

A Village Romance

The Little Perran Romances

Book 2

Lynda Renham

writing as

Amy Perfect

A Village Romance is the first of a two part story that concludes in the book: A Summer Romance.

The right of Lynda Renham to be identified as the author of the work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

Smashwords Edition

eISBN 978-0-9934026-5-4

first edition

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.

All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Copyright © Raucous Publishing 2016

www.raucouspublishing.co.uk

Thanks to...

Jae De Wylde and Sonya, for suggesting the great name of Rafe Wylde.

Many thanks to Katie Sale, for giving up her time to share her expertise. Watching her work on her ceramics was very inspiring and Milly's character grew as a result. You can see Katie's brilliant work on www.outlandishcreations.com

# Chapter One

'Move to the country?' protested Billy Baxter. 'Why the hell would I want to move to the country? It's all tractors and cow dung out there. Anyway, I don't speak the lingo. I've got a nice little pad here thank you very much.'

Ian sighed.

'I thought, a little break, you know, might get the old creative juices going again,' he said, and gave a false laugh. _Old_ was the operative word, he thought, but didn't say it. The fact was he had no idea what to do with Billy Baxter these days.

Billy stopped strumming his guitar, shook his shoulder-length hair back and grinned.

'What are you talking about? The creative juices have never stopped flowing. I tell you, this new one is my best yet.'

Ian took a swig of his lager and said,

'The trouble is Billy, no one else has heard your new one yet to decide if it's your best. I can't get anyone to play it. Radio 1 just doesn't air your kind of stuff any more, and Radio 2 ...'

'Radio 2,' scoffed Billy. 'That's for old has-beens. I'm not Val bloody Doonican. You won't get me in a bleeding rocking chair.'

Ian was silent. Billy whipped off his guitar and grabbed a lager.

'So you want to farm me out to the country?' he said sulkily. 'And what does that achieve? Everyone rediscovers me when I'm not around is that it?'

'The last time the press discovered you, you were on a boat with some bird half your age sitting on your ...'

'Yeah, I remember it well,' Billy smiled.

'Not the image you need Billy. Anyway, you could do with a rest. You're burnt out,' said Ian with faked sympathy.

'Everyone else goes to The Priory and I go to the bloody country,' said Billy sourly.

'I don't think you can afford The Priory. You've got to be doing really well to enjoy the privilege of having a meltdown there.'

'But the bloody country, come on Ian. It's all barn dances and Women's Institutes. It's not me,' Billy said as he picked up his guitar again.

'I think it will be good for your image. It suits Elton John and that lot,' said Ian, resting his hands on his beer belly.

'It suits Elton John to be a poof. I suppose you want me to become one of them too. Anyway, they play Elton John on Radio 1 ...'

'You're not exactly in Elton John's league and ...'

'What about Graham whatsisface? I thought you were getting me on his show.'

'They've got a lot of celebs lined up ...'

'I'm a celeb for Christ's sake.'

'New celebs Billy, like Finn Morrison and ...'

'Huh,' scoffed Billy. 'Have you heard his record, it's ...'

'No one calls them records any more Billy,' sighed Ian. 'Anyway they turned you down for the _Graham Norton show_.'

Billy shook his head in despair.

'What about _Desert Island Discs_?'

'That's Radio 4,' Ian reminded him. 'You hate Radio 4.'

'That's true. I do,' agreed Billy thoughtfully.

They sat in silence for a few moments and sipped their lagers.

'How about one of those reality programmes?' Billy said finally. 'I can do that. I can cope in the jungle. That will give the record a boost.'

'Forget about the jungle, Billy. You just said you wouldn't cope in the country.'

Billy sighed.

'You're my manager and the best you can come up with is that I retire to the country. I'm only fifty-six. Surely you can set me up with some gigs.'

'I've tried Billy, I've tried. There's a lot of competition ...'

'Huh, you call this new crap 'music'? If that's competition then I'll eat my arse,' he scoffed.

'I'm thinking we could build a new image for you. You know, like Paul O'Grady and Julian Clary. They went to the country and then ...'

'One ended up on _Strictly Come Dancing_ and the other's doing a bloody animal show. Christ, I hate animals and I can't dance for toffees. Why do you keep lumping me in with bum bandits?'

'Gays, Billy. People call them gays these days. It's image building mate. If you look like a country gent we may have a chance of getting you on _I'm A Celebrity...Get Me Out Of Here!_ '

Billy's eyes sparkled.

'Wicked.'

'I do wish you would stop talking like you're stuck in the eighties,' Ian sighed.

'And you think moving to the country will be good for my image?' Billy asked doubtfully.

Ian nodded.

'I'll put it out to the media. We may even get a story.'

Billy punched the air.

'We can say I'm going there to meditate and stuff. That I'm into tantric sex like Sting. They like all that. We can do some photo shoots of me in those yoga positions. Isn't there some charity in Nepal I can support? How about if we give Richard Gere a bell, he's into all that stuff isn't he?'

Ian closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

'Let's keep it a bit more low key shall we?' he said patiently. 'Keep the press guessing for a bit and then we'll give them a story. I know the break up with Clara was tough but you've got to stop knocking off twenty-five-year-olds. It looks a bit, you know ...'

'It looks a bit what?'

'Immature. You look like you're going through a midlife crisis. Give yourself a nice break. A good bit of image building is what we need. The press will be crying out to know what's happened to you.'

Not that they could really give a shit, he thought, but didn't say that to Billy. There was a lot Ian thought but never said.

'You know Clara's asking for dog bloody maintenance?' scoffed Billy. 'That bleeding dog is better groomed than I am.'

'That's not hard, Billy.'

'She feeds it caviar. I bloody ask you. It nearly bit my whatsit off once. All I was trying to do was get into my own bed. It was my bed of course. Comes to something when the only threesome you have with your tart is with her bloody poodle.'

'And you really should stop calling her a tart in interviews, Billy. It doesn't look good. That's partly why she's taking you to the cleaners.'

Billy sighed.

'So where in the country do you think I should go?' he asked. He pulled open two more cans and gave one to Ian.

'Here,' said Ian, and handed him an estate agent's leaflet. 'There's a nice little place for rent. Higgledy Piggledy Cottage in a Cotswold village, you can't get more country than that.'

Billy looked at the leaflet and shook his head.

'Who'd have thought it, me, Billy Baxter in the country. I'll be herding chickens next.'

'It looks peaceful. It will do you the world of good,' smiled Ian.

Billy studied the leaflet and then picked up his guitar.

'Sounds a real drag but if you think it will improve my image ...'

Ian lifted his can in celebration.

'Here's to your new life in Little Perran,' he said, barely able to hide the relief from his voice.

# Chapter Two

Ash hadn't thought it could get any worse. How wrong he'd been. But, deep down he'd been expecting it. He'd seen it in her eyes every day since it happened. He'd tried to ignore it. Some days he even convinced himself he had imagined it, for when he'd looked back into her eyes the pain and fear had disappeared. She'd smiled and cheerfully made some positive comment. He'd blamed it on the medication. It was causing him to see things that weren't there he'd told himself. He was becoming paranoid. But now, clearly, he knew, he hadn't been.

'I'm so sorry Ash, I wish ...' she began.

'You're sorry,' he broke in cynically, his lips curled into a twisted smile, turning his handsome face suddenly ugly. 'The wedding is two months away and all you can say is you're sorry?'

'I thought I could do it,' she said, as she fumbled in her bag for a tissue. 'But I can't. I can't cope with it Ash. Maybe that makes me weak, but that's how it is.'

'What can't you cope with Marcia? Is it the arm, or is it the leg? What's the biggest problem? Or maybe ...'

'Stop it Ash, please,' Marcia begged.

'You think I want to be like this?' he snapped, reaching for his walking stick. He threw it across the room and Marcia shrank back nervously.

'Of course not,' she whispered. 'But if I can't handle it Ash, then I can't handle it. I thought of all our dreams and our plans to travel, to reach the unreachable, climb the impossible and ...'

'Well, there's nothing holding _you_ back now is there?' he said bitterly, while angrily wishing he hadn't thrown the stick. Stupid bloody thing to do, he can't even get up and walk away from her now without stumbling and humiliating himself.

'It's a big commitment, marriage. Our lives won't be what I imagined ...'

'Sorry about that,' he broke in bitterly. 'I can see it's all rather inconvenient for you.'

He ran his hand through his thick russet hair and looked at her, his eyes cold and hard. Marcia picked up her bag and pulled her shoulders back.

'I won't feel guilty Ash. I'm doing the right thing.'

'For you,' he quipped.

She pulled the large white gold solitaire ring from the third finger of her left hand and placed it on the table by his chair. He stared at it, a sparkling jewel standing out amongst his bottles of medication.

'I'll let everyone know,' she said. She swung back her long auburn hair as she walked to the door.

'That's good of you.'

He could ask her to hand him the stick but he'd be buggered if he would.

'Goodbye Ash,' she said tearfully.

He didn't answer but waited for the click of the door and then bowed his head and cursed. He lashed out with his good arm scattering everything from the table onto the floor, the diamond ring landed next to his stick.

'Damn it, damn it,' he repeated while struggling to get up. He limped to the stick and reached down for it. Pain shot through his leg causing him to cry out. The door opened again and he sighed.

'What on earth?' cried Barbara and hurried to his side.

'Don't fuss,' he snapped.

'Here, I'll get that,' she said and reached for the stick, picking up the ring as she did so. She looked at him wide-eyed.

'Don't pretend you weren't expecting it,' he said. He took the stick and limped back to his chair.

'Your medication is all over the floor,' she said and bent to pick up the bottles and foils.

Ash sighed heavily.

'Mum, it's no good,' he said quietly.

'She'll come round,' she muttered.

'I mean this is no good, you need to spend time with Dad. You're not my nurse.'

She stopped and looked at him.

'You don't want to put yourself into a rehabilitation ...' she trailed off.

He opened the drawer of the table and pulled out a bottle of whisky, pouring himself a large glass.

'I need to get out of London. I'm sick of people's pitying looks. Friends visiting and being afraid to tell me they're going skiing. Parties that are going on and I'm not being invited. Once the news gets around that Marcia's broke off the engagement it will be unbearable.'

As if it wasn't unbearable enough, he thought, taking a gulp of the whisky and feeling its warmth relax his muscles.

'But where will you go?' Barbara asked worriedly.

Somewhere far away, he thought. Far enough away where you can't fuss over me and where I can end it all without worrying you'll walk through the door.

'There's a house for sale in Oxfordshire ...'

'Oxfordshire?' she said as if he'd said _Outer Mongolia_. 'But ...'

'The country air will be good for me. I can try and work there. I won't have to dread visitors ...'

'But ...'

'There's no reason to stay in London, Mum, and besides it's purgatory seeing all my friends living their lives in a way I can't,' he said, finishing the whisky in one hit.

'You shouldn't drink with the medication,' Barbara said worriedly.

'And I won't have you fussing,' he said cruelly and then regretted it. Damn it, this wasn't her fault. It wasn't Marcia's. It wasn't anyone's fault. The only person to blame for this was himself.

'I'm sorry,' he mumbled, 'but it will be better this way.'

Once she'd left he hobbled to his desk and turned on the laptop. The details for Briar Lodge popped up onto the screen. It was a good price, cheaper than his flat in Hampstead, in fact. Thoughts of Hampstead were like a punch to his stomach. They'd be having their regular Pimms summer party on the Heath soon. He didn't blame them for not inviting him. How could he join in a game of croquet? And it would be torture watching his team play cricket when he loved to play himself. It would have been crueller to have invited him than not to have done. All the same ... he picked up his mobile and dialled the estate agent. It would be nice to get out to the country. If he was going to end it anywhere, he'd rather do it there than in London.

# Chapter Three

Little Perran was beautiful in the summer. The green barley fields with the sun dappling on the early morning dew was a sight not to be missed. Frankie watched the birds nibbling from the feeder as she drank her morning coffee at the garden table. It was a perfect June morning. Although the truth was the view from Swallows Cottage was idyllic no matter what time of the year. It couldn't have been a more perfect day. Aunty Rose always loved June. She closed her eyes for a few seconds and breathed in the heavy scent of the honeysuckle. The only sounds were the birds singing and the gentle hum of a tractor in the distance. A sense of peace washed over her and she thought lovingly of Aunty Rose.

'It's the perfect month,' she used to say. 'It's not too hot and always bright and cheerful, the perfect month for gardening.'

Frankie thought of the garden at Briar Lodge and sighed. She hoped the new owners were keen gardeners. She would hate to see all the hard work Aunty Rose had put into it go to waste. It was a single chap, the estate agent had told her, a writer, quite well known by all accounts. No doubt he wouldn't be bothered with gardening. He'll probably patio the whole thing. She really ought to pop round and welcome him to the village. After all, he'd been here two weeks already. She sighed and lifted her cup to her lips. It seemed strange without Aunty Rose around. It hadn't felt right ever since she'd announced she was staying in the States.

'It suits me here,' she'd told Frankie.

But then Frankie had at least been able to Skype her and tell her all the village gossip but now she couldn't even do that. You couldn't Skype dead people could you?

'What's the big sigh for?' asked Roux from behind her, kissing her on the neck and causing her to shudder with desire.

'I was just thinking about Briar Lodge and Aunty Rose.'

