A Year at Meadowbrook Manor - Faith Bleasdale

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always had some plan to find animals which usually involved either climbing trees, looking in hedges or jumping into the lake. Harriet usually got roped into carrying his equipment around, nets, ropes, binoculars, cameras. She was his packhorse. But back then Harriet had been happy to trail around in wellies with him. Having so much land around Meadowbrook meant that they had enjoyed an almost feral childhood. Although of course they also had the best of everything, they were encouraged to explore the outdoors, running through fields, paddling in the lake, climbing trees; it was incredible, but a different world to corporate Harriet. Almost as if it had happened to someone else. Although Connor was clearly still living that life. Whereas for her, in New York, jogging in Central Park was as outdoorsy as she got these days.

      ‘Yes, Gwen “Spielberg” White, we certainly did,’ she joked, hoping to cover up how unsettled she felt.

      ‘Oh, Mum, was your filming that bad?’ Connor asked, lips curled up in amusement.

      ‘It certainly was not. Well, not for my first time,’ Gwen replied, giving her son a swat on the head. ‘Although I don’t know if I’ve got a future in it, to be honest.’ She smiled.

      ‘I don’t think the quality of the filming is the debate we’ll be having later,’ Harriet said. Gwen looked a little embarrassed. ‘Gwen, we’re going to have dinner together to discuss it, is that all right?’

      ‘Of course, I’ve got a roast on for you all, I thought you might need fortifying. What time do you want to eat?’

      ‘About seven-thirty? I think tonight we need to chat about what we are going to do.’

      ‘Quite right,’ Gwen said. ‘You’ve got decisions to make.’

      ‘We do. Big decisions.’ Harriet’s eyes narrowed.

      ‘I know it’s none of my business,’ Connor said. ‘But it must seem quite ridiculous at the moment.’

      ‘Yes, and as it involves the animal sanctuary it is your business. But it’s surreal. I heard Dad talk about his animals but I didn’t really give it too much thought,’ she said, pointing an accusing finger at Connor. ‘I guess we also need to have a conversation about the sanctuary, I know it’s your baby.’

      Connor’s eyes lit up. ‘Yes, it is my baby and Andrew’s too. It’s something I’d always wanted to do, and well, Andrew had the land, so when he got involved it was wonderful. He loved it, Harry, he really did, but I’m not going to give you the hard sell. It’s important, not just to your father’s memory, but you’ll see that for yourself. When you’re ready.’ His eyes were full of passion, which only fuelled her guilt.

      ‘Right, I might go for a bath before supper, I’ve got so much to think about,’ Harriet said, leaving the warmth of the kitchen. She needed to clear her head, after the brandy and the pre-will, or whatever it was called, and, fingers crossed, a relaxing bath would help.

       Chapter 6

      Harriet lay back, closed her eyes and relaxed in the hot bubble bath. She felt her muscles all easing as she let herself luxuriate in the hot water. This was another unusual step for her, taking a bath rather than a super quick shower. In New York her apartment didn’t have a bath, she was constantly rushing, she had forgotten how to go slowly, but Meadowbrook seemed to be gently reminding her. And as she thought about her father, and his will, her siblings and the decisions facing them all, she enjoyed the hot water and the feeling of being still.

      Only when she was about to turn into a prune did she get out and change for dinner. She had only a limited wardrobe of clothes with her, after all she expected to only be home for a week or so, but she pulled on a pair of black trousers and a cashmere sweater. She was a little anxious for the evening ahead, it was going to be a difficult discussion, and she had a feeling that she would be terribly unpopular when she told them that she couldn’t possibly do as their father wanted. Of course she couldn’t. Her father was right in so many ways. Her work life was great, her personal one pretty dire, but he didn’t understand how much she had invested in New York. She couldn’t give that up, it just wasn’t possible.

      Freddie was mixing drinks when she entered the drawing room. This was her father’s favourite room, it was huge, with three custom-made sofas, a smattering of upholstered armchairs, a huge open fire, and floor-to-ceiling windows which looked out onto the small lawn that edged the drive. It used to have a grand piano in it. She remembered how when they were young the siblings would sit on the piano stool and bash the keys. But it was her mother’s, and her father had got rid of it after she died. He couldn’t bear to have it in the house and none of them had ever been encouraged to take piano lessons. A bit like with Gus’s art, her father had obviously found it too hard.

      ‘Hey,’ she said to Freddie. He smiled. He was too thin, she decided. Fred had always been tall, slender, but his cheekbones jutted out just a bit too much now. Perhaps she would ask Gwen to feed him up. She’d love that.

      ‘Vodka Martini?’ he asked.

      ‘Bloody hell, Fred, that’s brutal,’ she said as she took a sip of the glass he handed her. As the alcohol slipped down, she felt calmer, despite the fact that on sip two she would possibly be drunk. ‘But you definitely know how to mix your drinks.’

      ‘It’s one of my limited skill set. Dad, when I visited, said I made the best Martini and we’d sit and drink two, only two, together before dinner. It was our way of bonding.’

      ‘Did you get home much?’ Harriet felt the swords of guilt stabbing her again. All her siblings were here in their own way, for their father.

      ‘Lately yes. I liked to get away from London.’ Freddie’s face darkened. ‘So I spent a bit of time here. You know, I think that’s part of the reason for the weird video-will thing. He worried about us, I know he worried about me.’

      ‘Did he need to worry about you?’ Harriet asked evenly. He shrugged. ‘I miss him,’ she said, feeling an urgent need to think about her dad, to talk about him.

      ‘I do too. God, remember growing up? He used to push us, sometimes I felt he was unreasonably hard, other times I felt we, or at least I, needed it. He told me that my job wasn’t a job but an extended party. He kept waiting for me to realise that and find something grown-up to do. His favourite thing to do was to be my career counsellor.’ Freddie gave a dry laugh.

      ‘Annoying.’

      ‘Yes, but I would give anything to be annoyed by him right now.’ Tears shone in Freddie’s eyes.

      Gus walked in, downcast, which seemed to be his usual state these days. Harriet wished she could hug him, but they didn’t have that relationship, or not right now, but when they were younger, they had been so close that they were practically joined at the hip. Especially after losing their mother, when they both felt as if they needed to take care of the younger ones. But when Harriet was sent to school it changed. When she came home in the holidays there was a distance between her and Gus which they tried hard not to notice. A distance with all of them which had never fully recovered.

      Gus had married his university girlfriend, Rachel, when she got pregnant with Fleur at twenty-two, a shotgun wedding hastily arranged, so the distance between brother and sister had increased. They worked hard to maintain some kind of relationship, but Harriet didn’t get on with Rachel, or actually vice versa. So they drifted more and when Harriet moved to New York, their contact was limited to emails. She sent gifts for Fleur of course, but Harriet had been about as bad a sister and aunt as she had a daughter.

      But when had Gus got so dour? He was never quite as laid-back as Freddie – no one bar a recliner chair was – however, he didn’t used to be this uptight either.

      ‘I know, new resolution, whatever we decide about Dad’s crazy will, I want us to behave like a family again,’ Harriet said, feeling a sudden urgency for her family.

      ‘I’ll

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