The changeling

“I don’t think there will be any difficulty,” she said. “Your grandfather and I want to give you the house as a wedding present, but there will be some argument for I happen to know the Pencarrons want to do the same.”

“How lucky we are! We do realize it, Granny. How many people about to get married have such lovely generous grandparents arguing over who is going to give them the most wonderful house in the world?”

“We are all so happy,” she said. “Because we are going to have you close to us for the rest of our lives.”

There was no talk of anything but the house. On the following Saturday Jean Pascal was invited to lunch. The Stennings were also invited. They talked a great deal about their imminent departure. Pedrek, with his grandparents, was present. “I hope you will find the perfect place in Dorchester,” said my grandmother to the Stennings. “I hear it is a beautiful town.”

“We shall not be far from the sea, as we have been here. And we have been so happy in Cornwall, haven’t we, Philip?”

Mr. Stenning agreed that they had.

Pedrek and I exchanged glances throughout the meal. Marriage seemed so much closer now that we had a home in view.

After luncheon, when we were taking coffee in the drawing room, Jean Pascal talked to Pedrek and me.

“It’s not easy to assess a house when people are living in it. As soon as the Stennings leave you must come over.”

“Which pieces of furniture belong to your family?” I asked.

“Some rather heavy stuff. There is a fine old four poster bed which my parents would have liked to move, but it is rather ancient and they were not sure how it would stand up to the journey, so they left it. There are one or two heavy cabinets. Not a great deal. You must come over and see it. When they have gone we’ll make an appointment.”

“That will be wonderful.”

When our guests had gone we were still discussing the house. It had been agreed that the grandparents would buy it between them and it should be a joint present from the four of them.

I said: “We are so lucky.”

“Nothing but what you deserve, my dear,” said Mr. Pencarron. “Mind you ... it’s got to be right. I’m still suspicious of these old places. There are some who think that a ghost or two make up for a leaking roof and crumbling walls. That’s not my idea.”

“There may be some repairs needed,” said my grandfather.

“We’ll get someone down to look at it.”

“As soon as the Stennings have left we can give the place a real overhaul,” said my grandmother.

In the middle of the following week, I left the house in the afternoon to take a short ride. As I rode out of the stables I met Jean Pascal. “Hello,” he said. “I know you often take a solitary ride at this time and I hoped I’d meet you.”

“Why ... has something happened?” I asked in alarm.

“Only this pleasant encounter.”

“I thought perhaps you had come over with some news.”

“Actually I came over in the hope of seeing you.”

“Because ...”

“Because it seemed a good idea. Look. You are going for a ride. Why don’t I accompany you? We could talk as we go.”

“Then there is something. Is it about the house?”

“There is a lot to talk about on the subject, is there not? But there are other things.”

“Such as ...?”

“General conversation. I always think it is amusing to let that take its own course.”

“How do you mean?”

“Let it flow ... let it come naturally.”

“Where shall we go?”

“Not to High Tor. I believe you go there frequently. I mean you ride close by. Mrs.

Stenning says she sees you.”

I felt a little uncomfortable that my naive excitement about the house had been noticed.

“I am hoping, of course, that everything will go through satisfactorily,” I said.

”I should feel the same myself. It will be your new home.”

“Mr. Pencarron wants to have a surveyor to look at it. I hope you won’t mind.”

“No ... no. I admire him. It is a wise thing to do. Who knows: the old mansion might be ready to crumble about your ears?”

“Oh, I don’t think that.”

“Nor do I. But Mr. Pencarron is a business man. He does not go out and say, ‘This is a pretty house. I will buy it for my grandson and his wife-to-be.’ That I admire. He is a realist.”

“And that is a quality you admire very much.”

“It is wisdom. Romance, oh, that is beautiful, but the wise man, the realist, he says it is beautiful while it lasts... whereas a house must endure ... it must not be blown away by the first strong wind.”

“I’m glad you don’t mind Mr. Pencarron taking advice. I thought you might be offended.”

“Certainly not. I understand. There is much I understand.”

“I am sure you are very wise.”

I spurred up my horse and we cantered across a field. We looked down at the sea.

“Do you ever feel nostalgic for France?” I asked.