'It would be odd if you weren't, today of all days. Birdie just phoned, she's running late but will be here in about ten minutes. We ought to get things ready at the village hall.'

She nodded. Frankie wanted to give Aunty Rose a good send off. After all, she had been born and raised in Little Perran and everyone at Little Perran had the right to say goodbye to her.

'You don't think the press will turn up do you?' she asked worriedly.

'I don't think they're interested in Aunty Rose's funeral. It's our wedding they're gearing up for,' he smiled, kissing her on the cheek and turning her to face him so her lips met his. She felt her body soften against him and not for the first time thanked some unseen angel for sending Roux her way.

'The village is well prepared for them,' she smiled. 'I don't think they'll get anywhere near us on the day.'

She thought ahead to her wedding day in September and felt a pang as she remembered that Aunty Rose now wouldn't be there. It had somehow softened the blow of knowing that if her mum, Joyce didn't know what was happening then at least Aunty Rose would. She fought back a sigh and stood up at the sound of a tapping on the kitchen window.

'Okay to come in, or should I say out?' smiled Birdie, 'I'm not interrupting anything am I?'

'Like what?' asked Roux with raised eyebrows.

Birdie winked and hugged Frankie.

'You okay?' she asked.

Frankie nodded.

'Yes, better than I thought I would be.'

'Ben's gone to get Joyce and Mabel. I popped into the village hall on my way. Lucy and George have put on a fabulous spread.'

'I was going to help,' said Frankie and headed to the back door. Birdie put a hand on her arm.

'You don't have to worry about a thing. You've had enough on your plate these past few months, what with the extension on this place, and then Aunty Rose and then flying to the States to bring her body back. The least we can all do is take the strain off now. It's given Lucy and George a lot of pleasure. It's the pub's way of saying goodbye. All you need to do is get ready,' Birdie said softly. 'The villagers have taken care of everything.'

'I'll pop over with the Prosecco,' said Roux. He kissed her again and then left her and Birdie together.

'She used to love a glass of Prosecco, didn't she?' smiled Birdie.

'Or two,' grinned Frankie.

'Or even three,' added Birdie.

'Do you remember that time when she got totally pissed at the cricket do?' laughed Frankie.

'And kissed Antony the milkman with such passion that he lost his footing,' giggled Birdie. 'He was afraid to deliver her semi-skinned for months.'

They were both laughing with tears running from their eyes when they went to answer the knock at the front door. Wiping their eyes, they opened it to come face to face with the funeral director, his face sullen and serious, a deep frown etched into his forehead. His sullen face had Frankie laughing even more.

'Miss Bell,' he said, looking from one to the other of them, the frown growing deeper.

Frankie opened her mouth to speak but nothing would come out. Birdie wiped her eyes.

'I'm so sorry,' said Birdie, 'we were just remembering the ... the ...' her eyes moved to the hearse outside.

'Good memories, obviously,' he said poker-faced. 'Are there flowers to go on the hearse?'

'Oh, erm ...' said Frankie, looking around.

'You're early,' she said finally.

'Exactly twenty minutes,' he said, looking at his watch. 'We like to give people time. Often they need to compose themselves before we can leave.'

Birdie gave Frankie a sideways glance and Frankie found herself struggling to hold back the giggles. Aunty Rose would have loved this she thought. What a shame she couldn't be here to see it.

'I'll just get ready,' said Frankie, heading to the stairs deciding in that moment not to wear the black suit she had laid out on the bed. Aunty Rose wouldn't want her to be all dowdy and sad. She'd wear her pink print dress that Roux had bought her when they were in London. Aunty Rose would approve and she would certainly approve of Roux. With a smile, she went into the bathroom to apply her make-up.

# Chapter Four

Billy turned up the volume and sang loudly along with the Sex Pistols as he drove along the narrow country lanes, occasionally swerving around a wandering pheasant. He'd never seen so much green. The last time he'd seen this much green was at Glastonbury about ten years ago. God, had it really been ten years ago? He thought.

' _I wanna be Anarchy_ ,' he roared as he took the sharp bend that signposted, 'Little Perran One mile.' He bumped the car over a tiny bridge and zoomed past the barley fields.

The track changed to _God Save the Queen_ and Billy banged the steering wheel as he sang. The music blared out from his open-topped silver Audi A3 Cabriolet. His only companion was his Danelectro guitar that sat on the passenger seat next to him. Ian had arranged a removal company to bring the rest of his stuff that afternoon. He moved the track back to play _Anarchy_ and screamed at the top of his voice to the chorus _'I wanna be Anarchy'_ as he shot past the sign that said,

Little Perran, please drive carefully through the village.

There was no one around. He knew it was going to be quiet but Christ, Ian hadn't said the village would be dead. The place is probably inhabited by a load of pensioners. He sighed at the thought. They're most likely out on one of their coach trips to the coast. Well, he'd soon liven up the place. He drove past the deserted pub and the village green. He couldn't believe it. Two in the afternoon and the pub was closed. Christ, he mumbled, that's not a good sign. He hoped there was an offie close by. What the dickens was Ian thinking of sending him to this backwater? Still, if it improves my image, then I suppose it would have been worth it, he thought.

Go past the church, Ian had said, and then take the first left into a road called Apple Tree Lane. Higgledy Piggledy Cottage is at the bottom of the lane.

The road curved and he took the bend sharply. He screamed _'I am an Anti-Christ'_ along with Johnny Rotten just as the church came into view. The pall-bearers, who were carrying the coffin into the church, stopped, frozen at the sight of Billy's Audi, screeching out the Sex Pistols and hurtling frighteningly towards them.

'Jesus,' mumbled Billy, and stamped his foot hard on the brake. The Audi screeched to a halt just inches from the back of the hearse.

'And I wanna be anarchist! Get PISSED! DESTROY!' screamed the music.

Billy quickly turned the CD off. There was a deathly silence. George and Lucy surveyed Billy's flowery shirt and long hair and glanced at each other.

'Afternoon,' Billy said, finally. 'I'm looking for Higgledy Piggledy Cottage.'

Milly rushed from the church to see what the commotion was about.

'Isn't he that rock star, you know ...' she said and racked her brains for his name.

'Gary Glitter?' George said sarcastically.

'I'll have you know I've nothing in common with that perverted little ...' began Billy.

'Pleased to hear it,' said George.

'No, he was much later than Gary Glitter,' Milly whispered. She clicked her fingers as her memory was jogged. 'Billy Baxter, that's who it is, I thought he was younger than that though.'

'Higgledy Piggledy is the next turning on your left. Try and keep the noise down if you would. We're having a funeral and the Sex Pistols weren't quite what we'd planned as our accompaniment to carry in the hearse,' said George.

Cynthia peeked behind Milly.

'I remember him. I have some of his records. I was a big fan.'

'You were?' said Milly. She couldn't imagine Cynthia ever idolising a pop star.

'I went to one of his concerts.'

'Cool,' smiled Milly.

'Yeah, course,' said Billy. 'I appreciate the old Pistols are not everyone's cup of tea.' Billy was feeling decidedly uncomfortable. He wished they would all stop staring at him. 'I wouldn't mind 'em at mine though,' he added, anything to break the silence.

'We prefer Little Green Apples by Glen Campbell,' said Lucy.

Billy fought back a wince. Who played Glen Campbell these days? He was right about the country. They'll be having bloody barn dances. Well, they won't see him there that's for sure.

'Anyway, I hope it all goes well, the funeral and that,' he said starting the engine. 'It's a shit, death, isn't it?'

Christ, if only they would stop staring at him he might be able to say something sensible.

'Still, we're all in the same queue, that's something of a comfort right?'

Why couldn't he just shut up?

'Indeed, and the way some of us drive I imagine we're further up the queue than others,' said George.

'Right,' smiled Billy, 'well I'll be off.'

He felt sure he heard a collective sigh of relief.

'At thirty miles an hour I hope,' said Lucy. 'We don't want another funeral before the week's out.'

Blimey, they're a cheerful bunch, thought Billy, giving a wave as he drove off. Maybe he'd tell Ian this is not for him. What the hell is he supposed to do here anyway? Probably the most exciting thing they do around here is play Aunty Sally. God, he missed London and it's only been three hours.

Higgledy Piggledy Cottage was not only at the end of the road but down another lane. He parked the car in Apple Tree Lane and walked down the mud path that was signposted 'To Higgledy Piggledy Cottage.'

A slim young woman was waiting by the gate. The garden was a splash of colour, with roses blooming around the doorway as well as in the garden.

'Ah, Mr Baxter,' she said, relief crossing her face. 'You found it then? I'm Rhonda.'

He looked at her perplexed.

'From the Estate Agents in town, I'll just show you around and then leave you with the keys,' she smiled.

'Oh yeah, right, of course.'

She opened the front door and stepped over the threshold.

'It was a weekend home owned by Peter Wood, the journalist,' she raised her eyebrows and gave Billy a little nod.

'Never heard of him I'm afraid,' said Billy.

'Oh well, he has since moved to Australia. He's doing very well there by all accounts.'

Billy bumped his head as he stepped through the doorway.

'Ah yes, you've got to watch those,' she smiled, 'Duck or Grouse as they say.'

'Right,' said Billy. Some country lingo no doubt, he thought. It's a whole other world in the country. He was quite right when he said he didn't speak the language.

'I expect it takes bloody days for an ambulance to get here,' he grumbled.

'I'm sorry?' she asked.

'Well, translated from London to country, I said it's best not to get too pissed when coming home here.'

The cottage was quaint, if you liked that kind of thing. Personally he preferred his pad in London. He couldn't be doing with cosy armchairs and Agas.

'There are instruction booklets for everything,' she said.

'Great,' he nodded.

'If you have any questions, don't hesitate to give us a ring,' she said handing him a card.

'What time does the pub open?' he asked.

# Chapter Five

'To Aunty Rose,' toasted Ben, lifting his glass.

'To Aunty Rose,' they all chorused.

'It was a lovely service Roy,' said George. 'You did Aunty Rose proud.'

'She was a lovely lady,' said Vicar Roy, lifting his glass of lemonade in a toast.

'A _real_ lady too,' said Stella. 'We'll all miss Aunty Rose.'

'Although, of course, she was only _my_ Aunty Rose,' said Frankie, smiling.

'So, I hear some good-looking bloke has moved into Briar Lodge. Is that right Frankie?' asked Stella.

Cynthia rolled her eyes. Was there nothing Stella missed?

'I'm sure Frankie's had more on her mind, than whether the new owner is good looking or not,' Cynthia said, just a touch too sharply.

Frankie smiled. Cynthia could be quite thoughtful in her own way.

'I haven't met him to be honest and Cynthia's right, I have had a lot on my mind and then with Aunty Rose ...'

'She always felt like my Aunty Rose too,' said Milly, sniffing. 'I missed her when she was in America, so I'm really going to miss her now. She taught me everything I know about throwing.'

She swallowed the Prosecco along with the lump in her throat. She felt quite tiddly. Good job old Sharon Larkin wasn't here. She wouldn't be too thrilled to know Milly was opening the shop while a bit tipsy. Just the thought of Sharon led her to the bar for a top-up. She had thought of every way possible to ask Sharon for a rise but they all sounded ungrateful. Sharon had been paying her the same rate for the past three years. Meanwhile the rent on her flat had increased, as of course had everything else. She didn't want to return to London; Little Perran had become more home to her than London had ever been and besides London had too many bad memories. But she couldn't survive on Sharon's salary any longer and she really wanted to do more with her pottery if she could. It would be brilliant to start a little pottery business. She could call it _Milly's Creations._ But it was beginning to look like she would have to travel into Oxford for work. If only Sharon weren't so tight-fisted with money, she thought. If Milly left the shop no one else would take over, not on that salary, and Sharon would be left in the lurch. It was a real dilemma. She was sure Sharon wasn't deliberately mean; she just didn't understand that times were changing.

'I'm presuming you don't mean throwing a ball?' said George.

'Tantrum more like,' said Jack, his eyes glazed over with memories of Rose. 'She threw a few of those in my shop. Especially when I got her a goose instead of a turkey one Christmas, Lordy, she gave me what for.'

'Throwing as in ceramics,' smiled Milly, twirling her hair and clipping it with a hairpin. Her long earrings glistened under the pub lighting. 'I loved that you used my vase for some of the flowers, Frankie.'

'She always loved that vase. Ah yes, I almost forgot to tell you. Aunty Rose wanted you to have her kiln,' said Frankie.

Milly gasped.

'Oh,' she said. Tears welled up in her eyes. 'That's such an honour. After all, I never knew her that long.'

'I wouldn't know what to do with it,' smiled Frankie.

'Nor would I,' laughed Birdie. 'Unless it's to do with sheep leave me out of it.'

Ben grabbed her around the waist.

'Oh, you know about a lot of things, not just sheep.'

'Don't tell the whole world,' laughed Birdie.

'I don't know what to say, except I'm not sure where I'll put it. But to have my own kiln would be great.'

'At least you won't have to keep using the one at your class any more,' smiled Frankie.

'I've got an old shed at the rectory doing nothing. You can use that if you like,' said Vicar Roy vaguely. 'Might as well put it to some use. It's got electricity and stuff.'

'Oh really?' cried Milly, fighting back the urge to hug him. It didn't seem right hugging a vicar. 'If you're sure, that would be great.'

