THE WISHING WELL
Jilly Bowling
First published in 2017 by
House of Romance Books
www.houseofromancebooks.com
Digital edition converted and distributed by
Andrews UK Limited
www.andrewsuk.com
© Copyright 2017 Jilly Bowling
The right of Jilly Bowling to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1998.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. Any person who does so may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Introduction
“I’m sorry Isabella. But I have to think about my future.”
Bella looked at him in surprise. “What do you mean? Of course you have to think about your future, our future, I don’t understand.”
Gervaise frowned “Surely you’ve realised, after that farago last week, we have no future. You simply aren’t right for me, you’ll never make a corporate wife, just look at yourself! You’re a mess, overweight, sloppy, no idea how to dress or behave in decent society. My friends were horrified at the spectacle you made of yourself. Leonard called me into his office on Monday and told me to get a grip, or my directorship would be in jeopardy.”
“B.b.but” Bella stammered, “I was only dancing with one of your friends.”
“You were drunk, those erm...” Gervaise indicated her breasts, “were falling out of your dress and you’d taken your tights off.”
“I wasn’t drunk, I’d only had a couple, my breasts didn’t fall out and I’d taken my tights off because I had a ladder.”
“Keith isn’t my friend, if you’d taken any notice of things, you’d have realised that he’s an opponent for promotion. He wasn’t flinging you around because he enjoyed it but to show me up. See, you’re such a pleb, you just don’t understand office politics. Christine says that you don’t care what happens to my career, and have sponged off me long enough. It’s no good Isabella, it’s over, I’m moving in with Christine, she’s ready to back me in my push for directorship. I’ll be selling the apartment, won’t need it as Christine has houses all over the world and she’s going to buy me a yacht.”
“In other words she’s buying you.” Bella said bitterly. “What happened to `I love you Bella, give up your job and come help me climb the career ladder?` I gave up everything for you.”
“Well everything wasn’t much, was it? A scruffy flat in Knowle, scratching around car boots to find something to sell on, smelly furniture nobody wanted and living off baked beans!”
“I was beginning to get known for the quality of my upcycling, lots of shops were buying my things, my cushions and throws sold well, in shops and on the internet. I could have had a brilliant career.”
“Look Isabella, I pandered to your scruffy `art` because you were a great lay, a reasonable PA and could cook. Now I’ve outgrown you, you’ve let yourself go and I’ve given up trying to mould you into the partner of a successful businessman. When we were young it was fun having an `arty` girlfriend but I’ve grown up and you haven’t. You’re a mess, the apartment’s a mess, I’ll have to have a firm in, to deep clean it, if I hope to get top dollar for it.
Bella looked around the stylish homely loft apartment, remembering how cold and dull it had been when she moved in, with so much hope for the future. Now it was warm but smart, with her stylish homemade throws and cushions artistically arranged on the cold white leather sofas, modern paintings by up and coming artists on the walls and flowers and plants tastefully arranged to show off the dove grey walls.
“You told me you loved what I’d done with the place, insisted we make love on every new soft surface. Why are you doing this? What’s changed? I don’t understand.”
“Perhaps I’ve grown up” Gervaise growled, “and you haven’t. It’s no good begging Isabella, I’ve made up my mind. Christine’s agreed to marry me, she’s perfect for my career, so please don’t be difficult.”
Bella lost her temper “Difficult! We’ve been together eight years, I gave up everything because you said you needed me at home and now you tell me not to be difficult!”
“I’m being reasonable, I’ll give you a month to move out, you can live here rent free and you can take all the things you’ve made, people want minimal nowadays.”
“But, I’ve got no money, nowhere to go. A month isn’t long enough.”
“You see. As Christine said you should have made sure you had some money behind you, instead of living off me, and you’ve got that cottage in Devon your Aunt left you. I expect you could apply for job seekers or something. Really it’s not my problem, just shows how immature you are. Christine’s solicitor has advised me that you have no right to the apartment as I’d bought it before we got together and we haven’t been together over ten years. After all you never contributed to any bills.” Gervaise said coldly.
Bella stared at him unable to speak. All the times she’d run around after him, cooked for him, washed his clothes and helped him with presentations, he was a bit useless on that front. He wouldn’t have got his promotions without her help but she couldn’t put it into words, so she said nothing.
He picked up a bag that he’d packed earlier and went towards the door “There should be a small amount in the housekeeping account, you can have that to tide you over. Goodbye Isabella, please don’t make a fuss, it won’t do any good, I won’t come back.” And he let himself out of the door pulling it firmly closed behind him.
Chapter 1
Bella drove the rattling wreck of a van up the overgrown track towards what she hoped would be her new home. She couldn’t remember the road to the cottage being so bad, but it had been a long time since she’d stayed with her great aunt so assumed that the road had just deteriorated. She hadn’t seen the cottage since she was young and when her great aunt had left it to her, Gervaise had been too busy to take her to see it. When she suggested that she borrow his car and go alone he’d put all kinds of obstacles in her way so she had given up asking him.
