by Jenny Kane
Copyright © 2017 Jenny Kane
The right of Jenny Kane to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.
First published in 2017, previously titled Abi’s Neighbour,
by Accent Press
First published in this edition in 2020 by Headline Accent
an imprint of Headline Publishing Group
First published in this edition as an Ebook in 2020
by Headline Publishing Group
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library
Cover images © chuwy/iStock, robuart/iStock, Victor Metelskiy/iStock, marrishuanna/iStock, Millenna/Shutterstock and robuart/Shutterstock
eISBN: 978 1 4722 7544 8
HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP
An Hachette UK Company
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www.headline.co.uk
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
About Jenny Kane
Praise
Also by Jenny Kane
About the Book
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Chapter Thirty-six
Chapter Thirty-seven
Chapter Thirty-eight
Chapter Thirty-nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-one
About Jenny Kane
Usually to be found within range of a plate of hot buttered toast, a huge mug of black coffee, and with a bar of emergency chocolate tucked in her jacket pocket, Jenny Kane loves to spend her days writing in her local café.
Jenny combines her past experiences as an archaeologist, university tutor, cheese seller, newsagent, hat maker, Robin Hood obsessive and data clerk, with the sights and sounds of everyday life, to weave tales of relaxingly relatable romance.
Jenny’s ‘Another Cup of . . .’ series has been a consistent bestseller, while A Cornish Escape hit the Amazon Kindle top 10 and stayed there for many months.
Jenny also writes historical mysteries under the name of Jennifer Ash.
Find out more at www.jennykane.co.uk
Readers love Jenny Kane:
‘I’m a big fan of Jenny Kane’ Katie Fforde
‘A summer read as scrumptious as its Cornish backdrop. Brilliant!’ Nicola May
‘I loved this frothy cappuccino of a book!’ Christina Jones
‘A real bit of escapism. Great and truly lovable characters to root for and beautiful descriptions of Cornwall’ ***** Reader review
‘I couldn’t put this book down! I warmed to the characters immediately and was desperate to see how things worked out for them’ ***** Reader review
‘Brilliant read, heartwarming and funny’ ***** Reader review
‘I loved this story from start to finish. The perfect read for a weekend afternoon, with a cuppa and your feet up’ ***** Reader review
‘One of the best books I have read’ ***** Reader review
Also by Jenny Kane
Another Cup of Coffee
Another Glass of Champagne
Jenny Kane’s Christmas Collection
Romancing Robin Hood
A Cornish Escape (previously published as Abi’s House)
Ebook Only
Christmas at the Castle
Christmas in the Cotswolds
Another Cup of Christmas
Children’s Fiction
There’s a Cow in the Flat
Ben’s Biscuit Tin Adventure
Writing as Jennifer Ash
The Outlaw’s Ransom
The Winter Outlaw
Edward’s Outlaw
The Meeting Place
About the Book
Abi has what she's always dreamed of: her perfect Cornish cottage, great friends and a gorgeous boyfriend. But her idyll is shattered when a new neighbour moves in next door.
Rude and obnoxious, Cassandra doesn't make a good first impression on Abi. But with the unexpected wedding of one of Abi's friends to prepare for, Abi has bigger things to worry about.
However, avoiding her new neighbour proves harder than expected and Abi and Cassandra soon realise they might have more in common than they first thought. . .
But with the wedding only weeks away, can they set aside their differences before the big day?
For my wonderful parents
Chapter One
Cassandra stared at the ‘For Sale’ sign in the front garden. A fresh slogan had been pasted proudly across it, proclaiming Another House Sold!
She frowned. The estate agents must have made a mistake. Justin had talked about renting the cottage, this poky little two-bed terrace in some Cornish backwater, but he’d never once suggested buying it.
Sitting on the low stone wall that ran in front of the row of cottages, with her back to the sold sign, she let out a string of vehemently whispered expletives. Resisting the temptation to throw a pebble at the seagulls which were squawking their hearts out on the roof behind her, she steadied her breathing, like she did when faced with a particularly demanding client.
Shrugging off her suit jacket in deference to the early summer sunshine that poured from a cloud-free sky, Cassandra tried to focus, but doubts continued to assail her. She hadn’t misunderstood Justin, had she?
They’d been laughing over the breakfast table at one of the most exclusive hotels in London when the subject of Cornwall had first come up. Making plans for their future life together, they’d celebrated in grand style the fact that Justin had, after six years of secret trysts and stolen nights together, decided to leave his wife, the dreadful Jacinta.
