Ghosts of Winter Read online

  The mood shifted though, as we walked side by side, past her office, and continued up another cobbled hill, this one with signposts to the cathedral and castle. I took a sip of my coffee and glanced across at her, wondering what to say. I was surprised to find her looking back at me. Once more, her smile was barely perceptible, but there nevertheless.

  “I don’t think I expected you to want to drink coffee from a cardboard cup, walking up the street,” I said to break the silence between us.

  “No? What did you expect?” she asked, raising one quizzical eyebrow above the frame of her glasses. I coloured slightly and looked down at the cobbles as though I was making sure of my footing.

  “Well, you know, I suppose I thought we’d end up in some exclusive café. Or maybe a pricey tea room.”

  “There’s that word again,” she said, and I panicked for a moment, thinking I’d offended her.

  “I don’t mean it as a bad thing,” I said, back-pedalling, “just you seem to have, well, high standards.”

  “You mean I seem to have expensive tastes,” she returned bluntly, and I had to glance at her again to see that she was smiling. “Which is an accurate judgement. It doesn’t mean everything I do has to have a high price tag. There are other pleasures that are just as important to me.”

  Something in the way she said the word pleasures, with a lingering emphasis on the deep vowel sound at the end of the word, made my heart flutter and my cheeks warm despite the chilly air. I took another sip of my sweet, creamy coffee.

  “Such as?” I was flirting now, asking her what her pleasures were. Would she flirt back, or was I behaving like a teenager with a crush, while the object of my attraction remained entirely oblivious? And what the hell was I doing flirting with a married woman? I began to feel a little frightened of myself, wondering if I was so desperate to restore my happiness I was searching for it in places that would not provide it. Yet just walking next to her was strangely satisfying.

  “Art and architecture mainly,” she replied. “But also good food and good wine, beautiful clothes, cars.”

  “Perfume too,” I added.

  “Not so much. I just know what I like in that regard.” She hesitated a moment and I felt her eyes on me, though this time I didn’t look across at her. “And you?”

  “I like your perfume,” I said, unable to help myself.

  “I didn’t mean that,” she replied lightly, amusement just edging into her voice. “What are your pleasures?” I wished she would stop using that word. Something inside me previously frozen solid rapidly turned molten. Was she flirting with me?

  “History.” I said. “I like to see the continuum, and I take pride in remembering names and dates. I can’t disagree with you about food and wine. And I’ve always been interested in spirituality in one form or another. Along with meditating I used to practise yoga.”

  “Yoga is wonderful.” I was pleased to have found something else we had in common.

  “You do it too?”

  “Yes. Quite regularly. I don’t go to a class or anything, but I think I have enough knowledge of my own by now.”

  “I never liked the formality of a class. It’s quite a private thing too, don’t you think?” I enjoyed probing her thought processes, already sure I knew enough of her to sense she would concur but intrigued what else lurked in that so-well-hidden personality.

  “Absolutely.”

  “I wanted to tell you, actually,” I began abruptly, excited to tell her and worried I wouldn’t if I didn’t say it now, “I did what you recommended and meditated to try to listen to Winter the other night.” I felt a thrill sweep through me. I wasn’t going to reveal to her quite how profound and yet bewildering the experience had been for me, nor how significant a part she’d played in it. But I wanted to share the result with her, and for her to know I’d taken her suggestion seriously.

  “You did?” She sounded mildly surprised, but pleased.

  “Yes. I really got a sense of the house as a whole. It was like I was seeing into all the dark corners and realising there’s nothing to be afraid of there. And that Winter neither welcomes nor rejects me. I think the house is waiting to see what I’ll do next. I do think it wants to come back to life too.” I paused and waited for a response. When I received none, I wondered if I’d gone too far. “Do you think I’m crazy now?” I asked, turning to glance at her again.

  I was surprised to see her looking back at me reflectively. I wanted very badly to know what she was thinking and waited for her to speak with keen anticipation. “I don’t think you’re crazy at all,” she replied gently. I wanted her to expand on her comment, but she fell silent once more. She had a habit of never quite saying as much as I wanted her to.

  “Well, I’ll keep listening.” I was slightly awkward, and tried to direct the conversation back into less meaningful territory. “And I think the grounds will be perfect for yoga in the warmer weather too, don’t you?”

  “Actually, do you know, I had a thought about Winter that was yoga related,” Anna said, unexpectedly enthusiastic suddenly.

  “Did you?” I asked, intrigued now.

  “Yes. I’ve been involved in several similar renovations. One quite recently in Northumberland. The owners intended to rent most of the house out as a yoga retreat. There are others being used for writers and painters, that sort of thing.”

  “Are you suggesting that Winter would be suitable for something like that?” I felt the first stirrings of enthusiasm.

  “The place in Northumberland was much smaller—not much more than a large cottage. Winter has much more space and would certainly be a lovely retreat.” Anna sounded as though she knew what she was talking about and was confident in the idea as a real possibility. Her confidence seeped into me.

  “Do you really think I could do that?” I pressed. “I mean, I am looking for some way of earning money.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Anna replied, smiling at my positive response to her suggestion. I was flattered to know she’d thought about my situation at all. I wondered what else she’d thought.