'It's got shelves and things. I'll give you the key.'

Milly could hardly believe her ears. Were things finally looking up?

'I think the summer fete this year should be dedicated to your aunt,' said Jack. 'After all, she did a lot for Little Perran over the years.'

'Hear hear,' agreed Cynthia. 'I say, do you think that pop star Billy Baxter would open the fete?'

Milly smiled as Cynthia's cheeks tinged pink at the mention of Billy Baxter.

'I think Roux should do it. He's as famous as you can get after all,' said Lucy, eyeing up Roux's muscular torso.

Roux's eyes twinkled,

'Thanks for the compliment but we'd rather keep a low profile before the wedding.'

'Does anyone even know Billy Baxter?' asked Birdie. 'I can't say I do.'

'He sang _Red Roses_ ,' said Cynthia, her eyes glazing over.

Milly looked at her and then winked at Birdie.

'I remember him, a bit of a goer in his time,' said Jack. 'He's well past it now, of course. He used to do all that hip thrusting and stuff, a second class Tom Jones.'

'He's far better than Tom Jones,' said Cynthia defensively. 'He has a new album,' she added before blushing. 'Well, I heard he had anyway,' she stammered.

'Well, I don't think we'll be overcome with Billy Baxter groupies, somehow,' laughed George. 'As long as he keeps that godawful music down when he drives through the village I don't mind.'

'Zooms through the village don't you mean?' added Lucy, topping up everyone's glass. 'Now, there are plenty of smoked salmon sandwiches and pork pies left, so you lot had better eat them.'

'We'd better get back if it's okay, Frankie,' said Birdie. 'We've got this sheep shearer coming over from the Wychwoods. I'm just hoping he doesn't think it's too much.'

'We're overcome,' sighed Ben. 'I really can't do it all myself this year, plus I'm way behind on the paperwork.'

'And it would be nice to find the time to plan our wedding too,' Birdie whispered to Frankie. 'There are only so many years you can be engaged and it not look a bit odd.'

Frankie smiled.

'I'm surprised you two even found time to get engaged.'

'I'm surprised we find time for anything,' smiled Ben as he squeezed Birdie to him. 'But you know what they say, where there's a will, there's a way.'

Everyone laughed just as the door to the pub opened and Billy Baxter strolled in. The pub turned quiet. He was wearing flared jeans, a bright purple shirt and his long hair was tied back into a ponytail.

'Evening folks,' he said. 'Looks like I'm in time for the party.'

# Chapter Six

Cynthia thought if her heart were to beat any faster it would burst from her chest. She was so close to Billy Baxter that if she reached out her hand she could touch him. He turned his rugged face to her and smiled. Cynthia felt sure her heart missed a beat. He'd lost his looks over the years but then who hadn't? She didn't exactly look like Diana Dors these days either. She smiled inwardly. If half of the village didn't remember Billy Baxter then they were hardly likely to remember Diana Dors were they? But everyone had said she'd looked just like her in her younger days.

'It's more of a wake than a party,' said Jack, grabbing his jacket. 'I should get the shop open.'

'You're welcome to the food from the buffet,' George said to Billy, 'The sandwiches are curling up anyway.'

Frankie glared at him.

'You're very welcome indeed,' she added. 'There's Prosecco if you would like some. We were just toasting my Aunty Rose.'

'Oh brill, yeah thanks,' said Billy, accepting a glass from Lucy. 'Here's to Aunty Rose then,' he said and raised his glass. 'I've never met her but I'm sure she was something special.'

'So what brings you to Little Perran?' George asked, clearing up the glasses.

'You're Roux bloody Lockhart aren't you?' declared Billy. 'I've seen all your films. This is bloody awesome.' He shook Roux's hand heartily.

'Thank you,' smiled Roux. 'I'd like to say I've heard your music but I'm afraid ...'

'I'll drop a couple of albums round. I'll sign them if you want. You don't know what you're missing. I'm only here for a bit. My manager thinks I'm burnt out. Rock star's life's not all it's cracked up to be. I need a break before I go on that celebrity programme. You know, _I'm A Celebrity ... Get Me Out Of Here_. They wanted me on the last series but I was overworked,' said Billy, and sighed with fake tiredness before throwing back the Prosecco.

'I'll top you up shall I?' sighed Lucy.

Cynthia fought back the green-eyed monster. A signed copy of Billy Baxter's albums and she imagined that Roux Lockhart would never even play them.

'Only if you can spare it,' said Billy, hopefully, and held out his glass.

'As long as you don't get the impression it's always free,' she said.

'I need my shades,' whispered Ben, before kissing Frankie on the cheek. 'That shirt of his is a real blinder isn't it?'

Frankie laughed.

'Good luck with the sheep shearer.'

Birdie hugged her.

'It was a lovely send off for Rose,' she said.

'You look tired Birdie,' observed Frankie, 'more so than normal.'

Birdie shrugged it off with a smile.

'Oh you know, this time of year. Everything happens at once doesn't it, but hopefully this sheep shearer will help.'

'Pop over any time for the kilns,' Frankie smiled at Milly.

'I'll collect them tomorrow if that's okay,' said Milly. 'And I'll look over the shed tonight, if that's all right Vicar? I really should get back soon and open up the shop.'

'Oh yes, yes, of course. Right, I should be going. Will we see you in church on Sunday Mr Baxter? Are you a man of God?' asked Vicar Roy.

Billy choked on his Prosecco. Blimey, he hadn't been expecting the old God squad to be on his back.

'I don't actually ...'

'It would be pleasant if you came along on Sunday morning. You could play your guitar for us perhaps? It would be lovely to add another to our little flock.'

Holy shit thought Billy. This is getting worse. He'll be turning into Cliff Richard instead of Sting at this rate. Not quite the image he wanted to cultivate, but then again ... good works and all that.

'Obviously if there is anything I can do to, I'd ...'

'Splendid, we'll see you Sunday morning. Service is at nine.'

Nine! Billy did his best to hide his surprise. They really expect him to be up and at church by nine on a Sunday morning? They obviously haven't heard of hangovers in Little Perran. Before he could protest Vicar Roy had gone. Milly and Cynthia smiled at him.

'So, what else does a person do in this place, aside from go to church?' Billy asked, looking at Lucy for more Prosecco.

'I'm afraid that's it for drinks on the house. What can I get you apart from Prosecco?'

'A pint of your best,' he grinned.

'There's the allotment of course,' said George. 'Good time to get started. Cynthia's the expert. She's got the best courgettes you've ever seen. Make your eyes water they do. I reckon she'll win the prize for them.'

Cynthia was blushing so much that she felt sure she looked like an overripe tomato.

'And her marrows,' smiled Milly, 'well they're something else.'

'Is that right,' said Billy as he grinned at Cynthia.

'The allotment next to yours is free isn't it Cyn?' asked George.

Cynthia pulled her eyes away from Billy's and looked at George.

'Yes', she said softly.

'I like to get close to nature,' said Billy, thinking how this would be good for the image with _I'm A Celebrity ... Get Me Out Of Here!_

'It's Brian on the parish council you need to talk to. He'll tell you everything you need to know.'

Cynthia felt if her heart didn't slow down soon she would pass out. What was wrong with her feeling like this over a man? At her age too, it really was disgraceful. She'd been a widow for ten years and had never thought about men. There'd been no point. No one could ever match up to her Henry. Besides, there had been no eligible men over fifty in the village and she had no intention of joining a dating club. Anyway, she had her allotment and her music and her ballroom dancing class once a week. She didn't need a man, at least not until now and here she was almost drooling over some long haired hippy. Honestly, it must be hormones or something.

'I said you probably wouldn't mind Cyn?' George said.

Cynthia pulled herself out of her reverie.

'I'm sorry?' she said.

'I said you'd be more than happy to show Billy the allotments,' repeated George.

'Oh yes,' said Cynthia, patting stupidly at her hair and accidentally freeing bits from the tidy bun at the nape of her neck. She wrung her hands, fiddled with the pearls around her neck and said nervously,

'Do you want to take a look now?' She blushed as she heard the tremble in her voice. Milly smiled at her with a knowing look on her face. This is awful, thought Cynthia. This time tomorrow, everyone in the village would know that she fancied Billy Baxter.

'Well, there's no hurry is there?' said Billy. 'I'll get settled in first.'

Cynthia's heart sank with disappointment.

'Yes, of course. Well I must be off.'

'I'll come with you,' said Milly. 'I should get the shop open. It was nice meeting you Billy.'

Cynthia nodded shyly at him.

'See you at the allotments then,' she said.

'Yeah, sure, and you can show me your amazing marrows.'

Cynthia hurried from the pub with Milly close on her heels.

'He seems okay doesn't he?' said Milly once they were outside.

'I guess so. I hadn't taken much notice,' Cynthia lied while thinking how lovely it would be to work alongside Billy Baxter at the allotment. Who'd have thought it?

# Chapter Seven

Milly ran to the shop. She'd promised Sharon she would open at two and it was now almost three o'clock. Her mind had been reeling ever since Frankie had told her about the kiln. She really would have to speak to Sharon about a rise now. She hated to let her down but having her own kiln and her own little working space, thanks to Vicar Roy, meant she could give more to her ceramics. But it also meant more expense. She had to get a better paid job, but doing what? She tried to push her thoughts to the back of her mind and dug in her handbag for the shop keys. Fortunately there was only one person waiting outside the shop. Almost all of the villagers had been at the funeral. She strained to see who it was that was waiting but he didn't look familiar. She wished she had some mints in her bag. Her breath must smell of the Prosecco.

'Hello, I hope you haven't been waiting long. It was Aunty Rose's funeral and ...'

He turned to face her and she stopped mid-sentence as his handsome face took her breath away. Milly didn't think she had seen such a handsome face before, maybe in films, but never up close like this. He was almost beautiful, if you could describe a man as beautiful. He gripped a stick in one hand and she saw his other arm dangled oddly at his side. She looked back to his gorgeous face.

'I'm sorry I don't know who Aunty Rose is,' he said.

His voice was soft but with a distinct upper-class accent.

'I'm sorry I'm rambling. I'll just open up,' Milly said, fumbling with the key in the lock. 'Aunty Rose was one of the villagers. She wasn't my Aunty Rose; we just all call her that. We were celebrating her life with Prosecco,' she added. 'It was Aunty Rose's favourite.'

At least that would explain the alcohol on her breath. She turned to see him looking at her.

'I'm very sorry about Aunty Rose, whoever's aunty she was,' he said with a wry smile.

Milly couldn't tell if he was being flippant or not. She opened the door and clicked on the lights.

'Are you visiting Little Perran? We get a lot of visitors in the summer,' she asked, stepping behind the counter.

He limped towards her but didn't reply. Oh dear, thought Milly, I'm sounding like a tipsy nosy villager.

'I have an advert. I saw you had some in the window. Can I put it there?'

'Yes, of course. It's 75p for the week. How long do you need it to stay in?'

'I'm not sure. Shall we say a month?'

Milly loved his voice. He sounded like Benedict Cumberbatch, but far better looking if that was at all possible.

'That's fine,' she said, and took the card. Their hands touched ever so slightly and Milly's breath caught in her throat. His eyes met hers and then just as quickly he pulled them away. Milly glanced at the card and saw that her hands were shaking.

Housekeeper / Domestic Help Wanted. Live out. Five days a week. Briar Lodge, Little Perran. Good rate of pay. Some cooking required.

At the bottom of the advert there was a phone number and the name Ash Wilmot-Fox. Milly found herself staring at it until the words began to blur. Ashley Wilmot-Fox. She had read his book. He'd won the Costa prize for it.

'Is something wrong? Is there something else I should add?' he asked.

'No,' she said, snapping her head up. 'I'll put it in for you this afternoon.'

So, he was the writer that had bought Briar Lodge. Milly wondered if Frankie had met him yet. He hung the stick on the counter and fiddled in his jeans pocket.

'Briar Lodge was Aunty Rose's house,' she said. 'It's a nice house, full of love. She was a wonderful person,' she said wistfully.

He looked at her as if she were mad. Mind you, she thought, I do sound like a mad woman, with all this Aunty Rose nonsense. He handed her three pound coins and picked up his stick.

'Is there a handyman in the village?' he asked.

'Not really. But there's Jed from Slatesfield that does the odd job or two. I think his advert is in the window. Hold on and I'll get it.'

She debated whether to offer him a chair. She could drag one in from the back but she didn't know how to ask without insulting him.

'Are you okay to wait?' she said instead.

'Yes,' he replied flatly.

She pulled Jed's card from the window and hurried back behind the counter.

'I'll jot his details down for you.'

Her hand shook as she wrote. It was all too much, the kiln, the shed at the rectory and now this job. It was as though they had all been heaven sent.

'There,' she smiled, handing over the details. His hand touched hers again and she felt herself sigh with annoyance. She had vowed never to let a man affect her again.

'Thanks you've been really helpful.'

'Just a sec,' she said turning to the few bottles of alcohol behind her. She took down a bottle of wine and handed it to him.

'Welcome to the village.'

Ash was taken aback.

'Really, you don't have to do that,' he said.

'I would have popped round with it anyway,' she smiled. 'You'll get more once people know you've moved in.'

'Okay,' he smiled. 'Thanks.'

