Return to the Little Cottage on the Hill

Book 3: The Little Cottage

by Emma Davies

Genres: Women's Fiction; Clean & Wholesome Romance; Contemporary Romance

Synopsis

The climb up the hill takes her past sweet-smelling pink roses in full bloom and leads her to an utterly breathtaking view. Megan is happy to be home at last, but will her relationship have survived the journey?

It has been a difficult few years for thirty-year-old Megan Forrester, completing her apprenticeship and trying to maintain a long-distance relationship with her gorgeous boyfriend, Liam.

She’s returned home to compete in a local craft competition. The prize is the chance to design beautiful new gates for the estate at the bottom of the hill, a job which could secure her future in the village forever.

As the contest gets underway, Megan is devastated when a rival design turns out to be almost identical to hers. Someone in the close-knit community must have leaked her sketches, but who? Is it the same person spreading heartbreaking rumours about Liam?

Down to the last few left in the competition, Megan throws her heart and soul into a show-stopping final piece… but will winning even matter when the truth about Liam is finally revealed?

Do you adore feel-good stories that leave you with a smile on your face? This heart-warming romance is a perfect escape for readers who flew through novels by Jenny Colgan, Lucy Diamond and Debbie Johnson.

 

Release date: August 31, 2018

Publisher: Bookouture

Print pages: 320

Sample

Clara gave the room one final sweep and, with a satisfied nod, collected the duster and can of polish from the coffee table. The Gardener’s Cottage was clean, welcoming and, most importantly, ready for their new booking. Their first guest, Isobel, had stayed with them for six weeks, and left only two days ago, but already Clara missed her, and her music. She had got used to hearing the sweet notes of her violin floating on the warm evening air. Isobel had stayed for the entire summer and, by the end of it, she had no longer seemed like a guest at all; she had become one of the team at Joy’s Acre Farm.

Now that Tom had finished thatching the roof on the latest cottage to be renovated, it too was ready for occupancy and a family would be arriving tomorrow for a two-week stay. Clara glanced out of the window at the bright blue sky. What stories would their new guests bring with them, she wondered.

It was mid-morning, but already the day was beginning to warm up as she walked outside and into the huge garden that surrounded the cottages. The sharp, cold tang of autumn air she’d felt when she woke this morning had mellowed with the sunshine, but it would be back come the evening. It was a time of year that Clara adored, and she was looking forward to the new rhythms and routines that came to the garden with every new season. The summer had been extraordinarily hot, and it had been a battle to keep everything watered and growing well, but looking around her now, at the riot of blooms in every colour of the rainbow and the burgeoning produce in the vegetable beds, her efforts were being truly rewarded.

Clara picked her way down the path, mentally running through the numerous jobs she would need to attend to today. She would get to them all eventually, but first she needed to check in with Maddie to make sure that nothing more was needed to prepare for tomorrow, which was shaping up to be rather an eventful day…

A month or so ago, there had been great excitement when a documentary filmmaker called Adam Brooks had come to Joy’s Acre looking for a location for a new series about rural businesses. The moment he had locked eyes on Joy’s Acre he’d known he had found the place, and had called for his team to spend a couple of days filming material which would be aired later on next year. Yesterday though, Adam had been back in touch with a special request to return again, this time with a new proposition and someone else he wanted them to meet. They had no idea what was in store, but there was much to do to prepare for the visit.

The door to the Thatcher’s Cottage was wide open and Clara could hear the drone of a vacuum cleaner coming from inside. She passed through into the kitchen and straight on into the living room where Maddie could be seen giving the colourful rug that covered most of the floor a rigorous once-over. Knowing that Maddie couldn’t hear her, Clara smiled to herself as she crept forward and devilishly tapped Maddie on the shoulder from behind.

Maddie jumped a foot in the air, whirling around in shock. Seconds later, a wide grin spread across her face as she realised it was Clara.

