THE MILL ON MAGNOLIA LANE
A GORGEOUS FEEL-GOOD ROMANTIC COMEDY
TILLY TENNANT
BOOKS BY TILLY TENNANT
The Christmas Wish
The Summer Getaway
The Summer of Secrets
* * *
AN UNFORGETTABLE CHRISTMAS SERIES:
A Very Vintage Christmas
A Cosy Candlelit Christmas
* * *
FROM ITALY WITH LOVE SERIES:
Rome is Where the Heart is
A Wedding in Italy
* * *
HONEYBOURNE SERIES:
The Little Village Bakery
Christmas at the Little Village Bakery
* * *
Hopelessly Devoted to Holden Finn
The Man Who Can’t Be Moved
Mishaps and Mistletoe
* * *
MISHAPS IN MILLRISE SERIES:
Little Acts of Love
Just Like Rebecca
The Parent Trap
And Baby Makes Four
* * *
ONCE UPON A WINTER SERIES:
The Accidental Guest
I’m Not in Love
Ways to Say Goodbye
One Starry Night
CONTENTS
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
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
A Letter from Tilly
Tilly’s Email Sign-Up
Books By Tilly Tennant
The Summer Getaway
The Summer of Secrets
Rome is Where the Heart is
A Wedding in Italy
The Little Village Bakery
Christmas at the Little Village Bakery
The Christmas Wish
A Very Vintage Christmas
A Cosy Candlelit Christmas
Acknowledgements
For Jacquie, the happiest, kindest soul I’ve ever met.
ONE
She’d driven past the old wreck a hundred times or more over the years. There was more sky than roof and more rubble than walls but still it had an indefinable charm, something that had always drawn Lizzie in.
‘Makes me melancholy, seeing that old place go to ruin,’ her dad would say.
‘One day we should fix it and live in it,’ Lizzie would reply, and her dad would chuckle. It was never patronising, only with wonder at the beautiful naiveté of childhood, where anything was possible and dreams always came true if you dreamt them hard enough.
‘One day,’ he’d reply. ‘I’ve often dreamt about owning it myself. One day you and me will fix it together – how about that? A little castle for my princess.’
But that day would never come, not now. No fixing of a castle for a princess, no dad’s help, no sage advice. The car she travelled in today drove past the crumbling hulk of the old mill, following the hearse that carried her dad’s coffin. Now there was just her and her mum. Once today was over, her younger sister Gracie would go back to her job and boyfriend in London, and brother James back to his slacker mates in whatever dump he was currently inhabiting, and Lizzie would have to pick up the pieces of her mum’s broken heart – the dutiful child, the one who always stayed behind.
‘It’s such an insult,’ her mum said from beside her. She dabbed at her eyes with a fresh tissue from her bag. ‘That witch in the official car and me trailing behind. He was my husband first.’
‘But he was Florentina’s husband last,’ Lizzie said in an even tone. She’d heard this so many times now it was hardly noteworthy. ‘Sorry Mum, but you have to accept that’s how it is.’
‘Why do I? She stole him from me and she has no right to be the grieving widow.’
‘But she is.’
‘She didn’t know him like I did.’
‘But she loved him and he loved her.’
Her mother turned a swollen face to her. ‘Well, we all know you loved her too.’
This time Lizzie bit back a sharp retort that had no place being uttered in the current circumstances. Her mother was hurt, and she was angry and frustrated, and she was saying things that she’d later regret. If Lizzie reacted in the same way they’d both have plenty to regret when the dust had settled. If they were going to get through these dark days, they’d need each other.
‘Please,’ she said, struggling to keep her voice level. ‘Let’s not get into that again. We got along – what else was I supposed to do when she was married to my dad?’
‘You could have shown your disapproval.’
‘And where would that have got us? Would you have had Dad picking sides? Because if he’d been forced to pick sides, he might have chosen her rather than us. That’s why I made an effort to get along with Florentina. I didn’t want to lose him.’
Lizzie’s mum pursed her lips but said nothing. Lizzie supposed that, in some ways, it had all been in vain. They’d lost him anyway – all of them. Her mum turned to face the window and Lizzie reached across to catch a silent tear that tracked her cheek.
‘I know it’s been hard, Mum.’
‘I’ve borne it without complaint.’
‘I know you have. You did it because you loved him. We all accepted things we’d rather have not because we loved him.’
‘Because I loved you too and I didn’t want to make our break-up harder for you than it was already.’
