To his surprise, Tom was enjoying the taxi journey out of London. Having been released from the confines of his hospital bed after two days, it was a pleasure to see the countryside outside the window.
In fact, it was a novelty to be out and about during the day at all. In between stages of the lengthy world tour, he had locked himself away and had stopped going out. Some days he hadn’t even spoken to anyone. He had slipped into keeping twilight hours for the past six months, waking late in the afternoon and then either going on stage or song writing. Or rather, frustratingly staring into space trying to think of words before giving up and watching whole box sets on Netflix.
But heading to Willow Tree Hall meant that at least he was out of the apartment and away from the hospital, where he had been all too aware of being Tommy King, with people peeking into his private room. The newspapers were still full of his drunken mishap, apparently. Not that he read them anymore.
So it was good to be in the back of the chauffeured car that Sam had organised. The sun was out and he had the window down as they drove through the beautiful countryside on a sunny day. The birds were singing in the trees above, the breeze was fresh on his face. He felt alive. Free.
It was one of the quirks of becoming famous. He had spent so much time dreaming about having hit records. The thought that a crowd could know every line of a song that he had written was still an incredible feeling. But he had never considered the downside to everyone knowing his face, his name. And how quickly life as he knew it could change.
As the driver pulled up at a red light, he glanced down to check his missed calls. They were all from Melissa. He threw the phone back onto the passenger seat in disgust.
He had met Melissa at some party that his record label had thrown a few months ago whilst he had a rare day home from his world tour. He had quite liked her. He had even thought that there was a connection between them. Until she had sold their story to the press after a couple of dates and had given out intimate details of what he had thought had been a genuine romance.
He shook his head. He had been a fool to trust her. To trust so many people in his life that let him down. Now that he had lost his gran, it was left to Sam to be the only person that he could rely on and speak freely to.
The journey to Willow Tree Hall led him through Cranley village. From what he could see, it was a tiny hamlet with only a handful of cottages and shops. All the buildings were made from a sandy coloured stone, which made the whole place very attractive to look at.
It was all in stark contrast to his early years. Picturesque country scenes and the peace of nature had been in pretty short supply growing up in the inner-city concrete jungle of London’s East End. He had always enjoyed an affinity with wood and trees, which is why he had gone into carpentry, but lately he had stopped looking outside so much. There was never any time when there was another interview or concert lined up.
A mile or so on from the high street, the driver turned the car through some rusty iron gates and into the long driveway leading up to the house. Sam had only recently confessed that his grandfather was the 7th Earl of Cranley. But Arthur, Sam’s grandfather, had suffered with ill health during the winter and Sam had stepped up to take responsibility for the ancestral home, Willow Tree Hall, albeit reluctantly at first.
Bouncing up the drive, the driver slowed the car down to a crawl. Now Tom understood why Sam had recently purchased a Range Rover and got rid of his beloved Porsche. The potholes were massive.
Despite the huge craters in the narrow lane, Tom couldn’t help but appreciate the stunning setting. The driveway was long, bordered on either side by huge fields of grass and sun-bleached picket fences. In the middle of the front lawn stood a huge willow tree, presumably so ancient that the hall had been named after it all those centuries ago. The willow tree’s long boughs of newly blossomed green leaves swayed gently in the soft breeze.
Then the house came into view. Tom couldn’t help but be amazed. It was a large, wide-fronted building, two stories high and built in the same sandy coloured stone as the rest of the village. Like a miniature Buckingham Palace in shape, it had sixteen large sash windows spread evenly across the front. The centrepiece was a huge front door, framed by large round stone pillars on either side. Tom couldn’t believe that Sam lived in such a beautiful place. Nor that he knew someone of English nobility.
It looked stunning in the bright spring sunshine, especially now that the place had begun to be renovated. From what Tom had heard, it had desperately needed serious work only one year previously. All the sash windows appeared new, as did the doors, walls and most of the fixtures and fittings. In fact, Sam had ploughed most of his hard-earned money into making the place habitable. But somehow it had retained its air of aged splendour.
They parked up and the driver was just helping Tom out of the back seat when the huge double red front door opened.
Sam appeared and came outside to greet him.
‘How’s the foot?’ he asked, gesturing at the crutches, which Tom was fiddling with so he could stand up straight.
‘Not bad.’ It was a lie as it was still extremely painful, but Tom had never shown weakness to anyone. He had a vast supply of painkillers that he would most definitely need until the foot began to heal.
