A House With A View

A House With A View

At the curve of the staircase, Alastair turned to look at the surging throng below, his eyes scanning for his wife of two hours. Eventually, he spied her, a radiant splash of light surrounded by a host of paparazzi, lenses aimed from every angle and elevation, journalists hurling questions at this icon of the fashion world, hoping for that special photo, that bon mot that would elicit their editor’s grudging approval.

‘What did I do to win that bird-of-Paradise, Jonjo? I feel like Cinderella at the ball, afraid my glass coach will turn into a pumpkin at any moment.’ He grinned at his best man and fellow architect.

‘You certainly are a lucky dog, Al. If I’d met her first, I’d have given you a run for your money.’

‘Hands off! You’ve a bird of your own and a lovely one at that.’

‘You’d better go and change, mate; you’ve a long drive ahead. I’ll rescue the embattled princess; she needs to change too. I can’t see your Gorgeous Gwenda crushing that fabulous gown into your motor.’

Within the hour, the newlyweds were heading out of London towards a mystery destination only Alastair and Jonjo knew about. Gwenda had no idea where she’d spend her honeymoon; all she’d said was, it must be somewhere quiet where she could escape the constant attention she invariably attracted.

As they passed the turning to Heathrow, she turned to face him.

‘No need for my passport then? Or are we heading for a sea port?’

‘Prepare yourself for a long drive, darling. I hope we’ll make it by sunset; the sunset is our immediate goal. Why not settle down for a snooze. We’ll stop for petrol and a drink. I’m sure you’d like some peace and quiet after all that pandemonium.’

It was several hours before Alastair turned off the main road onto a single-track lane heading west. The sun was already low in the sky and, by their speed, Gwenda guessed it would be a close-run thing. The countryside was deserted: no villages, no cottages. She wondered if they’d be camping. It wasn’t a prospect she savoured; she was used to first class travel and five-star hotels.

Suddenly, she smelt the salt of the sea and could hear the screech of herring gulls as they swooped across the sky, disappearing below the horizon just ahead. She noticed a small building at what must be the cliff top; it wasn’t large enough to be a house. The car stopped in front of this shack and Alastair took a gizmo from his pocket, pressed a button and the front wall opened to reveal a large empty garage.

‘Hmm,’ was all she said but it conveyed her deep disappointment.

‘Have faith, darling. A magic castle will appear at the wave of my wand. Best hurry if we’re to catch the sunset. Leave everything in the car; we’ll collect it later.’

He escorted her to a door at the back, a lift door. They descended fifty feet and emerged into a large room flooded with light from the setting sun; the entire western wall was glass with a narrow balcony beyond.

‘I was afraid we wouldn’t make it in time.’ Alastair said, opening a pair of French doors. He muttered something over his shoulder, but she’d turned away to fling her bag and jacket onto the sofa. She followed, closing the doors behind her. It was one of the most spectacular sunsets she’d ever seen, a deep red orb dropping into the sea, trailing a skyful of red, orange and gold in its wake. They stood close together, immersed in the beauty of the evening. Soon, a sliver of moon popped out of the gloaming; later, that too vanished into the sea.

The house nestled against the cliff face. Twenty feet below, waves crashed on rocks, providing a dramatic soundtrack to a magical scene. Neither spoke; words seemed out of place in this timeless cocoon. Much, much later, Gwenda’s questions demanded answers.

‘Where is this, Alastair? How did you find it? I said secluded but had no idea you’d find somewhere this secluded. There isn’t a soul in sight, only seagulls!’

‘I designed it. I was commissioned to design a retreat by a writer who needs peace when he’s writing. He’s away for a couple of months, so I’ve borrowed it for our honeymoon. Let’s say I’m doing an on-site inspection, making sure everything’s OK. We’ve saved a packet too; renting somewhere like this would have cost a fortune.’

‘But is that pukka, Al? I mean, it’s not really yours, is it?’

‘Well, I haven’t handed over to Geoff Stringer yet. He’ll be here in a month; till then, I’m staying while I compile the defects list. Don’t worry, Geoff won’t make a fuss. In fact, he’ll be chuffed that you’ve graced his new home.’

‘Hmm. Well, as we’re here, why not show me the house? I presume there’s more than just the room behind us.’

Alastair slipped past his wife and reached for the door handle.

‘Why did you close the door, Gwenda? I said to leave it open.’ He tried the handle but though it moved, the door didn’t open. ‘Blast! I told you not to close the thing; I knew this catch was faulty.’ There was more than a little irritation in his tone.

‘I didn’t hear, Al. What’s wrong? Why don’t you just break the glass?’

‘It’s toughened, designed to withstand the storms this coast is famous for; I’d need a sledgehammer. Do you have your phone? Mine’s in the car.’

Gwenda could see her handbag lying where she’d flung it. It was crazy to think that this thin sheet of glass was preventing them from seeking the warmth and safety of the house. Now, their seclusion could prove a real problem, especially as she already felt a chill in the breeze wafting up from the sea.

Frances Aitken