by Elise Noble
“Could you ask the chef to leave out the pea and chilli purée?”
“As you wish.”
What had I done wrong?
My meal turned up twenty minutes later, slammed onto the table in front of me without a word. No cutlery. I had to borrow that from the next table, along with a bottle of ketchup. It seemed the kitchen had run out of plates too, because the fish came on a tiny surfboard and the chips were served in a miniature plastic bucket.
The story continued in the post office. Betty had been chatty for the last few weeks, but today she weighed my parcels without a word.
“Seventeen pounds fifty.” She held her hand out for the money.
Why so grumpy?
I tried to put their attitudes out of my mind as I recoded a client’s online shop in the afternoon, but when I caught myself typing “Betty” instead of “Checkout,” I realised it was a hopeless task. At least Tate was still talking to me. He’d messaged me this afternoon and suggested we have dinner together tomorrow.
Just dinner, but my subconscious was trying on wedding dresses, my head was adamant we’d only ever be friends, and over both of them, I could hear Maddie’s voice telling me to, “Get in there.”
Until she met Dave, she’d gone through a man every month, and I’d secretly envied her ability to have a good time while keeping her heart intact. Would I ever be capable of doing the same? I very much doubted it.
CHAPTER 16
“ARE WE GOING to the Italian place again?” I asked Tate as I settled into the passenger seat of his Mercedes.
“I thought we’d head to my house, actually.”
“Your house?” My pulse ratcheted up a notch.
The two of us, alone?
“My housekeeper’s prepared us something for supper. Although if you prefer, I can take you to a restaurant. I suspect we’d get interrupted a lot with questions about the burglary, though.”
He did make a good point, and I had to admit I was curious to see where he lived.
“No, your place is fine.”
It was almost dark as we drove through an imposing pair of iron gates that hid a winding driveway from view. In the fading light, swathes of grass stretched out on either side, dotted with trees and the occasional statue. This wasn’t so much a garden as a park.
Ahead, the outline of the manor house came into view, silhouetted against a full moon. The whole setup made me think of werewolves for some reason, and I gave an involuntary shiver.
“Cold?” Tate asked, and without waiting for my answer, he reached over and turned up the heater.
“Just a little.” Better to feign a chill than admit to my wild imagination.
Tate drove past the main house and pulled up in front of a sweet little cottage around the back. Thanks to some artfully placed spotlights, I could see it was everything I’d hoped Lilac Cottage would be. Wisteria wound its way over the front door, wooden beams added to the period look, and a cherub balanced over a fountain in the middle of the lawn.
Tate hopped out and opened my door, then took my elbow to lead me inside.
“It’s a touch on the basic side, but it suits my needs until I inherit the manor.”
“Wow,” I breathed as I stepped over the threshold.
He thought this was basic? It made Aunt Ellie’s home look like a shack.
The interior was traditional with a modern twist, obviously decorated without care for the budget. In the hallway, a velvet sofa and cast-iron boot stand glowed under recessed lighting, and in the kitchen, heat radiated out from a proper Aga. Sad though it sounded, I dreamed of owning a range like that. They were the heart of a home. I could just imagine my children rushing in after school and pulling off their wellington boots before they stopped to warm their hands in front of it.
Stop! What was I thinking? What happened to not rushing into anything after Edward?
Tate pulled out one of six padded leather chairs surrounding the long oak table and gestured for me to sit.
“Would you like something to drink?”
“Just a glass of water for the moment, thank you.”
As I took in every wonderful detail, from the old-fashioned copper saucepans hanging from their rack to the matching silver kettle and toaster, Tate set about getting dinner ready.
“I hope you like lasagne,” he said.
My mouth watered from the delicious smell that escaped as soon as he opened the oven door.
“I love it. Can I do anything to help?”
“No, I’m doing all the work tonight. You need to relax after the last few days.”
So, relax I did. Tate opened a good bottle of red, and seeing as he had to drive me back, I drank most of it.
“I feel guilty drinking three glasses full,” I told him as we curled up on the sofa later. “Especially when you haven’t touched a drop.”
“We’ve got plenty more in the wine cellar.” He paused for a long moment, reaching over to tuck a lock of hair behind my ear. “Or you could just stay the night,” he added softly.
Even through my alcohol-induced haze, I could tell from his heated eyes that he didn’t mean in the spare room. And I was tempted. The rush of heat between my legs as the words left his mouth told me that.
But it was too soon. After Edward, I was determined not to fall for the wrong man again.
“I’d rather take things slowly.”
“Anything you want, darling.”
He nuzzled my neck, his lips fluttering along my jawline until they met mine. His sweet kiss left me craving more. I pulled him towards me, and he gently parted the seam of my lips with his tongue, exploring. The sizzle in my veins tempted me to reverse my earlier decision, but the part of my heart that still ached after Edward’s betrayal stopped me.
Tate held my hand the whole way back to Lilac Cottage, and at every junction, I bit back the words on the tip of my tongue: turn around and take me back. Good Olivia battled with my inner harlot over how desperately I needed an orgasm.
