Shadows Of St Morfa Hall by Lydia Jones

Lady Alex and Zoe wanted the same thing – to make this beautiful house the best it could be . . .

ZOE parked next to the Porsche. Nobody had mentioned visitors coming today. The car park was usually only populated by her little hatchback and the Fiat belonging to Lord Oxley’s PA, Anwen. Matt Jacobs drove an ancient four-byfour.

Sunshine bounced back from the car’s silver curves and she resisted the temptation to touch it. “Good morning, Zoe.” Disconcertingly, Lord Oxley was seated at her desk, with his feet propped on an old box of files.

“Good morning.” She hung up her jacket. “I didn’t know you were coming back up so soon.”

“I fancied a spin, so I came to see how you were settling in.” His blue eyes beamed warmth. “I organised coffee – black, no sugar, isn’t it?”

“You remembered; I’m impressed.” Zoe smiled.

“My catering training,” he explained. “I might own a restaurant now, but I worked my time at the front line.

“Little things like remembering how people take their coffee go a long way.”

“I couldn’t agree more. Where did you work?” Zoe asked.

Lord Oxley waved his hand dismissively.

“After I was kicked out of Marlborough College –”

“You were expelled?” she

interrupted, shocked. He chuckled.

“Well, let’s just say I wasn’t invited back for sixth form.”

He looked very raffish saying it, and Zoe felt herself laughing, too.

“I went back to my grandparents’ house in London and got a job in a restaurant owned by a school friend’s parents.

“I did the lot: pot washer, waiter, barman. I make a mean Singapore Sling – you must let me show you some time.”

“I’ll remember that.” Zoe chuckled.

“When I turned twentyone and my trust fund money kicked in, I started the restaurant.”

“That was brave to put all your money into that,” she replied.

“Covent Garden hadn’t really got going back then, so leases were cheap. It’s a different story now, of course.” He shrugged.

“What sort of restaurant is it?” Zoe asked.

“Good British food: fish and chips, pie and mash – tourists can’t get enough. It’s called ‘Blighty’.” “Great name.”

Lord Oxley really was a most interesting man, Zoe thought.

“I want to hear all your plans for St Morfa,” Lord Oxley continued. “We didn’t get an opportunity to discuss details at the interview, did we?

“I must say, Zoe, you were head and shoulders above other candidates.”

“Thank you,” she said, feeling absurdly flattered.

Lord Oxley was certainly turning on the charm today.

“A business degree and top hotel experience.” He whistled. “You put me in the shade.”

“Oh, no – I –” Zoe was mortified.

“I’m joking. St Morfa needs someone full time, and that’s not me. I’m a city boy, aren’t I, Anwen?” he said. “Anwen knows me better than most.”

He directed the full force of his smile at Anwen, who flushed with pleasure and nodded like an animated cartoon.

“Anwen,” Zoe said as she made to leave, “do you know if we’ve an electrical fault with the dining-room lights?”

“Not that I know of.” Anwen exchanged a secret smile with Lord Oxley.

“Could you source an electrician for me to get it checked out?”

“Mummy playing games?” Lord Oxley quirked an eyebrow.

Zoe made a playful swatting gesture.

“Of course not.” “So,” he began, and she was centre of his attention again. “What do you think of my new set of wheels?”

****

“He was really supportive of my suggestions.” Zoe smiled at Matt. “He said we’d make a fantastic team.”

Matt smiled, but his dark eyes gave him away.

They were sitting in his office, which was a tiny room squeezed behind one of the cloakrooms.

“It’s more like a shoebox than an office.” Matt had laughed. “But at least I have privacy here.”

“You don’t seem convinced about Freddie,” Zoe remarked, regarding him with curiosity.

It was strange that Matt seemed negative. He was generally a positive person.

“No, no. I think it’s great that he’s changed his mind.”

“In what way?” “Freddie was against the appointment of a marketing manager in general.”

“I see.”

“I don’t know why,” Matt went on. “I gather Freddie is always reluctant to see the Trust spend money – unless it’s on him.” “That’s a bit unfair.” “Sorry.” Matt coloured. “You’re right: I shouldn’t be so flippant about Freddie.

“It’s just that I know there have been issues between him and the Trust.

“His restaurant has been in trouble lately, and he’s always looking for more funding.”

“He told me he tried to raise funds for the Trust by organising gourmet dinners in the dining-room in the Nineties,” Zoe replied.

“Ah, yes, the dinners.” Matt gave a wry smile.