‘You ratbag!’ she exclaimed, switching off the vacuum. ‘You nearly gave me a heart attack – I should have you fired!’

Clara calmly tucked her mane of long blonde hair behind her ears and grinned back, sticking her tongue out for good measure.

‘You and I both know Seth would just laugh. In fact, he’d be more likely to complain that he wasn’t around to see the expression on your face!’

Maddie rolled her eyes. ‘You know him too well,’ she said.

And Clara did. She and Seth had been friends for years, long before everyone else had arrived at Joy’s Acre. Back then, it had just been the two of them; Seth working to rebuild the derelict farmhouse and cottages he had inherited, and her trying to coerce the overgrown mess of a garden into shape. They were getting there, but everything had taken so long, and it was only when Maddie arrived earlier in the springtime that she had blown a breath of fresh air, not just through Seth’s life, but through Joy’s Acre itself. Now the former farm looked better than it ever had, and although renovations were still ongoing on two of the holiday cottages, the other two were beginning to bring in some much-needed income.

‘So, come on,’ she said. ‘What’s the news? Have you heard when they’re coming yet?’

Maddie’s face was a picture of excitement. ‘No, I keep checking my phone every two minutes, but there’s no word from Adam yet.’

‘He must have said something?’

She shook her head. ‘Nope, he’s being very coy and won’t tell me a thing. Only that he’s bringing someone called Declan with him, and that we’re all going to love him to bits…’

Clara pouted. ‘Well I think that’s very mean. It’s not often you get a visit from a trendy TV producer – I think the least you can do is let a girl know when they’re arriving so that she can put her lippy on…’

Maddie grinned. They both knew that it was highly unlikely Clara even owned any lipstick.

‘Well, they’re bound to arrive right at the wrong moment,’ added Clara, ‘but I don’t suppose there’s much we can do about that. Anyway, I left Trixie cooking up a storm in the main house, the Gardener’s Cottage is all ready for later, and this place looks gorgeous, so what’s there left to do?’

‘Drink tea?’ Maddie suggested as she looked around her. ‘Come on, let’s go and find Trixie. I reckon we’ve earned a break and, while we’re at it we can make a list of any last little jobs.’ She unplugged the Hoover from the wall and began to wind up the cord. ‘It does look good, doesn’t it?’ she added, straightening up. ‘I’m really pleased with it.’

‘I think it’s perfect,’ Clara agreed, nodding. ‘And the finishing touches are inspired.’

All of the cottages on Joy’s Acre Farm were furnished in an authentic Victorian style, but made individual by the addition of items associated with a particular traditional craft, which also gave each of the cottages its name. They were currently standing in the newly finished Thatcher’s Cottage and on the largest whitewashed wall in front of them was a huge salt dough bread sheaf and cornucopia that their first ever paying guest, Isobel, had made for them as a leaving gift. Woven corn dollies and other traditional wooden thatching equipment decorated the rest of the cottage. Clara thought it gave a warm, homely feel without being overly fussy, and now that this cottage would have its first guest arriving soon, no doubt they would find out if they had got things right.

Maddie stowed the Hoover in the cupboard under the stairs and gave the room one last look before turning to Clara.

‘Right, let’s go! With any luck, Trixie will have made something gooey and chocolatey to go with our cuppa.’

Clara groaned. She knew she wouldn’t be able to resist Trixie’s baking, even if it did mean she’d have to put in some extra-hard digging later on to compensate.

Once outside, she waved Maddie on. ‘I’ll catch you up,’ she said. ‘Let me just go and see if Tom wants a break yet.’

He’d been hard at it since eight that morning. No doubt he’d be desperate for a brew. Shielding her eyes against the sun, she squinted up at the roofline of the cottage next door where Tom was silhouetted against the light, his mess of pale blond hair like a halo around his head.

‘Oi!’ she shouted. ‘Can you take a break from being a master thatcher extraordinaire and come and have a cup of tea?’