  “I don’t want to do anything that Auntie Edie wouldn’t approve of.” I tried to moderate my excitement. “Or that the neighbours wouldn’t like.”

  “I wouldn’t suggest anything like that,” Anna said. “But I did think, when all the work is done, it would be the perfect venue.”

  “Wow, that really is an amazing idea.” My enthusiasm surged. “Not that I’d have a clue where to start.”

  “It’s just something to consider, for the future.”

  “I definitely will.”

  We were nearing the top of the hill now, the shops and cafés on either side of the narrow road giving way to grander, older residences, now clearly used as offices, university buildings, and apartments. As we reached the crest, the road before us opened up and we strolled into a wide area, which I presumed was usually grassy, but today was a vast expanse of snow. It was criss-crossed in places by footprints, and in the very centre two boys scooped up handfuls and laughed loudly as they pelted each other with snowballs. To our right, on the side which overlooked the river, the ground rose gently towards a wall. To the left were the almshouses associated with the cathedral. Straight ahead, across the snow, rose the cathedral itself, appearing to stretch even higher into the blue-washed sky when seen so close up. We stopped to gaze up at it in admiration.

  “It’s breathtaking,” I said.

  “It doesn’t matter how many times I come up here, I’m still in awe.” Anna sounded truly impressed, as though she was seeing the building with fresh eyes. I loved that hint of zeal in her tone, the touch of colour to her cheeks. I wanted to encourage her enthusiasm, so I decided it was time to show off my own small knowledge of building design.

  “It’s Norman architecture, isn’t it?” I said. She turned to face me, her expression clearly demonstrating her pleasure at the conversation I’d started.

  “Why do you say that?” she asked, in a tone that was a
lmost teasing. Was this how architects flirted?

  “Well, it’s massive, for a start. And the rounded arches, they’re Norman too, aren’t they?”

  “Do you know when it was built?” Anna asked, obviously deciding to keep me in suspense as to whether I was correct or not.

  I considered for a moment. “I’m figuring it dates from the time when bishops were as powerful as princes,” I said. “I’m not sure, but I’d guess at eleventh century.”

  Anna’s satisfied smile was easy to interpret this time. She was pleased I could hold my own in this conversation. “You’re right, of course,” she told me. “The present building was founded in ten ninety-three.”

  “So it is Norman then?” I confirmed my guess, slightly smug I’d been correct.

  “Yes, it is. Though of course Norman architecture is just the name for Romanesque we tend to use in England, because it was the Normans who brought it here. Like you said, the arches are rounded.” She reached out and sketched a semicircular shape in the air with her hand. It was as though she was caressing the ancient stonework itself with those long fingers. “It’s very different to the pointed arches of Gothic architecture which came afterwards. The large tower is another typical feature.” She gestured upwards, directing my gaze. “Everything Romanesque is on a large scale. The walls are massively thick, and there’s pillars inside you wouldn’t believe the size of. I think what I like best about Norman buildings is their relative simplicity. Gothic cathedrals look archaic. Romanesque buildings are cleaner somehow. I think it’s hard to believe just how old they really are.”

  “You’re right.” I considered my impressions both of the gigantic building in front of me, and of the woman standing next to me. Anna was remarkably expressive when it came to architecture, and I wondered how someone who could talk so fluently and enthusiastically managed to keep her personality so sheltered from view. Was it intentional or just a part of her, an insecurity? She took hold of my arm, and I jumped at the contact. She guided me to turn around.

  “And behind you is some more fine Norman architecture, though with a lot of later additions.”

  I looked at the turrets of the castle in front of me. “Now a good sturdy castle. That’s what I always think of as typically Norman.”

  “Most people do.” It was hard not to feel slightly patronised. “Though I expect you’re an expert on castles.”

  “It is a popular topic to teach eleven year olds.”

  “I’m not a fan of them myself,” Anna said, and I enjoyed the idea she was comfortable sharing her opinions with me, wanted to hear her thoughts on every conceivable topic and still wondering why she had been so taciturn when it came to sharing what went on in her head. “There’s something so brutal about castles. I prefer the churches and the country homes.”

  “I suppose they’re more graceful,” I said, debating whether or not I agreed, “but castles have a certain drama about them.”

  “I suppose I prefer beauty over drama,” Anna replied. Her reflective expression softened her face so much I could almost have been looking at a different woman. It was remarkable how expressive her face could be, and yet how impassive at other times. Anna confused me still, but it was an increasingly intoxicating brand of confusion. Abruptly she tensed and gathered herself, almost as if she realised she’d shown me her softer, more emotional side and wasn’t entirely comfortable with that. I frowned and was wondering what the best way to continue the conversation was, when her expression brightened dramatically, as though she’d forced herself to move on from whatever thought had troubled her temporarily.

  “Come over here and see the view.” She tugged on the sleeve of my cardigan like an excited child might, before dropping her arm and walking in her usual straight-backed fashion towards the wall which ran between the castle entrance and the cathedral. I followed her, our route taking us through undisturbed snow, which slowed our progress.

