A PRECIOUS moment in time

There’s something about Lambrook Hall that always draws me back and I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve been here. I don’t really care if it’s hundreds, to be honest. I can’t resist it.

I’m in the dining room again now. Not the ballroom or the library, nor the drawing room or sunken garden, with its tinkling fountains and grand views across to the moors. No, the dining room, and I’m sitting on a chair in the corner where I always sit.

I’ve known it since I was a child. I waited once until His Lordship was out, sneaked across the lawn to the terrace and peeped through the window. What I saw then was exactly what I see now: a long, marbled room like something you’d find in a palace, so imposing you find your head jerking back and your eyes gazing at the ornate plastering high above. Portraits of peach-skinned ladies and upright gentlemen in tailcoats hang in gold frames all around, watching. A delicate clock chimes the