A good-looking face grinned back at her. ‘Clara my dear,’ he said in a false theatrical drawl. ‘I am of course a master thatcher extraordinaire whatever activity I’m engaged in, so alas I cannot take a break from being that very thing… I can, however, cease my current industry on this roof to partake in a hot beverage. One moment…’

He sank the vicious-looking tool he was holding into the new area of thatch beside him, anchoring it in place, and reached behind his knees to unfasten the leather pads that protected his knees from the ladder as he worked. Shimmying down it, he was on the ground beside her in a matter of seconds.

‘I thought you’d never ask, my mouth’s as dry as a nun’s—’

Clara swiftly held up her hand. ‘Don’t say it!’ she warned, but her smile was warm as she linked her arm through Tom’s.

‘Good morning?’ she asked.

‘Yeah,’ he replied, ‘although I’m not sure why, but this roof is in a far worse state than the other two were. We had to take a lot more of the top layers off than we’ve done with the others, so it’s going to take a wee bit longer, I’m afraid.’ He wrinkled his nose at her. ‘Don’t say anything to Maddie though, not just yet. I’m hoping I can make up the time and she won’t notice a thing.’

They couldn’t rent out the cottage until Tom was finished on the roof, so he was always up against it to keep to the deadlines they had set. While the weather stayed fair it wasn’t a problem, but a prolonged rainy spell could cause havoc…

‘I won’t,’ she agreed. ‘Besides, depending on what happens tomorrow, I think Maddie may well have her thoughts on other things. You’ll be fine.’

They walked in silence the rest of the way to the main farmhouse, but almost as soon as they turned the corner into the yard they were enveloped by the most heavenly smell.

‘If that’s elevenses, I shall be a very happy bunny…’

Clara grinned. ‘If that’s elevenses, I fear for my waistline…’ She gave Tom a sideways glance. ‘So, how is Isobel…?’ She let the sentence dangle with just a hint of suggestion.

‘She’s fine, thanks.’ Tom carried on walking, dropping her arm as they reached the door and chivalrously indicating that Clara should go first.

The door was never locked, and she reached for the door handle, making as if to turn it, but stopping at the last moment.

‘If you really think fine, thanks is a suitable response, then you’re going to have to wait a very long time for your cake…’ Clara rolled her eyes. ‘You’re not getting past me until you spill the beans, so come on, tell me.’

Tom’s eyes flashed with amusement. ‘Funny,’ he said, ‘a few weeks ago you took every opportunity to shut me up if I so much as mentioned my love life, now you want details? Whatever has got into you?’

‘Heavens, that cake smells good, doesn’t it? I wonder what it is? It could be lemon drizzle, or that wonderful chocolate, cherry and almond one she made last week… of course, she might even have made your favourite, Victoria sponge…’

Tom groaned. ‘Okay, okay, I give in…’ He grinned. ‘Isobel is officially the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I am happier than a pig in clover.’

‘See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?’

‘Moreover, she’s really back in her stride and composing beautiful music like a thing possessed, and she’s already been asked to play a couple more gigs with the string quartet she helped out a few weeks ago. So, what with that and my mate Ginger’s insistence that she continue to perform with the band, she’s over the moon and more than happy to just let things play out.’

‘Quite literally…’ Clara’s face was lit with a warm smile. ‘I am so pleased for you, Tom, really…’

He blushed. ‘I know. Who would have thought that so much could have happened in such a short space of time?’

‘Perhaps it was meant to be?’ she replied, finally turning the door handle. ‘And the story’s not over yet…’

The delicious smell became even stronger as they walked through the door – the unmistakeable aroma of cinnamon.

‘Oh, dear Lord, she’s made pastries…’

Trixie was indeed just drizzling icing over a batch of cinnamon whirls which sat in the centre of the huge pine table in the kitchen. She looked up and grinned as they entered.

‘Morning!’

Trixie had been busy; alongside the rows and rows of golden pastries on the table were several freshly baked loaves of bread, laid out in a neat row to cool.

