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himself as much as her. Of course, he said, nobody had expected that the housing boom could continue at such a pace: naturally it would level out but things were still good. However, Nell noticed that talk of buying their own home was no longer a regular topic of discussion and her old fears began to creep back.
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    GILLIAN, TOO, WAS BEGINNING to realise that her dream of a refurbished Nethercombe was destined to remain unreality. Having obtained Planning Permission from the National Park for the conversion of his stables, Henry’s whole concentration and every spare penny were devoted to the project. She was also beginning to learn that Henry was by no means the simple, quiet pushover she had taken him to be. With anything relating to the estate he was immovable.
    â€˜For heaven’s sake!’ she stormed at him, when her frustration at being baulked was too great. ‘If you never spend any money on the place it’ll fall down. What’s the point of building a whole lot of new cottages if you let this house crumble?’
    Henry smiled at her. He knew perfectly well that Gillian’s idea of spending money on Nethercombe meant new furnishings and hangings and had nothing to do with the structure of the building.

    â€˜Been standing for over two hundred years,’ he said comfortably. ‘Shouldn’t think it’ll fall down yet.’
    Gillian ground her teeth and wondered whether to dilute his complacency with the contents of her wine glass.
    â€˜It’s a wonder you’re not ashamed to invite your friends here,’ she said but her tone lacked confidence. All Henry’s friends seemed to live in similar conditions of decaying grandeur. ‘At least you ought to think about central heating. It’s so humiliating when you invite your friends to dinner and they’re afraid to take their coats off.’
    â€˜I’ve been thinking about it,’ Henry said surprisingly. ‘I’ve been discussing it with Simon. Have to be careful, of course, in a house of this age. We’ll see what profits we make out of the Courtyard. We might manage to run heating to some of the rooms. Not all, of course. The drawing room and the library perhaps. And our bedroom.’
    Gillian breathed heavily through her nose. ‘How exciting,’ she said bitingly. ‘I can hardly wait.’
    Henry went to her and put his arm round her. ‘Poor Gillian,’ he said. ‘The thing is that I’m used to it, I suppose. I know it’s shabby but it’s been like this ever since I can remember and it’s … well, it’s home.’
    â€˜But it’s my home too, now,’ cried Gillian, moving away from him. ‘You make me feel like a permanent guest with no rights or say in how it should look or be run. How can I feel that it’s my home when you and Mrs Ridley have the last word about everything?’
    Henry looked at her in consternation. He hadn’t realised that she felt so strongly.
    â€˜I’m sure that Mrs Ridley would be more than happy for you to take over some of the running of the house,’ he said, unerringly picking the one aspect of Gillian’s complaint which had no truth in it. ‘It’s such a big place and she’s not as young as she was.’
    Gillian bit her lip and turned swiftly back to him. ‘Honestly, Henry. You haven’t got a clue. She’d hate it if I interfered. She’s been in charge all these years and she’d loathe it if I muscled in and started
to tell her how to do things. A bit like you not wanting to change how it all looks. It’s not my fault if I feel left out in the cold.’
    Henry stood, irresolute. It was perfectly possible that Mrs Ridley may not care for interference on Gillian’s part and, to be perfectly honest, he couldn’t seriously imagine Gillian wanting to take over the responsibilities of housekeeping, nevertheless …
    Gillian watched him.