A Summer to Remember

Nina felt that, with each stair, she was stepping back into her own past. Reaching the top, she turned left and saw that the door of her old bedroom was open. She smiled as she saw the little cast-iron bed freshly dressed in a quilt of blue roses on a white background and, on the bedside table, a small jam jar exploded with handpicked flowers from the fields surrounding the mill.

There was a small dressing table by the window, and Nina walked over to it before looking out onto the river. She remembered falling asleep to the sound of it when she’d been lucky enough to escape her own home and stay at the mill overnight. It would lull her into the most delicious of sleeps, and then be the first thing she’d hear in the morning – well, if the boys didn’t wake her up first.

The room was just as she remembered, with the neat little hand-painted bookcase in the corner filled with rows of orange Penguin novels, their slender spines making them look like a row of literary supermodels.

The old wardrobe at the other side of the room, like an extra from a C. S. Lewis novel, seemed to smile a welcome at her, the light bouncing off the polished wood.

After her hateful flat, the room was like a five-star hotel. The snow-white carpet was soft, the furniture unbroken and the wallpaper complete, and there wasn’t a damp patch in sight.

The window had been left open and she breathed in a couple of lungfuls of fresh air before unzipping her suitcase and putting her clothes out on the bed. She’d hang them up later. Now, however, it was time to start work.

‘Oh my God!’ Nina started, as she looked up from the bed. A tall figure was standing in the doorway. ‘Dominic!’ she gasped, ‘I didn’t hear you. You gave me such a shock.’

‘Didn’t mean to,’ he said, daring to venture into the room a little. ‘I wanted to have this waiting for you – to cheer the room up a bit.’

‘Oh?’ Nina watched as he produced a small watercolour from behind his back, framed in palest gilt. ‘Oh Dominic, that’s lovely!’ She took the picture from him and looked at the sunset view over the river and across the meadows, in pale pinks and deepest blues. ‘You’re so talented. I bet you’re going to be in all the big London galleries before long.’

‘Well, I don’t know about that. I’ve got a show in Tombland at the end of August though.’

‘Really?’

Dominic nodded. ‘It’s a start,’ he said.

‘And I’m sure it’ll be a really good start, too.’ She smiled at him. Little Dommie – all grown-up and making his way in the world.

‘Anyway, I hope you like it,’ he said, nervously watching for her response.

‘I do! I love it. Thank you.’

‘Only the room was so bare.’

‘Not at all – with a view like this,’ Nina said, ‘and I already have half of the meadow by my bedside,’ she added, nodding to the flowers. ‘Aren’t they lovely?’

‘I’m glad you like them.’

Nina looked at Dominic. Had he picked them? She’d just assumed that Olivia had collected them for her. Suddenly, she felt embarrassed.

‘Anyway, I was just going to go downstairs and make a start on your father’s study,’ she told him, deciding it best to be businesslike.

‘Yes,’ Dominic said, his eyes straying towards the bed where Nina’s clothes were spilled out across the quilt. Nina saw where he was looking and realised that several pairs of lacy knickers and bras were on display and that Dominic had turned quite red.

‘I saw your other paintings in the hallway,’ she said quickly, trying to divert attention away from her exhibition of underwear. ‘They’re amazing. I don’t know how you do it.’

‘Well, I’m not very good at anything else,’ he said, his dark eyes flickering over her face for an instant.

‘Oh, I’m sure that’s not true. Anyway, you should be proud. I wish I was artistic.’

Dominic grinned. ‘If you can restore any kind of order to Dad’s study, then you’ll deserve the Turner Prize.’

They smiled at each other and Nina placed his painting on her bedside table next to the flowers.

‘I suppose I’d better make a start,’ she said, but noticed that Dominic’s eyes had strayed to the bed again. Nina followed the pathway of his vision and saw what it was that had caught his eye.

It was her nightie – girlie pink with spaghetti straps and covered in tiny daisies.

Olivia was still clenching her hands together and looking decidedly agitated.

‘So, I’ve been making a list of things I’d love your help with for the party arrangements, but the most important thing really is for you to help Dudley. I’m not sure what he’ll need in terms of a research assistant – I’m sure he’ll let you know – but – well – I’m not quite sure where you want to start,’ she said, her eyes wide and apologetic. ‘It’s all such an awful muddle, isn’t it?’

‘Is Mr Milton at home today?’ Nina asked.

‘No – er – he’s still in London, at his brother’s – but he’ll be back tomorrow.’ Olivia looked around the room in horror. ‘Probably best if I leave you to it? I don’t want to get in your way.’

Nina nodded.

‘Well, good luck then.’ Olivia left the room and Nina turned back and looked at the tip that lay before her. It probably hadn’t been a good idea to wear white.

She reached into the pocket of her cotton trousers for a hair-band and tied her bob back into a short ponytail before rolling her sleeves up. It was time for battle to commence.

After two hours of hard work, which had mainly involved shifting things from one side of the room to the other, Nina was ready to start on the paperwork. She’d managed to clear one of the desks, the one she assumed was to be hers, and had even put her own personal stamp on it: her framed photo of her little dog, Bertie, which had been homeless since they’d both left the clutches of Hilary Jackson.

‘I’ve a feeling we’re going to like it here, Bertie,’ she said, smiling at the little silver frame and noticing how at home he looked on his new desk. Yes, everything was going to be just fine, she told herself.

There was only one thing that had bamboozled her that morning, and that was a little cupboard in the corner of the study behind Dudley’s desk. She could see a piece of paper had been trapped in its door but, when she’d tried to tidy it up, she’d realised that the door was locked and that the key was nowhere to be seen. She’d looked around for it for a few minutes, but soon realised that she probably wasn’t meant to be able to find it and so she left the cupboard alone, wondering what was hidden behind its secretive door.

After the briefest of lunch breaks, followed by another hour of tidying, Nina looked up from a sample of Dudley’s scribble on the top of a particularly large mound of papers. Something had caught her eye from beyond the patio doors and, looking closer, she noticed a young woman out in the garden with dark wavy hair and a pretty face.

Nina walked across to the doors, which she’d opened earlier in the hope of alleviating some of the mustiness of the room. The young woman was half hidden in one of the borders behind a plant with leaves the size of an elephant’s foot, and was wielding a large silver spade. However, she’d stopped her work and was watching something, her gaze unwavering. Nina followed the girl’s gaze and saw the object of her fascination: Dominic.

He was walking across the lawn, his head inclined towards the ground, completely unaware of his female audience. And the girl was mesmerized. Nina hadn’t seen anything like it outside of a movie. Her vision was one of perfect softness, as if she was looking at a divine painting; she wasn’t aware of anything else around her, least of all Nina.

As Nina watched, she felt a strange tickle in her nose. It wasn’t really surprising, with the amount of dust that had been trapped amongst the paperwork in Dudley’s study, and her nose twitched, her face stretching and contorting. She was going to sneeze.

‘Aaaachooooo!’

The dark-haired girl behind the plant almost left the ground in shock.

‘Good heavens!’ she cried from across the garden. ‘Who are you?’

‘I’m Nina Elliot, the new secretary,’ Nina said, sniffing loudly as she approached her across the lawn.

‘Oh,’ the girl said, swallowing hard.

‘And you are?’ Nina smiled gently as she reached for a tissue from her pocket.

‘Faye,’ the girl said, her voice a little croaky until she cleared her throat. ‘Darnley.’

‘Hello, Faye,’ Nina reached the border to shake hands and was offered a warm, dust-encrusted one.