#dellingham cottage

As the four finished their tea, the conversation faltered. Price Flynn was obviously preoccupied, and finally excused himself to visit the facilities.

“I’m not surprised by your visit, mother,” Jack said, once Price had gone. “But I have to admit, I’m shocked to see father here. You must have threatened his life.”

“Oh Jack, your father does care – he’s just not very good at showing it,” Eliza replied. “In fact, you may be even more shocked to learn that our visit was his idea! Maybe he’s making progress?”

Jack shook his head and glanced over at Ted.

“Or, more likely, hell has indeed frozen over,” he said, grinning.

Ted laughed – and Eliza joined him, despite herself.

“I don’t know what it is about you two that makes your relationship so difficult,” she said, finally. “Of course, of all my children, you’re the most like me.”

“That explains a lot,” Jack said, teasing.

“Possibly,” she replied. “I’ve never exactly been fond of playing the dutiful wife.”

“Excuse me,” Jack said, rising. “I think I’ll put the kettle back on for another pot of tea.”

Jack stepped toward the kitchen as Ted made small talk. The meeting could have been a disaster, but, thanks to a combination of his quick thinking and Ted’s natural charm, they’d salvaged it.

As he passed the cellar door in the butler’s pantry, however, he noticed it was open.

Strange, he thought. I don’t remember being down there all weekend.

He gazed down the rickety wooden stairs curiously, and started when he heard his father’s voice.

Jack crept down the stairs quietly to find his father looking around, his phone against his head.

“No, not yet,” he said. “I don’t have much time, so I’ll call you as soon as I can,” he said.

“Father?” Jack asked, and his father spun round, surprised. “May I ask what you’re doing down here?”

“Oh,” the baron said, obviously shaken. “I … well … it occurred to me that we hadn’t had the cottage inspected before signing it over to you, and I was … curious as to … how the foundation was holding up. Seems to be in better shape than I remembered.”

“Thank you, father,” Jack said. “Your concern is appreciated. Why don’t we go back up – I was about to make another pot of tea.”

“Quite right,” Price replied, heading up the stairs.

Jack looked around, still curious, but saw nothing out of place.

He sighed, and followed his father back upstairs.

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“You can take those up to the master bedroom – up the stairs, second door to the right,” Jackson told a mover carrying a large box of belongings.

Surprisingly, the actual move into Dellingham Cottage hadn’t taken more than a couple of hours. Given that he had lived his entire life so far in his parents’ home, Jack’s few personal possessions had easily fit into a small rental truck. Since the house was fully furnished, the boxes were mostly books, electronics and clothes, but he still hired a team of movers to assist.

He stepped back and looked at the cottage. Despite its name, the house was large and sprawling. Though certainly not a mansion, it was more space than he really needed. He planned on living alone for the time being. Even a cleaning lady was out of the question until he was sure his career as an author had taken off – and even then, would likely not be a live-in. Those days were over, he supposed.

“Excuse me,” a voice said from behind him.

Jack turned to find an older gentleman in a suit approaching.

“My name is Meade,” the man said. “Daniel Meade. And I assume you are the owner of this property?”

Jack stuck out a hand.

“Yes, I’m the owner,” he said. “Jackson Flynn.”

“A pleasure, Mr. Flynn,” Meade said. “I know this may seem odd, given that you’re moving in, but I represent an investor who is quite interested in acquiring this property.”

“Excuse me?” Jack asked, surprised. “Someone wants to buy Dellingham Cottage?”

“Indeed,” Meade replied, nodding. “In fact, they’re willing to make a quite generous offer for ….”

Jack held up a hand and interrupted, gently.

“I’m afraid it’s not for sale, Mr. Meade,” he said. “This property has been in my mother’s family for nearly 300 years, so it has great sentimental value to her – and to me.”

“Well, I’m sure we could reach some kind of agreement,” Meade replied. “A lease, perhaps? So you could retain ownership while my client could ….”

“I’m afraid not,” Jack said. “As you noted, I am only just now moving in myself. This is my home now, and I don’t plan on leaving Dellingham anytime soon. I’m sorry, but your client will have to find another property. There is no sum of money that could persuade me to part with this house. It’s part of my family heritage.”

“I understand,” Meade replied. “At least I can report that I made an effort.”

“Certainly,” Jack said, turning to go inside. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get settled in. Good day, Mr. Meade.”

“Good day, Mr. Flynn,” Meade said.

Jack walked into the house, still puzzling over the man’s interest in his home. Certainly, he’d always appreciated the quaint comfort of Dellingham Cottage – but there were far more impressive homes within only a few miles.

“I think this is the last of it, sir,” one of the movers said, approaching. “Anything else you need from us?”

“No, thank you,” Jack replied. “I believe that’s all.”

As the men left, Jack walked into the parlor and collapsed onto the sofa, stretching. Despite the ease of the move, it had already been a stressful day.

“Welcome home,” he said aloud to himself, looking about.

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