Before I continue with further words, I thought it only polite to introduce myself. My name is Faith Bretherick and I have decided to give up on trying to get anywhere with agents and publishers. I am confident that I am never going to get my humorous novel published (maybe as it's not that good, I am under no illusions); so rather than let my 68,000 words sit gathering dust, I thought I may as well stick them in a blog and see what the reaction is.
I hope it might raise the odd smile anyhow.
So now, on with the story....
“I’ll be off now then, Mrs L-K. I think I’ve got the stain out of the carpet in the east wing en-suite but I’ll check on it tomorrow when I change the floral display.” Mrs Tremble had an unexpected gift in floral artistry and had in fact been approached by the local Women’s Group in order to promulgate her skills, but she declined being a very reserved character, and because she had had a falling out with the Treasurer over a very personal matter some years before.
“Thank you Mrs Tremble. I may be at Follicles having a manicure and exfoliation and possibly a Japanese seaweed massage tomorrow, but Cook will be here early to make a start on preparations for my Bavarian evening. Perhaps you two could have a chat and get things under way.” Mrs Tremble’s heart sank. She could already picture frankfurters jammed amusingly into the chandeliers and the beer stains on that hideous Chinese silk rug in the large drawing room. Still, she had no time to linger as she very much wanted to get Denholm (her Dachshund) to the vet before his skin condition deteriorated any further.
Hake Hall was an imposing pile, parts of which dated back to Elizabethan times. Its elegant frontage was largely symmetrical with broad stone steps sweeping up to the great glazed oak doors in the centre. The high stone mullioned windows were partly obscured by a vast and ancient wisteria which was now almost part of the building. Various later red brick additions were for the most part hidden from initial view and in all, the building conveyed an impression of effortless grace and tranquility.
The large gravelled arc at the end of the drive to the front was neatly edged with thick, square-cut hornbeam hedging, with acres of undulating lawns on either side. An ancient yew tree stood imposingly in the distance, as did several other magnificent specimens, giving a marvellous sense of balance to the view. Topiary bushes followed the line of the drive but with their increasingly vague definition did give the impression of being over-ambitious. Ron Tremble, whose responsibility such matters were, was not renowned for his horticultural artistry and could only really relate to clean, straight lines and right-angles. He was not deft with shears.
To the left of Hake Hall a high, wide stone arch within the remains of an old, weathered garden wall masked the entrance to the garage block which retained many features dating back to its original use as the coach–house. The clock in the bell-tower remained remarkably accurate; the rather too ebullient chimes had been disabled some years previously.
Helena Ruby Tremble glanced absent-mindedly up at the clock before setting off at a brisk pace down the length of the drive to reach the Lodge, which was available to her and her husband in their roles as housekeeper and groundsman. It took about five minutes to walk the distance and even in her haste, Helena Ruby noticed that the simple iron fencing which ran down either side of the drive was in considerable need of repair and repainting, and imagined the almighty complaining from Ron which this observation would elicit.