In the driveway, Tate left me breathless with another kiss before hopping out to open my door.
“I’ll walk you inside.”
Such a gentleman. If I’d had a decent bed, I might well have invited him into it, except as he dipped his head to press his lips against mine once more, something registered in my peripheral vision.
“What the…”
I pushed away from Tate, my mouth dropping open in horror as I took in the jagged hole where my front window had been.
Tate followed my gaze. “Good heavens. How did that happen?”
“I don’t know. But it sure as hell wasn’t like that when I left earlier.”
No, ladies shouldn’t swear, but under the circumstances, I forgave myself for being a potty mouth. My hands were shaking too much to fit the key in the lock, so Tate opened the door for me. It didn’t take long to spot the muddy brick sitting in the middle of my living room carpet.
Tate drew me close and wrapped me up in his arms. “Shh, it’s okay.”
“Why me? What have I done?” I mumbled into his chest.
“It’s probably just kids.”
“People keep saying that, but where are they? I haven’t seen any teenagers hanging around since I got here.”
“They could have come over from one of the other villages. Stonystead had a problem with somebody keying cars a few months back.”
I knew he was trying to make me feel better, but as we cleared up yet more mess, I couldn’t shake the feeling of paranoia. First the burglary and now this.
What if it wasn’t kids? After the way Betty and Jean treated me today, I imagined the worst—a vendetta to make me leave the village.
“Are you sure you don’t want to spend the night at the manor?” Tate asked. “Even in one of the guest rooms?”
Tempting. So tempting. But you know that old saying about an Englishman’s home being his castle? Turned out it applied to Englishwomen as well. Lilac Cottage was my home now, and I needed to keep it safe.
&nbs
p; Even if it meant I was drunk with exhaustion the next day.
After lying awake for most of the night, jumping at every creak and groan from the house, I didn’t even have the energy to make lunch. I stared at the kitchen counter for five minutes before giving up and traipsing out to the café instead. Putting one foot in front of the other seemed a safer option than operating a saucepan or a can opener.
Except when I sat down at my usual table, I knew straight away that something was wrong. Daisy’s normally easy smile seemed forced, and it didn’t reach her eyes.
“What can I get you?”
“Quiche Lorraine with salad, please.”
“Coming right up.”
She disappeared into the kitchen and didn’t return until she put my plate down in front of me. On past form, she’d have stayed with me for a while and chatted, but she practically sprinted back to the counter.
“Sorry, terribly busy today,” she muttered over her shoulder.
Really? There was only one other customer in there, and he was reading the newspaper. Was there something in the water? Why did everybody dislike me all of a sudden?
When the other patron left, I decided I’d had enough of being kept in the dark.
“Daisy, what’s wrong?”
She let out a peal of false laughter. “Nothing! Why on earth would you think something was wrong?”
“I’m not stupid. Since yesterday, everyone’s been treating me like a leper.”
She approached gingerly and perched on the edge of a nearby chair, ready to run at any moment. Her posture reminded me of an antelope watching a lion.
“There might be a few stories going around.”
Dread settled in my stomach like a dodgy curry. “What kind of stories?”
“About your life back in London.”
Oh hell, it was the stripper thing, wasn’t it? How many people had seen the pictures? Had the WI handed out copies at their latest meeting?
“I should have guessed. I suppose nothing on Facebook can ever remain a secret.”
A flicker of confusion crossed Daisy’s face. “Facebook? What’s on Facebook?”
She didn’t know about the photos? Then what stories had she heard?
“Never mind. What are people saying about my life back in London?”
“That you go after rich men and take them for everything you can.”
“Seriously?”
“You’ve only been here for five minutes, and you’ve already got your claws into Tate Palmer.”
They thought I was a gold-digger? I couldn’t deny Mother had encouraged me to marry well, but our ideas of what constituted “well” had certainly differed. For me, it wasn’t all about the money. There had to be love too. That was why it had hit me so hard when Edward cheated.
“But I didn’t go after Tate. He approached me.”
“People are also saying you faked your burglary to get sympathy.”
“That’s crazy.”
She shrugged. “It’s what they think.”
“Look, I can see how people might think I only date rich men, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. Yes, my ex-boyfriend was a banker, but that wasn’t why I loved him.”
“And Tate? Women around here have been chasing him for years. You’ve been here five minutes, and you’re already going to the manor for dinner.”
How did she even know that? Barely half a day had passed since I left his cottage! I couldn’t even fart in this place without somebody sending out a news bulletin. Not that I would fart, obviously. That would be unladylike.
“He invited me, and since he’s been nothing but a gentleman, I accepted.”
“Tate deserves better than you.”
Oh, the green-eyed monster was out in full force now.
“Like you, you mean?”
“At least I’d be interested in more than the size of his wallet.”
“Well, unlike you, I know about the size of other things as well, so I’m one step ahead, aren’t I?”
I shouldn’t have stooped so low, but the words just popped out. And I wasn’t totally lying, either. I’d felt it digging into my hip last night.
“I think you should leave.”
Fine. I shoved my chair back from the table. “I’ve lost my appetite, anyway.”
