Kindred Spirits

Chapter One

Shrieking with happiness running into the quaint sixth bedroom, 'omigod Christian, perfect for Mia and Ethan, the second for Kate and Elliot and the pretty south facing one for Grace and Carrick...oh and Gail is so happy with the three bedroomed cottage by the gates, she and Taylor were quick to claim the largest bedroom, Sawyer even smiled when he saw his', I giggle, 'but no smile from Prescott, expression I've drawn the shortest straw'.

Swept into his arms, laughter will not be contained, my Christian, my husband, my wonderful man, 'so security and Gail could have a private dwelling was one of the main reasons I bought this property', his eyes sparkle playfully, 'and Mrs Grey', eyes sparkle more, 'I see you're planning a big family vacation', full soft lips gently peck the tip of my nose.

Cheeks flushed with excitement, 'yes...wouldn't sometime in August or July next year be fantastic...sunny afternoons in the gazebo by the pond sipping Pimms...strawberries and cream...thank you Christian, thank you, the best surprise'.

'English summers', he grins, 'raincoats and umbrellas', lips kiss my cupid's bow then his mouth presses hungrily against mine, reciprocating as hungrily abruptly he stops inclines his head, I mirror and hear the rumble of heavy vehicles on gravel outside. Hand caught by his, he turns, strides from the room onto the spacious landing, along it then bounds down the grand staircase at speed.

'Slow down Christian', I giggle, 'what's going on'.

'Ana baby sleeping on a polished timber floor isn't appealing, four poster beds, furniture, transport, second surprise for you and your Manor house', he chuckles, he's like a kid in a candy shop who just got their allowance.

Reaching the large elegant entrance hall he bounds to the ornate front door, I'm breathless keeping up with him, he opens it, wide eyed I stare at three trucks parked along the gravel drive, men in pale grey overalls are leaping from them, a new English registered R8 and Mercedes saloon are being delivered by very happy looking car sales dealers.

'Mr Grey', I grin from ear to ear, 'as ever you know how to sweep a woman off their feet'.

'Only for you Mrs Grey', he pecks my check then nods to Taylor to whip the army of delivery people into shape.

Arms wrapped around each other leisurely we stroll to the higher level west lawn and gaze at the tranquil picturesque English countryside. Hedged green fields, some with iron others with wooden gates are dotted with grazing cows and horses, bubbling brooks intersect at various points, squinting I make out a farmer in a tractor ploughing a field and sigh dreamily.

Eyes drift to across the valley and along a dense forest, where it ends a partial view of a stately home, parkland, manicured gardens and lake are visible, 'oh Christian we're neighbor's of Pemberley we should call on Mr Darcy, take tea, he is welcome at Longbourn if he wishes', I joke and burst into giggles.

Again swept into his arms, 'so good to see you this happy Ana baby', ardently he kisses, feverishly I respond with desire, love and passion, 'once the first bed's put in place we're christening it', he moans into my mouth, breaks the kiss and grins.

'Oh yes, yes', I grin, glance across the valley, 'Christian do you know who owns that home, you've not told me anything about Hillingham', he glances, eyes go back to mine.

'Public record list it as home to the Earl and Countess of Hillingham', he informs disinterested, takes my hand and leads me back to the large but slightly rundown conservatory of our very own Manor, 'a lot could be done with this, underfloor heating and an automated watering system, grow oranges, tomatoes, orchids', suddenly he laughs and points to one chimney, I laugh, a crow has built a nest on top and is glaring down at us as if we're imposters.

Seated happily in the smaller of two drawing rooms sipping a cup of Twinning's Morning tea Mrs Jones kindly made for me, Christian's in the modest sized study across the hall on his BlackBerry with Elliot discussing modifications that can be made in keeping with the heritage of Manor house, the study seems to be the only room where a solid cell signal can be achieved, 'how very eccentrically English', giggles burst.

Picking up my well-worn copy of Pride and Prejudice, I travel nowhere without it, I muse how appropriate it's now in England and resume reading from where Mr Bingley's sister is taunting Mr Darcy regarding his appreciation of Eliza Bennet's fine eyes, mind drifts to the stately home, 'Earl and Countess of Hillingham', I murmur.