She watched as he limped to a blue mini that sat outside. He seemed to grimace as he climbed in. She tried to see if it was a specially adapted car but without going to the window and staring at him it was impossible to tell. Then he'd gone and she found herself standing at the counter, staring down at his advert. She thought about it for a while and then slipped it into the side pocket of her bag before getting her phone to call Sharon. She was about to tap in her number when Emma Hathaway strolled in. Emma lived in the next village and came to the post office every other day with eBay items she had sold. She carried two hefty carrier bags.

'Hiya,' she said. 'I thought you might be closed all day with old lady Rose's funeral.'

Milly ignored the old lady comment but felt a prickle of annoyance run through her. She took Emma's parcels and began weighing them. Emma pointed to the cards in the window.

'Any jobs going in the village? I just lost my cleaning job at the manor in Slatesfield. They've sold it. It's being turned into a posh hotel apparently. They gave us no warning.'

Milly's mind whirled. She could tell Emma about the housekeeping job. She began to feel guilty for slipping the card into her bag.

'The thing is,' she said hesitantly. 'I'm thinking of leaving here. I need more hours, but I've not told Sharon yet ...'

Emma's eyes widened.

'I'd love to work here, what a doddle.'

What a cheek, thought Milly. It was hardly a doddle.

'You have to do all the post office stuff,' she said, affronted.

'Oh, I can do that,' said Emma dismissively.

'Well, don't tell anyone and I'll let you know if the job becomes available.'

Emma nodded eagerly. Milly couldn't believe her luck. It was one of those days when everything seemed to click into place. All she hoped now was that Ashley Wilmot-Fox would hire her and that the pay was as reasonable as he advertised.

# Chapter Eight

'Plots six and three are available,' said Brian, as he led Billy around the allotments.

'Nice afternoon for it,' he said as they passed a man pulling rhubarb.

'Certainly is,' replied the man, giving Billy a friendly nod.

'Of course, they're both jungles at the moment. Not been used for well over a year or more,' Brian added, moving on.

They sounded like the perfect image-building material, thought Billy.

'It's ten pounds for a year but we fine you if you break the rules,' added Brian firmly, taking in Billy's flared jeans and short sleeved salmon shirt. Billy slipped on some mud and Brian stretched out a hand to steady him.

'Of course, you'll need your wellies here,' he grinned.

'Yeah, I must dig those out,' laughed Billy, enjoying his little pun.

'And of course we have our little allotment rules. All helps things to flow nicely.'

'Rules?' repeated Billy. 'What, you mean like not growing pot and stuff like that?'

Brian reeled back in surprise.

'Maybe you think we're a little old-fashioned here Mr Baxter, but not only is that against the allotment rules but it's also against the law.'

'Blimey, take a chill pill dude. I won't be growing anything illegal. I'm building my image here.'

Brian sniffed and continued his tour of the allotments. Celebrities in the village could be good for business but this one he had a feeling would be nothing but trouble.

'Compostable waste can go here,' he said pointing to a pile of garden rubbish. 'We have several taps dotted around the allotments also. Obviously we have to follow water bans but generally that's not a problem. Bonfires are allowed but only when the wind is blowing in the right direction.'

'What direction would that be then?' asked Billy, and wondered if he would have to listen to the shipping forecast.

'I'll give you a welcome pack. It's all in there.'

'Right,' said Billy.

'I imagine you'll need a rotavator to dig the plot over, whichever plot you choose, of course. I'd suggest the one nearest to Cynthia, it's a good spot. The other one is a bit shady. A rotavator will dig it over and you can start planting. Ben will lend you the rotavator.'

Billy wished they would stop talking to him as if he knew everyone. He didn't have a wanking clue who Ben was and even less of a wanking clue what a rotavator was, let alone how to use one.

'Right, sounds wicked.'

'You've used a rotavator before of course?'

'Oh yeah, Titchmarsh is my middle name. I just haven't had the time for it. That's success for you. It takes over your life.'

'Indeed,' said Brian fighting back a sigh. Maybe a rotavator was the last thing that should be put in the hands of Billy Baxter, he thought. Even a spade could be lethal by the sound of things. A vision from the Stephen King novel _Misery_ featuring a lawnmower popped into Brian's head and he shuddered.

'Ben will give you a demonstration of how to use it if you need ...'

'Nah,' said Billy waving a hand. 'I got it. Don't worry. I just need to get me peas and courgettes in,' he laughed.

'I don't think you'll beat Cynthia on that front. We don't know what she's been feeding them on but she's got some whoppers.'

'Really?' grinned Billy. 'I missed those.'

Brian shook his head and led Billy to a shed at the end of the allotments.

'So, plot six then? I think that's a nice little one to start off with. Are you happy with that?'

'Yeah far out, all I need is the renovator and I'll get going.'

'Rotavator,' corrected Brian.

'Yeah, weren't that what I said? Where's the nearest place to get a decent pair of wellies? Me others have had it to be honest.'

Brian pulled a contract from the office drawer and hesitated. He'd never turned anyone away from the allotments in all the years he'd been supervising it. What could go wrong? It's only a bit of land after all. The worst that could happen is that Baxter neglected it.

'The next village, Slatesfield, have a garden centre; you should get a pair there. They'll sell everything you'll need for your plot.'

'Great,' smiled Billy, signing the contract and taking the welcome pack. 'I'll go there now. Nothing like start as you mean to go on.'

Brian watched him walk away and shook his head. The first place to start, he thought, would be to give that hair a trim. Billy stopped at the allotments gate and waved. Brian had an awful feeling that he'd just made a big mistake allowing Billy Baxter to run wild on their allotments.

# Chapter Nine

'I really should pop round to him with a basket of something. I've been meaning to,' said Birdie.

'You don't think, he'll think, I've got a cheek?' said Milly, wiping her forehead.

'He may see it as initiative,' said Birdie, blowing her hair from her face and accepting a mug of coffee from Milly. 'Besides, you can pop the advert in after your interview can't you? Although, I can't imagine who's going to respond to it.'

'He might see it as initiative,' agreed Milly thoughtfully. 'But supposing he comes back before my interview, he might think I'm a bit deceptive,' she added worriedly, picking up a fork to help with the mucking out.

'You don't have to do that Mil,' said Birdie, resting against the stable door. 'I'll finish it. It's just so hot today.'

'You look knackered. Besides I am going to ask for a favour in return. Can I borrow a wheelbarrow to get the kiln over to the rectory?'

'We've got plenty of them,' smiled Birdie. 'Yes of course.'

'Thanks, you drink your coffee. I'll finish mucking out.'

'Cheers Milly. I haven't even got the energy to cook. Thank heavens the pizza van comes around tonight.'

'I hope you don't take this the wrong way but I do think Ben expects a lot of you. He really should have hired someone last year.'

'I know but he's so obsessed with tractors and the traction engine. He doesn't seem to notice anything else. There are so many things around the house that need doing but every spare moment he's on that traction engine. I don't want to nag him though.'

'I don't think you know how to nag, Birdie,' smiled Milly. 'How's the shearing going?'

'Well, with him helping, it's going very well.'

She nodded towards the fields. Milly followed Birdie's nod and fastened her eyes on a young muscular man who was holding a sheep and expertly shearing it. His muscles rippled under his tight grey top and his well-rounded backside faced them.

'He's not got a bad face to go with that lot,' Birdie laughed. 'He started yesterday straight after we interviewed him and he's got through loads of sheep already.'

'Is that the guy from the Wychwoods?' Milly asked. She looked at his firm thighs and rippling biceps and whistled.

'He's been sheep shearing in New Zealand apparently. I think it shows. He's really caring though. He keeps offering to help me,' Birdie smiled.

'You need to watch that,' laughed Milly. 'But it's a great help for you.'

'What's going on here?' said a voice behind them. 'I leave you for five minutes and you're slacking with a coffee and enjoying the sights I see,' grinned Ben.

'A girl's got to have some fun,' laughed Milly, although men weren't really Milly's idea of fun.

'While you're having fun I'm dealing with the old rocker Billy Baxter. You should see him. He's wearing a blue paisley shirt over torn jeans and brand new green wellies. He's just taken plot six at the allotments. He wants to borrow the rotavator. I only hope it comes back in one piece,' he laughed. 'See you in a bit.'

'Talk about in one piece,' said Milly. 'The guy at Briar Lodge is nice but kind of sad. I think he had a bad accident because he's got a funny arm and a bad leg. He has to walk with a stick. I didn't see his arm because he had it hidden in the sleeve of his jacket.'

'You're kidding,' gasped Birdie, 'no wonder he needs a housekeeper. You're sure it won't be too depressing. At least you get to see people at the shop.'

'I need the money,' Milly sighed.

'Do you know what happened to him?' asked Birdie, draining her mug.

'No, I did google but couldn't find anything. Authors aren't like film stars are they.'

'I wouldn't even know him. I only get three pages into _Hello!_ magazine and I'm dead to the world,' laughed Birdie. 'Come on, I'll get you that wheelbarrow.'

The sound of the rotavator roaring into action made them jump. There was a sudden yelp and Birdie sighed.

'I hope Billy Baxter hasn't run the thing over his foot.'

'God help the allotments,' laughed Milly.

'He should stick to guitars, far safer,' said Birdie, pushing a wheelbarrow towards Milly.

'There you go. There's no rush to bring it back. Do think carefully about that job won't you?'

Milly nodded but the fact was she had already made up her mind. She was going to apply.

***

Roux heaved the kiln into the car while Milly stayed and looked around the room at Aunty Rose's things that were spilling out of boxes. Buster sniffed around her and barked occasionally.

'All right old chap,' said Milly, lifting a photo frame from one of the boxes.

'If there are any of the pottery pieces you like feel free to take them,' said Frankie. 'Everything has gone to her sister in Bath and this is stuff we'll throw I guess, once I can manage to do it.'

'I wouldn't mind this fruit bowl,' Millie said softly, lifting a colourful bowl from a box. 'I helped paint this.'

Her mind flew back to that day, the memories taking her by surprise. She'd been relaxed and calm. They'd chatted as they'd painted, Aunty Rose guiding and then Milly had found herself telling her what had happened in London. The tears flowed as she did so. She felt them prick her eyelids again now and brushed them away quickly before Frankie saw them. She'd told no one about it before or since and Aunty Rose had not told a soul.

'It's yours,' said Frankie.

If she had seen Millie's tears she didn't comment and for that Milly was grateful. Roux dropped the kiln off at her flat and lifted it into the wheelbarrow.

'Vicar Roy will help you at the other end,' he said. 'If not, give me a ring and I'll pop back.'

'Thanks Roux.'

The wheelbarrow was easy to push and she decided that while she had the courage she would walk to Briar Lodge first and go onto the rectory afterwards. She shook her hair from its slide and slid a comb through it. Then purposefully she made her way to Briar Lodge. It was six thirty and a lovely June evening. Hopefully he would have eaten. It would be awful to walk in on his meal. His mini sat in the driveway and her heart quickened at the sight of it. She sniffed the roses and felt a sharp pang when she realised that Aunty Rose was no longer there. She racked her brain trying to think what she would say when he opened the door. She lifted the knocker and let it fall before pushing the wheelbarrow to one side. She didn't hear the door open and jumped out of her skin to see him standing behind her. He was looking past her to the wheelbarrow.

'That's mine. It's a kiln. It was Aunt Rose's,' she said nervously. Here she goes again, rambling on about Aunt Rose. He'll think she's obsessed with her if she goes on like this.

'My hobby is ceramics. She left it to me. I'm delighted. They cost an arm and a leg to buy ...'

Shit, what on earth had made her say that? Oh God, how stupid was that. He was still looking at her. Oh dear, this had not started well at all.

He gave a little nod.

'How can I help you?' he asked.

'It's about your advert.'

'Is there a problem with it?'

He obviously isn't going to invite me in, thought Milly.

'I'd like to apply for the job,' she said bluntly.

# Chapter Ten

Ash had just poured himself a large measure of whisky when there was a knock at the door. At first he thought he would ignore it, after all, it wasn't likely to be anyone he knew. He limped to the window and saw a figure pushing a wheelbarrow. As she turned he recognised her as the girl from the village shop. Damn it. He'd have to answer the door. She'd have seen his car outside. She was busy parking the wheelbarrow in the corner of the drive and jumped when she turned to see him in the doorway. He looked past her to the wheelbarrow, curious to see what she had brought with her.

'That's mine. It's a kiln,' she said following his look. 'It was Aunt Rose's.'

She looked uncomfortable at the mention of Aunty Rose.

'My hobby is ceramics. She left it to me. I'm delighted. They cost an arm and a leg to buy ...'

She stopped abruptly and her cheeks turned pink. She was very pretty, he thought, even more so with her hair loose around her shoulders. Her cheeks were rosy red against the pale porcelain of her perfect complexion. She had a typical country girl look about her. He glimpsed briefly into her sparkly brown eyes and gave a little nod.

'How can I help you?' he asked.

'It's about your advert.'

He couldn't help wondering why she hadn't phoned him about it.

'Is there a problem with it?'

He really should invite her in, he thought.

'I'd like to apply for the job,' she said bluntly.

He tried not to let the surprise show on his face.

'I was expecting someone a bit older,' he said frankly.

'I actually don't think you'll get anyone older apply,' Milly said. 'It's a middle-class village. Not many of the over-fifties need a job,' she smiled.