Excitedly they’d plotted and planned over plates of eggs Benedict and smoked salmon, raising their glasses of Buck’s Fizz to Justin’s promotion to senior partner at the law firm. A promotion which meant that, providing they merged their finances, Justin could afford to get a divorce without being catapulted into penury.
There was only one snag.
The legal company Justin now worked for, Family Values, prided itself on its moral integrity. There was no way he could risk a scandal after se
curing the promotion he’d coveted for so long. It would be bad enough when he explained to his colleagues that he was getting a divorce – suddenly producing a long-term mistress would be too much for them to accept in one go.
So Justin had asked Cassandra to move away for a while. He’d suggested they use this short diplomatic period of separation to their advantage, and rent a property to later sublet – at a vast profit – to exhausted executives seeking a spot of relaxation. Cassandra, who could run her own business from anywhere via the Internet, would go and make sure the property was up to date, arrange any decorating that was required, and then rejoin Justin in London once things had died down.
Thinking back, Cassandra realised she should have asked a lot more questions about exactly how much research Justin had already done into this move. But under the influence of the early-morning alcohol, not to mention the triumph she felt at having finally succeeded in persuading Justin to leave his wife, she had suppressed all her instincts and agreed to everything he’d said.
The untidy, clipboard-wielding woman started talking as soon as she climbed out of her Mini. ‘Hello, my name’s Maggie, and I’m from –’
Cassandra cut impatiently across the formalities. ‘Sennen Agents, obviously. It’s written across your car.’
‘Oh, yes. So it is.’ Maggie paused. ‘Anyway, I’m sorry I’m late, I got stuck behind a tractor down the lane.’ She jingled a keyring in front of her. ‘I have your keys, Miss Pinkerton.’
‘No, you don’t.’
‘I don’t?’ The estate agent frowned, looking away from the woman that stood before her in expensive couture with crossed arms and a far from happy expression. Flicking through the papers on her clipboard, Maggie said, ‘I was instructed by a Mr Justin Smythe that you would be accepting the keys on his behalf?’
‘I meant, no, my name is not Miss Pinkerton. It is Ms Henley-Pinkerton.’
‘Oh. I see.’ Maggie refrained from further comment as she clutched the keys a little tighter.
Determined to make sure the situation was clearly understood, Cassandra pulled her jacket on, turning herself back into the sharp-suited businesswoman she was. ‘In addition to your error regarding my name, there appears to have been a further mistake.’
‘There has?’
‘Mr Smythe has not purchased this property. He has merely rented it, with an additional agreement to sublet it as a holiday home. I am here for two months to make the place suitable.’ Cassandra ran a disdainful eye over the beautiful exterior stonework. ‘It would seem that my work is going to be well and truly cut out.’
‘This is a much sought-after street, Ms Henley-Pinkerton. And this particular property is in excellent period condition.’ Feeling defensive on behalf of the old miner’s cottage, Maggie bit her tongue and flicked through her paperwork faster. Extracting a copy of the bill of sale, she passed it to the slim, angular blonde. ‘I think the misunderstanding must be yours. Mr Smythe has purchased number two Miners Row outright. It was a cash sale.’
Snatching the papers from Maggie’s fingers, Cassandra’s shoulders tensed into painful knots. Why hadn’t Justin told her he’d done this? She was convinced she was right. And anyway, he’d never deliberately make her appear foolish in front of a country bumpkin estate agent. . .
Yet as Cassandra scanned the document before her, she could see there’d been no mistake. Closing her eyes, she counted to ten, before opening them again to regard the badly dressed woman before her, who was once again holding out the offending set of keys.
Failing to take them, Cassandra gestured towards the little house. ‘Perhaps you would show me around, after I’ve made a call to Mr Smythe?’
Maggie, already feeling sorry for this unpleasant woman’s future neighbours, took unprofessional pleasure in saying, ‘Good luck with that call. The phone signal here is unpredictable to say the least.’
It had taken a ten-minute walk towards Sennen village to get a decent reception on her mobile phone, and then, when she’d been able to connect the call, Justin’s line was engaged. When she’d finally got through, she was more than ready to explode.
‘Justin! How could you have done this to me without a word? You’ve made me look a total idiot.’
Clearly thrilled that he’d managed to buy the terrace for a knock-down price – which, he’d claimed, was a far more economic use of their funds, an investment that would make them a fortune to enjoy in their retirement – he’d sounded so excited about what it meant for their future together that Cassandra had found it hard to remain cross.
Assuring her that the situation remained the same, and that she was still only expected to stay in Cornwall while he secured his new position and got the wheels of the divorce in motion, Justin told Cassandra he loved her and would be with her very soon.