“They were as much a publicity vehicle for Freddie’s restaurant as for St Morfa.

“The London press were very interested in a titled restaurateur cooking to help out his ancestral home.

“The early Nineties were a difficult time, so it can’t have done him any harm.”

“At least he tried to do something,” Zoe pointed out, feeling like she ought to defend Lord Oxley.

“I know.” Matt sighed. “But the dinners didn’t make any money. Freddie was too lavish.”

Matt put a hand on Zoe’s arm.

“I don’t want you to think I’m against Freddie,” he told her. “I’m not. And I don’t want you feeling like you’re somehow in the middle.”

Matt looked earnest. He is gorgeous, Zoe thought, turning her attention to her laptop screen. It really was so inconvenient.

“Let’s talk about the wedding,” she said with a professional smile.

“We’re lucky to have a September function, and even luckier that the bride is allowing us to use pictures for promotion.”

“Exactly,” Matt agreed. “And it’s the last chance before winter, so whatever we do, we have to get it right.”

****

Lady Alex tucked her hands deep into the pockets of her jacket.

Bitter wind funnelled up the drive, clattering the branches of the trees overhead.

She loved this walk: the sweep of driveway through parkland.

It conjured up images of grand carriages arriving for the house parties given by Lord and Lady Oxley before the Great War.

Granny Charlotte had painted such vivid pictures of those days.

“You would have loved it. Fairy lights, glittering ballgowns and the gentlemen so handsome in dinner jackets.”

“Was my daddy there?” she’d asked in response.

“Oh, yes.” Her granny’s laugh was full of life and merriment. “He and his sister used to sit on the stairs and watch the dancing.”

Alex tilted her head back to the arching branches.

“Whatever we do, we have to get it right”

“Are you watching over me, Granny?” she said to them. “Can you see what an awful mess I’ve made of everything?”

She sighed.

The walls of Home Farm’s stable yard and the estate office were in sight now.

Alex’s stomach twisted as she walked towards them.

She was looking forward to seeing John Bradshaw again. Of course, it was strictly on estate business, but still . . .

“Good morning, your ladyship. Can I help you?”

Olive Williams had been secretary to John Bradshaw’s predecessor, and probably the estate manager before him.

The older woman blinked behind spectacles that made her seem even sterner, if that were possible.

“I wondered if I might have a word with Mr Bradshaw, Olive?”

Alex shuffled her feet, feeling oddly like a child caught doing something she shouldn’t.

“He’s with one of the tenants. Can I help?”

Disappointment drenched Alex. She hadn’t acknowledged to herself how much she’d been looking forward to seeing John’s plans for the estate.

Don’t be silly, she scolded herself, stepping back outside into the stable yard. Of course he was busy.

A Land-rover clunked around the

corner on to the cobbles. Slamming the door, John Bradshaw stepped out, his hair dishevelled and his tie askew.

He looked, Alex thought, like a schoolboy escaped from the scrutiny of schoolmasters for a moment.

She smiled. “Morning, your ladyship – Alex,” he greeted her. “Morning, John.”

His smile spread warmth throughout her body.

“Did you want me for something?”

“Nothing urgent. I was just interested to hear what progress you’ve made with your plans. My husband was impressed.”

“Really?” He looked inordinately pleased.

She didn’t tell him that Charlie’s enthusiasm was based solely on the expectation of extra rent.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here. One of the tenant’s ewes started to lamb while I was visiting and I couldn’t resist staying.”

His cheeks glowed and Alex again felt the pull of a kindred spirit.

“I do love to see the lambs,” Alex replied. “Such a sign of spring.”

“Come in.” The scarred side of John’s face was averted, but his good eye regarded her steadily with something Alex couldn’t quite read.

Was it interest? Admiration?

“I’ll get Olive to organise tea,” he added.

****

“I calculate that, by sharing relevant machinery, we should be able to raise arable yield by at least twenty per cent, if not more.”

“That’s marvellous.” Alex smiled.

They were standing side by side behind John’s desk, with spreadsheets and farm catalogues strewn over its surface.

Alex pored over the figures formed in John’s neat hand.

She was acutely aware of the closeness of his body and the pulsating energy of his enthusiasm.

“You seem to have already developed a love for the estate, John.” “I’ve always loved it.” “How so?” She was curious.

“I came here on childhood holidays for years,” he explained.

“My family stayed in a boarding house in Morfa town; some of my happiest memories are of days down on that beach.

