pounded from the other side. Then, turning to Nina, she said, ‘Do you remember where your old room is?’
‘Oh, yes.’ Nina nodded enthusiastically, looking up the stairs, dying to see the little room again.
‘Then I’ll leave you to get your things organised,’ Olivia clenched her hands together, as if not quite knowing what to do next. ‘Just give me a call when you’re ready and we’ll have a cuppa before you face the study.’ She bit her lip, then hurried down the hall.
Nina started up the two flights of stairs. She looked down at the oatmeal carpet, which was immaculate now that Olivia employed Marie to clean, but which had always been covered in domestic tumbleweed whilst the boys had been growing up and money had been tighter. Now, it appeared that every surface in the house was dusted and polished until it gleamed, and that carpets were vacuumed to cotton-wool cleanness. Apart from the study, it would seem.
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