Curiosity of what they are like grip, their history, what they do, 'sit all day drinking tea, taking turns round rooms and gardens', I laugh.

Curiosity won't leave, the page blurs, putting the book down on the new opulent coffee table I take from my tan Hermes birkin the second possession I always travel with, the exceptional high quality stationery set and Mont Blanc fountain pen Mia gifted me last Christmas.

Drafting a short cordial letter I rationalize its polite and proper to introduce ourselves to our nearest neighbors and decide to ask Prescott to hand deliver it as I'm unaware does Hillingham even have a post office.

Elbows on the counter, chins in hand, gazing out the window of the cosy tearoom, former storeroom of the shop, Ari's brilliant idea to boost profits during summer months, we sigh contently, twenty tourists have come and gone and were also content with the traditional afternoon teas.

I'm so proud of her making a go of the shop, tearoom and life, this coming Sunday, the eight of September will be hard for her, the anniversary of dickhead Tarquin not only absconding the night before their wedding but also with her very substantial fortune, 'I fear conclusion of the summer season means tourists shall be few and far between', she sighs again but despondently.

'Probably but I was thinking', I grin, Ari welcomes my suggestions and lets me help out a few hours a week, behind Ethan's back of course, we palm it off as me popping in for chats, 'why shut down the tearoom fully, Halloween's next month. Pumpkin carving lessons, for Christmas...emmmmm…..gingerbread men decorating...oh February, cupcake valentines and Easter...make your own Easter egg', imagination lepping, 'print flyers, hot tail it over to Brompton, hand them out, bung them in the Community Centre, library and pubs'.

Warmly she hugs me, 'Vi dearest I admire your enthusiasm fine ideas, whether cost effective', she cocks her head to onside, 'therefore tonight I shall be busy ascertaining feasibility now let us take tea...Michelle would you care for a cup'.

Michelle in the shop is stocking a shelf with bottles of locally produced Balsamic vinegar, 'I'd love one thanks Arianna', she smiles, Ari and I are great friends with her and hope Gabe will ask her to marry him, her life wasn't exactly roses and daffodils either. Hadley the father of her daughter Millicent and an ex- security employee of Ethan's was a nasty piece of work, but ended up where he belongs, prison, for sexual assault and battery of a prostitute, so Michelle like Ari is well on the road to happiness.

While Ari's rustling up a pot of tea, I give the nearest wrought table the once over with hygiene spray and a cloth, idly listen to them jabbering and muse on my happiness, yeah...ninety eight percent I am, frown, then wipe the already spotless table top with agitated gusto, for Pete's sake Violet don't dwell on the two percent nobody's happy all the time.

'Tea up', Ari lands a tray on the table at the far right, we sit around it, Michelle pours, 'how did the opening of Gabriel's show go three weeks ago', I ask, she knows Gabe and I were friends with benefits before I married Ethan. Once their dating took the turn to serious we had, "the chat", Michelle understood and in no way did it affect our friendship but out of respect I always refer to him as Gabriel in her presence.

'Great, most pieces sold on the night putting the gallery firmly on the map, one of the must see galleries in Naples', tone full of pride, 'to celebrate he brought Millie and I to his villa in Amalfi, Millie's eyes nearly popped out of head when she saw the pool, two days she practically lived in it'.

'Brill', I smile and stop myself from adding a third spoon of sugar to my tea, weaning, Ethan's suggestion, "Violet vast quantities of sugar strains one's digestive system", sighing inwardly wishing he was home but won't be until Friday.

'I am curious Michelle how did Millie take to Gabriel's housekeeper Senora Bianchi', Ari asks in mirth, an absolute witch, she hated me but not as much as Mrs Whitaker does.

'Really well…..really well...like a Grandmother', she sighs dreamily, unseen by her we wink, this is fabulous, Christmas gone Gabe invited them to Dublin to meet his parents, Senora Bianchi the last bastille, yeah…Michelle would look amazing in a Vera Wang wedding gown...ivory...classic flower arrangements of red roses…elegant cutlery...ivory linen napkins.