“I came here for a while after the accident. It helped me get my head together.” John blushed.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that.”

She briefly touched his arm.

“When I saw the position of estate manager here was vacant, I didn’t even have to think about applying.”

“We’re lucky you did,” Alex told him.

“It feels like a privilege to preserve this beautiful place for the future.”

“That’s exactly how I feel.”

They exchanged a smile that felt like a physical thread.

It was odd, Alex thought on the walk home, how you could feel so close to someone you hardly knew, yet so far apart from others with whom . . .

“Mummy!” Freddie bounded down the steps of St Morfa, interrupting her thoughts.

“Where have you been? Nanny let me off lessons ages ago.”

“I’m here now, sweetheart.”

“So is Daddy,” Freddie declared.

A familiar stone settled in Alex’s stomach.

****

Zoe swept into the dining-room ahead of her client.

“We’ll have the reception line and drinks in the loggia, leaving the diningroom itself for banqueting.” The bride-to-be gaped. “This room blows my mind every time!”

Zoe smiled.

“It has the same effect on me, and I see it every day.”

It was strange, she thought, that after only a few weeks in her job she could feel so proprietorial about St Morfa.

Seeing the young woman’s reaction made her swell with pride at somehow belonging to such beauty and grandeur.

“It is fabulous, isn’t it, Cadi?” Zoe smiled again. “It’s so good of you to let us use photos of your reception to help publicise St Morfa Hall.

“I promise our photographer will be unobtrusive.”

“No problem.” Cadi beamed. “It feels like a privilege to have our reception here.”

“You’re paying good money,” Zoe pointed out.

“I know, but we’re so chuffed to be the first ones.”

“Yes.” Zoe chuckled. “You’re trail-blazers, all right. How did you hear about the possibility of holding your reception here?”

“My mam is in the WI with Lord Oxley’s secretary.” “Anwen?” Zoe replied. “Yeah. I just rang and asked, so here we are.”

“Here you are.” Zoe nodded, still shell-shocked. She consulted her notes. “Ten tables of eight, plus the top table. Do you want the top table facing the garden or the fireplace?”

Cadi moved to stroke the stones of the impressive structure.

“It’s like something out of a castle in a fairy tale. Oh!”

She recoiled, almost colliding with Zoe. “What is it?” Looking down, it was obvious what had sent Cadi stumbling back.

In the centre of the grand hearth, in front of the fire basket, was an enormous dead rat.

“Oh!” Zoe’s hand flew to her mouth. “I am so sorry, Cadi. I’ve no idea how that got here.

“The French doors must have been left open. I can absolutely assure you we have no problem with rodents in the house . . .”

Aware she was babbling, Zoe stopped and placed a hand on Cadi’s arm.

“Take a seat in the loggia. I’ll ask Anwen to bring you some coffee while I get this removed. We can return to the room later.”

She guided the girl to a chair in the loggia, where sunshine streamed through pink stained-glass petals on to Cadi’s blanched features.

“I’ll be back in a moment,” Zoe told her.

****

“Anwen!” Zoe clattered open the door.

The older woman looked affronted by the disturbance, but then paled when Zoe explained.

“I need to know where I can find Glyn Hughes to remove it.”

“Oh, the poor girl. What a shock! I think Glyn is in the plant sheds.”

A few minutes later, Zoe glared at Glyn as he gathered up the dead creature.

“How do you suppose it got here?”

She was still breathless from her anger-fuelled stomp across the grounds looking for him, and was uncomfortably aware that her high-heeled shoes were encrusted with mud.

“I don’t know.” Slowly, Glyn rose to his feet and held the rat aloft.

“You need to be more careful how you deal with pests now we’re promoting ourselves as a banqueting venue.

“We could get closed down before we’ve even started!”

“I told you.” He spoke defiantly, holding Zoe’s gaze. “I don’t know nothing about it.”

Zoe took a breath. “I’m well aware you don’t like the idea of the public using the dining-room, but the Trust have decided –”

“The Trust.” He almost spat the word.

“She’d turn in her grave, she would,” he went on. “The likes of Cadi Williams queening it in her diningroom. It ain’t right.”

“What do you mean?” Zoe asked.

“Lady Alexandria. She don’t like what you’re doing.”

****

Zoe’s head pounded. She sipped tea and

searched in her bag for paracetamol. “Thank you so much, Anwen, for dealing with Cadi. She seemed OK in the end, don’t you think?”