Returning to the terrace reassured, if lacking some of her earlier dignity, Cassandra swallowed back all the words she’d have liked to say as she opened the door and the gloom of the dark and narrow hallway enveloped her. She was sure that awful Maggie woman had been laughing at her. The agent had taken clear pleasure in telling her that if she hadn’t stormed off so quickly she’d have found out that the phone reception was excellent if you sat on the bench in the back garden.
Vowing to never drink champagne in any form ever again, as it clearly caused her to agree to things far too readily, Cassandra saw the next two months stretching out before her like a lifetime.
Letting out some of the tension which had been simmering inside her since she’d first seen the for sale sign, she picked up a stone and threw it at the back fence, hard.
Maggie had gone, leaving her reluctant client sitting on an old weathered bench in the narrow rectangular plot at the back of the house. Playing her phone through her fingers, Cassandra saw that there was enough reception to make calls if she sat in this spot – but only in this spot. One step in either direction killed the signal dead, which was probably why the previous owners had placed a bench here. And probably why they left this Godforsaken place!
The Internet simply didn’t exist here. When she’d swallowed her pride and asked Maggie about the strength of the local broadband coverage, the agent had actually had the audacity to laugh, before informing Cassandra with obvious satisfaction that people came to Sennen for their holidays to leave the world of emails and work behind them.
In short, there was Wi-Fi in the village – but only sometimes. It was becoming clearer to Cassandra by the minute why Justin had secured this place for such a bargain price.
Breathing slowly, she pulled her shoulders back, pushed her long, perfectly straight blonde hair behind her ears, and took a pen and paper out of her bag. It looked as if she was going to have to tackle this, old school. First she would make a list of what she considered necessary to make the house habitable for holidaymakers, then she would locate the nearest library or Internet café so she could source decorators and builders to get the work underway. The sooner she got everything done, and herself back to the hustle and bustle of London, the better.
Deciding there was no way she could sleep in this house, which Maggie had proudly described as ‘comfortable’, ‘sought-after’, and ‘ready to be made absolutely perfect’, Cassandra hooked her handbag onto her shoulder and headed back into the whitewashed stone house. Shivering in the chill of the hallway, despite the heat of the June day, she jumped in the silence when the doorbell rang just as she bent to pick up her overnight bag.
For a second she froze. It had been years since she’d heard a doorbell ring. In her block of flats back home she buzzed people in via an intercom, and anyway, people never just dropped by. She hoped it wasn’t that dreadful Maggie back with some other piece of unwanted advice.
It wasn’t Maggie. It was a petite woman in paint-spattered clothes, with a large shaggy dog at her side. Cassandra’s unwanted visitor wore a wide smile and held a bunch of flowers in one hand and some bedding in the other.
‘Hello. My name’s Abi, I live next door. W
elcome to Miners Row. I hope you’ll be very happy here.’
Gesturing to the contents of her hands, the woman continued, ‘I picked you up a little something to brighten the house up before you get your own things in place, and I thought some fresh bedclothes could be handy if you haven’t got any unpacked yet. I know how damp these places can get if they’re left empty for long!’
Chapter Two
‘What happened next?’
Abi took a mug of tea from Beth’s outstretched hand. ‘She looked me straight in the eye, pushed away the flowers, and told me, in no uncertain terms, that the idea that a mere bunch of flowers could brighten that hideous place up enough to make someone happy was unthinkable. Especially in a ropey little backwater like this.’
‘You have got to be joking.’
Abi sighed. ‘I wish I was. Then she ripped into Maggie for having told other people her business.’
‘But surely Maggie was being kind? She probably thought a friendly face might cheer up her client, as she obviously didn’t want to be there.’
Abi shrugged in her best friend’s direction. ‘I don’t think the woman I encountered is the type of person who would ever admit to needing help. Unless she was paying for it, maybe. And even that would only be help from the very best professionals, of course.’
After a few seconds spent statue-still on the doorstep of number two Miners Row, staring in disbelief at her new neighbour’s rapidly disappearing back, Abi had left to put the flowers in a vase in her own kitchen. She couldn’t believe how unnerved she’d felt when she’d been left holding her welcome gift in one hand, and the evidence of her thoughtfulness in the other. Her head had suddenly been full of images of her late husband, Luke, who’d treated her in a similarly dismissive way for the majority of their married life.
Glad that it was nearly half past three, which meant that Beth would be home from the village school where she worked as the nursery teacher, Abi set off for her friend’s flat. She badly needed Beth to put her fears into perspective. Could the depressing London life she’d escaped just under a year ago have followed her all the way to Cornwall?
