‘Then it’s good that I’ve got all three of those things, isn’t it?’ Chance felt happier at that moment and had decided to press ahead, but when he’d first seen it in reality, he’d definitely had some doubts.
Now, as he looked at the pale rose-white façade, toned down several shades from the eye-piercing pink of old, an immense sense of pride soared through him. Even his buddy Phil couldn’t believe the transformation. Phil had been right though; the place had taken a lot of time, effort and money to bring out its true potential.
Chance, along with a team of plasterers, carpenters, electricians and plumbers, most of whom were friends of his or Terry’s, had virtually gutted the place.
All the old plaster had been removed from the internal walls, the damp treated, and the walls replastered. The external walls had been repaired, the brickwork repointed where necessary, and the façade repainted.
Ceilings, which were either falling down or covered in polystyrene tiles, swirls of Artex or even psychedelic artwork, had been repaired, replastered or replaced.
The old kitchen had been ripped out, along with the ground floor bathroom, and an extension with a glass roof and vaulted ceiling had been added. Top of the range kitchen furniture in a pale grey, and luxury fittings and appliances had been installed, together with a boiling water tap. The floor had been levelled, concreted, and covered with dark grey, polished Travertine tiles.
Elsewhere, in the small hall, and the sitting and dining rooms, the oak floorboards had been sanded and polished.
Upstairs, one of the four bedrooms had been converted into a luxury bathroom with pristine white, high-end design furniture and fittings. A free-standing bath, a spacious walk-in shower, and a raised toilet and vanity and sink unit gleamed on the marble tiled floor.
The remaining three bedrooms and the hall, together with the stairs would be carpeted with an expensive wool blend, but Chance hadn’t yet decided on a colour. All the internal doors were painted in a pale ivory satinwood.
The cottage had been rewired and all the ancient light fittings replaced but at the moment, only bulbs hung from the wires. Chance was good at all things connected with building works but interior design left him cold.
When the majority of the refurbishment work was completed, he’d shown his mum around and asked if she had any ideas, but frankly, Vicky Warren was as bad as her son and now he was starting to get anxious. He was running out of time. It was the eighteenth of December and he had just under two weeks to get the place ready in time for New Year’s Eve. He couldn’t miss that deadline.
‘You could paint everything off-white to match the doors,’ Vicky had suggested.
‘It’s pale ivory, Mum,’ he’d replied.
Ignoring him, Vicky continued: ‘And the crystal chandeliers we’ve got in our house would look nice. Although the ceilings here are lower, aren’t they? But they’d be fine in the vaulted ceiling of the kitchen extension.’
Vicky had always referred to her house as ‘our house’ even though Chance didn’t live with her but with his father in the States. Chance loved that fact – although he didn’t love the chandeliers. They were about as ‘crystal’ as he was. But acrylic chandeliers didn’t have the same ‘ring’ to them; he fully appreciated that.
‘I think chandeliers might be a bit out of place in a cottage, Mum. But I’ll give it some thought.’
‘You know who you need, don’t you?’ Vicky said, as they left the cottage and walked the few steps to his car.
‘Who?’
She grinned at him. ‘Molly Ford!’
Of course. Why hadn’t he thought of that? Molly was an interior designer. She even had her own business. But there was only one problem. She lived in Bristol.
‘I don’t know why I didn’t think of her.’ Chance shook his head and laughed. ‘I wonder if she’ll be coming to stay with Terry this Christmas. If not, I suppose we might be able to do something over the internet. I could upload photos and she could upload her design suggestions. I’ll nip round to Terry’s this evening and ask if he thinks she’d be up for that.’
Vicky smiled. ‘There, you see. I told you I could help.’
Chance gently wrapped an arm around her shoulder and gave her a loving smile.
‘And you’ve done so much more than you can imagine. Thanks, Mum. Now let’s get you home in the warm and out of this snow. You need to rest.’
‘Pah!’ Vicky tutted. ‘I’ll rest when I’m dead. It’s Christmas, darling, and if this is my last one, I want it to be the best Christmas it can be. And this cottage is part of that. You finally moving back here is a dream come true for me.’
‘It won’t be your last.’
He hadn’t meant to snap but he couldn’t bear to think of that.
‘Maybe, or maybe not. We’ll have to wait and see. But I don’t want you worrying about me, you hear? I want you to have fun this Christmas. I want to see that gorgeous smile of yours, and hear that melodic laugh. You’ve already changed all your plans for me. You should be spending Christmas with Jolene, skiing in Vermont and staying with her parents. Instead you’re here, putting the finishing touches to this wonderful cottage that you’ve spent the last few weeks doing up, just so that you could spend time with me. I adore you for that. Well, I adore you anyway, but more so for giving up so much for me.’
‘I haven’t given up anything. I wanted to be here with you. And Jolene and I will have every Christmas together for the rest of our lives, so one doesn’t matter.’
Vicky hesitated. ‘You’re certain she’s The One, then?’
Was he?
Was he really certain of anything right now?
Other than that he had wanted to move back to England and to live near his mum and to make her happier than she’d been for a long time. He wanted her to have the opportunity to be at his wedding. That was something she often told him she dreamt of. Something she wanted more than anything. To see him settled and happy and married to the perfect woman.
Jolene was definitely that. She was almost too perfect. Sometimes he looked at her porcelain complexion and realised he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her without make-up. Although the make-up Jolene wore made it seem as if she wasn’t wearing any. That’s how perfect it was.
And she was the perfect girlfriend. Beautiful, intelligent, loving and kind. He only had to ask and Jolene would fulfil his every need. When he’d said he intended to move back to the UK for the foreseeable future so that he could spend more time with his mum, Jolene hadn’t batted an eyelid. She’d offered to come with him, or not – whatever he wanted she would do, she’d said.
That was when the idea struck him. Perhaps he should propose? Why not? They’d been dating for about a year. They were happy. He hadn’t intended to ask her to move in with him in New York, but if he moved back to Easterhill, he couldn’t expect her to join him there, but to have to find a place of her own to live.
When his mum had mentioned that Wishing Well Cottage, the former home of someone she had known, was on the market, he hadn’t hesitated for a second. He’d looked at the place online, made an offer, and instructed solicitors that day.
He’d told Jolene some of his plans that night and she’d seemed pleased for him. When he’d mentioned that he’d be happy if she’d like to come over to the UK and stay with him, she’d told him she’d like nothing more. She had savings and she’d always wanted to visit the UK. She hadn’t asked on what basis she’d be joining him. She hadn’t mentioned a visa. Perhaps she’d thought he only intended for them to stay in England for a while. He had been born in the UK, to an English mother and an American father, so he had dual nationality. If Jolene wanted to remain in England for more than six months, she would need a visa. She hadn’t even asked where they’d be living, and she hadn’t yet seen Wishing Well Cottage.