He thought how nice it would be to see her pretty fresh face every day and then he could have kicked himself, if he had a decent bloody leg to kick himself with, damn it. She no doubt felt sorry for him. He wasn't the great catch he used to be. Marcia had made that clear.

'But I thought you worked in the village shop?'

'I need something that pays better, but if you want someone older that's fine.'

She turned to the wheelbarrow.

'Won't you come in for a minute and we can discuss it,' he said, taking himself by surprise.

Milly's face lit up and his heart sank. He'd planned on escaping all distractions here. There had been only one plan in his mind. The last thing he needed was an appealing woman under his feet every day. One that would no doubt pity him the entire time she was there.

She pulled off her wellingtons to reveal bright pink socks. She stepped past him into the house, her soft flowery fragrance trailing behind her. He pointed ahead to the living room.

'It looks different without Aunty Rose's things ...'

She turned suddenly, and almost collided with him.

'I'm sorry, you must think I go on about Aunty Rose a lot. It's just ...'

'It's fine,' he said, pointing to a leather armchair.

He saw her look at the whisky on the table. He supposed that would be the topic of conversation in the village tomorrow.

'If you take the job of housekeeper then confidentiality is important. I know how villagers talk,' he said, his tone forthright.

'We're not all gossips,' she said softly.

He realised he had offended her and struggled to think of a way to put it right.

'I didn't mean you, obviously.'

'Right,' she smiled.

'Can I get you a drink?' he offered.

She pointed to the whisky on the table.

'One of those would be good. Maybe a smaller glass though,' she smiled. 'I don't want to be pushing a wheelbarrow under the influence.'

He lifted his eyebrows.

'You'd like a whisky?'

'Yes, if that's okay.'

'Sure,' he said, trying to hide his surprise. He struggled not to limp as he made his way to the drinks tray.

'It looks nice in here,' Milly said from behind him. 'It's more modern but nice.'

He turned with the whisky and his eyes met hers.

'Is that enough?' he asked.

'Ooh yes, I don't want Geoff stopping me. He's so bored he probably would do me for being drunk in charge of a wheelbarrow,' she laughed.

She had white even teeth. He liked that she didn't wear make-up.

'Geoff?' he questioned.

'Our local copper. He's from Chippy actually but we call him the village bobby.'

He looked amused.

'You're using all kinds of jargon and they make no sense whatsoever to me. I'm presuming Chippy is not a fish and chip shop,' he said. He sipped his whisky and felt his body relax.

'Chipping Norton,' she laughed. 'It's another village.'

She threw back half the whisky like a pro.

'I'm paid the minimum wage at the shop. Sharon, my boss, has never given me a rise and I want to spend some money on my ceramics. Now I have my own kiln it opens up so many more possibilities, and the vicar has leant me the shed at the vicarage, so I'll have to pay to use that so ... sorry, I'm rambling.'

'I'm offering £100 a day. £25 an hour, that's four hours a day but the hours could be unsociable. I need the house kept clean, the washing and ironing done. Shopping, meals cooked. General housekeeping duties and you'd need to sign a confidentiality contract. I'll need references too. It will all be above board. No cash in hand or anything like that,' he said bluntly. 'There might be some weekends so if you have a boyfriend it might not ...'

'I don't have a boyfriend,' she said quickly.

He felt a stupid sense of relief.

'You might want to think about it,' he said looking at her closely.

'I don't need to think about it,' she said, meeting his eyes.

'I'm not easy to be around,' he said, dropping his gaze.

'Nor are some of the customers,' she replied. 'But I should be honest and admit that I didn't put your advert in the window like I should have done. But I will tomorrow and I'll also drop in my references. I don't want to ask Sharon if that's okay. So it will be friends in the village. So I guess they won't count for much will they? I'm sure you'll find someone in time even if it's from the next village.'

'Or Chippy,' he smiled.

'Or Chippy,' she agreed and stood up.

She placed her glass on the tray. He followed her to the door and watched as she put on her wellington boots.

'I read your book by the way, _The Mooring_ ,' she said as she pulled on a boot. She suddenly lost her balance and he put out his good arm to steady her.

'I'm sorry,' she said as she pulled herself from the warmth of his body.

'Did you enjoy it, the book that is?' he said, feeling stupidly flustered.

'I loved it actually. I can see why it won the prize.'

She put her hands on the wheelbarrow and turned it around.

'Why don't you give it a month's trial,' he said. 'Starting in a week if that's okay?'

She stared at him.

'Really,' she said.

He nodded.

'You can cook I hope?'

'Oh yes,' she said.

'Great. I'll see you next Monday. Phone me if there's a problem.'

Before she could reply he had closed the door.

# Chapter Eleven

The summer village fete in Little Perran was the highlight of the year and Cynthia was very excited. There wasn't a day that went by that she didn't check her marrows and carrots. It was almost a certainty that her marrows would win this year. Her carrots had a good chance too. She'd also decided to enter the cake competition. Miriam, the WI chairperson had been quite stern with her over the Christmas debacle.

'We can't have a repeat of that,' she'd told Cynthia firmly. 'But I feel you were very remorseful about that error of judgement and I believe everyone in the village would like to see you enter the summer fete cake competition.'

She had plenty to keep her busy; not least of all was Billy Baxter. She'd played his records every day since he arrived. If only the fete organisers would listen to her suggestion about Billy opening the fete. It would draw in the crowds. She was determined to mention it again at the meeting this evening. She saw Stella strolling towards The Hand and Shears and sighed. Really, the way that girl dressed. If that dress were any shorter it would be pointless wearing it at all.

'Hiya,' Stella called. 'Are you going to the meeting?'

Cynthia nodded.

'I could do with a drink,' sighed Stella, 'It's been a bloody godawful day. Everything that could go wrong at the office went wrong and the traffic from Oxford. All those roadworks, and I wouldn't mind but I never see anyone doing any work,' she complained. 'You're so lucky being retired. I can't wait to retire.'

What a silly girl, thought Cynthia. Only someone without an ounce of a brain would wish their life away like that.

'Have you met the guy living at Briar Lodge?' Stella asked. 'I heard someone say he was a cripple or something?'

'Stella!' said Cynthia. 'You don't refer to people like that.'

'Only saying what I heard,' shrugged Stella. 'I also heard ...'

'I really don't want to know, Stella.'

As Stella lifted her arm to open the pub door, another hand, tanned and large, reached out and opened it for her.

'After you,' said a deep voice with a slight New Zealand accent.

Stella looked up into the voice's tanned rugged features and fought back a swoon.

'Oh, thank you,' she said breathlessly.

He held the door for Cynthia and she squeezed past his muscular torso.

'Over here,' yelled Brian. 'Lucy's doing the drinks order, what would you ladies like?'

'Just a tomato juice for me,' said Cynthia.

'A large red for me,' said Stella before nudging Frankie. 'Who's the hunk? He looks like a book cover hero.'

Birdie grinned.

'That's Rafe Wylde our new farm worker. He's doing our shearing. Shall I introduce you?'

'He can shear me any day,' giggled Stella.

Milly hurried through the door, her hair flying behind her.

'What you having Milly? We're getting the drinks,' said Brian.

'A beer please,' said Milly, taking a seat next to Birdie.

'Rafe,' Birdie called. 'Come and meet Stella and Milly.'

Rafe gave her the thumbs up, grabbed his beer from the bar and walked to their table. Cynthia shook her head in dismay and George laughed.

'Not your type then Cyn?'

'He's most certainly mine,' swooned Stella.

'G'day all,' said Rafe in his deep voice.

'Let me introduce you,' said Birdie. 'This is Stella, and this is Milly, you've most likely seen her at the village shop. And this is Cynthia. Cyn has been in the village longer than anyone I know.'

'It makes me sound ancient,' complained Cynthia.

'Well you don't look a day over forty,' smiled Rafe, oozing charm.

'I don't know about that,' smiled Cynthia, clearly chuffed.

'And I'm twenty-five, free and available,' grinned Stella, and held out her hand which Rafe bent to kiss.

Milly rolled her eyes.

'Hi,' she said. 'I'm not available and hardly ever free.'

She deliberately kept her hands in her lap.

'Won't you join us?' asked Stella.

'It's the fete planning meeting,' argued Cynthia. 'It's for committee members only.'

'Fair enough,' said Rafe.

'We'll have to have a drink another time then?' said Stella, brazenly.

'Sure,' he smiled. He winked at Birdie and went back to the bar.

'He rather likes himself doesn't he?' said Milly.

'Well, he's got it all to offer,' remarked Stella.

'If that's your taste,' mumbled Milly as Lucy placed a tray of drinks onto the table.

'Your turn,' she said to George, kissing him on the cheek. George took his place behind the bar while Brian gave out the agenda.

'Is everyone here?' he asked just as Vicar Roy entered.

'We are now,' said Birdie. 'Ben can't make it. We're run off our feet at the moment.'

'Jack sends his apologies,' said Brian, 'but he has shared his ideas, which brings me to the first matter on the agenda, which is, new activities. We need some new ideas for this year. We don't want to get stale. Jack came up with filling a car with balloons. We thought we'd ask the school's head teacher. People have to guess how many balloons, the closest wins a prize. Then the kids have to burst them and inside one balloon Jack suggests we put a voucher for the butcher's.'

'Great idea,' said Frankie. 'That should be fun on the day.'

'Of course, we'll have the usual guess the weight of the cake. The village competitions, best cake, biggest marrow, best carrot, best vegetables. We wondered if you'd do a little signing session Roux?'

Roux raised his eyebrows.

'We won't advertise it but it would be nice if you could sign some photos. We'll charge for the photos only.'

'It's for a good cause,' said Frankie.

'What is the money going towards?' asked Roux.

'The village hall. We've got rising damp which is just getting worse and the roof needs doing. It's going to cost a bit. Plus we'd like to give some of the money raised to the new dementia home you kindly purchased.'

'It's easier for me just to hand over the money for the repairs,' smiled Roux.

'It doesn't work like that darling,' Frankie whispered, resting her hand on his knee.

'We like to raise the money. But a donation will not be turned away,' smiled Brian.

'Okay, I guess I could sign a few photos. I'm in retirement you know, most people would have forgotten about me.'

'Oh, I doubt that,' said Stella, and fluttered her eyelashes.

Cynthia felt irritation rise within her along with yet another hot flush. She fanned herself with a coaster. These days just about everything irritated her, and these hot flushes were becoming unbearable.

'Can we move on?' she snapped. 'There must be lots more to discuss.' She finished her tomato juice and fanned herself some more. 'I was thinking we really should have someone well known open the fete. Shall I ask Billy Baxter?' she said.

The pub turned silent.

'Billy Baxter the anarchist? I think not,' said Brian finally.

'But, surely someone as well known ...' she began.

'I don't know him,' said Stella.

'He's just a long haired hippy, an old has-been,' said Lucy.

Cynthia bit down hard on her tongue. Billy Baxter was far from an old has-been. And if they wouldn't invite him to open the fete then there was nothing to stop her inviting him to help with the tombola stall. Yes, that's what she'd do, she thought.

'I was thinking instead of guess the weight of the cake we could guess the weight of the piglet,' suggested Birdie. 'I heard Upper Wychwood did something similar and it was very popular with the kids.'

'Splendid idea,' enthused Vicar Roy.

'You'll run the tombola as usual Cyn, if you're okay with that?'

'Yes,' said Cynthia with a sigh. It was so hot in the pub.

'Are you okay Cynthia?' asked Frankie.

'I think a glass of water may help,' said Cynthia, not wanting to make a fuss. 'I'm just a bit hot.'

'Too much thinking about that Billy Baxter,' laughed Stella.

Milly glared at her.

'We don't all spend our time thinking about men,' she said sharply.

Stella pulled a face.

'Ben can get his traction engine. It's looking good these days,' offered Birdie.

'Great, and Milly do you want to sell some of your ceramics?' asked Brian.

'Oh,' said Milly. 'I don't have many but I could get some more done before the fete. That would be great. I could run it along with the bric-a-brac.'

'And are you okay to do pony rides Birdie?'

Birdie finished her wine and nodded.

'Yes no problem.'

Cynthia thought Birdie looked more tired than usual. The poor girl needed a rest, she thought. At least she doesn't complain like Stella, who was fidgeting in her seat and had her eyes on the New Zealand hunk. Rafe was laughing loudly with some other farm workers at the bar. Honestly, and to think they called Billy Baxter an anarchist. You couldn't get a nicer person. Oh well, it was their loss she thought.

# Chapter Twelve

Brian was right when he said that the nursery in Slatesfield had everything Billy could possibly want. The only problem was Billy didn't have a clue what to do with it, so he figured the best thing was to get one of everything and work it out later.

'Bring anything back that you don't need,' said the assistant, who couldn't believe his luck. He'd never sold so much in one purchase in his entire time working at the garden centre.

'You must have a huge allotment,' he said, piling the seeds and plants into a box.

'No good thinking small,' grinned Billy. 'Always aim high, that's my motto ...' he leaned forward to see the salesman's name badge, 'Peter,' he added. 'I didn't get where I am today by aiming low.'

'Where are you exactly?' asked the salesman, scanning the tools from Billy's trolley.

'Don't you recognise moi?' asked Billy, his hands outstretched.

'Erm ...' began the assistant.