I felt sick as I half ran back home, and it wasn’t just from Daisy’s cooking. Did everyone else share her views? Did they all think I saw Tate as an ATM?
If so, how could I convince them I wasn’t that girl? Yes, I could stop seeing Tate, but I liked him, and I didn’t want to throw away a possible future with what might be the perfect man.
I’d come to Upper Foxford hoping for a happy, peaceful life, and instead, I’d been cast as a vampire after Tate’s blood.
How could I fix this?
CHAPTER 17
THE NEXT DAY, the alarm on my phone rang at seven, and I shut it off and burrowed under the duvet. I didn’t want to face the outside world that day. Or, in fact, ever.
A message from Tate at eight woke me up again. Apparently, he’d arranged a glazier, and Tate must have had some clout because the guy hammered on the door twenty minutes later. I threw on a dressing gown and ran downstairs, where I thanked him profusely as I made us both cups of tea.
“Made a bit of a mess, didn’t they, love? Bloody kids.”
Another who was quick to write my problem off. “Have you seen this a lot around here?”
“A couple of villages over, they chucked a rubbish bin through the window of the chippy.”
Could I be overreacting?
An hour later, I had a shiny new window, and the man waved to me as he climbed into his van.
“Wait—how much do I owe you?”
“Nothing. All been taken care of.”
“By Tate?”
“You want to hold on to that one, love.”
Wonderful. Although I appreciated Tate’s generosity, his gesture would hardly do much to quash my new reputation as a gold-digger. I wished he’d asked me first so I could have declined his offer.
Rather than risk the wrath of the village, I stayed home for the rest of the morning and listed as many new items as I could on eBay. And while rummaging at the back of the dining room, I found treasure under a pile of zebra-print onesies. A shiny red mountain bike had been hidden from view while the burglar did his worst, still with pristine tyres and plastic sleeves over the paintwork.
Why had Aunt Ellie bought a bicycle she’d never ridden?
Good grief, why was I even asking myself that question? The woman had also bought a set of musical garden gnomes, each dressed in a different coloured bikini, for crying out loud. That line-up made the bicycle look relatively normal.
My discovery meant I now had wheels. Slightly labour-intensive ones, granted, but I didn’t have to rely on the bus anymore. A bubble of laughter escaped at my unexpected freedom.
Although I wouldn’t be trying my new ride out today—the gloomy sky outside threatened a downpour, and the branches of the old tree outside the window scraped on the rain-speckled glass as the wind did its worst. The thought of venturing beyond the front door made me shudder.
Instead, as the heavens opened, I went full hermit and curled up in bed again, watching a film about guinea-pig commandos on the tiny portable television in Aunt Ellie’s bedroom. For a minute, I regretted selling the giant TV from the lounge. If I had to live as a recluse for the rest of my time in Upper Foxford, the extra definition would have been a bonus.
The black clouds over Upper Foxford had lifted by the next morning, and after a good night’s sleep, a little of the darkness in my mood floated away with them. It was time to try out my new bike. And the new gloves and scarf I’d found in the piles of peril, because it was chilly outside.
I turned left out of the driveway to avoid the centre of the village, only to hear the toot of a horn behind me.
“Need a lift somewhere?” Warren asked through his open window.
“Thanks for th
e offer, but I’m quite happy cycling.”
“Quicker in the car.”
“I’m not going anywhere in particular. It’s more…exercise. I need exercise.”
“Okay, well, have fun. Don’t forget I’m always around if you do need to go anywhere.”
I smiled, thankful that at least one person other than Tate was still speaking to me. “I’ve got your number.”
His number and a whole lot of guilt, because I’d turned down Warren and then had dinner with Tate. I honestly had intended to enjoy the single life when I came to Upper Foxford, but what if Warren thought I’d lied? Stupid Olivia, always digging myself into holes.
After Warren disappeared off around the bend, I pushed all thoughts of men out of my head and spent a pleasant morning getting lost in the local countryside. The fresh air in my lungs gave me the energy I’d been missing, and before I knew it, I’d cycled through four villages and ended up in a fifth. Where had I heard the name Stonystead recently? I racked my brains and recalled Tate’s mention of petty vandalism. If I hadn’t been gasping for a drink, I’d have kept cycling.
The pub on the main road wasn’t a particularly pretty one, but the barman greeted me warmly, which was a pleasant change after the last few days.
“Just a drink, or would you like to see the lunch menu?”
My stomach chose that moment to let out a grumble. “Maybe I’ll just grab a snack.”
Most of the food was fried—chips, spring rolls, scampi—but that came as a welcome relief after the snooty food at The Cock and Bull.
“Can I have a chicken-and-mushroom pie with chunky chips, please? Oh, and a lemonade.”
“Coming right up. Haven’t seen you around here before.”
“I live in Upper Foxford.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Slumming it over here, aren’t you?”
“Why would you think that?”
“Lower Foxford’s not so bad, but the folk in Upper and Middleton Foxford look down their noses at us.”
“They don’t think much of me, either, so I’ll fit right in.”