Lizzie pulled her mum into a hug. ‘That’s what makes you my absolute hero.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ Gwendolyn said with a sniff. She wriggled from Lizzie’s arms and dabbed at her eyes again.
The car slowed. Lizzie looked out of the window to see the evergreen-topped walls of the churchyard come into view. The wiry trees reached from the grey stones into a patchwork sky, their branches buffeted by a brisk November wind. The village of Piriwick was a pretty place and its church was still picturesque, even when dressed for such a sombre occasion. Her dad had returned to the village of his birth as often as he could during his lifetime, sometimes bringing his children to see what few sights there were. Often Lizzie and her siblings had been bored, but now she wished they’d shown more enthusiasm. It seemed only fitting that he should be buried here.
‘Looks like we’re here,’ she said. Her gaze ran over a crowd of black-clad mourners gathered at the gates. All turned at the arrival of the lead car. There were some people she knew, a lot that she didn’t. Perhaps they were from his other life, the one he’d shared with Florentina.
‘It would have made him happy to see so many people here,’ her mum said, nodding approval.
‘It would,’ Lizzie agreed. ‘He liked a good turnout for any social occasion, even more so when it was in his honour.’
‘He went to enough of them.’
‘He did.’ Lizzie laughed through the tears she could no longer hold back. ‘He would have gone to the opening of an envelope.’
‘I think he secretly always wished he was a celebrity.’
‘He was to us.’
Lizzie
turned to see her mum was smiling now, even as tears rolled down her own face. For the briefest moment they shared the bittersweet memories of a man who had been as remarkable as he was loved, and it was hard to believe that such a larger-than-life character was no longer among them. His death had been so sudden that they’d all struggled to take it in, even now. But then Lizzie dried her eyes and took a deep breath.
‘We’d better go in and get our seats.’
‘Behind Florentina, I suppose.’
‘It stinks, I know. But hold your head up high and proud. You were his first love and you had a lot more years with him than she did – everyone in there knows it.’
‘And we had you and your brother and your sister,’ her mum said, stroking Lizzie’s face. ‘If nothing else good came from our marriage there was always you three.’
It was Lizzie’s turn to purse her lips, biting back a reply that demanded to know that if her siblings were so perfect, where were they now? Gracie was in another car with her Hooray Henry boyfriend, having dashed up at the last minute because she had a presentation that was apparently more important than her father’s funeral, and James had promised to come but as yet had not reported for duty. Which had left Lizzie alone trying to comfort her mum when she was barely coping herself. What loving children indeed. How blessed her parents must have felt with the kids who could barely trouble themselves with a visit once they’d flown the nest.
She shook away the bitter thoughts – now was not the time for them and they wouldn’t help her feel better in the end. James and Gracie had their own lives now and they were free to make choices that suited them, not their parents and not her. It stung, that was all, and it must have stung their mum, though she’d never say it. They were her children and in her eyes they could do no wrong no matter how anyone else saw it.
Lizzie and her mum climbed out of the car and Lizzie linked arms with her. They walked together, arm in arm, as the path that threaded the churchyard crunched beneath their feet. She glanced back to see another car had just arrived. Her sister, Gracie, got out and she had her boyfriend, Frank, with her, but also James – presumably they’d travelled from London together. At least that was something; at least they were here.
Lizzie tugged on her mother’s arm and gestured that they should wait for a moment. Once Gracie and James had joined them, they turned again, facing the crowd of mourners and the huge church doors.
This was it.
Showtime, her dad would have said.
TWO
It was May Day. A time of new beginnings, of optimism, of celebration, of new life. A time when thoughts turned away from darkness towards the coming summer. At least that was Lizzie’s hope.
She stood now, looking up at the grey stone walls of her new home, the grass-carpeted flats of the Fens stretching away to meet a cornflower sky, the smell of new pasture and the first apple blossoms filling her head. Her fingers were curled around a set of keys in her pocket. Where the decision had come from – as sudden and violent as a tropical storm – she couldn’t say. Perhaps it was the memories of her dad, always with her whether asleep or awake, that kept bringing the old mill into her mind, so often that she felt she might become obsessed with the place. Perhaps it was the need of a sea change in her life, of something to aim for, something to give her days meaning when everything had become so dull and repetitive. Perhaps it was just that the place was so achingly beautiful, the sorrow of its current state giving it a sort of handsome, noble tragedy, that once she’d found out who held the deeds she could do little else but try to buy it.