'C'est moi, Billy Baxter,' he said in a bad French accent.

'Sorry, I ...' apologised the assistant.

'It's me, Billy Baxter,' he said.

Peter still looked baffled.

' _Love me like you always did,'_ Billy began to sing, _'and do it do like we used to._ That's my new one.'

Peter began to look uncomfortable.

'Billy Baxter the rock star, I'm going to be on _I'm a Celebrity Get Me Out of Here_.'

'Oh wow,' said Peter, now clearly impressed. 'I love that show.'

'Yeah, I'm having a little rest before it starts. It'll be mayhem after that. I thought I'd do me a bit of gardening.'

'A bit?' repeated the assistant. 'Looks like you'll be doing Blenheim with this lot.'

'What's Blenheim?'

'You know, Blenheim Palace. I thought all you rock stars knew about that. It's where you all get married isn't it?'

'Oh yeah,' nodded Billy, while not having a clue what or where Blenheim was. 'I'm not pretentious, know what I mean?'

'Oh yes, quite,' said Peter, ringing up the goods and almost fainting at the total.

'That's one thousand six hundred pounds and twenty pence,' he said.

Billy grabbed the counter for support.

'How much?' Christ, he didn't think getting close to nature would cost him as much as his ex-wife's maintenance.

'Are the forks nine carat gold or something?'

'Like I said, you can bring anything back as long as you have the receipt and the items haven't been used.'

Billy sighed. He's not going to know if they're any good if he doesn't use them.

'Right, well I guess some hobbies are more expensive than others,' he said, handing over his credit card. 'Can you deliver to my house?'

'We'll do it today. Good luck,' said Peter, 'I look forward to seeing you on _I'm a Celebrity_.'

***

Billy stood in his new wellies surrounded by shiny new forks, spades, trowels and rakes. Piles of compost, enough weedkiller to sink a ship and boxes of tomato food were stacked to one side while behind him was a mountain of seeds. His shiny new wheelbarrow was loaded with plant pots and hosepipes. On the other side was the rotavator that Ben had dropped off earlier. Billy looked at it nervously, wiped the sweat from his forehead and rolled back his shirt sleeves. The wellies felt funny and he seemed to wobble in them. How this lot managed to wear them all the time he'd never know.

'Planning on doing a fair bit then?' said a man wearing similar wellies and carrying a fork.

'If you're going to do a job do it properly is my motto,' grinned Billy.

'The old rotavator will do most of it for you,' smiled the man. 'I'm off to see my girls,' he pointed to some chickens in a plot further down. 'Watch out for the horseflies, there's a lot of them around this year', he called.

Billy plodded forward in his wellies and studied the rotavator.

'Right,' he said and pulled the starter cord. Nothing happened. Ben had said it might need a couple of tugs. Billy pulled again, slipped on the earth and only just steadied himself as the rotavator roared into life.

'Let's go,' he said, struggling to turn the machine around.

'Going well?' yelled the man.

'What's that?' called Billy, pushing forward.

This is great, he thought, I won't have to do any digging. The forks and spades can go back for a start.

The man yelled something. Billy turned to look at him. Was something wrong? Christ, he hadn't rotavated one of his bloody chickens had he? He felt his wellies slip on the earth and suddenly he was falling backwards and the machine slipped out of his hands. He felt the earth hit his backside and cursed. The rotavator was off, like a Dr Who monster, spitting out vegetation in its wake. Billy struggled to get up but the bloody wellies wouldn't support him. He'd just managed to get to his feet when a high-pitched scream almost sent him back down again.

'Christ,' he muttered, 'what the hell was that?'

The man with the fork looked on with wide eyes and opened mouth. He nodded dumbly and Billy followed his eyes to Cynthia, her hands were clutched to her cheeks, her eyes bulged and her mouth was wide open. Billy rushed and grabbed the rotavator.

'How ... how ...?' stuttered Cynthia.

Billy looked around but couldn't see what the problem was.

'I'm just doing a bit of gardening,' he said innocently.

'You've, you've,' she began with tears rolling down her cheeks. 'You've just destroyed my marrows. Are you some kind of madman?'

Billy stared at the mashed remains of marrows on the ground.

'Oh,' he said.

'She's been nurturing them,' said the man, making things worse.

'Can you stick them together?' asked Billy, picking up some pieces.

'The fete is six weeks away,' cried Cynthia, her eyes wild with anger.

'You can't freeze them?' suggested Billy.

Cynthia strode towards him. Billy stepped back and fell against the rotavator.

'You stupid bloody sod,' she screamed and slapped him so hard across the face that he went down into the mud like a sack of potatoes.

# Chapter Thirteen

Cynthia rushed from the allotments, tears blurred her way and for a moment she became confused as to where she was heading. Birdie collided with her as she approached the village shop with her vegetable delivery, almost dropping a basket of eggs in the process.

'Oh, I'm sorry,' Cynthia said, before sobbing uncontrollably. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes swollen.

'Oh my God, what's happened?' asked Birdie, putting down the boxes and leading Cynthia into the shop.

'Hiya ...' began Milly, but stopped at the sight of Cynthia.

'What's happened?' she asked worriedly.

'I'm not sure. I just bumped into her,' said Birdie, handing over the eggs. 'There's more veg outside. I'll get them in a minute.'

Milly rushed to get a chair. Cynthia felt her body shaking. The sight of her mashed marrows ran through her mind and she clenched her fists. How could he?

'Here, have some water,' Milly said, offering a glass.

'I ...' stuttered Cynthia breathlessly.

'She's had a shock,' said Birdie. 'Is it your cat, Cynthia? Has something happened?'

John burst into the shop at that moment and they all turned to look at him.

'Is she okay?' he asked. 'I was up the allotments and that singer idiot destroyed her marrows with the rotavator. Can I buy a bottle of whisky?'

'Oh no,' groaned Birdie. 'Ben lent him the rotavator. I knew it would go wrong.'

'I think he slid in his new wellingtons and lost control of it. It went over into Cyn's plot and devastation kind of took over.'

John put his arm around Cynthia.

'I'm so sorry Cyn, he's an idiot.'

'My marrows,' cried Cynthia, shaking her head. 'They were for the competition, what am I going to do?'

'You've still got your long carrots and the courgettes' said John comfortingly, but there was no calming Cynthia and she sobbed for fifteen minutes.

'A bit of an overreaction don't you think?' whispered Milly.

'I think she's a bit hormonal. Haven't you noticed how she's always hot and permanently on the verge of tears? All the same, it must be a bit of a blow.'

'The singer feels terrible about it. He's trying to put the bits of marrow together. I keep telling him that's not going to happen,' said John.

Cynthia began to sob again.

'Here,' said Milly, handing him the whisky. 'You can pay later.'

'I saw to the marrows every day,' Cynthia hiccupped. 'I had a really good chance of winning.'

'Still, like John said, you've always got your long carrots,' said Milly. 'They're pretty impressive.'

'Did you see my marrows?' Cynthia glared at Milly.

'I've not really had time ...'

'They were perfect, I've never grown anything like them before and I don't imagine I'll ever do it again. I hate him.'

'Well ...' began Birdie as Sharon strolled into the shop. She looked straight at Milly.

'What do you mean you're handing in your notice? Who's going to run the shop?'

'You're leaving the shop?' Birdie turned to Milly.

'I'll get back with this,' said John. 'I'll pop the money in later. I've left my jacket at the allotments.'

'Haven't you paid?' snapped Sharon.

'Erm, there's a problem and ...'

'It's okay John, I'll sort it,' interrupted Milly.

Cynthia stood up abruptly.

'I have to get home,' she said.

The truth was she just wanted to crawl into a corner somewhere and mourn her marrows. It was either that or take a knife to Billy Baxter and the way she was feeling right now she was quite capable of doing that.

***

'I thought it best to give you written notice,' said Milly. 'It's the correct way to do it.'

'Who's going to run the shop when you leave?'

'I'm sure ...' began Milly.

'I'll take Cyn home,' interrupted Birdie. 'I'll just bring the veg in.'

'Good idea,' agreed Milly. 'I hope you feel okay Cynthia.'

'And giving bottles of whisky without payment,' continued Sharon angrily, ignoring Cynthia and Birdie.

'John will pay,' said Milly calmly. 'There was a bit of an upset at the allotments and ...'

'At the allotments? What kind of upset happens at the allotments that urgently needs whisky?'

Milly sighed. There was no arguing with Sharon when she was in this kind of mood.

'I'll pay for the whisky,' she said, 'and John can owe it to me.'

Sharon took a deep breath.

'I don't understand why you're leaving. I thought you liked the job.'

'I do Sharon, but I need more money. I need something better paid. I have a chance to do more with my ceramics. Aunty Rose left me her kiln and the rector said I could use the shed at the rectory, but I have to pay him the electricity and I'm not even mentioning about my rent going up and ...'

'A ridiculous idea,' Sharon scoffed. 'You won't earn a living making pots, and if I pay more I'll be running at a loss.'

Milly knew that was far from the truth.

'So how are you going to pay the rent then?'

Milly thought that was none of Sharon's business.

'Emma Hathaway is keen to take the job. She's very efficient and she's just lost her job at Slatesfield Manor. I think she'll be great. I can show her the ropes in a week, easy.'

Sharon looked unconvinced.

'Do you have her phone number?'

Milly handed the number over eagerly.

'I can phone her if you like, get her to come in for an hour a day,' Milly offered.

'I suppose you won't consider staying?'

'My new job offer pays well. I'd be mad not to take it,' said Milly apologetically.

'Right, make sure John pays for that whisky and I'll sort out your final salary. Let's hope Emma doesn't bankrupt me,' she sighed.

Sharon opened the door to leave as Billy waddled in like a drunken penguin, his wellingtons squelching on the floor as he walked. His hair was tied back and looped through his cap and his jeans were covered in mud.

'Is she here?' he asked.

'Do you mean Cynthia?' asked Milly, smelling whisky on his breath.

He nodded.

'She's gone home. She was very distraught.'

'Bugger and piss it,' he muttered.

'Language please,' admonished Sharon.

'I don't suppose you'll tell me where she lives?' he said miserably.

'As long as you're aware you'll be taking your life in your hands if you go there,' said Milly.

'I deserve it, bloody stupid machine,' he grumbled.

'She's the third cottage in Church Walk, the lane by the church. Rose Cottage,' smiled Milly.

'Can I get some flowers from somewhere around here?'

'Slatesfield Garden Centre,' said Sharon.

Billy sighed.

'Right,' he said, squelching out of the shop.

Milly held back her laughter until he was out of earshot.

'You've got to feel sorry for him,' she said.

'Why? What did he do?' asked Sharon.

'He put his rotavator over Cynthia's marrows and mashed them to a pulp.'

Sharon shook her head.

'People get too worked up about things in this village,' she said and walked out of the shop.

God, she's a fine one to talk, thought Milly. She felt elation wash over her as she realised that she was now free to work for Ashley Wilmot-Fox, and her heart fluttered at the thought.

# Chapter Fourteen

'I didn't expect to see you so soon,' said Peter the sales assistant. 'Did you forget something?'

'Flowers, I need flowers, the largest bouquet you have,' said Billy.

Christ, he'd spent more in this bloody nursery in one day than most people spend in a year.

'If you'd like to come with me sir, I'll take you to our florist department.'

Ten minutes later and Billy walked out with a huge bouquet. He had considered buying chocolates but then decided against it. Women were always watching their weight weren't they, especially the older ones?

He drove down Church Walk and stopped by Rose Cottage. He waited a while, listening to the birds singing and the distant hum of a lawnmower. It was the kind of cottage he imagined her living in. The front garden was full of pots filled with colourful flowers. Hanging baskets trailed ivy and fuchsias and there was a little welcome mat by the door. He doubted it had Billy Baxter's name on it though. The church bell chimed, breaking the silence. He lifted the flowers from the back seat and was about to climb from the car when it occurred to him that he didn't know if Cynthia had a husband. For some reason he had just presumed her to be a spinster, but there could well be a big hunky bloke in there just waiting to give him a thrashing. He also might not be too thrilled at another man buying his wife flowers. Billy sighed. He just couldn't get this country stuff right. He'd get this sorted and then phone Ian. It was more a case of 'I'm a celebrity get me out of the bloody country'.

The gate squeaked as he opened it and he walked nervously to the door. He lifted the knocker and waited. He heard the sound of someone coming downstairs. The door opened and Cynthia stood in the porch. Her eyes were red and swollen and guilt punched Billy in the stomach. In the country things like marrows were a big thing it seemed. Her usually neat bun had fought free of its slides and bits of hair clung to her neck. She wore a red flowery dress which enhanced her figure and Billy found himself thinking she wasn't a bad-looking chick. Of course she would look a lot better if she didn't have the swollen eyes and blotchy face. He pushed the flowers towards her.

'I'm sorry. I didn't mean it to happen. I'm bloody useless at garden stuff. I didn't realise how important the marrows were. I've always lived in the city. Marrows were in the shops, you know. I never saw them in the ground. I feel terrible and I know these don't make it right, but they're yours anyway. Please take them. I'll look like a shirtlifter if I hold them any longer.'

Cynthia stared at him. He glanced behind her into the tidy hallway but could see no sign of a man. A black cat rubbed itself against her legs and then looked curiously at Billy.

