A Cottage in the Country: Escape to the cosiest little cottage in the country
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LINN B. HALTON
A division of HarperCollinsPublishers
www.harpercollins.co.uk
Copyright
HarperImpulse an imprint of
HarperCollinsPublishers
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk
First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2015
Copyright © Linn B Halton 2015
Cover images © Shutterstock.com
Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2015
Cover design by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
Linn B Halton asserts the moral right
to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is
available from the British Library
This novel is entirely a work of fiction.
The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are
the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is
entirely coincidental.
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Digital eFirst: Automatically produced by Atomik ePublisher from Easypress.
Ebook Edition © May 2015 ISBN: 9780008146917
Version 2016-11-16
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
MADDIE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
LEWIS
CHAPTER 3
MADDIE
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
LEWIS
CHAPTER 9
MADDIE
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
LEWIS
CHAPTER 16
MADDIE
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
LEWIS
CHAPTER 24
MADDIE
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
LEWIS
CHAPTER 29
MADDIE
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
LEWIS
CHAPTER 32
MADDIE
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
LEWIS
CHAPTER 37
MADDIE
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Linn B. Halton
About HarperImpulse
About the Publisher
CHAPTER 1
The queue of traffic inches forward slowly as I glance at the clock on the dashboard for what seems like the millionth time. Ahead of me someone honks their horn in sheer exasperation. The farmer seems completely oblivious as he slowly rounds up the stragglers to rejoin his large flock of sheep. If I wasn't so stressed, I'd probably enjoy this quaint little scene that's a million miles away from the bustle of city life. However, I'm nearly fifteen minutes late for an appointment to view my dream cottage, which has literally just come on the market. Life without a love interest is going to be simpler, I've decided; no more having to pander to the whims of a man, and at least bricks and mortar can't break your heart.
I'm the first to view and if I don't get there before the next couple arrive, well, I simply can't let that happen. The truth is that cottages in my price range are few and far between. I glance at the property details lying on the passenger seat and grit my teeth. Ramming the gear stick into reverse I edge back a little, sending the driver behind me into panic mode. He's safe enough – I'm sure there are inches to spare. It's not exactly a three-point turn, but after a series of manoeuvres I finally manage to turn the car around and leave the queue of traffic behind. My satnav goddess kindly informs me that in two hundred yards I should turn around, even when I explain to her, very politely, that I have to find another route.
"Drive two hundred yards and turn around," she reiterates for the third time.
"But I need you to recalculate and find me another route," I plead. She ignores my request, so I stab my finger at the screen while trying to negotiate the narrow country lane.
"Take a left and turn around," her perfect and calm voice fills the car.
"Please, just recalculate and find me another route before I have a total meltdown!" I'm mortified to hear my own voice sounding worryingly unhinged, but it does the trick.
"Recalculating. Drive fifty yards and take a right turn."
I adjust the air-conditioning and reposition the vents until a waft of deliciously cold air sweeps over my flushed and perspiring face. The lane becomes even narrower and steeper, branches flicking against the sides of the car as I speed along as fast as I dare. If I meet someone coming towards me now there is nowhere to go. I have to drop down into second gear as the gradient increases rather suddenly. I wonder if I'm being punished by my satnav goddess for ignoring her instructions. Is this the alternative route from hell and this is how she exacts revenge when someone chooses to ignore her instructions? I had no idea that there were lanes as narrow as this, the hedges either side are barely clearing my wing mirrors. It's bordering on claustrophobic and hard to believe this is going to lead anywhere, other than into a field. I must be lost.
"In one hundred yards turn left into Forge Hill and your destination is on the left."
Unexpectedly, the lane begins to open out again as I approach the top of the hill and take the turning.
"In seventy-five yards your destination is located on the left."
"I find that hard to…" The words die on my lips as I round the corner and am surprised to see a small collection of farm buildings and cottages. As I continue on past a rather sharp bend, the view suddenly opens up as the hillside falls away. There, in front of me, is my chocolate-box cottage.
"Your destination is on the left," my satnav goddess confirms and I respond politely.
"Thank you, thank you and thank you!" A wave of excitement grips me as I pull onto the short drive in front of a rather quirky-looking garage.
Stepping out of the car, I immediately spot an older woman walking towards me. Well, I say older, she's about my age.
"I'm very sorry I'm late," I extend my hand. "I'm Madeleine Brooks." We shake and exchange smiles.