'Vi dearest what news of darling Mina and Tristan', Ari slicing scones in half cuts through my thoughts of a massive wedding.

Smothering the top half of one with clotted cream, 'they went to Cam and Geoff's Tuesday last to celebrate Geoff's safe return from Darfur with Medicines San Frontiers. Mina dropped a bombshell, announced she quit Columbia...this is only after three months Michelle', I nod to her, she nods while chewing, 'four years is too long to become a corporate solicitor she said and proclaimed she'd rather take her place within Stenning standing by Tri's side as…..…wait for it', they're smiling in amusement, 'his vice president'.

'Oh dear I surmise this saga shall be a worse than', Ari giggles giving me the eye.

'The sexed up tits and arse eleven foot Tinkerbelle', we chorus Tri's lament of last Christmas, Michelle's expression clueless, I explain that because Tri wouldn't budge his 1948 Vincent Black Shadow motorbike displayed in the living room of their loft apartment in retaliation Mina bought the hideous granite fairy sculpture and plonked it smack bang wallop in the middle of it. Result, motorbike now displayed in the entrance foyer, Tinkerbelle sold at a loss by Tri's mate Brad who lives in Seattle to a successful strip club owner in Vegas, 'well at least she didn't end up in a park with pigeon droppings all over her although I don't want to think what could be landing', I add jokingly, we burst into laughter.

Laughter ceases as the old fashioned brass bell above the shop door jangles, Mr Wilkinson, landlord of the Fox and Hound bustles in and continues to bustle into the tearoom, 'your Ladyship, Miss Granger, Miss Parker, how are you ladies this fine autumnal afternoon', he greets in his usual courteous way, we greet in return.

'Take a load off Mr Wilkinson', I smile but have to gesture to the chair he didn't understand what I meant, 'a cup of tea and a scone'.

'How gracious', he nods, sits, I pour him one, 'such news, not that I am one for gossip mongering', no one could accuse him of that, he's extremely community spirited and rightly, for donkey's years the Wilkinson's have leased and run the pub. A surge of gratefulness swells, he and all who live here fully accept me as Countess Hillingham. Not draconian Upstairs Downstairs times I know but they didn't have to, more so because I'm only twenty two, definitely not ladylike, too clumsy and Irish to boot, it could have gone well tits up.

He adds a slice of lemon to his tea and stirs, 'the new owners of Manor house', he holds us in suspense by sipping, slowly, 'arrived by all accounts very early this morning, very early in fact therefore as well Miss Granger you provide a delivery service for they may require initial provisions before they grace Tesco's in Brompton'.

Ari smiles kindly, 'indeed Mr Wilkinson added business is most welcome'.

'Your ladyship', expression turns sheepish, so sweet, Mr W is in love with Mrs M, former housekeeper and widower of Hillingham Hall, she began the post when Ethan was three years old, he loves her dearly as do I. Over a year ago she left for Liverpool to live with her daughter Rosie, grandson Laurence, named after Ethan's middle name and Rosie's husband Malcolm, a nicer family you could ever meet, 'may I be forward...enquire as to the health of Mrs Morgan'.

'Flying fit Mr Wilkinson', I smile, he hasn't plucked up the courage to contact her and she'd love it, time to bite the bullet, 'she wrote last week asking about village news and her buddies on the committee and was wondering if you'd write to her, you knowing them far better than me'.

'Well I say', poor man flustered, Michelle's holding in giggles, 'please may I request her address for I should like to inform the dear lady I put her chicken and ham pie recipe on the pub's lunch menu'.

Bingo, 'gladly Mr Wilkinson, I'll email it to you when I get home'.

'How kind', in a dither he drains his tea, 'I fear I must take my leave, your Ladyship, Miss Granger, Miss Parker', we nod and he does, taking with him not one but two scones, we let out our held in giggles.

'Come now Vi', Ari's tone blatantly curious, 'what do you know of the new owners'.

