Restoring Grace

Chapter One " It's a lovely house, thought Ellie. Perfect proportions. Probably Georgian, Queen Anne, something like that." There were five sets of small-paned sash windows in the house and a couple of dormers in the roof. The front door had a fanlight above it and a neat path led up to the jasmine-covered porch. Looks just like a doll's house, she thought, and then laughed at herself: doll's houses were built to look like real houses, not the other way round. The high walls which enclosed the garden were of fine grey stone and, peering through the gate, she saw carefully pruned fruit trees interspersed with something less formal, possibly roses, growing up them. A large patch of fragile mauve crocuses broke up the green of the lawn and there were clumps of daffodils lining the path. It was a perfect time, and although the details of the flowers weren't really important from Ellie's point of view, the house looked utterly charming, despite the icy wind. She put down her bag and inspected the gate. It looked sturdy enough, and she put her foot in the gap between the posts, trusting it would take her weight, and hauled herself up for a better view. Propped against a stone pillar, one of a pair that framed the gate, she could see the house in its entirety. It was what estate agents would call a gem. It looked empty, but there could easily be someone observing her from behind one of the windows which glinted so symmetrically back at her. Hoping fervently that there wasn't anybody looking, it would be so embarrassing, humiliating even, she jumped down. Then she remembered, and wondered whether, in the circumstances, she ought to have jumped. Sighing, she fished her camera out of her bag and climbed back up to her vantage point. She adjusted the shutter speed and aperture, and fiddled with the focus, wishing she had more up-to-date equipment which would do these things for her. It wasn't as if she was a photographer, after all. She just wanted a picture of the house. She took several shots, got back down to ground level and put the camera back in her bulging raffia bag. Then she took out her nose-stud, which was tiny and silver but could still appear threatening to certain sorts of people, removed two of her earrings (leaving only a single pair), and tweaked at her clothes and hair. It was important to appear respectab≤ owners of Georgian rectories tended to be on the conventional side. As she tucked a strand of scarlet hair under her bandanna, she realised she had no real idea of the effect of her fiddling: she could be making herself look like a tepee-dwelling New-Age traveller, or the doorstep equivalent of a secondhand car salesman. However, she put her shoulders back, picked up her bag and opened the gate. This was the brave bit. The owners of such a house must be affluent, she thought, determined to be positive. She just hoped they didn't have dogs. "Not that I don't like dogs," Ellie muttered, in case they did have dogs and they were listening. "I just don't want to be bounced on, not just now." But no dogs came bounding up, plunging their friendly but forceful paws into her stomach (as had happened in the last place), and she made it to the front door unmuddied and able to breathe normally. Then she took a deep breath and pulled hard at the knob which protruded from the stone door jamb, hoping it was attached to something. It jangled encouragingly, but waiting for the door to be opened was always the worst part. She ran her tongue round the inside of her mouth so it wasn't dry, and her lips wouldn't get caught on her teeth when she stopped smiling. Then she relaxed her mouth so she couldFforde, Katie is the author of 'Restoring Grace', published 2006 under ISBN 9780312358778 and ISBN 0312358776.