"Sarah Manning. Lovely to meet you. Glad you were able to find it. We have back-to-back viewings this afternoon, but the next couple has phoned in to say they're lost and are running late, so it's not a problem. Have you come far?"
"Only thirty miles, but I've been in the car for well over an hour. I managed to get held up by a flock of sheep," I laugh.
"Ah, country living. It's a different pace of life the minute you get away from the city. If you're looking for peace and tranquility this is it."
As I follow Sarah along the winding footpath that takes us from the road down to the cottage, I can't take my eyes off the view. The valley unfolds gently in front of us, belying any true sense of height or distance. The lower level of the cottage nestles back against an outcrop of rust-coloured rock, with a canopy of leafy-green forest high above it, creating a perfect backdrop. Every window in this property faces out onto the panoramic view. It sweeps down to what looks like a stream in the distance and then across to the other side of the valley. It is, quite simply, breathtaking.
The entrance is via a glazed door into a large conservatory, which runs the entire length of the cottage. As we step inside a mixture of joy, apprehension and knowing, hit me. I've found my new home and it's going to be the perfect place to begin my new life.
"Of course, it's a bit unloved at the moment and requires some work. It's a probate case; the owner, Aggie, died about a year ago." Sarah casts her eyes over my face to see whether I register any concern. "The bank is handling the estate as there are eight beneficiaries. All are distant relatives and tracking them down hasn't been easy. I'm afraid there's no room for negotiation on the price. We've been instructed to market it at five thousand pounds below the current valuation in order to achieve a quick sale. It's sold as seen."
I have no idea what that means, but her words fall on deaf ears. I'm too caught up in the moment to process what I'm being told.
"I'll take it." The words echo around the large conservatory, which looks like the only room in the cottage that can be even loosely described as anything other than bijou.
"The kitchen is small, but very quaint," Sarah throws in, as if reading my mind. My eyes are everywhere, imagining how it will look once it's renovated. Much of the conversation is one-sided. Sarah's voice continues to float over my head, as if I'm surrounded by a force field.
I'm picturing myself at a Belfast sink, gazing out of the window at the sweeping vista below as I wash the dishes. I notice a dovecote on the other side of the valley in the garden of a rather large farmhouse. A flight of doves circle and swoop, diving in formation and landing elegantly on a nearby roof, as if they've been lovingly choreographed. After a few minutes they take to the air again, the stark contrast of their white feathers against the cornflower-blue sky creating a magical moment.
"You don't mind the main bathroom being off the kitchen?" Sarah asks, bringing me back into the moment.
"Sorry? Oh, no. I like quirky. There is a shower room upstairs, isn't there?" I'm sure I saw that on the details.
"Yes, but the only bath is in here." She pushes open a rather narrow door and I'm delighted to see a surprisingly spacious room beyond. The suite is tired and needs replacing, but the proportions of the room are totally unexpected. In the centre of the vaulted ceiling is a large Velux window. It's a window that has nothing to obscure it, filled only with clouds and blue sky, as if it were a framed picture.
"Imagine lying in the bath and looking up at the stars," I murmur, thinking out loud.
Sarah laughs. "Well, that's one way of looking at it, I suppose. You really have fallen in love with Ash Cottage, haven't you?"
"I'm serious about the offer. I'm a cash buyer and I'd like to move things along as quickly as possible. I'm desperately in need of a home."
I see a slight frown cross her brow as her business head kicks in.
"Nothing dodgy," I quickly add. "It's a cash settlement from my ex-husband following our divorce. Ironically, we'd spent many years turning a rundown Victorian house into the perfect family home. I always dreamt of owning a little cottage like this some day, but I always thought it would be somewhere to spend leisurely weekends together."
"Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that." Her voice softens and I kick myself, thinking that this was too much information. My emotions are still raw. I find myself constantly struggling to avoid bursting into tears or letting slip details people simply don't want to hear, particularly strangers. When you're hurtling towards fifty and your whole life is suddenly hanging around you in shreds, it's as if you don't know who you are any more. Sometimes I'm not even aware I'm saying my thoughts out aloud.
"Sorry, and it's fine, really. I just wanted to reassure you that I'm in a good position. I'm in rented accommodation and the cash is sitting in the bank. Please don't sell Ash Cottage to anyone else."
I'm mortified when my eyes begin to fill with tears and Sarah is clearly embarrassed. Damn it! I have to stop making a fool of myself and I utter a silent prayer of thanks that I've finally found a place that feels right. Now, at last, the first step towards the rest of my life is within reach.
