Diana sat at the desk and stared out of the window. Scattered in front of her were all the photographs of her early life. Boskenna had kept them safe. They were not faded or water damaged, but had been waiting. The question now was what to do with Boskenna? In her heart she didn’t think that George would last long without her mother. His role was finished, he was no longer anchored to this earth.

Outside, Lottie and Alex were walking hand in hand, their heads close together and conspiratorial. Love, quite possibly. Memories of that feeling stirred. Arash. What would he have done?

Playing with her mother’s enamelled locket around her neck, she stood and studied the books on the shelves, the gardening tomes and the photographs of Lottie. Although her heart ached for Arash and the missed years with her daughter, Diana had time, unlike her mother. Both she and Diana had travelled the world searching for something, but her mother had willingly come home to Boskenna. It had called to her. Was that what Diana’s dreams had been doing?

Leaving the office, she walked through the house, wandering from room to room. She had loved it once. Could she now? George’s snores drifted into the hallway. She smiled, looking at her watch. It was not like him to have missed cocktail hour. Turning, she strolled into the dining room. If she wanted to, she would have time to look at, if not read, every one of these books. What would they tell her about the people who had placed them here? She ran her fingers over the titles but didn’t pull any off the shelves. Her glance was drawn to the far staircase. Somehow, she was certain this had been her favourite spot in the house as a child. She climbed to the halfway landing and looked up at the lantern light. The sky was blue and cloudless. Sitting on the step, she remembered she’d been happy here.

Lottie’s voice carried through the house as she spoke to George and Alex. It was tinged with joy. This was a place of magic, Diana’s father had told her years before. Closing her eyes, she saw her mother dancing in her father’s arms laughing. Love encircled her. It was time to stop running. She stood, looked heavenward, and said a silent thank you before she walked to find the others.

In the drawing room, she lifted the piano lid and touched the keys. She hadn’t played piano since she’d left, but now her fingers moved of their own accord, picking out ‘Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star’. She would learn again, and she would play a new song. Closing the lid, she walked out of the French windows to join the others on the lawn. Alex was opening a bottle of champagne. The time had come to raise a toast to her mother and to Boskenna, her home.

Acknowledgements

Acknowledgements