(1990) Sweet Heart Read Online Free

‘There’s a built-in voltage trip. For some reason the circuit keeps overloading.’
    ‘Seems pretty primitive,’ Tom said.
    ‘Needs rewiring.’
    The first floor landing was lit by two candle bulbs in a gilded sconce on the wall. A pot stand with a dead plant sat in a narrow recess. The floor was on a slant, as was a window with tatty chintz curtains overlooking the rear garden. With the timber beams and low ceiling it felt like being on an old ship.
    ‘Has anyone done a survey?’ Tom asked.
    ‘No. Not yet,’ said Mr Budley, ‘but there’s no problem. Houses like this might tilt a bit but they’re solid as rocks. I’d rather be in a house like this when the bomb drops than in any of the modern ones on our books.’
    The master bedroom reminded Charley of a country house hotel they had once stayed in. It had beamed plaster walls and a huge carved oak bed with a grimy counterpane the colour of parchment. There was a maple wardrobe, a matching dressing table with a silver hairbrush and a comb and crystal bottles caked in dust. The room smelled strongly of rotting fabric and more faintly of musky perfume.
    ‘East,’ Mr Budley said. ‘This room gets the morning sun.’
    ‘Good size,’ Charley said. ‘Plenty of space to build in some fitted cupboards. It’s got a nice feel to it, this room.’ She stared out of the leaded-light window. The view across the lake was stunning.
    ‘Is the furniture going?’ Tom said.
    Mr Budley nodded. ‘If there’s anything you are interested in I’m sure a price could be discussed.’
    Behind them was a tiny door through which even Mr Budley had to duck. ‘The ensuite bathroom is one of the features of the house,’ he said. ‘Wonderful taste, quite what you’d expect of a woman like Nancy Delvine.’
    It was in hideous bright pink with gold-plated taps. There was an unpleasant carbolic stench, and mildew on the carpet.
    ‘Here we have the airing cupboard and the upstairs lavatory. And this is the smallest spare room, ideal for a young child.’ Mr Budley walked on ahead. ‘This one is a much better size,’ he said as he went into a room at the end of the landing. ‘Miss Delvine’s workroom,’ He announced. ‘To think she made garments for royalty actually here in this —’
    His voice stopped suddenly. His eyes darted round at the treadle sewing machine, at the work surface under the window covered in cuttings of fabrics, bits of chalk and a pattern weighted down by large scissors, at the desk with a sketchpad and a vase full of crayons. There were two tailor’s dummies, one bare with ‘Stockman 12’ stencilled on its midriff, the other partly covered in tattered black taffeta. Sketches were pinned haphazardly around the walls. A showcard of a model in a boa-trimmed hat, white gloves and an elegant dress had a large printed caption at the top: ‘CHOSEN BY VOGUE’.
    The room felt cold, icily cold. Charley pulled her jacket around her. A bunch of brown paper pattern cards swung gently on a butcher’s hook hanging from the picture rail.
    ‘This would make a good study, Tom,’ she said. She went to the window. Her eye was drawn to the patch of scrub grass on the bank behind the barn. ‘Were there stables here, Mr Budley?’
    ‘Stables?’ Mr Budley said. ‘No, I — I don’t believe so. You could build some, of course.’ Hurriedly he ushered them out.
    The kitchen was in custard yellow, the ceiling stained uneven ochre with nicotine and the light shade was full of dead flies. There was an Aga. Blackened and ancient in an ugly tiled recess, but an Aga.
    ‘Nice to have breakfast in here,’ Mr Budley said.
    There was a deep enamel sink, a wooden draining board and dreary fitted cupboards. The floor was brick, which Charley liked. A slatted clothes rack was suspended from the ceiling on a pulley and cord system, a ragged tea towel draped over it. She pulled the cord. There was a creak and the rack wobbled precariously.
    ‘Saves you hanging the laundry out