Between Heaven and Rock (The Swallow Barn Cottage Series, Book 3)

The Job

Ulla stopped her car, leaned forward to the wheel, and looked over the Georgian manor in front of her.

"Wow..." she exhaled.

"Welcome to Nidhogg Hall," Oliver said from the passenger seat. Ulla threw him a bewildered look. He laughed. "I know, right? Such an inviting name. The Bjornssons are the third oldest family in Fleckney. They moved to the county in the 17th century thanks to the Britain and Sweden's iron trade. They still own some property in Fleckney Woulds, mostly a few of poorer cottages on the outskirts, but mostly they're known as the owners of the Hall. It's a Grade One historic building, one of Fleckney's main tourist attractions. It hosts weddings, banquets, and they film a lot in it."

"You don't say," Ulla said.

"Shall we?" he said and climbed out of her Honda.

They rang the doorbell, and had to wait for several minutes before someone opened. Ulla's feet were starting to freeze in her ankle boots. Maybe it's time to invest into proper countryside clothes, Ulla.

"Oh hi!" a young woman who opened the door greeted them with a wide smile. "Reverend Holyoake." She gave Oli a low polite nod. "Ms. Svensson, I presume. I'm Amira Atieno, Mr. Bjornsson's personal assistant."

She let them in and shook Ulla's hand.

"Pleasure to meet you," Ulla said, trying not to gawk around too obviously.

The manor looked like a bloody museum - or the set for a Pride and Prejudice adaptation!

"Did anyone open the bloody door?" a booming voice carried above them, and they all looked up at the mezzanine.

The owner of the voice was a large man of around sixty, white haired, red-faced, with sharp blue eyes, and an impressive oversized handlebar moustache.

"Blimey, isn't it the vicar and his little wifey?!" he shouted and heavily but quickly stomped down the stairs.

Up close he was massive, almost as tall as Oliver, and barrel-shaped, looming over Ulla. He grabbed her hand and gave it a knuckle-cracking shake.

"Anders Bjornsson!" he hollered into her face, still rattling her like a wet umbrella upon entering a house. "Welcome, welcome! What a pleasure! Heard so much about you!" The man seemed incapable of speaking on a normal volume level.

"Pleasure is all mine," Ulla said, and added, "Trevligt att träffas."

"Oh!" he boomed. "Music to my years! Finally, someone who speaks a proper language! I haven't heard it in years!" Her hand was still squeezed in his pan sized paw. "And good day to you too, Reverend."

"Good day, Mr. Bjornsson," Oliver said.

"Well, let me show you around! Let's go, let's go!" Bjornsson clamoured and started walking, dragging Ulla after him.

She threw Oli a helpless look and saw him shake in laughter. Somehow, she was more amused than annoyed as well. Who are you?! Normally, she'd kick a bloke in the bollocks if he ever touched her for longer than the prescribed three seconds a handshake required.

Bjornsson was lecturing, pointing and blabbering about 'the Dutch influence obvious in the curved gables' and 'mullions' and 'the longcase clocks.' Ulla's head was starting to spin.

"And are you here to see the hags in the East Wing?" Bjornsson asked, taking a break in his incessant tour.

"Yes, Ms. Svensson was so kind as to agree to participate in the Winter Festival organisation," Oliver said.

"Oh good for you!" Bjornsson roared and gave Ulla's shoulder a juicy pat. She stumbled ahead a bit, and Ms. Atieno muttered, "Oh for goodness' sake, Anders, let the poor girl go!"