'Nothing only what we all know, Manor house was sold last month'.

'Surely Ethan has information, I would be very surprised if not', she states.

'If he has he's not told me', as much as I love her the feeling I keep buried deep sometimes sizzles, like now, Ari was and is in love with Ethan and if he was capable of loving as he's learning to do with me when they dated six years ago she'd be the quintessential Lady Rochester. Elegant, graceful, poised, beautiful, knows what to say when to say it, which knife and fork to use, finishing school gives you those skills Violet, fizzling out the sizzle I smile, 'I'll buzz and quiz him later'.

'I've some information', mischievously Michelle grins, our ears perk up, 'before work this morning I needed to nip to Brompton, I took the east route from the village and what do you know, my car happened to stall outside the gates. A hive of activity, lorries delivery expensive looking furniture in keeping with the style of the Manor, an SUV, sport and town cars parked in the drive', she pauses sips her tea.

'Carry on Miss Marple', I giggle.

'I caught a glimpse'.

'Only a glimpse', I interject, we laugh.

'Of who I think are the owners. In the distance stood by the conservatory pointing this way and that, he's tall, bronze coppery hair, dashing, she's petite, brunette, very pretty, both glamorous and I guess American'.

'Why American', Ari asks.

'They're clothes, accessories, bling, the guy was wearing Ray Ban aviator sunglasses', we stare at her quizzically, she laughs, 'I recognised them, Gabriel has a pair'.

'Glad you explained Michelle', I grin, 'for one minute I thought you stormed the gates for a closer look', we laugh, checking my mobile, 'balls...didn't realise it was this late, see you guys sometime tomorrow if not Thursday'.

Belting through the garages I reach the door of the staff quarters corridor in a puff, open it and flake my way along running late as usual.

Racing through the utility room then the family kitchen out into the main hall, even faster I cross it and scoot into the library.

Arse not rested for more than thirty seconds on my favourite couch by the fireplace, 'please come in', I call to the knock on the double doors heat from the roaring fire is burning already flushed cheeks.

Briskly the demon housekeeper does, 'good afternoon your Ladyship', a grim smile.

'Good afternoon Mrs Whitaker', I greet.

'Afternoon post your Ladyship', she informs placing the pile neatly in the silver organiser on the desk then pointedly shuffles printed menus for the week ahead in her hands, why Tuesday is the correct day to go through menus, no clue, must be carved in stone somewhere.

We got through them, my gob shut I just listened but fair is fair, she and Mr Fallows head grounds keeper are efficient, nothing goes to waste, this makes Ethan happy. He's very conscience the Estate's natural resources from the orchards, veg gardens, woods full of deer to the lake and rivers full of trout, carpe and God knows what else are sustainable, productive and managed to perfection.

Leafing through the pile of post, all for Ethan, 'yeah...same way he runs the Rochester Corporation fairly but with an iron fist', the last envelope has no postal stamp, nothing unusual in that. Fans of stately homes come to the gates requesting tours which drives Ethan bonkers, tirades in fact, "do I seek excursion through their homes and gardens, do I", rolling my eyes, 'oh…..nice stationery...addressed to us both'.

Normally I discard them before Ethan claps eyes but with nothing else to do other than email Mr Wilkinson I skip to the couch, not bothering with his favourite bejewelled letter opener, nearly cut the finger off myself last time I used it anyway, tear open the envelope and read the letter.

On my mobile in a flash, 'hi, am I disturbing you?'

'Of course not my darling…...ummmm you sound rather excited', heart beats faster tummy tightens just from the sound of his voice.

I activate the popping in for chats lie and relay the conversation, 'do you know anything about the new owners', I add, nosily.

Hearing tapping of a computer keyboard while waiting for him to answer, 'yes, I had Holland conduct a general background check'.

'Why', stupid question, no surprise Ethan would check things out but I'm miffed he never said anything.

'A bland interest in who acquires property in the area', he drawls, says no more.

'And', I prompt.