'I feel a bit of a wally standing here with these. I couldn't come in for a second could I? I promise not to break anything,' he asked.

For a moment it looked as though she was going to say no but then she opened the door wider and beckoned him in, taking the flowers as she did so.

The cottage smelt of polish and fresh flowers. Of course, he thought, she's probably got loads of flowers that she grows herself. Maybe he should have bought chocolates after all. She led him into a small living room. The windows were open and he could see the church, the sun reflecting off the stained glass window.

'Not far to go to church on a Sunday,' he remarked.

She seemed the church type he thought.

'I didn't see you there on Sunday, Mr Baxter,' she said quietly.

'Nah, something came up,' he smiled.

'Would you like tea Mr Baxter,' she asked, 'or perhaps coffee?'

Shit, she could no doubt smell the whisky on his breath. Well, it had been a shock for him too, especially with her screaming and walloping him like that.

John had said not to take it to heart,

'She'll get over it. After all she's still got her long carrots and courgettes.'

'She walloped me,' Billy had said.

'Yes, she did get a bit carried away,' John had agreed.

'Coffee would be great,' Billy said, pushing his thoughts to one side. 'And call me Billy as I never answer to Mr Baxter.'

'Please sit down, I won't be a moment,' Cynthia called as she walked out of the room.

She seemed a bit too nice for Billy's liking. She's probably getting a bread knife to finish me off, he thought. He sat in one of the chairs and stared back at the cat.

He glanced at the photographs on the sideboard. They were of Cynthia with a man, her husband perhaps. He looked the farming type, not that Billy was sure what the farming type looked like. And then he spotted it, on the top of a pile of other albums, his CD, _After the Rush_. Not his most recent but certainly his best. Well I never, smiled Billy, she's only a fan.

Cynthia returned. Her hair was tied back in its bun, he noticed and her face seemed less blotchy, although her eyes were still swollen.

'Coffee and I have some lemon drizzle cake,' she said with a shy smile.

No doubt lemon drizzle laced with arsenic, thought Billy.

'Lovely, nothing like a bit of arsenic – lemon drizzle I mean,' he said.

She gave him an odd look and poured coffee into china teacups. Billy felt his hands shake. Christ, it would be the end if he broke the bloody china next. It was like being a guest in Mrs Bouquet's house.

'Do you take sugar?' she asked.

'Not me, sweet enough.'

She handed him the cake with a fork before moving a coffee table next to him. Billy was relieved. For a moment he thought he would have to do a juggling act with the coffee and cake, and that would be a disaster waiting to happen.

'You're a fan?' he said, pointing to the album.

'Oh,' she uttered, a tiny blush colouring her cheeks.

He took that as a yes and bit into the lemon drizzle and almost gasped with surprise. It was divine.

'Did you make this?'

'Of course,' she said, slightly affronted. 'I don't buy shop cakes.'

'Wow, this is the best cake I've had in my life.'

'I can't believe that,' she said, clearly flattered.

They were silent for a moment and Billy fidgeted in his seat.

'What time does your husband get home?' he asked.

'He doesn't. Maurice died six years ago.'

'Oh shit,' said Billy without thinking. 'You got kids that visit?'

'No, it's just me and Figaro.'

Billy nodded.

'So someone else lives with you?' he said, lifting the china cup carefully to his lips.

'Figaro, the cat,' she said, cutting more cake.

Her eyes were less swollen now and Billy thought she wasn't bad looking for her age. He didn't normally go for the older chick but the truth was the young chicks he'd been hanging out with had nothing in common with him. He felt sure they made fun of him behind his back. They only wanted a bit of the fame. Although if he was honest there wasn't much of that these days either.

'Right,' he said, standing up and stepping on Figaro's tail. The cat screeched and darted out of the door.

'You clumsy oaf,' snapped Cynthia. 'Why don't you look where you're putting your feet?'

'I'm not used to cats.'

'You're not used to allotments, you're not used to the country and you're not used to cats. What are you used to?' she asked angrily.

'Bloody London where people are normal.'

'Well, you know where London is and you know where my door is.'

Bloody hell, thought Billy and there was I, thinking village folk were the salt of the earth. Huh, give me Londoners any day. Before he knew it he was out in the front garden with the door firmly closed behind him. He sighed. That was a shame. He was just about to ask her if there was a decent place to eat, aside from The Hand and Shears. Stupidly, he was going to invite her to join him. Saved by the cat's tail it seemed.

***

Ash woke drenched in sweat. It had nothing to do with the weather, although it was hot for June. The hottest June in years they were saying. As usual the media were making a big thing of it, talking of hosepipe bans and advising the elderly to stay out of the sun. He threw the duvet off his body and drained the glass of water by his bed. It was the nightmares, he knew that. He swallowed a painkiller and fell back against the pillows. Some days it was hard to tell the difference between the nightmare and the truth. He forced himself to take a deep breath and thought back to that day, ten months ago, as he so often did. Could he have done things differently? His mind began to wander back but he snapped his eyes open and forced his weary body from the bed. He'd made a decision last night to go into the village and check out the library. He then ought to try and work. He'd shut himself up in this place ever since he arrived. The only person he'd seen so far, apart from Milly, had been the Waitrose delivery man. His thoughts went to Milly. He'd had doubts about taking her on as housekeeper the minute she'd left Briar Lodge but he couldn't let her down now. He showered and took his coffee outside and watched a robin eat the stale roll he had thrown out last night. At that moment a Piper aircraft droned above him and he forced his eyes upwards. It was a beautiful day for flying. He wondered if it was a solo pilot. Or maybe he had his girlfriend with him. Making a day of it probably, stopping off at another airfield for lunch, maybe. Memories assailed him and for a moment he thought he might throw up his breakfast all over the lawn. He kept his eyes on the plane and for the first time in ten months let the memories flow. It may stop the nightmares he told himself, feeling his hands go numb as he gripped the table. The Piper circled and began to make its way back. He wondered what airfield it had come from. He'd flown once in Oxfordshire, from Enstone. That had been a good day. They'd all been good days until ...

'Golf Mike Tango Yankee Echo, finals to land'. Ash adjusted the trim as he made his radio call. There was a light headwind and he relaxed as his Piper light aircraft descended to the runway. It had been a pleasurable flight over the southern English countryside. They'd only been a few bumpy thermals due to the heat of the day. He wished Marcia had come but she'd wanted to go shopping and if there was one thing he hated it was shopping. He looked down at the landing strip. He liked landings at his home airstrip in Surrey. He was looking forward to a cool beer after he'd hangered the plane. Judging by the number of cars in the car park he was sure there would be a number of other club members willing to join him for a pint at The Crown. Thirty feet and nicely lined up, and he felt sure this was going to be an easy landing. Backing off the throttle he crossed the threshold with the runway numbers passing under him, easy down he thought and flared just above the tarmac. His eyes caught something ahead. For a second he couldn't make out what it was but he knew it shouldn't be there. It was a dog and it had darted across the runway just ahead of him. Without thinking he went to full throttle and banked, trying to avoid the dog but his speed was too low, and despite the roar of the engine he felt the plane tip to the side. Then everything seemed to happen in slow motion, almost like it was happening to someone else and not to him. The wing tip touched the runway, tipping the plane over. In a moment the world spun around and then silence. Ash had spun off the runway. He didn't know it then, how could he? He felt okay. Nothing seemed to be hurting. The ambulance arrived quickly and the medics were gentle. Although he kept telling them he was fine. The fact was he was lucky to be alive.

He couldn't feel his crushed arm and had no idea that his leg was broken in four places. All he could think to ask was 'Is the dog okay?'

At that moment a barking dog brought him out of his reverie and for a second he thought it was the same one. The dog had been fine of course. It had run off well before the plane had crashed. Ash realised his heart was thumping and sweat was pouring down his face. He went to stand up but his legs were like jelly. He dropped his head into his hands. A year they'd said. It might take a good year before he got full movement back in his leg. There was nothing to be done about the arm. There were painkillers for when the pain got really bad. What the doctors hadn't told him was how it would affect him psychologically. How he'd lose his friends, his fiancée, his whole life, in fact. After all, who wanted to be around a cripple, and that's what he was. A 31-year-old cripple who had to type his novels with one hand because the other one was so useless? What the hell good was he to anyone? He'd never fly again. He could barely drive without being in pain for an hour afterwards. The painkillers were useless. He sometimes thought they were driving him out of his mind. As for a relationship, there was no way that was going to happen. He barely felt relaxed with Marcia after the accident. No, he was alone now and he just wasn't the type to be alone. He'd always been a party animal, a _love life_ kind of guy. He'd had so much planned. Mountains he wanted to climb, planes he wanted to fly, countries he wanted to explore. It was all he could do to explore this bloody house now. He sighed at the sound of his ringing mobile. He knew it was her before he checked the screen.

'Mother, I'm fine, you don't have to keep phoning.'

'It's a crime for a mother to phone her son is it?'

'Don't be silly. I'm fine. I told you. I'm settling in. I was just about to go to the library.'

'Are you writing?' she asked hopefully.

'I'm under contract to produce something in the next few months, so yes, I'm writing.'

The truth was he hadn't written a thing.

'That's great news,' she said cheerfully. 'Has anyone applied for the housekeeping job?'

This was the third time she'd asked him. He hadn't wanted to tell her about Milly. Not yet anyway.

'Maybe, I interviewed someone who ticked most of the boxes.'

The truth was that Milly had ticked all his boxes and was the reason he now didn't want her to come. Still, he could avoid her as much as possible. He had plenty of work to do. He just had to make a point of getting on with it.

'I'm relieved you've found someone,' she said. 'Have you registered with a doctor there yet? You said you would.'

'I'd better get on. I'll phone you at the weekend,' he said sharply.

'Don't forget.'

He wished she wouldn't plead so much. It made him feel suffocated and helpless, and he didn't want to feel either of those things. He grabbed his stick and walked past the mini in the drive. He'd walk to the village. He was supposed to get exercise. He couldn't think of better exercise than walking through a country village on a hot summer's day.

# Chapter Fifteen

'You've got to get me out of here,' pleaded Billy.

'But you've only been there a week,' sighed Ian.

'Yes and I've managed to almost crash into a hearse, destroy an allotment and the prize marrows, and then step on a sodding cat's tail. I'm not welcome. You've got to get me out of here.'

'But I've just started lifting your profile,' protested Ian. 'I've got a reporter coming from the _Telegraph_ to do an interview with you for the Sunday Magazine. It's country week or something. They want photos of you doing your country bit. It's the best publicity we've had in months. You can't leave now. The album is doing terrible, you need this. There's even a possibility of a spot on _Good Morning Britain.'_

'Shit,' muttered Billy.

'You've got to do it Billy. You need to sell the album if you're going to pay your alimony, or you'll have to sell everything. The flat in London, the house in Barbados, I'm not arsing about Billy, you will lose it all.'

'Bloody tart,' groaned Billy.

'And don't mention her in the interview. I've said it's out of bounds.'

'So I've got to stay here?' said Billy like a petulant child.

'No, you can leave and lose everything.'

'I don't believe this.'

'Get back on that allotment, we can get some pictures.'

'Right,' said Billy and clicked off his phone. Well, this was bloody great, just bloody great, he thought. He stood and stared at the phone for a moment and then raced upstairs to change into his old jeans. He pulled a thin sweatshirt from one of the unpacked boxes and looked at himself in the mirror.

'Let's get down and dirty then.'

He grabbed his wellingtons and walked around the side of the house and came to a halt at the sight of Cynthia.

'Oh hello,' he said. 'You've not come all tooled up have you?'

'I came to apologise,' she said softly, and held out a cake tin.

He looked at it nervously.

'It's a lemon drizzle cake. I made three for the coffee morning. You should come. We have them on Wednesdays and Saturdays.'

'Thanks,' he said and took the tin. She looked pretty in a blue sun dress and much more appealing without the swollen eyes.

'I was just off to the allotments,' he said, and thought how country he sounded.

'Oh really, I was popping down in a bit.'

'Great, I could do with some advice.'

'It might be better if I'm there,' she said, a half-smile played across her face.

'Keep me from causing more devastation you mean?'

She nodded.

'Sounds great, I'll just put this cake away and I'll see you later.'

'Yes,' she replied before walking down the pathway.

Bloody hell, thought Billy, I've only gone and pulled.

***

Ash reached the library only to find it was closed. He'd missed it by a few minutes. He pulled his phone from his pocket and made a note of the opening times. He looked around for a bench. The walk had tired him and he'd been hoping to sit down in the library. The sky was clouding over. The humidity was high and he wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. He could do with a drink but the only place to buy one was from the village shop and he really didn't want to see Milly just yet. He walked towards The Hand and Shears but they were also closed. He was ten minutes late for the library and an hour too early for the pub. He couldn't win. He decided to try the butcher. They may have some drinks and he could do with buying some fresh meat. He could ask about the local doctors too.

Jack smiled as Ash walked in.

'Hello there, visiting Little Perran are you?'

'I'm living at Briar Lodge actually,' Ash said, looking around for a chair.

'In the corner,' said Jack, reading his mind. 'This weather takes it out of you doesn't it?' he added, deliberately ignoring Ash's stick.

'It's very humid,' agreed Ash. 'Do you sell drinks?'