  When we reached the wall, I saw the meandering Wear below me and, to my right, the bridge from which I’d previously admired the castle and cathedral, across which tiny people bustled back and forth. The snowy rooftops and frozen trees opposite made this look more like some quaint Bavarian fairy-tale town than a northern British city. I leaned on the wall and sipped my rapidly cooling coffee. Anna drained the last of hers and crushed the cardboard cup in her fingers.

  “You’re lucky to live here,” I told her. “Have you always lived here?”

  “I’m from the south actually, West Sussex,” she said. “But I went to university here and I couldn’t bear to leave.”

  “I’m assuming you live in the city.”

  “I live where the city meets the countryside. It’s a Georgian cottage I’ve been working on for the last three years.”

  “You’ve renovated it?” I couldn’t help but notice the way she spoke about her home, and her renovation of it, as though it was a project she had undertaken alone. Where was the man or woman who had given her that ring in all of this? In prompting her to tell me about the cottage I hoped I might finally learn the truth. I knew I was desperately in need of the reality check.

  “Yes,” she replied. “It wasn’t a ruin or anything, but it needed some serious work. All of the major stuff was done in the first year. I’m on to finishing touches now.” She made it sound very simple. And solitary.

  “Sounds like the best part to me. I can’t wait to get to that stage with Winter.” I wondered just how far into the future that point would be.

  “Hopefully it won’t take you anywhere near three years.”

  “Why has it taken you so long then?”

  “It’s my hobby, I suppose. I could have spent a fortune and got it all done in about six months. But then what would I have done in my spare time?”

  “I don’t know. Tae kwon do?” Spent time with your husband or wife? The question burned in my brain.

  “I needed something to exercise my interest in buildings and my latent interior design skills as well as my body,” she replied seriously.

  “Bet it’s cost some serious cash.” And is all that money yours alone?

  “It has. But then I’m a perfectionist. And”—she hesitated and shot me a knowing look verging on playful and very charming—“I know you’re dying to ask if I earn all of my money from being an architect.”

  “Not dying exactly. Just curious.” Are you about to tell me you’re married to a millionaire?

  “Well, no, I don’t, though it does pay well. But my family have always been well-off, and I can’t quite bring myself to refuse the allowance they still pay me. My father is retired now, but he worked in investments and made a few very wise decisions. My mother’s a barrister. Really, by their standards, being an architect is quite a comedown.” She laughed gently, though I sensed a slight tension in her words. “I earn enough to live independently. I use the extra for my treats.”

  “Bespoke suits and fast cars?”

  “Among other things, clearly.”

  That explained one mystery. Anna showed no evidence of bragging about her family’s wealth and was refreshingly honest about it. Resentment of her good fortune was impossible when she handled it so well. But it didn’t explain the wedding ring.

  Anna took my empty cup from my hand and strode away the few steps to the nearest waste bin. She threw the cups away and returned to where I leaned on the wall. She mirrored my stance, resting her bent elbows on the cold stone. She stood close and her sleeve pressed slightly against mine. I froze, not willing to move, while wondering if I should inch away from her myself, for the sake of my own comfort. She was so near it was difficult to look into her face, and I glanced down instead at her left hand where it was folded over her other on the wall. I summoned all of my courage to ask the question that burned inside me.

  “Does your husband enjoy renovating property too?”

  She leaned back and looked keenly at me, apparently startled. I made myself keep looking into her eyes, watching her reactions. I saw the realisation dawn a
n instant later. “Do I seem like a married woman to you?” I couldn’t quite read her tone, but it sounded slightly sarcastic.

  “That ring seems to be evidence enough.”

  “It’s a piece of jewellery people read a certain significance into, that’s all.”

  “You mean you’re not married?” My pulse thundered in my head, and I felt a little dizzy. Suddenly a ridiculous dream had become a possibility, and the reality of it was disconcerting.

  “No, I’m not married. But I don’t appreciate the inappropriate attention of every single man I have to deal with. I wear the ring as another form of defence. I can always take it off if I want to create a different impression. It just makes life easier.”

  Easier? I wondered why Anna needed the ring, why she found it so difficult to just be honest. She had to know the ring was a barrier to any thoughts of potential intimacy with her. What was she so afraid of? “But are you in a long term relationship?” I was determined to discover the whole truth now and sensed I knew the answer already. Anna seemed so solitary, precisely why it had been so easy to forget the ring over and over.

  “No,” she said, smiling slowly. “And I’m not really into the idea of marriage either. My last girlfriend was, but it was just another thing we didn’t see eye-to-eye on.”

  I blinked and my mouth was suddenly dry. “Girlfriend?” I raised my eyebrows meaningfully.

  “That’s what I said.”

  “So you did.”

  We were silent for a drawn-out moment, both staring at the river below. I had no doubt neither of us was really pondering the view. I knew what I was thinking, but what was going through her mind? Would a woman like Anna really have any interest in me? Could I even dare to hope? And what should I read into her views on marriage? Was she worried about commitment, or was it merely the formal institution of marriage she disliked? What could I learn about her from that slight glimpse into her thoughts and feelings?