The House at Greenacres

by The House at Greenacres (retail) (epub)

  The House at Greenacres

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  Copyright

  For my husband and children, thank you for making our house a home.

  Chapter 1

  ‘Here we go…’

  Holly Dryden took a deep breath, then placed her free hand on the heavy wooden door and pushed hard. It groaned loudly as it swung open, making her cringe, and the tiny bundle in her arms wriggled in protest at the noise.

  ‘It’s okay, Luke,’ she whispered, before kissing the downy head then pressing him tighter to her chest. She closed the door, keeping her eyes down, delaying the moment when she would have to look at the scene she’d had nightmares about.

  But eventually she had to look…

  The flames of votive candles flickered in their red glass holders on a rack to her right, under the shadow of a large iron cross. Tall, heavy candles burned in stone holders fixed to the windowsills that ran the length of the building, and the air was thick with their liquid wax scent. The old stone church was full, the congregation mid hymn. Every pew was occupied by mourners in a uniform of black coats, trousers and skirts.

  She made her way along the aisle, avoiding eye contact and keeping her son close to her body, until she reached the front.

  Then she froze.

  Because there it was.

  The coffin that held the body of her grandpa.

  Her legs weakened and she stumbled forward, her cry swallowed up as the organ chimed the final notes of ‘How Great Thou Art’. All heads turned at once, and Holly felt the weight of every eye in the church upon her as she scanned the pews, hoping desperately for a space to squeeze into, however small. She felt lost, afraid and exposed, and the seconds that she stood there felt like hours.

  ‘Holly!’

  A figure emerged from her left, tall and broad in his dark wool suit, and Holly’s throat closed up.

  Dad…

  He hurried towards her, wrapped a strong arm around her shoulders and led her towards the front pew.

  ‘I didn’t think you were going to make it,’ he whispered, his familiar features etched with concern.

  ‘I’m sorry. I got held up.’

  A cough that travelled through the microphone at the altar and echoed around the church signalled that the service was about to begin. Bruce Dryden nodded his understanding at his daughter, then squeezed her hand. They’d have time to talk after the service, and she could explain then why she’d been late, why she’d almost missed the final farewell she’d ever get to say to her grandpa. Although of course she’d never really said farewell at all; she’d missed his last moments and the chance to say a proper goodbye.

  * * *

  ‘Thank you so much for coming.’

  The phrase was repeated over and over as Holly’s dad shook hand after hand, accepting condolences and nodding sombrely. Holly stood at his side, her arms around her baby son, her grandmother flanking her, smiling and nodding at people she knew and those she didn’t recognize, aware that her grandpa, Henry Morton, had been a well-respected man, and that some of the congregation would have travelled far to attend his funeral in the old stone church set on a Cornish hillside. Some of the faces that passed made her determination not to cry waver, especially when Rich Turner’s mother, Lucinda, paused in line and peered at little Luke. Holly knew that her ex-boyfriend’s mother would be wondering if there was a chance the baby was his, and that wasn’t a conversation she wanted to have at the moment. Thankfully Lucinda had offered a brief smile then moved on, but not before Holly had seen the burning question in her eyes.

  Holly glanced at Granny Glenda, and the older woman squeezed her arm. Holly was full of admiration for Granny’s bravery, for how she’d kept her pointed chin raised high throughout the service, and for how she was, even now, the epitome of elegance and composure as she shook hands with those who had known her husband of sixty-six years.

  Finally the church had emptied out and the only people remaining were Holly, her dad, her granny and the elderly vicar.

  ‘Thank goodness that’s over,’ Granny said, rubbing a shaky hand over her eyes.

  ‘Are you all right, Mrs Morton?’ the vicar asked.

  ‘Yes, I’m just tired.’

  ‘Can I get you anything?’

  ‘No thank you. I’d like to get this day over with.’ Granny pulled a lace-edged handkerchief from her sleeve and blew her nose, then tucked it away again. ‘We need to get my granddaughter and great-grandson home. I suspect the baby will need a feed before long.’

  Holly nodded, although she’d fed Luke just before the service, which was one of the reasons why she’d been late. Arriving outside the church right before his next feed was due had been poor timing, part of a morning of poor timing, with the train from Exeter being delayed, then the taxi driver taking the country lanes from the station to the church at a frustrating crawl. She had hoped to go to Greenacres first to drop off her suitcase, but it would have meant missing the service altogether, so instead she’d tucked it behind a bush around the side of the church, along with Luke’s three-in-one pram with its detachable car seat. With it being such a quiet spot and a serious occasion, she hoped no one would think about taking her belongings, even if they did spot them. But then who would want a battered suitcase on wheels filled with her clothes – a lot of them maternity garments, since her body hadn’t exactly pinged back into shape – and a pram that wasn’t anywhere near top-of-the-range, as she’d been very careful with her money since leaving home?

  ‘Ready, Holly?’ Her dad slid an arm around her waist and pressed a kiss to the top of her head, just as he’d done since she was a little girl. It was such a caring gesture and she leant into him, glad to accept his comfort.