'A Mr and Mrs Christian Grey of Seattle, he is CEO of his own steadily expanding company, net worth if published stats can be believed is between nine and eleven billion, Mrs Grey is head of a small independent publishing house which happens to owned by Grey Enterprises'.

'He must think the world of her running part of his company', a not so subtle dig, he doesn't disguise a snort.

'My dear Violet as it stands you are running part of our company', he emphasised our, 'for the running of Hillingham Hall is akin to running a medium sized business and my darling I rest easy in RC knowing it is in your delicate but capable hands', bloody hell, he's got such a knack of praising and shaming in one.

'Thanks Ethan I try my best', I curb a sigh, 'the reason I rang is because they wrote a letter, delivered by hand don't know by who, like a quaint introduction, what do you make of that'.

'Quaint indeed and rather polite, the author who Violet', I hear more tapping as I check.

'Mrs Grey...oh…Anastasia…..lovely name', an idea sparks.

'I see', tone disinterested, 'perhaps order Mrs Whitaker to send over to Manor house a welcome basket of sorts, that is the custom in America is it not for welcoming neighbours', giggles erupt, heart leaps hearing his glorious laughter, 'my, my, what is your amusement'.

'Ethan a welcome basket would work if we lived in Wisteria Lane and my name is Bree Van de Kamp', holding in more.

'I do not comprehend', thought you wouldn't, for Pete's sake Violet stop being such a gobshite he's never seen Desperate Housewives.

'A joke about a TV program …..I've got a brill idea'.

'You do dear', wary tone.

'A dinner party Friday night to welcome them…invite Gabe and Michelle, he's bound to be around for the weekend also Ari and wait for it'.

'With bated breath', he's muffling laughter.

'Mr Cleary', I announce, a resounding loud no in my ear, 'why not, he's got the hots for her and I think Ari likes him, could be the start of something'.

'No Violet, Cleary is my personal SD, the employer employee line would be broken, not satisfactory, rather uncomfortable in fact not only for me but Cleary', I stop an eye roll and huff.

'I heard you huff', damn, thought it was silent, he sighs impatiently, 'dearest by all means organise said dinner party. Pluck a man from the village to even up numbers if you must but no to Cleary', leave it Violet...Lord Control has spoken.

'Yeah all right...Ethan', conjuring up a plan to get my husband home early.

'Yes Violet'.

'Will you come home early Friday…I thought cocktails at seven before dining at eight might be a nice touch'.

'Certainly', oh boy, smouldering tone, 'for I intend to perform my husbandly duties before five'.

Hotly puce in a nanosecond but the opportunity to get another dig in is too tempting, I'm not happy Ethan spends Monday to Friday's in RC, it's not as if he couldn't commute, chopper back and forth or drive, 'great I'll make sure to dust the cobwebs first'.

'Now, now dear sarcasm is most unbecoming', he ends the call in a laugh.

Sarcastically I laugh then send an email to Mr Wilkinson and hum, Here Comes the Bride for Michelle and Mrs M.

Nose taking complete control I decide to call on them, last night I politely asked Mrs Whitaker to put together a basket, Ethan's idea not bad after all, showcase the county's produce and samples of artisan products the shop carries. The twenties style picnic basket found in the attic is way cool, reminiscent of those times and it's got a fine saddle of venison stuffed into it as well.

Clambering into my Mini Morris hiccupping, I'd swear there's a clump of scrambled eggs stuck in my throat, I ate breakfast fast so I could dodge my SD. I keep telling Ethan I don't need, "minding", in Hillingham and he's finally coming round so I'm not too anxious, nor was I yesterday and in truth I like Pam, Miss Lane, she's always up for the craic.

'Balls', I mutter in annoyance dragging from the arse pocket of my jeans my ringing mobile, a huge grin spreads across my face as I glance at the number and tap to answer, 'hi Bro from another Mo'.

He laughs, 'hey pixy girl, how you doing hun', heart tugs happily hearing his voice.

'Grand...what are you doing up at five in the morning', suddenly realising the time difference of five hours or so.

'Mina and I just touched down in RC Air, a surprise visit', he chortles, I squeal in delight.

