Wickham Hall, Part 2 Read Online Free PDF Page B

some unseen titbit at the river’s edge while Ben went to reception to get directions.
    â€˜Do you think that might be him, by any chance?’ Benedict murmured, nodding towards a man who had appeared from a doorway, a large camera hanging from around his neck.
    The man extended a hand and darted forward, arms wide. ‘Welcome, welcome. This is a pleasure, I must say.’
    Steve Selby was a wiry, energetic sort with a trimmed silver beard and grey hair tied back roughly in a ponytail.Pale blue eyes shone out from a tanned and leathery face. He looked the sort who might spend his free time running up and down muddy hills for the sheer hell of it.
    Ben shook his hand. ‘It’s kind of you to see us at short notice, Steve; and please call me Benedict.’
    Ben introduced me and Steve led us into a photographic studio.
    It was a large white space with black-out blinds at the windows. An oversized roll of red paper was fixed to one wall and flowed down to the polished concrete floor to form a backdrop and more rolls in every shade from lavender to lime were stacked on their ends on one corner. A tall workbench lined one wall and tripods, lights, silver umbrellas and a wind machine took up much of the floor space. Ben was entranced and I could tell that he was itching to pick up a camera and start playing around.
    â€˜Your students are lucky kids, Steve,’ he said with a whistle. ‘This is better than professional studios in London.’
    Steve grinned and folded his arms across his chest. ‘You’re telling me. And it’s a damn sight better than the cubbyhole I used to work in at the
Wickham and Hoxley News
, too. So you mentioned you had some old editions?’
    Steve gestured for us to sit at a small white table and we each pulled out an orange chair and sat down while he fetched us all coffee from a machine. Ben explained about this year being his parents’ thirtieth at the hall and his idea of doing a photographic exhibition to commemorate their achievements at this year’s festival.
    â€˜As I mentioned on the phone, I’ve got CDs of photographic images dating from 1990, which I’ve brought with me, but it’s those earlier years I was having trouble with. According to the newspaper, you were the photographer then.’
    â€˜The Summer Festival was one of my favourite jobs.’ Steve sat back in his chair and gazed up at the ceiling. ‘Always such a good atmosphere. I’d have only been early twenties when your parents first arrived in 1984. I’d photographed the festival the year before, but, I dunno,’ he shrugged and smiled at Ben, ‘there was a new buzz about it. No disrespect to the previous Lord Fortescue, your grandfather, but it was great having young blood at the hall. And your mother . . .’ He whistled. ‘What a stunner!’
    Ben and I exchanged looks.
    â€˜I’ll pass that on.’ Ben grinned.
    â€˜I seem to remember her being a bit nervous that first year,’ Steve continued, offering us sachets of sugar for our coffee. ‘But then I suppose, it’s a lot to get used to, isn’t it: moving into Wickham Hall and holding that event for the first time, and you and your little sister would only have been tiddlers.’
    â€˜She did have her hands full,’ Ben agreed. ‘And my father was just as busy trying to get to grips with his father’s business affairs. He’d always known he was going to inherit Wickham Hall at some point, of course, but my grandfather was taken ill so suddenly and then passed away that they had no time for a handover.’
    I sat up straighter in my chair; I hadn’t known any of that. No wonder Lord and Lady Fortescue wanted Ben to work at Wickham Hall now, before they retire. It would be far easier to take over the reins if he already knew how the estate ran. Which was a luxury they hadn’t had.
    â€˜Getting to know the business now is a good idea