They were just about to head inside the hall when an elderly gentleman appeared at the door and walked towards them.
Arthur Harris, the Earl of Cranley, was an older version of his grandson Sam. They shared the same strong chin and tall build, although Sam was much broader and more muscular than the fragile-looking earl.
Sam had confided in Tom that, after the tragedy of losing both their parents, Arthur and his wife Beatrice had taken over guardianship of their grandsons and had done their very best under difficult circumstances. It had been a time of intense grief and Tom knew that the whole family had taken many years to come to terms with their loss.
‘Welcome to Willow Tree Hall,’ said Arthur, in his clipped aristocratic tone. He held out his hand, the other grasping onto his walking stick.
Tom fiddled with his crutches to reach out his own hand so they could finally shake.
‘Wretched things, aren’t they?’ said Arthur, gesturing at the crutches. ‘Got rid of mine a few months ago. I’ve only got this stick for the time being. Hoping my new hip will be fully operational soon.’
‘You just be careful,’ said Sam in a warning tone. ‘We don’t need any more accidents around here.’
‘He’s so bossy,’ said Arthur, giving Tom a wink. ‘And how long before you’re able to get rid of your crutches?’
‘About a week, the doctor said,’ replied Tom.
‘So what do you think of the house?’ asked Sam.
Tom nodded his approval. ‘Pretty amazing.’
‘Isn’t it?’ said Sam, looking back up at his home. ‘Took some doing but we finally made it.’ He laughed. ‘On the outside anyway.’
‘I didn’t think it would be so big,’ said Tom, taking in the whole place.
Having grown up in foster homes, he had been amazed that he even had a friend who could own such a lavish home. Even his expensive flat in London paled into insignificance next to such an elegant mansion.
‘Oh, we’re just your average stately home in the middle of the countryside,’ Arthur told him, smiling. ‘Vast overheads and all.’
‘We’re trying to work on that,’ said Sam, in a pointed tone.
‘Indeed,’ said Arthur, his eyes twinkling. ‘In fact, we’ve even managed to reduce our staff numbers due to the fact that my housekeeper recently left her job.’
Sam and Arthur exchanged a private smile. Tom understood that Annie had actually been the housekeeper but, somewhere along the way, she and Sam had fallen in love and were planning a wedding later in the year.
Feeling awkward at the ease with which the men shared with each other, Tom turned around to look at the quiet grounds surrounding the house. The peace and tranquillity washed over him and he could feel himself beginning to relax. There were definitely worse places in which to spend a few days.
He spotted a couple of builders’ vans parked next to what appeared to be a triple garage. ‘I thought the house was finished?’ he asked.
‘I’m not sure it’ll ever be finished,’ Sam told him with a grimace. ‘Anyway, they’re here to finish up the new recording studio in the barn.’ He pointed to an outbuilding, almost hidden behind some trees in the back of the grounds. ‘My new money-spinning project. It’s almost done,’ Sam carried on. ‘You should see it. State-of-the-art equipment. It’s all there. You must be desperate to carry on working.’
The last thing Tom wanted to think about right now was his yet-to-be-even-started-on album.
Arthur must have spotted something in Tom’s face as he stepped forward to say, ‘I should think the only thing Tom is desperate for right now is a cup of tea and to rest his foot.’
‘That sounds great,’ said Tom, breaking into a grateful smile of thanks.
Following them inside, Tom couldn’t help but stop and stare around the entrance hall. Despite the deep red walls, it was still a light and airy room. A wide, dark oak staircase curved up to the first floor. All along the stairwell were portraits of generations of the Harris family. From the double-heighted ceiling hung a chandelier, glittering in the afternoon sunshine. And when winter arrived, a large fireplace was waiting to be lit.
‘This is one of the few rooms that has actually been finished,’ said Sam, following his friend’s admiring gaze.
‘According to your fiancée, she would have preferred work to start on the kitchen instead,’ said Arthur.
‘It’s next on the list,’ said Sam, grinning. He turned to face Tom. ‘We’ve had to prioritise. It’s been an absolute nightmare, to be honest. We’re a bit behind, thanks to some dodgy builders at the beginning. But at least the drawing room is finished. As is your guest bedroom, you’ll be glad to hear. Actually, it used to be Annie’s. I’m afraid, it might be a bit girly for your taste.’