After her father left and her mother had a breakdown, she had spent various holidays with great aunt Lucy while her mother was recuperating in a special hospital. Now that Lucy was dead and her mother was in long term psychiatric care, she was totally alone.
Gervaise betrayal had left her totally bemused and for the first week she had kept on thinking he would come back, because he loved her and it was all just a blip in their life together. Then she’d received a letter from Christine’s solicitor, demanding that she leave the apartment within the next three weeks and a letter from the bank telling her to cut up her debit card for Mr. Gervaise Loveday’s account as she had been removed from it. After crying copiously over the next four days she was sitting in the kitchen staring into space when the telephone rang.
“Miss Carrington?” asked the voice on the end of the line.
“Yes.”
“This is the Domestic rescue company. I understand that you have a property that needs a deep clean and was wondering when would be a suitable time to come and assess the problem.”
Bella bristled “This apartment is perfectly clean.
I’ve spent eight years cleaning the bloody place, so no, there isn’t a suitable time to assess the problem. I have three weeks before I have to move out so you can arrange with Mr. Loveday to assess the problem then.”
As she slammed the phone down Bella felt anger and determination take over from the despair she’d allowed herself to sink into.
“Bugger you Gervaise Loveday,” she shouted “I’ll bloody show you.”
After making herself a large latte and two slices of toast and jam, she telephoned her bank to check on her balance. To her dismay she discovered that she had the grand total of four hundred and thirty four pounds and fifty pence to her name. The money she had saved before she moved in with Gervaise had been spent on making and buying things for the apartment and clothes to wear to go out with him.
Finding herself pushing two more slices of bread into the toaster, she gave herself a good talking to. Gervaise had called her fat and she had to admit that over the past few months, as she sensed him drifting away from her, she had been picking at chocolate and biscuits. No more, she was going to take herself in hand.
So, on a typical damp misty Dartmoor morning she had driven the small tatty van from Bristol with very few possessions in the back. She’d sold all the lovely things she’d made and bought for the apartment, as well as the designer clothes Gervaise had insisted she wear to keep up with his bosses wives. All she possessed now was in the van, sleeping bag, one old throw, a few old sweaters, sweatshirts and jeans along with some very plain old underwear. Taking up half the space in the van were some old pieces of furniture, that she’d been given from a boot sale, where she’d sold the things smart second hand shops didn’t want. She was intending to upcycle them and sell them on at a profit.
As the van bucked from rut to rut, she peered through the wet dirty windscreen, that the squeaking wiper blades were struggling to clear, only succeeding in wiping the mud that had been thrown up, all over it. Suddenly right in front of her a rickety farm gate appeared through the murk, and she slammed on the brakes. The van continued its forward motion, sliding through the slimy mud until its nose pressed against one of the gates crumbling struts.
“Bugger” she muttered as the van’s engine died. Pulling her hood over her head she climbed out and found herself standing ankle deep in the slime, her old trainers disappearing into it.
“Bugger, damn, blast,” she shouted as she pulled her foot out of the stinking mess with a slurping noise.
Slipping and sliding she made her way towards the end of the gate that had collapsed onto the ground. Nettles had grown up around it and as she tried to lift it up, the piece she had hold of disintegrated and she pitched forward into the nettles, which were young and vicious.
“Ow,” as she tried to lever herself up, her hands and feet slid in the slime, which held the strong odour of cows muck and to her annoyance tears welled up and she started to sob.
From the other side of the gate she heard the growl of an engine and a wet, black and white hairy face loomed over her. Trying to right herself she yelped in shock as she slipped again and a large meaty hand grabbed her by the scruff of her neck and hauled her upright.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” A deep voice enquired.
Angry now, she retaliated “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m trying to open this gate so I can drive up to my cottage.”
“Your cottage?”
“Yes.”
“So you must be Lucy’s niece?”
“Great niece to be exact. Now are you going to help move this gate or not?”
The man laughed “This gate hasn’t opened in fifty years, why don’t you just use the road?”
Bella glared at him “But the sign said Wishing Well cottage.”
“Yes, by foot. The road is the next turn along.”
“Oh!” Bella said finally looking at the man and discovering that he was good to look at. Shoulder length black curly hair, laughing blue grey eyes, well over six foot, dressed in a long waterproof stockmans coat and well worn wellingtons, black not green.
“You’ll never get that van out backwards. Look hop on the back,” he indicated a dirty quad bike, “and I’ll give you a lift up to the cottage, then I’ll get a tractor to pull your van out.”
“But, all my worldly possessions are in it,” Bella said ready to cry again but determined not to.
“It’ll be perfectly safe here.”
“It doesn’t lock.”
“Honestly, no one will touch it. Come on you’re soaked and covered in mud. You don’t want to catch a chill,” he diplomatically didn’t comment on how stupid she was to be on Dartmoor in a thin fleece.
“Well,” as the rain became heavier Bella came to a decision, “thank you, I’ll get the keys to the cottage.”