We exchange glances that soften into polite smiles and Sarah holds up her mobile.
"Right, I…um, well, I'll ring in your full asking-price offer while you take a look at the bedrooms. If you're sure, that is?"
"I'm sure. Every box on my list is already ticked, it couldn't be more perfect. I have one condition – that they take it off the market immediately. I'm not sure I could face another disappointment at this point in my life."
Something akin to an awkward grimace flashes over her face as she turns to exit; her finger is already on the dial button.
I know it's not perfect at the moment, but the point is, it will be. Our second house was a wreck, literally. So, I know what can be achieved if you are prepared to roll up your sleeves, get a little dirty and make endless cups of coffee for plumbers, electricians and carpenters.
The bank is happy to recommend my offer to the beneficiaries, together with my proviso.
"You won't sell it to anyone else in the meantime, Sarah, will you? I mean, I've heard about gazumping and I can't really afford to increase my offer."
"Don't worry, there's no reason at all why the beneficiaries would say no. The sale price is fair and it's just a formality. Ash Cottage is yours."
True to her word, Sarah rang to confirm just that the very next day and it was a major boost to my confidence. This middle-aged, recently divorced woman felt as if she had finally taken back control of her life.
CHAPTER 2
I had assumed I'd be moving in within a few weeks. Perfect timing, as that would give me a couple of months before winter set in. After all, this was the shortest chain you could possibly have for a house purchase. It felt as though the storm clouds were retreating and the sun had finally decided to come out and shine once more. Life had a master plan for me and I hadn't been simply cast adrift and left to flounder, unloved and forgotten.
Pull yourself together, Maddie, you're made of strong stuff and you can do this, really you can. I feared there was an implied strength of resolve and determination in my thoughts that didn't quite match my actions at the moment. But pride alone wouldn't allow me to sink into depression. Even when your heart is smashed to pieces, you still wake up each morning to face another day. Crawling into a hole and hiding away might sound comforting, but it's never a real option, is it?
The radio flashes, indicating an incoming call and I turn up the volume.
"Guess who is back from his vacation sporting a tan and looking good?"
Ryan's velvety tones seem to fill the car. Bluetooth loves him, for some inexplicable reason. I can't ever recall losing signal whenever he's on the line, which is rather weird because it breaks up all the time when I'm running around town. Is charisma like some sort of invisible power source that coerces everything in life to work more smoothly? If that's true, then I need to get me some!
Ryan could be a radio-show presenter. He has that smooth quality to his voice that oozes charm and sophistication. But then he could be a heart-breaker, too. He just chooses not to be. He is the definitive bachelor and I've known him for what feels like forever. My husband, Jeff, was always wary of him. Oh, I mean my ex-husband, Jeff…
"Men don't have women friends unless there's an element of attraction, or something funny going on," he'd once informed me. With hindsight I can see exactly why my scheming ex would think that. At the time we moved past his comments and he never alluded to it again, knowing full well I thought he was talking utter rubbish. I do remember feeling just the teeniest bit proud that he cared enough to be jealous, but I'd worked with Ryan long enough to feel completely safe with him.
Ryan maintains that he still isn't ready to settle down, despite having recently celebrated his forty-ninth birthday. What he means, I think, is that he still hasn't found that special someone. He would be a dead ringer for Michael Fassbender, if you add a few years, a sprinkling of grey hair and shave off the designer stubble. He's ageing gracefully, I keep telling him, and he has that suave, dependable, look. He went through a phase of pulling out each grey hair he found, until I informed him that they don't always grow back. I was joking, of course, who knows? But he's a man who spends more time looking in the mirror than most women. That's because he hasn't had to pander to children or a partner, or experience the delights of bathroom wars. That's a bit like Star Wars without the light sabers, but involving all the tricks you can employ to jump the queue for that leisurely soak in the tub.
He's used to the luxury of being home alone, other than accommodating the occasional overnight guest. I sigh. It's not that I regret all those years of marriage; I simply thought it was going to last forever. I willingly gave up my freedom for my husband and the two sons who left home as soon as they became young men. It was a future I'd invested in wholeheartedly, because it defined who I was – a wife and mother. It was my raison d'être.
"Are you still there?"
"Sorry Ryan, I'm wallowing a bit today. I'm so glad you're back, I've missed you. I'm guessing you had a good time?"
