The sun breaks through the winter clouds, forcing me to look away. ‘So, the house’s name is spelt wrong,’ I say, returning to his story. ‘Couldn’t JL have fixed that? With all the money in the world, couldn’t he just have corrected the deeds?’
‘No way. He loved it,’ Edward tells me with a grin. ‘The Holbecks have a weird sense of humour. JL had one for sure. He liked it as an origin story. He liked the reminder that no matter what you do, how much work you put in, it will always be misunderstood. There’s something in there about the inadequacy of the human condition – I don’t know. The human element in any enterprise will always be its sticking point. My family loves myth creation. They managed to turn a simple spelling mistake into some kind of life lesson. Hence “The Hydes”。’
As if on cue, the front door’s bolts are drawn back, its oak edifice creaking open to reveal Matilda, her pale face beaming in the dim hallway.
‘Well, hello, strangers. It’s about time. What kept you?’
Unimpressed by the wait, Edward bends to pick up our bags as I follow Matilda into the warm darkness of the house.
Our bags left in the hall, Matilda leads us briskly through the vast stone carved hallway. ‘Everyone’s waiting in the sunroom,’ she says, as I absorb the house flowing past me. The hallway opens out to an enormous stairwell and on its opposite wall gapes a monstrous fireplace carved directly into the Hungarian stone of the building. From the staircase walls, portraits rise and disappear around the bending flights.
‘The whole mob have been scratching around for tea for the past half-hour,’ Matilda explains, turning back to us with a smile. ‘It fell to me to beat them off with a stick. You see, we only have two staff over the holidays, Harry.’
I can’t help the ghost of a smirk flicker across my features. ‘Only two? Wow,’ I say innocently as we turn another corridor. ‘Uh-huh, so I always end up doing more than my fair share of the grunt work over the holidays. Point is, I was holding everyone off for you love birds. I sent tea back to keep it warm. I’ve told them to bring up some more, fresh, now.’ She suddenly stops dead in her tracks in front of a door and I narrowly avoid bumping straight into her.
‘They’re in here,’ she sighs, clearly already too full of Christmas spirit. The dread I’d been managing to push down until now crests inside me at the thought of them all in there. ‘Tea in the sunroom,’ she trills, as she swings the door open.
Walking into the light of the sunroom after the dimness of the halls is blinding as warm winter sun floods through the vast orangery windows. The room is high-ceilinged and airy, giving an immense sense of space. My eyes struggle to adjust as I try to make out their faces in the blazing light, one face in particular more important that the rest. In front of the massive glare of the windows a table is laid with a brilliant white tablecloth, silverware flaring in the light, glasses refracting, the shape and blur of stacked tiers of cakes, savoury fare, petits fours.
‘Welcome to The Hydes,’ Matilda adds with self-aware grandiosity.
The figures at the table rise, in silhouette, as we enter, their shapes beginning to make sense. ‘Harriet, Edward,’ comes a voice I recognize as Eleanor’s. I shield my eyes and she comes into focus. ‘We thought you’d slipped off the face of the earth,’ she quips with a light shake of her chic grey bob. ‘We were expecting you this morning.’
‘We had a little appointment this morning,’ Edward answers, just holding back, and I realize we have to tell them imminently.
Over Eleanor’s shoulder, I notice the view beyond the colossal sunroom windows and it snatches my breath clean away. Beyond the twinkling glass, the full panorama of the Holbecks’ palatial gardens stretches out in all directions, the epic sprawl of it, a god’s-eye view. The ornamental gardens spill with bright bursts of colour set against tight evergreen borders, winter blooms in full flower pouring over crisp paths. Out towards the splashing fountain, a long shallow pool of rippling water carries on past it deep into the lawns. The fountain itself is an elaborate sculpture, water pouring from mouths, claws, eyes and hands, creatures twisting as the sunlight catches and refracts in water.