‘It’ll be fine,’ said Tom.
He had run away from so many foster homes that he had lost count of how many nights he had spent on park benches during his teenage years. So anything with a bed and a roof counted as okay with him.
Sam pointed to a large corridor on the opposite side of the hall. ‘That’s the east wing,’ he said. ‘The kitchen’s down a couple of steps at the end of the corridor if you need it. Just help yourself. But watch out for the uneven tiles with your foot. It’s still a real mess.’
‘Where’s Annie?’ asked Arthur, looking around. ‘She was very keen to meet Tom.’
‘She’s gone into the village,’ Sam told him before turning to Tom. ‘You’ll get to meet her later. How about I get you settled in the drawing room and we’ll get the kettle on.’
They were just heading into the west wing when they nearly crashed into an elegantly dressed old lady rushing out of a nearby room.
‘Darlings, look at this,’ she said to Sam, in an aristocratic tone of voice that sounded much like Arthur’s. She thrust out a letter she was holding. ‘He says he used to work here as an assistant gardener in the late eighties. Wanted to know if I could remember what the white rose was called in the front bed out there!’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Ye Gods, man. I don’t even remember which husband I was married to back then!’
Sam gave her an indulgent smile. ‘This is my Great-Aunt Rose. Aunty, this is Tom.’
She held out a bejewelled hand. ‘Just Rose will do,’ she said, with a naughty wink. ‘Lovely to meet you. So nice to have more young blood in the house. Eh, Arthur? We don’t want it turning into an old people’s home with us elderly folks, do we?’
‘Speak for yourself,’ replied Arthur in a dry tone.
‘Shall we have a little drink to celebrate the arrival of our new house guest?’ asked Rose eagerly.
Arthur’s grey eyebrows shot up. ‘It’s only four o’clock,’ he told her.
‘Yes, but it’s six o’clock in Nairobi and that’s plenty late enough,’ she replied, turning to head back into the room. ‘Come and join us in the drawing room, darling.’
Tom presumed both the ‘darling’ as well as the invitation was for him, so he followed Rose into the first door on the left. It was another large, elegant room painted in soft green, with oak floorboards, comfy-looking sofas and chairs. The large sash windows overlooked the front grounds. There were framed photographs, antique ornaments and candlesticks everywhere. It felt homely, warm and welcoming.
Tom was interested to spot an old record player in a corner with a stack of vinyl LPs next to it. He wondered whom it belonged to. It reminded him of his gran’s little bungalow, where there had always been music playing. He suppressed the pang of hurt that suddenly shot through him.
‘So how long are you planning to be with us?’ asked Rose, heading over to a globe that was on a stand. She lifted the lid and revealed a small drinks cabinet within. ‘Not that there’s any hurry for to you leave.’
‘I’m not sure,’ Tom told her, carefully sitting down on a sofa.
‘Well, we’ve got plenty of room,’ she replied, selecting a bottle of gin. ‘Do come and go as you like. It’s an open-door policy in our home. Especially to my bedroom.’
‘Aunty!’ Sam rolled his eyes. ‘It’s hardly surprising that you went through four husbands.’
‘I’m still hoping for an uneven five,’ she announced, turning to give Tom a wink. ‘And I haven’t had a toy boy since husband number two. The painter.’
‘Yes, and we all remember how well that little adventure turned out,’ drawled Arthur, sitting down next to Tom. ‘It cost me a small fortune to pay the blighter off.’
‘Whatever happened to those nude paintings?’ said Sam with a thoughtful frown.
‘A necessary bonfire,’ said Arthur with a shudder.
They were all so at ease with each other, thought Tom. Despite the generational gap between old and young, they were obviously a really close, loving family. He knew Sam had a younger brother, Will, who was working away in Europe. Sam’s parents were the only ones missing from the happy family set-up. Arthur’s only son and daughter-in-law had been tragically killed when the boys had been young.
A close family was something Tom had never had, apart from his gran. It had been foster homes all the way for him since the age of four. Perhaps that was why he barely trusted anyone. If your own parents didn’t want you, then why would anyone else?
But perhaps he could manage to stay for a few days at Willow Tree Hall. Who knew, maybe the new recording studio might even provide him with some inspiration?
After that, he was certain that he would want to retreat back to his flat in London. He would have had enough of family gatherings by then, no matter how welcoming they were.
They were just a further reminder of everything he had never had in the past and probably never would have.