'Brill…..does Ethan know...are you coming straight to Hillingham', I ask switching on the ignition in the background hearing Mina's shrilling something about Fendi luggage.

'He does hun and we are, h three is free, see you in forty Sis', he ends the call.

Driving Penelope Pitstop, the ridiculous name I gave my car, over the sensor, I stop her and while waiting for a garage door to open I send an email to staff's central inbox informing Mrs Whitaker of their arrival and alerting Mr Fallows of h 3's, horses have grazed in the north and south field so the helipads are most likely covered in crap, 'I can't wait to see him', I squeal again, 'Mina to', no squeal.

Taking the drive like a bat out of hell, soon Penelope Pitstop is racing and bouncing along the country road that bypasses the village and will bring me directly onto the one for Manor house. Laughing recalling the day I passed my driving test, Ethan proud as punch announced I could have any car I wanted, laughing harder vividly picturing his expression of thunder when I said a Mini Morris. Small easy to manage was my thought, he tried to persuade me into some kind of yoke with safety specs up the wazzoo but couldn't back pedal out of it because he said what I wanted, 'a small triumph Lady Rochester…one over on Lord Control'.

Fiddling with my docked iPod, Jason Derulo's Talk Dirty blasts loudly, happily singing along one half of brain concentrating on driving the other fantasising about Ethan doing naughty things to me, a thought seeps in, 'yeah…..about time for another one over on him…practice my knot tying skills'.

Visions of doing that several times to Gabe flash, obliterating them, guilt swirling that I'm betraying Ethan, for Pete's sake Violet you're not…you married Earl Kinky because he's your one true love. Locking into the recesses of my mind memories of our not so roses and daffodils journey sternly I tell myself to stop dwelling on the past, 'water well under the bridge of being his companion in the exploratory union of all things kinkyarsed'.

Ten minutes later I slow the car to a stop in front of the black wrought iron gates and remember having a glass of sherry in the curved grove with the late Ms Hitchmore the week after marrying Ethan, a lovable but completely batty woman, 'God rest her soul'. A man in a well-cut navy suit materialises, opens one side enough to slip out, wouldn't take a genius to figure out he's SD and expression stern annoyance, maybe he spotted Michelle snooping and thinks the village is awash with nosey parkers.

Pressing the button, the window slides down, 'hi, my name's Violet, my husband and I received a letter from', crap, her name's vanished from my head, 'from...Mrs Grey, I'm here to say hello, thanks and welcome', could I sound any more like an idiot.

'Ma'am your full name please', he asks in what's definitely an ex-FBI voice, inwardly giggling, Holland, head of security, Cleary, Mathews, Pam and all the rest sound like ex-MI6.

'Violet Jones Stenning Rochester...a gobload...I know', I answer in a fit of giggles that burst, his expression now beyond bemused and annoyed, giggles evaporate as the most stunning woman I've ever seen flits to the gate.

'Taylor who is it', her American accent floats on the air like a light chime of a bell.

SD guy repeats it, 'are you expecting a guest Mrs Grey', he adds somewhat tersely, lustrous glossy long chestnut locks flow as she shakes her head, Michelle is Miss Marple, 'Rochester...the letter', she murmurs then surprises me by hurtling clumsily to the car, 'hello Countess...emmm...I'm sorry how are you addressed…...Taylor open the gates please'.

'Violet', I blurt, noting while doing so SD guy's yacking into thin air but there's an earpiece jammed in his earlobe, 'Mrs Grey if you're busy I can call another time', another blurt.

'Jeez no come in please', she smiles gleefully.

'Ok', I smile, she races back to the guy who then starts hand signalling like he's guiding an Airbus360 from a runway, briefly I wonder have vapours from the Forrest Pine car freshener made me high because I'm finding this hilarious.

At a crawl I drive, wary of mowing anyone down, the guy signals where to park, right behind a brand spanking new Audi R8, I do, thankfully not too close, unbuckle, hop out, steady a wobble on the slope before I land in the rockery, 'are you ok', sidling up she asks, expression not knowing whether to laugh or be concerned.