  ‘I guess so.’

  ‘Let’s say goodbye to Grandpa, and then we can get you home.’

  Holly followed her family out into the spring sunshine, thinking that going home to Greenacres sounded like a very good idea indeed.

  * * *

  Rich Turner drove through the green-hedged country lanes that he knew as well as the back of his hand. He’d been aware that this morning wouldn’t be easy; had known that it would, in fact, be one of the hardest days of his life to date, but even so, seeing her after all those months, the same yet different, was just…

  He swallowed hard.

  My beautiful Holly.

  Although she wasn’t his any more, was she? He’d always thought Holly was far too good for him: intelligent, pretty, popular, funny and out of his league. But she’d liked him; loved him, and he hadn’t been able to believe his luck. How many people were fortunate enough to fall in love with their best friend?

  Then he’d ruined it all and pushed her away. And now she had a baby; probably a boyfriend or even a husband too. Unless… unless the baby was his. Was it possible?

  A tractor coming towards him snapped him from his thoughts and he pulled in to allow it to pass. You couldn’t afford to lose your concentration for a second in these Cornish countr
y lanes; it could be fatal. He lowered the windows and let the country air enter the car. It was sweet, fragranced with the aromas of grass and flowers and the heady undertones of the rich, fertile earth. It was a familiar and comforting smell that grounded him, and he’d missed it when he’d been away.

  Once the tractor had passed, he continued through the lanes until the hedges opened out and before him lay one of the most beautiful views in the world. He had seen some sights over the past eight months, but nothing compared to the place where he’d grown up, the place where he’d fallen in love. If only he’d known how important it was before he’d left and made the second biggest mistake of his life.

  The fields spread out in front of him, green and luscious following a mild winter and the spring rains, a pretty patchwork of emerald, avocado, olive and pea… so many shades of green. Then there were the bright-yellow fields full of rapeseed, like golden squares breaking up the green, promising a season of plenty for the Cornish farms. The grey road weaved around the fields like a snake, descending gradually until the big old house at Greenacres came into view. It was Holly’s childhood home and a place Rich had spent a lot of time in over the years; one that held many memories.

  Surrounding the house were the barns and winery where the wine was manufactured and stored, along with the small shop that Holly had run, then the rows and rows of vines, the lifeblood of the vineyard. It was a breathtaking sight and one that Rich knew he hadn’t always fully appreciated. Perhaps it was his heightened senses, tingling with nerves and anticipation, that made it all the more beautiful today.

  After another five minutes, he indicated left, then drove through the open gate, underneath the sign that read: Greenacres House and Vineyard – Fine Cornish Wines, and made his way along the gravel pathway until he reached the house. He parked around the side of the building and cut the engine.

  It appeared that no one else from the funeral party had arrived yet. Rich had sneaked out of the church early, but he knew that Glenda Morton had hired caterers for the wake, so the house would be open. He’d head on inside and see if he could make himself useful. It was the least he could do, especially at a time like this. Especially after what he’d done last year…

  * * *

  Holly pushed Luke’s pram along the uneven path, following closely behind her granny and her dad. The vicar had gone ahead with the caretaker of the graveyard to ensure that everything had been prepared.

  Holly focused on Luke, settled now in his car seat, which clipped on to the lightweight frame. She’d wrapped him up warmly, despite the sunshine, because a breeze had picked up and it was spiked with the cooler air that swept in across the Atlantic. A lifetime spent in north Cornwall meant that Holly knew how chilly the winds could be. She certainly wasn’t going to allow her three-and-a-half-month-old baby to suffer because of the cold.

  ‘Are you ready, Glenda?’ the vicar asked as they reached the end of the path.

  ‘As ready as I’ll ever be.’ Glenda Morton gave a wry laugh, and Bruce took her hand, tucking it into the crook of his arm, then led her across the wooden boards that had been laid over the grass to enable them to access the graveside.

  Holly followed them, parking the pram to one side and pushing down the brake. She peered at Luke, gathering strength from his innocent beauty and her deep love for him, then went to join her family.

  As the vicar spoke, she found herself tuning out, his solemn words drifting away on the breeze like puffs of cloud. Instead, she was acutely aware of the hard boards beneath her feet, the bright green of the fake grass covering the mounds of soil either side of the grave, the rich brown hue of the earth and the fact that her grandpa lay in the mahogany box that had been lowered into the hole. She felt as though she should be screaming or crying hysterically like people sometimes did in movies, but the situation was surreal and she felt detached from it – practically numb.

  Because, of course, this couldn’t be happening.

  Only eight months ago, Grandpa Henry had already been in a slow decline – he had been succumbing to dementia for a while – but he’d still been so big, so broad and so loud. Gosh, he’d been loud, his laughter and his booming voice capable of filling the house and travelling across to the barns, the vineyards and beyond. He had been filled with a zest for life, so convinced that his way was the right way, and had steadfastly refused to change how he ran the vineyard; had denied Bruce the chance to bring in new methods or machinery, or to embrace new ways of promoting their wines, insisting that change would destroy the equilibrium that had existed so well for so long. He had been a stubborn old man, and Holly found it hard to believe that he would have let death claim him.

