Guilt in the Cotswolds

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Authors: Rebecca Tope
escape, with a perfunctory farewell to the dogs – who watched her closely the whole time she carried the box of their things to the front door – got into her car and drove away out of sight. Then they sighed in unison and raised their muzzles expectantly in Thea’s direction. They had ignored Hepzibah and her efforts to become their new best friend. Sheepdogs did that in Thea’s experience. They were snooty and superior and impossibly clever. Always panting to be helpful and completely incapable of spending a quiet morning in peaceful contemplation. But they knew the house, and made their way shoulder to shoulder into the kitchen, where they sat on a handmade rag rug in front of the Aga, which was cold. Richard Wilshire had neglected to give instructionsfor firing it up, and Thea knew better than to tinker with it. At first glance, it showed signs of considerable age and was sure to be highly temperamental.
    ‘You stay here for an hour or so, while I get back to work,’ Thea told them.
    Okay, they said resignedly. But make sure it’s not more than an hour.
    Did they know where their master was? Thea wondered. They showed no signs of anxiety or distress at the change of routine. Perhaps he’d explained it all to them and they were perfectly content to wait for his return.
     
    She went back upstairs, and managed to forget about the dogs and their absconding owner for a while. There was always a fascinating family history to be discovered in these sorts of circumstances, as Thea had learnt. Already absorbed by the biographical material kept in the little bedroom, she realised there was a story attached to the house itself, as well. Any house carried marks of the lives it had sheltered, but a beautiful old Cotswold house might have more than its share. She had noted two cupboards, as yet unexplored. One under the stairs, and a very big one in the main bedroom. Most families would have transformed the latter into a small bathroom, but the glance Thea had given it had revealed an almost empty space, rather to her surprise. Perhaps it had been the preserve of the deceased Grandpop, and nobody had ever taken it over after he died. It would come in useful as a repository for some of her sortedpiles, she thought. Being able to spread things around made the operation a lot easier. She was inclined to return to the ottoman, and really examine all the lovely things again. Although she’d already listed them, she could spread them out and inspect them for holes or stains which ought to be noted on the inventory.
    So she embarked on just that procedure, with a growing sense of achievement. The old satins and velvets were in excellent condition, for the most part. There was a fur cape in a rippling silvery colour that screamed luxury and was probably still quite valuable in the right market. Chinchilla, she thought. It sparked musings about the way humanity exploited other species for their own ends. Poor little animals, slaughtered for the warm pelts that nature had given them.
    But she didn’t dwell on this for long, distracted by the discovery of two flamboyant hats at the back of a high shelf in the wardrobe. Fit only for a dressing-up box, she judged. Perhaps her sister Jocelyn’s children would like them – although they were probably rather old for dressing up by now. Noel, the youngest, was eleven. There had been some talk about a group of his friends getting together for some role play games. Presumably that involved donning outlandish garb to represent various warriors and goblins. The last time Thea had visited, Noel had talked relentlessly about the latest fantasy series he was reading, with detailed descriptions of dozens of characters.
    And all the time, she was mentally counting thehours and minutes until Drew would arrive. He had deliberately avoided naming an exact time, knowing how unpredictable his schedule would be. All she knew was ‘afternoon’, which meant he wouldn’t want lunch – but an evening

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