'Yeah…...happen to have two left feet', I grin, she grins and blushes, so weird, I take to her and think she may have the matching right feet.

'Please come inside, take tea…..that's how the English do it', large blue eyes sparkle.

'Sure but I'd murder a coffee Anastasia', miraculously her name came back to me, she laughs.

'I can manage that…Violet'.

Scooting to the boot, opening it, 'a welcome basket', I tell her, try to lift it, giggle, 'who knew a saddle of venison weighs a ton'.

'Wow very kind...Taylor please', she gestures, with ease he lifts and eyes it suspiciously like it could contain a bomb, 'take it to the pantry Taylor and tell Mrs Jones coffee please'.

'Yes Mrs Grey', he sets off taking the outdoor route to the back of the house.

She ushers to the open front door, 'I didn't expect you'd call in person, a reply letter I thought'.

'Oh….…sorry', shit, I never think things through, fairly forward showing up out of the blue.

'I didn't mean it that way, I'm delighted you did', she assures guides to the secondary drawing room, self-consciously I eye her chic cream dress and fidget with the hem of my ancient black tee emblazoned in green with the tagline, "The Leprechauns Made Me Do It".

'Sit please', she gestures to an elegant blue and white striped fabric couch, I do, she sits on the matching one opposite, 'I'm sorry my husband Christian's not here to introduce him, he's just left for London to tie up loose ends with the realtor, gives me time to sort out the furniture', she frowns, 'foot in it again, I wasn't implying you're holding me up'.

I smile reassuringly, 'news is you arrived yesterday, probably too early to ask but do you like Hillingham so far'.

'Oh yes', a broad smile, 'Christian knows I love all things English, he bought this house as a surprise', a sweet light laugh, 'last night we drove around the village...so Henry James', she's lost me, I nod nonetheless, 'we hope to spend at least one month a year here, business wouldn't allow for longer but', another light laugh, 'there's no discounting long weekends'.

'Long weekends can be the best', I grin, 'for Hillingham June's the most active month outside Christmas, the Village Fete and Banquet, Mid Summer's Night Ball at our place and Mr Wilkinson landlord of the Fox and Hound hosts a pub quiz followed by Karaoke that would rival any night out in London'.

'June sounds like the month to be here…..got to say your home is amazing, reminds me of Mr Darcy's in Pride and Prejudice', vaguely remembering watching a few episodes with my friend Sar many moons ago, fleetingly I wonder what became of her, not the nicest friend she turned out to be but still I hope she's ok, 'a lot of work involved I'd imagine', she smiles.

'Yeah never a dull moment, loads to do', I say proudly, a knock to the door.

'Come in Mrs Jones'.

A pretty kindly middle-aged woman does carrying a tray, lays it on an Edwardian style coffee table between the couches, 'Mrs Jones this is Countess Hillingham, Violet our housekeeper from home Mrs Jones', the woman offers her hand, my cheeks redden in seconds..

Shaking it, 'hi Mrs Jones lovely to meet you, I'm Jones as well, maiden name', why am I blithering.

'Nice to meet you Countess', she smiles, I nod, cheeks beyond red, efficiently she serves the coffee and leaves.

'Have I embarrassed you in some way Violet', concerned tone.

'No course not, it's the Countess this and your Ladyship that…..emmm…...well…..I suppose…..odd to me'.

'I understand', she smiles and in her tone I strongly get the feeling she does, I smile in return, we continue to chat easily, comfortably. She tells me of her career in publishing and life in general, in return I tell her more about the village, it's residents and tales of the late Ms Hitchmore, 'dolls hanging from the apple trees in the orchard', her expression astounded.

'Yeah', I giggle, 'the only way to attract their kin she said. One too many Sherries I thought but morbid curiosity led me to ask did she mean other dolls. The look she gave was I've ten heads or just dim, good grief your Ladyship, how could aliens possibly attract dolls'.