“She’ll be fine,” Anwen agreed. “It would take more than that to fright a Williams.”

“She said you recommended us for her reception.”

“Aye, well.” Anwen blushed. “His lordship said ages ago – about weddings – so I thought it’d be a help.”

“It is, Anwen. And we can put pictures of Cadi’s reception on our website and in the brochure I’m designing.” Zoe smiled.

“I still think no good will come of it. I told you before that there’s many would love to see you fail.

“Not to mention Lady Alexandria. I shouldn’t be surprised if she’s behind this creature in the fireplace.”

“You’re suggesting the rat was placed there by the ghost of Lady Oxley?” Zoe struggled not to scoff. Anwen shrugged.

“It’s a sign, that’s what it is. You mark my words.”

Zoe watched the older woman’s departing back and closed her eyes in despair.

This job was going to be more of an uphill struggle than she’d thought.

It was time she found out what she was up against.

****

Alex took out her driver and prepared to take her opening shot into the prevailing wind.

Thwarted by gusts blasting across from the estuary, the shot was short but true, in the centre of the fairway.

“Jolly good shot, Alex.” Trevor Finch-jones was a stocky man with a florid complexion and a tendency to cut short his wife’s sentences.

“They don’t call this hole ‘Hades’ for nothing,” he added.

“Is it right the church objected to the name when the course was founded?” Charlie asked.

Alex regarded her husband with amusement. He seemed to be going out of his way to be deferential to the golf club captain. What was he up to?

To her knowledge they’d only ever met the Finchjoneses briefly in the clubhouse before.

“Do say yes, darling,” Charlie had wheedled.

“We’ll make a four with his wife. We haven’t played golf together in ages.”

Trevor Finch-jones regaled them with stories of the club’s history as they moved on to take their second shots.

Wind barrelled into Alex’s face as she took in the sweeping estuary vista and mountains behind. It was a sight to feed the soul.

This game had been a good idea and she was glad Charlie had suggested it.

She smiled at Charlie over Trevor Finch-jones’s bowed head and received the full beam of his most charming smile in return.

Heavens, he was handsome!

When he smiled at her like that, in spite of everything, he could make her feel like the luckiest person on the planet.

She won the hole and was striding towards the next when what she overheard from behind her made her stop cold.

“Charlie,” Trevor Finchjones was saying. “Tell me more about this nightclub plan of yours.”

“It’s going to be the biggest thing ever to hit North Wales.”

She recognised Charlie’s most persuasive tone of voice.

“And it will be in the hall itself, you say?”

Alex’s blood chilled. “Indeed. Can you imagine a more dramatic setting? Disco lights around the dining-room’s dragon! We’ll attract all the top live acts.

“I see the dance floor spilling out into the formal garden, with people dancing under the stars. They’ll come from miles away.”

“Unless it rains,” Trevor Finch-jones pointed out.

“Ah, yes.” Charlie chuckled. “How pragmatic of you. Of course, there are plenty of other rooms.

“There will be a different mood for each, and guests can wander between them. They can even stay, as we’ve no shortage of bedrooms.”

“It’s different, I’ll give you that. How many investors are on board?”

“I’m talking to several eager parties at present,” Charlie replied. “There’s tremendous interest, as you can imagine.”

“Let it not be said I’m a man to pass up a good business opportunity,” Trevor Finch-jones replied.

“But where will you live, Charlie. You and your wife and the little one?”

“We’ve a choice of properties. The Dower House will suffice. There are only three of us.”

The two men laughed and Alex’s stomach curdled with distaste.

When she looked down, her hands were shaking so much she could barely grip her club.

“How could you?” she hissed when they were in the privacy of Charlie’s car.

“How could you hatch such a plan and not discuss it with me?” she continued.

“I know your London clubs are in trouble, but this isn’t a solution.

St Morfa is our home and Freddie’s future!”

“Calm down, darling.” He seemed amused.

“I didn’t tell you because I knew what you’d think. The estate is in trust for Freddie, and as head trustee I can do whatever I think best with it.

“There’s no need to panic; it’s only at the planning stage. I haven’t any investors yet.”

“Oh, Charlie, how did we come to this?” Alex asked, remembering the night she had first made Charlie’s acquaintance . . .

“The Bollinger is compliments of Mr Ramsbottom,” the waiter had said.

Alex and her fellow deb, Lucinda Berkshire, giggled into their champagne flutes.

Across the glass-panelled bar the legendary nightclub owner, Charlie Ramsbottom, raised his own glass at them.