She slid and slipped her way back to the van, collected the keys and her handbag and made her way through the wreck of a gate to where the man was sitting astride the quad bike, a large black and white dog by his side. Putting out a hand he helped her onto the back as she said “Thank you. I’m Bella Carrington by the way.”
“Roman Cowle. Hang on tight the ground’s a bit bumpy.”
The dog raced ahead of them, long legs covering the ground easily as they lurched and scrambled over the tussocky grass. Cresting the hill, through the mist and rain, a small dilapidated, tiled roofed cottage appeared. It seemed to be crouched in a dip, sheltering from the weather. Outbuildings to either side, some little more than piles of rubble, added to the appearance of abandonment.
As they drove round to the front of the cottage Bella saw the road which she should have used and wondered why she hadn’t remembered it. Then she realised that when Aunt Lucy had picked her up from the station they’d come in from a different direction and it was usually dark.
Roman stopped the bike and helped her off the back. She tried the keys in the lock until she found one that turned, but the door refused to move.
“Here, let me try” Roman said taking the keys from her. With a bit of pressure from his shoulder the door opened an inch and then stuck solid.
“Is there something behind it?” Bella asked.
“Don’t think so, I suspect the door’s just warped with the damp and not being used.”
Bracing himself he gave a tremendous heave and the door ground open reluctantly. Squeezing through the gap he said “You push and I’ll pull, it’s stuck on a knot in the floor.”
Bella put all her weight against the door and with Roman pulling hard it grated over the old oak floor.
“Phew,” Bella said as she stepped inside, “it smells a bit in here.”
“Well, it’s been shut up for years with no ventilation or heat. It needs a good airing. Would you like me to light the wood burner for you, before I go collect your van?”
“Thank you but I need my dry clothes, so I’ll light the fire while you get the van, if you don’t mind.”
“Have you lit a wood burner before?” Roman asked.
Bella went to the large inglenook fireplace and opened the stove door. Gazing into the black box, she wondered how to begin.
Roman had been watching her but on seeing her shoulders slump he sighed in exasperation.
“Look, it’s obvious you don’t know what to do so why don’t you look in Lucy’s bedroom, nothing has been moved since she died, so her clothes’ll still be there. They may have gone mouldy but then again they may not. I’ll light the fire while you get dry, then I’ll go get the van.”
Bella opened her mouth to protest but then saw the sense in what he’d said and went in search of Lucy’s clothes. When she pushed open the door to the bedroom it took her back to her childhood. Nothing had changed. The heavy old fashioned oak bed still had the same patchwork quilt on it, the old oak chest still stood at the foot of the bed and there was the faint s
mell of lavender and mothballs that she’d always associated with her great aunt.
Sadness and guilt overwhelmed her, Gervaise had taken over her life and she hadn’t visited her aunt since she met him, only sending the occasional letter, Christmas and birthday cards. Suddenly she saw how he had completely ruled her, not liking her friends so she had dropped them, taking away the fierce independence she’d had and moulding her into a `Stepford wife`, all outward appearance and no substance.
On opening Lucy’s wardrobe a sense of shame overwhelmed her and she swallowed and blinked hard to prevent the tears that threatened to spill over.The old oak wardrobe had kept the clothes in it mould and damp free and she found a long flowing skirt and thick jumper that just about fit her. Going into the old fashioned bathroom she found a clean towel, filled the sink with cold water and dunked her head in it, then she washed her face and hands and towel dried her hair vigorously, before piling it up on top of her head. Her bra was soaked so she left it off but at least her knickers were dry-ish. Dressed in the skirt and jumper she padded barefoot into the tiny living room which was already warming up thanks to the roaring fire Roman had going, As she stood in front of it he came in from the kitchen with a large mug of tomato soup in his hand.
“I turned the oil on for the Aga and it’s still working so I heated this up for you. It’s only a couple of months beyond its best before date so it should be OK.”
Taking the mug from him she inhaled the aroma “Gosh, it’s years since I had tinned tomato soup, aunt Lucy always had some in, reckoned it cured most illnesses.”
“Right. The Aga should be heating the water so later you could have a bath. I’ll go get the van, drink your soup and warm up.”
“You’re so kind, I don’t know how to thank you.”
“We’re neighbours, just being neighbourly,” Roman murmured as he whistled his dog and went out pulling the stiff door closed behind him.
Bella huddled in Lucy’s ancient well worn chair and sipped the soup as she looked round the over furnished room. As with the bedroom the furniture was heavy dark oak, ornately carved and black with age and dust. The rough plastered walls were yellow with age and the smoke from cigarettes and a smoking fire, and the curtains hung limp and grubby. All in all it was enough to depress the faint hearted, but Bella saw it through an artist’s eyes and her imagination envisaged it as it could be, with hard work and artistic flair.The room was now warm and she felt as if it was wrapping itself around her, trying to sooth her broken heart.
The Wishing Well Page 1