‘Maddie’s just gone to check her emails… again, but the kettle’s on. Won’t be a tick.’

She finished what she was doing and turned her back on them to place the bowl she had been using beside the sink.

‘Don’t even think about it!’ she said sharply, without turning around. Tom froze, his arm outstretched to sample a delicious treat.

He withdrew his hand swiftly, throwing Clara a sheepish look. ‘How does she know?’ he whispered. And Clara just shrugged.

‘I have eyes in the back of my head, and a highly developed sixth sense for pilfering…’ Trixie turned around and winked at Clara. ‘There’s also the fact that your reputation precedes you.’

She poured hot water from the kettle into the waiting teapot, and placed it on the table, beside a collection of mugs and a stack of plates.

‘Is Seth joining us?’ asked Trixie.

Clara was about to comment that she had no idea, when Maddie walked back into the room and pulled a face.

‘Not just yet,’ she said. ‘He’s gone to see a certain lady landowner named Agatha…’

‘Ooh, ouch,’ replied Clara.

Trixie took up one of the laden plates and removed two of the cinnamon swirls. ‘Then I’d better save these for when he gets back,’ she remarked. ‘He’ll be needing them.’

Maddie gave her a grateful smile. ‘I expect so, thanks, Trixie. I doubt he’ll be in a sunny mood when he gets back. She doesn’t usually have that effect on him, as well we know.’

‘Is this to do with the blacksmith who’s arriving later?’ asked Clara. ‘She’s taking part in the competition, isn’t she?’

Maddie nodded. ‘Yes, her name is Megan, and I believe so. I suspect you and Tom already know this, but the competition is held every three years, and according to Seth, Agatha has always hosted it. She’ll have an impossibly long list of jobs that want doing if I know her…’ She straightened up. ‘Anyway, enough talk of Agatha, I really don’t want to think about her today, not when I’ve just had an email from Adam!’

Her expression changed in an instant, as she exchanged an excited grin with Clara and the others.

Trixie quickly handed round the plates, waving at the pastries so that everyone knew to start digging in. ‘Come on then, when’s he coming?’

‘At ten tomorrow morning.’ Maddie sat back in her chair. ‘Which is the most horrendous timing of course, seeing as the Carter family are due at eleven, but we’ll have to make it work somehow.’ She leaned into her next words. ‘Apparently Declan is very excited at the prospect of meeting us all, but you and Clara in particular…’

Trixie snorted. ‘I bet he isn’t!’

‘Well, that’s what the man said. I’m only repeating it.’

Clara giggled. ‘Go on, Maddie. What else did Adam say?’

‘Only that he’d be able to give us a bit more information as to where they’re at with the documentary.’ She paused for a moment. ‘The editing is coming along nicely. Although they don’t yet have anything they can show us, it won’t be long. He mentioned there could be a possibility they will need to pop back for a few more shots, but tomorrow will be all about this other chap, Declan. He wants to see some examples of produce from the garden, specifically anything which Trixie can use to make something delicious in the kitchen … but we’re not to go to any trouble.’

Clara stared at Maddie and then at Trixie, whose eyes were already on her.

‘Oh my God,’ she said. ‘Not go to any trouble… Are you mad?’

There was a loud screech of chair leg against floor as Trixie jumped up and snatched up a notebook from beside the kettle.

‘Damn, that won’t do,’ she said to no one in particular. ‘I was just going to make a quiche for lunch tomorrow because I figured that if they’d been travelling, the Carter family wouldn’t fancy anything too heavy, but that’s so boring…’ She sucked at her lip. ‘Clara, what have we got in the garden that’s absolutely gorgeous at the moment?’

Clara mentally walked through the beds she’d been working on. ‘Well, the first of the red cabbages look nigh on perfect, and there are some gorgeous squashes now too. No, wait.’ She waggled her fingers at Trixie. ‘Swiss chard, that’s what you should use. It looks so pretty right now. I’ve still got late raspberries too if you want something sweet? They make divine puddings, don’t they?’