“Golly, he’s handsome,” Lucinda gushed. “They say he has a girl for every day of the week.”

“Nonsense,” Charlie said, during the courtship of Alex that followed. “I’ve had my share of women, but I’ve never met anyone like you, Lady Alexandria Oxley.”

“Oh, Charlie,” she’d replied, swelled with the kind of love only a naive twenty-year-old could feel.

“I don’t care about the other women. As long as I’m your last.”

Alex shut her eyes against the pictures of her past.

If dear Granny had still been alive, perhaps she’d have been able to stop me, Alex thought.

Ten years on, here she was, paying the price.

But it wasn’t just her. The tenants on the estate and the others who depended on the hall would suffer if Charlie’s plan went ahead.

And Freddie. Was he to be robbed of his inheritance and his future?

****

Zoe waved across the room at Matt, who was seated at a window table.

He closed his laptop and rose to his feet as she approached.

Zoe was touched by the old-fashioned courtesy.

“Thanks for agreeing to see me at such short notice,” she said.

She hung her jacket over the back of an ornate cast-iron chairback.

“It’s what I’m here for. Anything I can do to help.”

His brown eyes sparkled warmly with glints of gold. Zoe tried to ignore them and focus on her purpose.

“I think I need you to level with me,” she began.

“How so?” Immediately his expression turned wary.

She began the story of the rat.

“Fortunately, disaster was averted, but it could have been so much worse.”

“You think Glyn was behind this?” Matt asked.

“I don’t know. Anwen says it’s the ghost of Lady Oxley.” Zoe raised her eyebrows. “But if we

discount that, who else has access to the hall?” Matt frowned.

“You say he’s been threatening before?”

“Not in a personal way. He just makes it clear he’s not a fan of what we’re doing.”

“Are you ready to order?” A smiling waitress curtailed the awkward conversation and they ordered tea. Matt lowered his voice. “I never imagined he’d pull a stunt like this,” he murmured.

“According to Anwen, there’s lots of opposition to our plans,” Zoe remarked.

“It could have been any one of our suppliers sneaking in a dead rodent with the groceries.

“Anwen says all the local hoteliers are against us – what if they put the suppliers or Glyn up to it?” “You think they did?” “I don’t know!” Zoe shrugged with exasperation.

“I’m just asking for the truth. I can handle it, but I need to know what I’m up against.”

It was Matt’s turn to sigh. “When I said Freddie’s gourmet dinners were a publicity stunt, I wasn’t lying, but I think he did have an idea of turning St Morfa into a restaurant.”

“And that was a bad thing because . . .?” Matt shrugged. “Freddie is London raised and knows London prices and tastes. When it failed, everything fell into disarray until the trustees decided to step in.”

“And they employed you?” Matt nodded. “Locals preferred Freddie and family involvement,” he explained. “You’ll have noticed the tension: it chafes with Freddie that he’s not in charge.

“The 2008 crash took us all by surprise and we had to slow things down. It was me who fought for a marketing manager.” Zoe raised an eyebrow. “I have you to thank for this swamp I’m struggling in?” she joked.

“You’ll cope.”

He put a hand on her arm and she immediately felt the unnerving tingle of connection between them.

“I knew at the interview that you had the stomach for this. You have guts, determination and professionalism,” he stated.

His features blazed with brazen admiration and Zoe pulled herself back to practicalities.

“So what do we do?” she asked.

“Focus on one thing at a time.”

****

It was going to be all right.

Since her meeting with Matt, Zoe was buoyed by renewed optimism.

It wasn’t the first time in her career that she’d faced opposition to change: people didn’t like it, as a rule.

But if Matt were behind her, she could do anything.

Her stomach pit-patted with excitement as she walked through the loggia, set up for the following day’s wedding, and gasped in wonder as she stepped into the dining-room.

There were crisp white cloths, and champagne flutes winked in the evening sunshine; flowers bloomed and silver sparkled.

The catering company had done a great job. “Anwen –”

Zoe hurried to catch the older woman before she left for the day.

“When are the chairs arriving? The tables are perfect, but . . .”

“The catering company said you’d e-mailed to cancel.” Anwen sounded surly. “I thought it was a bit strange, but I assumed you had something planned.”

“Like what exactly?” Zoe snapped.

“I’m not privy to your thoughts.”

“Anwen, we have over eighty people attending a wedding reception here tomorrow with nowhere to sit down!”

To be continued.