Kirsty stopped the car on the brow of the hill and gazed with growing excitement at the view. There it was! She smiled and gave a little shiver. Perfect. Just as she remembered it. Exactly as she remembered it. Apart from the “For Sale” sign flapping in the wind. She wondered what that was about.

Fells Inn. Ancient. Built of Lakeland stone. Painted white. The centrepiece of the hamlet called Fells. Behind it the lake, and then the mountainside, Goat Fell, sweeping up to the sky. The sky, of course, was deep blue, like the lake. And the whole scene was bathed in brilliant spring sunshine. Just as it should be.

She smiled and chuckled aloud. Then she reached for the ignition key, restarted the engine of her little VW Polo and began the long descent down the steep, winding lane to the lakeshore. So far, so good. Her hopes were high.

The car park behind the inn was a muddy morass dotted with shallow ponds. Winter rain on top of ground already waterlogged, and then churned by the comings and goings of so many vehicles, had taken its toll. Kirsty took one look, winced and reversed the car, to park on the road at the front of the building. One thing she had not brought was a pair of wellies. Obviously a big mistake.

She took just one of her bags to start with and headed for the entrance. She paused uncertainly just inside the front door and gazed around with growing pleasure. So she hadn’t imagined it! Her memory hadn’t played her false. It really was like this.

Blackened ceiling beams. Dark-wood panels on the walls. Gleaming brasses hung seemingly at random. Glass display cases here and there, containing stuffed fish and preserved feathered creatures. Ancient stone-flagged floor, and chairs and tables almost as old. A log fire gently smouldering in the massive stone hearth, not quite ready to burst into flames.

No-one in sight, though. She stood patiently at the bar, and after a minute or two a young man arrived with a harassed look. ‘Yes?’ he enquired. ‘Can I help you?’

‘Hello. I have a room reservation for the week. Kirsty Johnson.’

‘Oh, right. I’ll get one of the girls to come and see to you. I’m a bit busy myself. Can I get you a drink? Cup of tea? Anything else?’

She declined the offer. All she really wanted at this stage was to settle into her room and have a rest. It had been a long journey.

‘I have been here before,’ she said, ‘but a long, long time ago.’

‘That right? I’ll just see who’s here to get you booked in.’

He turned and disappeared through a doorway behind the bar. She felt slightly disappointed. It hadn’t been much of a welcome. She shrugged. The man was busy.

Yet she seemed to be the only customer. The lunch-time rush was over and no doubt the other guests were all out or resting. The staff, too, it appeared. The poor man was having to do everything himself.

Eventually a woman about her own age, mid-thirties, arrived with a bright smile.

‘Hello there! Sorry to keep you waiting. I’m Carol. How can I help?’

‘I need booking in – I’ve been told.’

Carol looked puzzled.

‘The young man...’

‘Didn’t he do it?’

Kirsty shook her head. A small frown raced across Carol’s face. ‘Men!’ she muttered indignantly.

Kirsty smiled.

Carol reached for a heavy book, the register presumably. ‘I hope you’ve not been waiting long?’

Kirsty shook her head. ‘Only a minute or two.’

‘Room Number Three,’ Carol said, peering hard at the register. ‘I don’t know why Henry couldn’t do this himself.’

‘Henry?’

‘The manager. The owner, actually. You just spoke to him.’

Kirsty nodded and gave Carol a sympathetic smile. She knew what managers could be like. Some of them were of the view that you didn’t keep a dog and still bark yourself.

‘Right.’ Carol closed the book, picked a key off a hook and turned to lead the way upstairs. ‘We’re quiet at the moment,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘So you’ve got a choice of rooms. If you don’t like Number Three, I can show you one or two others.’

But the room was lovely. At least, it had a wonderful view of the lake, which was all Kirsty was really interested in at that moment.

‘How beautiful.’

Carol smiled and stood back while Kirsty leaned against the window ledge and peered out across the water.

‘Do you know,’ Kirsty said, ‘I believe I’ve had this room before. I came here once or twice as a little girl with my parents, and I’m sure this is the room I used to have.’

‘Really?’ Carol said with an indulgent smile. ‘Fancy you remembering that.’ She glanced around and added, ‘I don’t suppose the room is any different at all. Even the wallpaper will probably be just the same.’

Kirsty looked round, noticed the wallpaper was a bit ragged and faded in places, and nodded her agreement. ‘I think you’re right.’

She caught Carol’s eye and they both began to laugh.

‘If the window rattles in the wind,’ Carol advised, ‘just jam a bit of folded paper or a beer mat between the cracks. These old sash windows leave a lot to be desired. And if you get cold, there’s spare blankets in the wardrobe.’

‘You’ve thought of everything,’ Kirsty said, smiling happily.

‘You have to, to survive in a draughty old place like this.’

‘The view’s nice, though.’ Kirsty watched as a sudden rain squall moved like a tornado across the placid surface of the lake.

‘Oh, yes. The view’s lovely – as long as it’s not raining.’

***

By six-thirty she was ready for her evening meal. She made her way downstairs and settled at the end of the room, “The Bar”, where tables were set out for dining. She studied the menu placed on her table. Judging by the greasy feel of the card, it had been in use a long time. The unadventurous list of contents tended to suggest the same thing.