Trixie narrowed her eyes, thinking, as Clara groaned. ‘I’ve got a million and one things to do. How on earth am I going to have the grounds looking perfect by tomorrow?’

Maddie laid a hand on Clara’s arm. ‘Who said it had to be perfect? Don’t torture yourself,’ she said, eyeing Trixie as well. ‘Neither of you. If there’s anything urgent that needs doing Tom and I can help, can’t we, Tom? And Seth will be back later this afternoon. Besides, everything is ready for the Carters, and Megan won’t be here until teatime, so that’s only one meal for her, Trixie. The rest of us can make do with whatever.’ She reached for the teapot and began to pour for them all. ‘Let’s just relax, have a cup of tea and make a list.’

Clara exchanged a knowing look with Tom. Maddie’s lists were infamous, but where would they all be without them?

Megan opened one eye and looked round her. She had no idea what the time was but, unfortunately, the morning seemed to have arrived. She nestled her head back down into the soft pillow. After what she’d been used to this past year, this bed felt like a slice of heaven and, given the exhausting journey she’d had yesterday, she would just as happily have slept inside a cardboard box.

She lifted an arm and felt around on the bedside table for her watch, bringing it close to her face and peering at it. It was only seven o’clock. Why on earth, on the one morning that she had the opportunity for a lie-in, did she have to wake at her normal time? She replaced her watch and resolutely buried her head back into the pillow. There was no way she was getting up yet.

Three minutes later, she flung back the covers with a sigh and stood up. It was no good, she was wide awake now. She looked around the airy room feeling a rising sense of excitement. It had been pitch-black when she’d arrived last night and although Seth, the owner of the cottages, had been very welcoming, their torch-led procession through the garden had done nothing to give her any sense of where she was. Even her bedroom looked very different in the daylight.

She crossed to the window, drawing aside the curtains slightly to peek through, and then flinging them wide as she caught a glimpse of what was beyond. She’d had no idea that the view was like this from up here. It was incredible. She had grown up in Summersmeade, the village she could see in the distance, but the road up to the farm was so thickly lined with trees that you never had any sense of how open it was once you reached the top. She knew the estate was here of course, everyone did, and in the winter when the trees were bare you could see the main house from the village road, but never had she been in a position to view the valley from this stunning perspective.

Looking down, she realised that there was a gate in the boundary wall behind the cottage that led directly into the fields below. It was all the invitation she needed. Turning from the window, she grabbed her holdall from the floor where she’d unceremoniously dumped it last night. She could get the rest of her things from the car later, but this bag held all she needed for now. Hauling it onto the bed, she rummaged around, pulling out a tee shirt, leggings and a pair of running shoes. A couple of minutes later, she was ready. A quick half-hour run around the field and she would come back and have a proper explore. She hastily tied up her hair into a ponytail and took off down the stairs, out the door, and into the morning.

As she slipped through the gate, she realised she hadn’t had a chance to feel nervous about the competition yet, or even about seeing Liam again. Her journey yesterday had been so fraught that she hadn’t had room in her head for much else, but now, as she picked her way past the crop of brambles at the field’s edge, she could feel the faint stirrings of anxiety about what the day had in store for her. It wasn’t just nerves churning her stomach, she was excited too; she had waited a long time for this moment. She took a deep breath and tried to let the thoughts slide from her head as she broke into a run. It was a beautiful morning, too good to waste fretting about what was to come. For now, she would just enjoy the present.

The air was still cool, but the blue of the sky promised riches to come and, although it would be a while yet before the countryside showed off in full autumnal glory, the fields were already golden from weeks of summer sun and the leaves around her just beginning to take on the burnished colours of the season. Megan lengthened her stride, feeling the energy surge through her legs as she began to find her rhythm.