Of course, I didn't just lose my husband; I also lost my lifelong friend, Eve. Mistress Rat, as I now refer to her. A sob catches in my throat as I try to wind down my wayward thoughts and concentrate on Ryan's dialogue about his fabulous trip to Dubai.
"…and I'm going to plan another visit, meet up with a few of the group again next year. First time ever I didn't want to board the plane and fly home. You know me, I usually get bored after two weeks and pine for my home comforts, but it was amazing. Anyway, enough about me, how are you doing?"
I'm back in the moment, mind clear as a bell, but the motorway traffic is heavy and I'm following the satnav on a route I don't know. It's bumper to bumper and I'm trying to change lanes, indicating and easing forward gently. The driver in the car parallel to me is doing everything he can to keep me out.
"Ryan, I hate to cut you short, but it's really bad timing. I'm in a huge snarl-up on the M4/M5 interchange and the satnav is telling me I'm in the wrong lane. A bit stressed at the moment – can I call you when I get home? A lot has happened since you left and I'd appreciate your input. I'm off to measure up my new home for blinds."
"You found somewhere! Awesome! Well done, Maddie. Has there been any communication from Mistress Rat or Cheating Ex?"
"No, and yes…eek! Sorry, have to go, promise I'll ring you later."
As I bring our call to a premature halt, the guy to my right edges forward another few inches. Now I'm in an impossible situation, half-slewed across two lanes. The traffic ahead of me is starting to move off and the car behind me honks impatiently, but there's nowhere I can go. There isn't enough room to reverse and continue in this lane and Mr Nasty looks as if he'd rather cause an accident than let me in.
"In one hundred yards keep to the right," the satnav goddess reminds me for the fourth time. If I can't get into the right-hand lane now then it will be too late and I'll end up travelling to London instead of Wales.
"I know, I know! Tell Mr Nasty," I mutter. I glance across at his stony face in the hope that he'll graciously give way, but he's obviously seen my lips moving and thinks I'm talking at him. He gives me a hand gesture that is less than gentlemanly, probably assuming a lot of the dialogue consists of swear words.
"In one hundred yards, keep to the right."
"Oh, shut up!" I wail, as someone else starts honking repeatedly. There's a gap that could fit a dozen cars ahead of me and the front of my car is directly in line with the mid-section of Mr Nasty's BMW. Now he's ignoring me and my face starts to flame. The idiot is refusing to move, even though there's a big enough gap for him to pull forward and for me to tuck in nicely. I glance apologetically at the very patient man in the car behind him, who is holding back ready for me to filter in when the BMW finally decides to pull away. I nod my head in grateful appreciation. Chivalry isn't completely dead.
Honk, honk, honk.
"In one hundred yards keep right."
Mr Nasty glances my way and he actually has a smirk on his face. Right! That's it. My nearside front wing is still a few feet away from his car and I slip into first gear and edge forward another foot. I hold my breath, wondering how close I'm prepared to go. If I hit him, how much damage can you do at, oh, all of two miles per hour?
His jaw drops and he looks at me with fear in his eyes, as it dawns on him that he's decided to tango with the wrong woman. Instead of slowly rolling forward he stops completely, allowing the growing gap in front of him to widen even further. I veer the steering wheel to the left and cruise past the front of his car, slipping neatly into the gap, but ensuring I clear the front of his car by a mere whisper.
"Now who's smirking?" I throw the words at him over my shoulder. Well, he deserved that. Suddenly, he puts his foot down and swerves across behind me, and our positions are reversed. He's now alongside me in the inside lane. He winds down his window for a few seconds, shouts out, "Scary lady, are you insane?" and then floors the accelerator. He speeds off, taking advantage of the huge gap that has opened up while we've been dancing around on the motorway.
I'm speechless. He was in the wrong lane all along! As our respective traffic lines peel off in opposite directions, a big smile crosses my face. I pick up speed thinking, hey, I'm a scary lady and maybe it's about time I started asserting myself… it might be rather fun!
When I pull up in the driveway leading down to Ash Cottage, the estate agent who comes to greet me isn't Sarah but a colleague. He's very smartly dressed, but looks almost too young to be anyone's employee. He extends his hand as he introduces himself and I reach out to clasp it and shake, only to feel mortified as my firm grip meets no resistance at all. Goodness gracious, young man, you need to work on that. I keep my thoughts to myself and give him a bright smile.