'What a character, rest her soul but I'm relieved none were found', she giggles petite hand covering her dainty mouth, a sun ray through one window bounces off her whopping great engagement and understated wedding rings, catching me looking her eyes dart to my naked wedding ring finger. Weirdly she tenses, looks about nervously as if I'm an intruder who told a pack of lies and is about to pull a gun on her at any minute.

'Anastasia', softly I address, 'my engagement ring is also my wedding ring, an heirloom, passed down through the generations. I'm really only custodian, wear it rarely, the insurance company is chuffed they get jittery especially if it goes outside England. Which it did, twice, the second time I nearly lost it down a storm drain in New York', finding myself frowning thinking of the first, when Ethan lamped over to Cork, proposed, I refused, I shrug off the memory, 'so I decided why bother upsetting them and got a tattoo instead', she relaxes, I pop across, sit, and stick out my finger, 'the Rochester family motto, Fortitudinis Supra Omnia'.

'It's beautiful…Fortitude Above All', she studies the tiny black flowing scrollwork by Guillermo the Tatt Guru. Ethan insisted on him because he's not only the best but also did Ethan's tattoo of the family motto back when Ethan was nineteen, a stunning piece of intricate elaborate scrollwork running down his spine from the nape of his sexy neck to the base of his sexy back.

Initially I pitied Guillermo, he gave up going to his ultimate favourite band's gig to be flown in from Buenos Aires and out again but as the needle vibrated against my bone pity vanished, it hurt like the fiery pokers of hell, suddenly she giggles, 'I like the name Ethan, Christian's sister Mia is engaged to an Ethan, my best friend's brother, and she, Katherine, Kate for short is engaged to Christian's brother Elliot'.

'That's brill', I grin, 'I bet when you all get together the craic is mighty', crap, she tenses again, she hasn't a clue what you're on about Violet, 'it's an Irish saying, meaning having the laugh, fun, a few gigs and reels, not drugs', thankfully she relaxes and grins, 'Ethan's first cousin Wilhelmina, Mina for short is married to my half-brother Tristan, Tri for short…..oh shit', I blurt, not very ladylike Violet.

'What's up', alarmed tone but she's giggling.

'Got so carried away with the banter I forgot they're on their way, just in from NY where they live', I hop up, 'sorry about this but I've not seen him since June', we shake hands.

'Course, I'm an only child Violet, I would've loved siblings but Kate and Mia are like sisters to me, Elliot and Ethan like brothers', might be mistaken but I detect a tinge of loneliness in her tone, curtly she ushers to the front door.

'Anastasia how long are you guys staying in Hillingham, not nosiness I assure you but I'd like to invite you both to our place Friday night, a welcome to Hillingham dinner I suppose you'd call it', not a good sign she's hesitant.

'We're leaving Sunday…..emmm…..Violet your gift and invitation is very kind, I'll say it to Christian...he may have made plans for Friday night', a hesitant reply.

'Totally understand, if you're able let me know', we're accompanied by SD guy to my car, his demeanour to my mind suggests I'm about to abduct her.

'Where's my brain…handy if you had our number', I giggle and fish from the glove compartment a business sized card with our address and landline embossed on it, grinning I hand it to her, 'again welcome to Hillingham and loads of happiness with Manor house'.

'Thanks Violet', she smiles an endearing, warm smile, then the sudden thunderous noise of a low flying chopper over the house nearly bursts our eardrums and nearly blows us over with the wind it's creating, that bollix Tri is showing off to Mina…..what, as it whizzes away at an acute angel I catch a glimpse of Ethan flying it, grinning his Cheshire cat grin, Tri next to him waving like a halfhead.

Damn, now Ethan knows Pam's not with me, I don't care my husband's home, 'Violet is there a designated flight path directly over Manor house', she asks voiced raised above the waning noise of the rotors, hands taming glossy hair whipping about her beautiful face, SD guy doesn't look one bit impressed.

Rather than sounding like a pretentious snob and tell her that is the Earl arriving home flying one of his four choppers, 'God no...not at all…..emmmmm...someone took a wrong turn I'd say', I smile, release my ponytail, climb into Penelope Pitstop, start her up and wave goodbye taking the drive more quickly than I arrived.