She realised her error only as she turned the bottom corner of the field; she had instinctively run forwards, down the hill, but now that she was running along its length at the bottom, she realised that the final leg of her run would be uphill all the way. It had been a while since she’d been running on the local hills and she was quite out of practice. Still, she had a perfect view of the cottage she would call home for the next few weeks, and the other matching holiday-lets she’d briefly spied between the trees when she’d left. She had the whole morning before she was due at the forge, so there was plenty of time to explore.

Digging deep, she turned for home, her legs powering her up the slope. It was a lot steeper than it looked. About three-quarters of the way up the burning in her legs was becoming uncomfortable. It would have been easy to slow her pace the rest of the way, or even walk, but despite her laboured breathing Megan wasn’t about to give up. She sucked air into her lungs and picked up her pace. It was second nature for her to push herself and she had faith in her body. You never knew what you were capable of until you tried.

Exalted and exhausted, she arrived back where she’d started at the top of the hill, puffing hard but already feeling the buzz of oxygen flowing back into the muscles of her legs now that she had stopped. She waited a few more moments, taking in one final sweep of the view before turning and making her way back through the gate. This time, however, instead of turning towards the cottage, she carried on walking out into the gardens she had seen earlier, making her way towards a bench she had spied in the middle of a neat lawn. She crashed down onto it, bending to rest her elbows on her knees, her hands loosely clasped in front of her. She hung forwards, head down, eyes closed, and waited for her breathing to slow. A trickle of sweat ran down the end of her nose and she puffed at it to blow it away.

‘Good morning…’

Startled, Megan looked up sharply.

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you jump.’

A slender figure was standing beside her, a friendly face smiling a greeting. ‘It’s a beautiful morning, isn’t it? Where did you go, across the fields?’

Megan wiped the sweat away from her face and nodded. ‘Down the fields actually, and then back up again – that was the problem.’ She paused for moment. ‘Sorry, I’ll get my breath back in a minute.’

‘At least you’ve got some left. I’d be on oxygen by now if I’d just done what you’ve done. I’m Clara, by the way.’

‘Megan.’ She nodded. ‘Are you staying here too?’

The woman smiled. ‘No, I work here. I’m the gardener.’ She stuck out a welly-encased leg as proof. ‘Just trying to get a bit ahead. We’ve got rather a busy day lined up.’

Megan straightened up even further now that her breathing had eased, and for the first time began to take in what was around her. She puffed out her cheeks.

‘Oh, that’s better. I haven’t run on hills for a while. I’m seriously out of practice. I can’t believe I grew up nearby and I never knew that all this was here; it’s a beautiful spot.’ She pointed at the nearest flower bed. ‘My mum’s a keen gardener too, I bet she’d love this; so much colour.’

‘I think it’s probably my favourite time of year. The chrysanthemums are such show-offs, aren’t they, but they do look amazing.’ Clara squinted against the sun. ‘How long is it since you’ve been back this way?’

‘A couple of years. I’ve been up in Lancashire, finishing my training, and getting a bit of experience under my belt.’

Clara nodded. ‘Of course, you’re a blacksmith, aren’t you? Maddie did say.’

‘Yes, although I’m hoping to specialise in the more artistic side of things. I’m taking part in the competition up at Summersmeade Hall.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘In fact, I probably ought to go and get myself sorted out. I promised I’d go and see my parents before everything kicks off, and I got here so late yesterday there was no time.’ She pulled a face. ‘Pile-up on the M6,’ she added. ‘I spent most of the day breathing in other people’s exhaust fumes while sitting in queues of traffic.’

She received a sympathetic look. ‘Still, the event doesn’t start properly until tomorrow. You’ve got plenty of time.’ She stood back slightly as Megan got to her feet. ‘I’ll send Trixie over in a bit with your breakfast, she’s the cook here. Would half an hour or so be okay?’

Megan was suddenly desperate for a drink. ‘Perfect,’ she said.

It was a strange feeling driving back through the village, not because she had been away for a long time, but because on every other occasion she had returned home it had been just that, a return to . . .