Perhaps it was all those things but none of it seemed to matter now anyway. Once she’d contacted the local authority and they’d been happy to get it off their hands for an incredible knock-down price, it seemed fated. Her mum had said Lizzie was crazy when she broke the news of her purchase, but there had been a glint of something in her eye even as she did. Was it approval? A vicarious sense of adventure? A wish that she’d taken more risks herself when she’d been young and financially independent enough? Lizzie’s dad must have mentioned his own love of the place in the past and perhaps her daughter’s purchase had brought those moments to Gwendolyn’s mind again.
All Lizzie knew for certain was that her dad’s death had been the catalyst for long-needed change. Before she’d really thought things through, she’d got a huge mortgage and was handing a significant chunk of her life savings over as a deposit. As a result, she was now the proud owner of the Mill on Magnolia Lane. It stood alone, away from the main village of Piriwick, which was a funny mix of old seventeenth- and eighteen-century cottages with a modern estate of boxy houses tacked onto the outskirts, as if to remind it that the world had moved on. Along the lane that led to the mill sat the stragglers – the odd farmhouse or old worker’s cottage, now turned into equestrian centres, pottery barns or farm shops. If Lizzie’s mill had a name, nobody knew it, but perhaps it didn’t matter; perhaps it was just another sign that it had always been waiting for Lizzie to come and make it hers. She liked to think her dad would have approved, that his spirit was somehow guiding her to make the choice. More likely his passing had made her recognise the fragility of a life that was far too short to be shying away from living it to the full; though with the way Lizzie’s life had panned out since her traumatic break-up with Evan twelve months before, it was no wonder she’d begun to shy away from it.
Of course, buying into the romance of rescuing an old shell of a windmill was one thing, but making it habitable was a very different thing altogether. And as Lizzie stood gazing at it now, it wasn’t just hope and optimism filling her breast, there was a fair amount of trepidation too. Now that she looked at it, knowing it was hers and all the responsibility that went with that, the project seemed much bigger and more daunting than it had before. Not only that, but once it had been converted into a place fit to live in, she’d need to make it pay the bills too.
The plan hadn’t always been in her mind. She had a perfectly good job writing web content for travel and holiday sites, which paid well and was flexible enough to fit in with her life. It was funny, really, because she’d sort of fallen into the job and it didn’t seem to matter that she’d been to barely a tenth of the places she wrote about (though often writing about them made her want to go). What did matter was painstaking research and a bit of imagination, and that she could do. One of these days, perhaps a client would offer to whisk her off to Rio or New York to see for herself what she was writing about, but as yet she was still waiting. However, when she’d decided to take on the mill, she’d had a long chat with a surveyor who had imparted a perhaps inappropriate hope that one day the old place might be grinding corn and wheat again, as it had been meant to do, and the idea had been planted so firmly in Lizzie’s head that she’d been unable to shake it.
She’d put her skills to good use and had researched for hours, late into the night, in the evenings, on lunch breaks. She’d soon realised she wouldn’t be able to make amounts of flour big enough to supply supermarkets or factories, but she could make enough to produce her own artisan bread products perhaps. Or someone else’s artisan bread products, though the idea of a batch bearing her own company label was undeniably appealing. She’d never even considered milling before, which was silly when she thought about it, because what else was a great stonking mill for? But once she’d had the idea, it seemed silly to have the sails of her mill standing idle when a little wind power was all it needed to make it useful again. Of course, the cost involved in getting the sails to a state where they could turn again without flying off into the sunset was a different matter entirely, and it was something she was still working out. Still, working things out seemed to be the motto for her whole life right now.
A shrill ring from her pocket interrupted her thoughts and she pulled out her phone.
‘Hello, Mum.’
‘Have you been in yet?’
‘About to.’
‘So you haven’t had the chance to realise it’s si
mply the most terrible idea you’ve ever had?’
‘Not yet,’ Lizzie replied with a little laugh, recognising her mother’s dry humour and not a bit offended by it. ‘But it’s glorious out here right now. I wish you could see just how beautiful it is in the sunshine. There’s just grass and sky for miles and it’s so quiet. It’s just another reason to be happy I bought the place and when things get tough I’ll just look out of my windows to remind myself of that fact.’
‘You mean those windows that currently have no glass in them?’
‘Yes, those ones. At least summer’s coming so I won’t mind it being a bit draughty.’
‘I hate to break it to you but it won’t be warm at night without windows, unless we have a tropical heatwave. So you’re still not feeling as if you want your cosy little townhouse back?’
The Mill on Magnolia Lane: A gorgeous feel-good romantic comedy Page 1