She opted for the grilled salmon and made her way to the counter to order. The man who had greeted her when she arrived was there, manning the pumps. Henry, she remembered Carol had said his name was.

‘Be with you in a minute,’ he called.

She nodded and smiled, and watched him continue to unload glasses from a dishwasher. Obviously no nonsense with him about customers coming first.

‘Come on, Henry!’ a man at the far end of the bar called. ‘This is no way to run a business. You’ve got customers standing here, parched for a drink. And that young lady looks in need of nourishment.’

Henry reluctantly conceded the point and left the glasses to dry a bit longer. He gave Kirsty a weary smile and came to take her order. ‘I’m working my fingers to the bone,’ he complained, ‘and do I get appreciated?’

‘Is that why you’re selling the place?’

He nodded. ‘One of the reasons. I’ve had enough here. Been here far too long.’

‘How long?’

‘All my life.’

‘Really? You were born here?’

He nodded. ‘Twenty-nine years’ ago. I have to get out before I’m thirty.’

‘So it must have been your parents that had the place when I came here as a little girl.’

‘Probably. Been in the family a long time. Anyway, settled in all right?’

‘Yes, thanks. It’s very… comfortable.’

He nodded without much interest and poured the glass of white wine she had requested to go with her meal. As she returned to her table, Henry turned to attend to his other customer.

‘The service here is non-existent,’ she heard the customer, a big, burly man, complain. ‘No wonder nobody comes in any more. No wonder the place has gone to the dogs.’

‘Nobody comes in, Malcolm, because this place is the back of beyond. It’s the pits. I want to see some bright lights before I die.’

‘Tourism booming. More traffic than ever. The Lake District so full you can hardly get in any more – there’s hardly room for my sheep these days. What more do you want?’

‘This bit of the Lake District isn’t like that,’ Henry retorted. ‘We’re never full here. This valley is like the Australian Outback – empty.’

Old sparring partners, Kirsty thought with amusement. Obviously well used to each other.

She felt a little sorry for Henry. It was a pity if the inn wasn’t doing so well. She had wondered about that when she saw the “For Sale” sign. It really was a shame. She wouldn’t want to see the place full all the time, a queue of coaches at the door, but it was better for everybody when trade was good.

But already, she thought sadly, she had seen the signs that things were not going so well. Few customers. And the general run-down air of the place. Faded and scruffy wallpaper in her room. Windows that needed replacing. Broken tiles in the bathroom.

Craig would have hated it here. He would have grimaced as soon as he came through the door and promptly turned round and gone elsewhere, somewhere more luxurious and inviting. She smiled and thought what a good thing it was Craig wasn’t here. He would just have spoiled it for her.

Because it was still a wonderful old place in a gorgeous setting, even if it wasn’t state-of-the-art or as sparklingly well-kept as she remembered it. It was just in need of sprucing up. That was all. And some TLC. A bit of money spending on it, as well. It was a long time since she had last stayed anywhere with unheated rooms, and she was sure she wasn’t the only guest who would prefer her room to be en-suite. They weren’t luxuries any more. People were used to such things these days. And they expected them.

Still, if business wasn’t so good, Henry wouldn’t be able to afford to have the work done. That was the end of it. No good him having fancy aspirations he couldn’t afford. No good at all. That way led to poverty street, as her mother might have said. She smiled at the thought.

‘Good evening.’

She looked round and smiled again, this time at the tall, slim man taking his place at a nearby table.

‘Take my advice,’ he added. ‘Be sure to sit well away from the door and wear two jumpers when you come in here. It’s always cold and draughty till someone gets round to livening up the fire.’

‘Take no notice of him,’ Carol called from the other side of the room. ‘Bob’s always complaining about something.’

‘And you always give me plenty to complain about,’ the man rejoined.

‘Ha! We’re trying to persuade you to stay away, but you just don’t take the hint.’

Kirsty chuckled. ‘You must know this place well?’ she suggested.

Bob nodded and looked grave for a moment, as though it were unfortunate but true. ‘The food’s not bad, though,’ he added, as if in compensation, before opening a newspaper he had brought to the table with him.

Kirsty smiled again. She was doing a lot of that, she thought wryly. She must be enjoying herself. Perhaps it had something to do with Craig not being here.

‘Actually,’ she added, ‘there was a time when I knew this old place well, too. Or thought I did. I used to come here as a little girl.’

‘Before it went to pot? Before Henry got his claws on it?’

She laughed. ‘Oh, yes. It was lovely then. Always. It is now, as well,’ she added diplomatically.

Carol arrived from the kitchen with her meal. By the time that was sorted out, Kirsty was disappointed to see that the man at the neighbouring table had disappeared.

Carol seemed surprised. ‘Now where’s Bob gone?’ she murmured.

‘He didn’t say.’

Carol sighed. ‘Oh, well,’ she said. ‘He must have changed his mind. Perhaps he’s forgotten where he is and thinks we’ll provide room service.’

Kirsty hoped it wasn’t something she’d said that had made him leave.

‘He doesn’t like company,’ Carol added with a grimace, ‘which is probably why he comes here.’

‘Am I the only guest?’

‘Apart from Bob, yes. At the moment,’ she added. ‘I hope you like it quiet?’

‘Oh, I do.’

‘You should get on very well with Bob, in that case.’

***

Carol was serving at breakfast the next morning.

‘Are you never off duty?’ Kirsty asked.