  She wiped at her cheek, then looked at her hand. It was wet. Tears were streaming from her eyes and she hadn’t even realized. She wasn’t as numb to her loss as she had believed. She’d been lost in her memories, in her love for a man who had been at once admirable and intimidating, a man she had loved deeply yet feared disappointing as her mother once had. Yet the reason had been the same – an unplanned pregnancy for an unmarried mother. It was one of the reasons why she had not returned in time to say goodbye, one of the reasons why she had missed his final months at the vineyard. If he had known about her pregnancy, and then about Luke, she didn’t think he would have taken it well. Her mum and dad had married quickly when they’d found out they were expecting her, but getting married hadn’t been an option for Holly, even if she had wanted to. However, she didn’t know if she could ever forgive herself for failing to say goodbye to her grandpa, even though, deep down, her reasons for staying away had been down to more than an unplanned pregnancy.

  The vicar finally fell silent and Holly watched Glenda drop a single red rose into the grave, then press her hand to her heart. It made the lump in her throat expand and she inhaled shakily, trying to prevent any more tears escaping. She must already look enough of a mess, and she worried that her own emotion would be her grandmother’s undoing. But as Granny turned to her and saw her distress, she opened her arms. Holly leant into her embrace and hugged her tight, breathing in the lily of the valley perfume that had always reminded her of spring mornings, the flowers’ verdant foliage dressed with morning dew. It was so familiar, evoking a whole host of memories and emotions, that the final silken thread of her strength broke and she sobbed in Glenda’s arms.

  When she managed to compose herself, she looked up and met her granny’s pale green eyes surrounded by bright white eyelashes.

  ‘It’s all right to be upset, Holly. Goodness knows I’ve cried my fair share of tears this past few months.’ Glenda wiped Holly’s tears away with her thumbs, then kissed her cheeks. ‘But it was Grandpa’s time to go, my sweetheart. He was very tired and it was painful to watch his struggle. We have to remember, though, that he was a good man and he loved us all, and now we will go on for him. You…’ she looked over at the pram, ‘and that beautiful baby boy are his legacy.’

  Holly nodded, then accepted a tissue from her dad. As she wiped her eyes and her cheeks, and blew her nose, her granny shook the vicar’s hand and spoke quietly to him. When she rejoined them, they made their way over the boards and back to the path.

  ‘Shall we go and see Mum?’ Holly asked. It had been over eight months since she’d been to her mother’s grave, and the yearning to do so now was overwhelming. Visiting the place where her mum had been buried gave her a sense of connection that she had missed terribly.

  ‘Of course.’ Her dad released the brake on the pram and they walked the short distance to the grave. Her grandparents had reserved their plot many years ago, but Holly’s mum’s passing had been sudden and unexpected, following her shock diagnosis with breast cancer when Holly was fifteen. Bruce had requested a particular plot for his wife near a large old oak tree that overlooked the fields, and beyond them, the sea. He had told Holly that her mum would have liked the view.

  When they reached the grave, Holly gazed down at the headstone, then leant forward and pressed a hand
to the cold marble.

  ‘Hi, Mum, I’m back. And I’ve brought your grandson to say hello.’

  Chapter 2

  Holly entered the kitchen at Greenacres with her granny holding onto her arm. Her father was in front of them, carrying Luke in his car seat, and she was relieved that her son was sleeping soundly after the car journey to the vineyard. She needed some time to take stock and found it hard to concentrate on anything else when Luke was awake and in need of attention.

  Two women from the catering team bustled around them, offering polite smiles as they removed trays from the oven and set small pasties and pies onto large trays that they carried through to the dining room.

  ‘I’ll pop the kettle on, shall I?’ Bruce asked, and Holly noticed his eyes wandering over her granny’s face. She had turned very pale.

  ‘Granny? Are you all right?’ The question seemed ridiculous in light of Glenda’s loss.

  ‘I’m fine, dear. Except… it hit me that Grandpa is never coming home again.’ She sighed, long and low, seeming to hunch over with the weight of her knowledge. ‘And yet the strangest thing is that another Morton heir has just entered our home. Little Luke has come to fill the void your grandpa left behind.’ She blinked hard, and Holly looked away, her own vision blurring at her granny’s sentiment.

  ‘Yes, you’re right.’ Bruce smiled down into the car seat. ‘Luke has come to help us through our loss and to take us into the future. Nothing like a baby to keep you moving forward.’

  ‘I could do with that cuppa now, Bruce, please.’ Granny released Holly’s arm, then removed her black wool coat.

  ‘Your room’s ready for you,’ Holly’s dad said. ‘I got your old cot down from the attic and cleaned it up, and Granny insisted on ordering a few things to make it comfortable for Luke. Since she learnt how to shop online, we’re always having deliveries!’ He shook his head. ‘Anyway, everything should be there, but let me know if you need anything else. I can always pop into town.’