'In and out.' I nodded with a sense of finality as I twisted the handle and pushed open the door revealing …
'Oh. My. God.'
Chapter Four
I died the moment I opened the door to the forbidden room. Surely I was standing in heaven, in the presence of all that was sacred and holy?
This wasn't Grandad's study, or a torture chamber, and certainly not an umbrella storage room. It was so much more exciting than those things, and so incredibly unexpected. And it had been sitting here all this time, mere feet away from my own door.
Why hadn't I ventured in sooner?
Before me was a giant room lined with powder-blue moulded cabinetry that hosted a mass of shelves and drawers with gold handles, lit by an ornate chandelier. Floor-to-ceiling shelves were filled with vintage designer handbags on the right and, to the left, shoes of every colour. The space was divided by a gold filigree full-length mirror that reflected my wide eyes and gaping mouth. Without blinking, without breathing, I stepped forward, anchoring myself to the gorgeous island bench in the centre of the room, under the chandelier. The top of the island was made entirely of glass, protecting an array of impressive earrings, bracelets, accessories of the most spectacular fashion, from dust. I shook my head, moving to the back of the room, running my hands over the opulent fabrics that hung along the wall.
Chanel, Burberry, Vuitton, Saint Laurent. Why wasn't this room protected by laser security? Why wasn't it temperature controlled with an eye retina scanner for access? My heart thundered in my chest. A lifetime's worth of the most beautiful designer brands, whose value I couldn't bear to think about, shut away on the second floor and forgotten. I felt like I had won a golden ticket into the chocolate factory. I wanted to spin around and sing, and I just might have if I hadn't been so terrified of knocking into something. Double doors in the middle of the wall caught my attention; would it lead to more clothes? My heart couldn't take much more. I grabbed both handles, surprised when they turned easily. It wasn't even locked! How could this woman be so wary about the dangers of the world and yet have such valuable treasures unguarded? Drawing in a deep, steadying breath, I pushed my way through.
'Wow!'
The doors led to a bedroom, large and chic with a beautiful dressing table lined with perfumes and powders, lipsticks and a gorgeous silver hand-held mirror and brush set.
This must have been Joy's room before she moved downstairs. The room was white and bright even though I hadn't turned on the light. The carpet was thick and plush underfoot, and there wasn't a thing out of place; it felt like a kind of time capsule, and for a moment I felt a sense of appreciation for my nana and her glamorous past life. So this was where I had inherited my love of beautiful things from. Mum and Dad were not in the least bit materialistic and had always frowned upon my appetite for the finer things in life; well, now it all made sense. I was the descendant of Joy Ellingham, and for the first time in my life I was excited about it.
After combing every square inch of Nana's collection, I found not one but five umbrellas. I had told myself to make good use of my time, seeing as it would be the one and only time I would come in here. But I had lost two full hours in the throes of euphoria, so my exploration time was now limited.
'Shit.'
I had to be back long before Vera and Joy to escape suspicion, which left barely two hours for my trip out. Besides, I had an idea, one I felt rather giddy about and one that I would sit down and draw up as soon as I was free from confinement.
I headed down Gloucester Road and straight into the path of the Stanhope Arms hotel, which was bustling with men lingering out front, downing a swift pint with mates. I took down my bright yellow umbrella as I brushed past the group to an even more crowded space inside. I was ready to go back out the door when I was pounced on by a cheery waitress.
'Lunch?'
I wasn't going to deny that my main draw to the pub was the blackboard out front, which promised the best traditional fish 'n' chips in town. I smiled, taking the menu from her, and quickly located the very thing that had my tummy grumbling in reply.
The nation's favourite dish! Chunky, hand-battered cod fillet, served with the traditional British accompaniments of chips, choice of mushy or garden peas, Haywards™ pickled onions, bread and butter, curry sauce and tartare sauce. SOLD!
'Yes, please,' I said, clutching on to the menu for dear life.
'How many?'
'Oh, ah, just one.'
If the waitress thought me tragic then she didn't show it; instead, she perused the cramped space for a spare table for a lone, sad diner. Just as I was ready to hand the menu back she stood on her toes to look over the crowd before spinning back so fast her ponytail nearly blinded me.