She surprised herself with the vehemence of her reply. Andy’s eyes opened wide.
‘You know Jack? Is there a problem?’
‘No. Yes.’ She frowned. ‘I mean I’ve met him briefly. He sent a letter to the advocate offering to buy the house to develop it, and then turned up here out the blue Saturday morning, hoping I’d sell.’ She began to feel a bit foolish as Andy stared at her, a puzzled expression on his face.
‘I see. Or rather I don’t. All local property developers keep their eyes open for possible projects. On a small island they don’t come up that often.’ Andy’s eyes drew together. ‘He didn’t threaten you, did he? Because if he did...’ His expression darkened.
‘Oh no, not at all. Actually he was quite polite.’ Tess realised she was digging herself further into a hole if Jack and Andy were friends. She took a deep breath. ‘To be honest, I resented someone turning up so soon after my aunt’s funeral, like a...a coffin chaser. It felt...indecent.’
Andy’s face cleared.
‘I can see how it would look to you, and perhaps Jack should have waited. You’re right, it wasn’t good timing. He’s known to be a bit impatient, likes to get his own way. But he’s a decent bloke and a damn good builder so it might be a shame to write him off.’
Tess struggled to clear her thoughts. The guy had been insensitive, but from a professional point of view, it seems he was only doing what was normal here. And not as bad as the ambulance chasers back in England. Maybe she had been a bit hasty to say no so vehemently. But if she were to consider him as the builder, she would be the boss, not him. Her project, not his.
‘I don’t suppose it would do any harm to let him quote for the work, but shouldn’t I have more than one quote?’
Andy nodded.
‘Yes, of course. At least two, ideally three. Would you like me to ring around and see who else might be willing to consider the job once you’ve decided what work’s to be done?’
‘Sounds good, thanks, Andy. Can we go over the options now?’
‘Sure, let’s go round the house again and I’ll explain it in more detail.’
As they explored all the rooms Tess began to see Andy’s vision for the house and excitement bubbled inside her. The rough figures he mentioned were daunting, but it was good to know she could do the work in stages. At the end they agreed he would draw up initial plans and a list of works required to get the house up to a good standard, ready to pass on to prospective builders. They agreed to liaise by email and phone and meet up again on her next trip.
‘Builders can wait until I come back, Andy, but I’m happy for you to have a key to pop in as needed.’
‘Thanks. I’d like to get professional damp, rot and roof specialists round to make sure we don’t miss anything.’
Tess gave Andy a key and he left as a van turned up with the packing boxes. No rest for the wicked, she thought, stacking them in the hall.
Hours later, after a shower and a change of clothes, Tess was on the plane to Exeter. As she looked down at the rapidly disappearing island she felt as if she had left a part of herself behind. In less than four days Guernsey had reminded her of what she had been forced to leave behind twenty years ago and she was determined to reclaim her heritage. The only thing which could stop her would be not finding work as a doctor on the island. But surely it had been a good omen that Jonathan’s practice was soon to have a vacancy? And there were other surgeries on the island if that didn’t work out. Thoughts whirled around her head as exhaustion claimed her and she fell into a doze.
Half an hour later the bump of the landing gear unfolding brought her awake from a weird dream in which she seemed to be in the sitting room of the house in Hauteville and having tea with Aunt Doris and two men. One who looked suspiciously like Victor Hugo, in Victorian attire, and the other who looked like Jack Renouf, in jeans and T-shirt. Tess shook her head, wondering what on earth had triggered such a dream and hoping she wasn’t coming under the alleged family curse of becoming odd if she lived in the house. She could understand dreaming about Hugo and Doris as she’d spent many hours poring over his books and her aunt’s scribblings. But the builder? Now, that was odd.