'It's the village shop you'll need for that. You're lucky, Milly never closes for lunch. But my lamb chops are something else. A bit of mint sauce and you'll be in heaven.'

'I'll take a couple,' smiled Ash.

'So, are you enjoying the village?' Jack asked as he put two chops into a bag.

'I've not had much time to explore really. I've been ...' he hesitated, 'working.'

'Anything else I can get you, the chicken's good.'

'Yeah sure and why not some mince.'

'You from Surrey or somewhere, you've got that kind of accent?'

'Spot on, Hazelmere actually.'

Jack nodded, impressed with himself.

'What work do you do that's brought you to the country?'

'I'm an author,' said Ash flatly, thinking he should have said, 'I _was_ an author.'

'Really?' said Jack clearly impressed. 'What's your name? I might have read your books.'

'Ashley Wilmot-Fox and you probably haven't.'

Jack almost dropped the mince.

'I have you know. Milly leant me your novel. It won a prize didn't it?'

Ash raised his eyebrows.

'That's right it did.'

' _The Mooring,_ that were it. Not my cup of tea if I'm honest but Milly's more on the ball. She's a London girl too.'

'Is that right?' smiled Ash. He wondered how many people Milly had told about her new job.

'It's going to piss down in a minute,' Jack said, looking out of the window.

The clouds were leaden and the sun had disappeared behind them.

'That's the humidity for you,' said Jack, handing over a carrier bag.

'Is there a doctor's surgery in the village?' asked Ash.

'It's that building on the right just as you enter the village. Do you need a doctor now?'

'No, I just want to register,' smiled Ash.

He pulled himself up from the chair and cursed his leg.

'Thanks,' he said.

'See you around. Pop over to the pub one night, meet some of the locals.'

Ash nodded and let himself out. A wind had blown up and he cursed again for not bringing an umbrella with him. He began to walk back the way he had come, his limp more prominent now that his leg had stiffened, when the rain fell in torrents. He hurried to the shop but he was drenched. The doorbell tinkled and then he found himself looking into Milly's eyes across the room.

'God, you're soaked,' she said. 'It came out of nowhere didn't it?'

'Do you have a drink?' he said. 'My leg has seized up. I need to take a pill.'

***

Birdie wiped the back of her hand across her brow and leant down to collect up the wool that Rafe had sheared. She felt her head spin and grabbed the fencing for support. It was so humid and she was so tired. She couldn't remember ever feeling so tired. She saw Rafe look over at her and smiled weakly.

'Are you okay Birdie?' he asked, his deep voice full of concern.

'I'm fine,' she smiled.

He nodded and turned back to the sheep.

'I'm just going to get the eggs,' she called. 'Ben should be back soon to help you.'

'No worries,' Rafe called back.

'He loves his tractor fairs,' she smiled, although secretly she wished he was here. There was so much to be done that there wasn't time for either of them to be taking time off. God knows she wouldn't mind going out shopping for a day with Frankie.

Rafe held down a sheep. The heat didn't seem to bother him. He's used to it, thought Birdie. It's probably hot all the time in New Zealand, not that she'd ever been. Come to think of it, she'd never been anywhere really. She could never leave the farm. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had a holiday, and now Ben was saying it might be a bit too difficult for them to go on a honeymoon. She sighed and watched as Rafe moved swiftly onto another sheep. He had an easy manner about him and she enjoyed working alongside him. He didn't talk much but she liked that. His strong silence seemed to calm her. He stood and stretched. He seemed completely at ease on the farm. It was as though he had worked there for years rather than days. He sat back on his haunches for a second and took a slow drink from a flask he kept attached to his shorts. She watched as his muscles flexed in the sun and blushed when his eyes turned towards her. The stirring in her loins took her totally by surprise. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had those feelings. Just lately she and Ben had been too knackered for anything other than sleep. They'd flop into bed and be out for the count.

'Everything okay?' Rafe called again and ran a hand through his thick dark hair.

She nodded.

'Yes,' she said and fought back a yawn. She made her way slowly to the chicken coop and was grateful for a breeze. It cooled her and she peeled her dress from her hot thighs and sighed. She looked up at the clouds that loomed overhead. There was going to be a downpour and she ought to be getting the hens inside the barn. She quickly filled her basket with the eggs as the first drops of rain fell. She ushered the hens inside and was about to follow when the rain began to lash down and she suddenly felt herself sway as a wave of dizziness overwhelmed her. She fell back but was caught by Rafe's strong arms. The wind and rain whipped cruelly at their faces as he carried her into the barn. Her hair hung about her face, having come free from her hairpin. Birdie found herself shaking uncontrollably.

'I ...' she began, and leant on his warm but wet chest. 'I don't know what happened.'

'You're exhausted,' he said gently but she barely heard him above a rumble of thunder. He gently turned her so her back was against the door and then pushed his body against hers. Birdie gasped with shock at the touch of his hot body and then his warm lips came down hard on hers.

***

Rafe had been aware of Birdie long before he came to Oakfield Farm. He'd met her a few months before at a farmers' do in Slatesfield. She'd come with Ben and the moment he laid eyes on her he knew she was something special. When he'd seen the advertisement for a farm worker he knew he had to apply. He couldn't explain it but he needed to be close to her. He'd told himself it would just be to watch her from afar but when he saw how shabbily Ben treated her he'd wanted to take care of her.

He watched as she wiped the perspiration from her forehead. What was wrong with the man, leaving her to do the work while he went off to enjoy himself at a tractor fair? She seemed to sway and he fought back the urge to go to her. She grabbed the fencing and steadied herself. She must have felt his eyes on her because she looked at him.

'Are you okay Birdie?' he asked.

'I'm fine,' she smiled. 'I'm just going to get the eggs. Ben should be back soon to help you.'

'No worries,' he called back.

'He loves his tractor fairs,' she smiled.

Rafe thought he should love his partner more. He sighed and held down the next sheep. The weather would break soon. That would help them all. It was too hot. It made him desire her more. The thin cotton dress she was wearing was so flimsy he could see her bra. He stretched and pulled a flask from his pocket and took a long drink. He turned and saw her watching him.

'Everything okay?' he asked again.

She nodded, her eyes locked onto his and in that moment he knew.

'Yes,' she said fighting back a yawn.

He watched her walk to the chicken coop. A gust of wind blew as the clouds covered the sun. It was going to tip it down he realised. He rinsed his hands under the tap and followed her to the coop. The rain came suddenly, taking him by surprise. He was soaked in seconds. Birdie was ahead of him and he saw her sway. He hurried and caught her before she fell. The wind slapped his face as he carried her into the barn. Her body was light. She smelt of roses and he savoured the scent of her. She trembled in his arms like a frightened rabbit.

'I ...' she began, leaning on him, 'I don't know what happened.'

'You're exhausted,' he said gently.

His desire for her overwhelmed him. He turned her so her back was against the door and pushed his body against hers. Birdie gasped but didn't push him away. He lifted one of her arms and pinned her to the door and before she could speak he covered her lips with his own.

***

Cynthia watched as Billy planted his tomato seedlings.

'I'll do the peppers next,' he said.

Cynthia continued to pull rhubarb. She'd make a rhubarb tart later. She wondered if Billy liked rhubarb.

'This is good fun once you get the hang of it,' Billy said smiling at her. 'How are your carrots?'

'They're good. I hope they get a bit bigger though.'

'Oh they will. You can throw some of my vegetable food on them if you like. God knows, I've got enough to sink the _Titanic_.'

Cynthia laughed. He was rather overcome. He seemed to have ten of everything.

'You can take a lot of this stuff back you know,' she said.

'Trouble is, I don't know what I need and what I don't need.'

'You don't need the hosepipe, you can use mine. And you don't need all those seeds. It's only a small plot. You've got enough weedkiller to do Kew Gardens.'

'You're the expert. What would I have done without you today?' he laughed. 'Hey,' he pulled his phone from his pocket. 'They want a picture of me for a Sunday newspaper. Do you want to take it?'

'A newspaper article?' said Cynthia, impressed.

'Yeah, they thought the country life bit would be a good feature.'

Cynthia took the phone and focused on Billy, while thinking how handsome he looked in his sweatshirt and wellington boots. She clicked several times and handed him the phone.

'You're a star,' he smiled.

She blushed and cursed under her breath. A low rumble of thunder made them look up at the sky.

'It's going to pelt down,' said Billy. 'I guess we should pack up.'

Cynthia pushed the rhubarb into a basket and was about to pack up her tools when the heavens opened.

'Shit,' cried Billy and grabbed her arm. 'Come on or we'll get soaked.'

They ran as well as they could in their wellies to the shed on the opposite side of the allotments as thunder rumbled around them.

'Where did that come from?' gasped Billy.

'It's good for your seeds,' said Cynthia, who felt a little uncomfortable being alone in such a confined space with Billy.

'Oh look there's a kettle,' said Billy, and she realised he felt uncomfortable too. The shed had a camping stove and matches as if someone had planned for occasions like these.

'Might as well have a cuppa,' he said and lit the burner. The wind lashed against the shed and Billy pulled a face.

'It's like being in our own little Noah's ark. Let's hope it copes with the floods.'

'Do you like rhubarb?' Cynthia asked. 'Not everyone does you see.'

'I love rhubarb. Give me rhubarb crumble every time.'

'I thought I'd make one, perhaps you'd like to pop round for a bit.'

She winced when she realised what she'd just said but Billy just grinned.

'Could have been worse, you could have said come round and I'll give you one.'

Her mouth opened in surprise.

'Sorry,' he muttered. 'I'm a bit coarse sometimes.'

She lowered her head.

'Anyway, the answer is yes. I'd love a rhubarb crumble. In fact, better still,' he said with a wink, 'why don't I take you out for dinner? You choose where, because I haven't got a clue what there is around here. My way of apologising for the marrows, and then back to yours for rhubarb crumble, how about that?'

No matter how he phrased it, it still sounded a little sordid, but she smiled and said,

'Sounds great, and The Cat and Pigeon in Chipping Norton do good food. It's not far.'

'It's a date then,' said Billy as he handed her a mug of tea.

Cynthia felt herself turn warm inside and it had nothing to do with the tea.

***

Milly handed Ash a glass of water and watched as he swallowed a pill that he'd pulled from his jeans pocket.

'A muscle relaxant,' he explained.

She simply nodded. He looked so sexy with his hair wet and his shirt clinging to his chest.

'How did it happen?' she asked.

She'd brought a chair in from out the back and he'd fallen into it gratefully. He glanced up at her and then looked away, and for a moment she thought he wasn't going to answer and then he said softly,

'A plane crash, I was flying it. There was no one else on board, thank God.'

'Was there something wrong with the aircraft?' she asked.

He cocked his head at her and she thought he hadn't heard her above the thunderclaps.

'No,' he smiled. 'That would be a great excuse wouldn't it? A dog ran onto the runway as I was landing. I stupidly tried to pull the plane up but I lost control and ...'

His watery eyes met hers and she felt herself melt in them.

'I'm not good tempered when I'm in pain. You should be aware of that.'

'And I'm not as soft as I look,' she said. 'I give as good as I get so you won't walk all over me.'

He smiled and her heart melted. This was insane. She vowed never to feel this way about a man again. What was happening to her?

'How did your boss take it with you giving your notice?'

'She was fine,' she lied. 'Well let's just say she is now, now she knows someone else is taking over. Talking of which, Emma should be here soon. I expect she's got caught in this downpour.'

They were silent for a bit and she watched as he flexed his knee, wincing as he did so.

'I got some lamb, mince and chicken,' he said and held up the carrier bag.

'I'll plan some meals then,' she grinned. 'You'd better tell me what you don't like.'

'Garlic and mushy peas, I'm pretty clear on those two. I'll eat anything else.'

'Sorted then,' she said, glancing out of the window. 'The sun's coming out.'

He followed her gaze.

'Why don't you have a boyfriend?' he asked, taking her by surprise.

She bit her lip and spotted Emma running towards the shop.

'Here's Emma,' she said, relieved at not having to answer.

Ash went to stand up. She considered helping him but changed her mind. If she was going to work for him then the last thing he needed from her was pity.

'Hiya, I'm sorry I'm late, it just tipped it down didn't it?' Emma said as she burst into the shop. 'Did you get caught out too?' she asked Ash.

'I think it caught everyone by surprise,' said Milly.

'I got your slip for you by the way,' said Emma as she handed two tubs to Milly.

'That's brilliant, thanks Emma. For my ceramics,' she explained to Ash.

He gave a polite nod and pulled himself out of the chair.

'Right, I'd better get back,' he said with a wince, 'before it comes down again.'

'Yes,' said Milly.

'I'll see you soon,' he added.

Milly watched him limp out of the shop and sighed.

'God, he's a looker. A bit of a dreamboat isn't he? What happened to his leg, do you know?' asked Emma.

'An accident,' said Milly.

'He's the guy living at old Rose's place isn't he? I wonder if he needs a cleaner. I'll change his bed any day,' said Emma.

Milly hid a sigh and went to the kitchen with her tubs.

'Do you want a cuppa?' she called.

'Ooh sounds lovely,' replied Emma as she watched Ash limp up the hill.

# Chapter Sixteen

Birdie's legs buckled beneath her. If Rafe's other arm hadn't been supporting her she would have fallen to the floor. His hand was strong and rough and he lifted her arm above her head, pinning her to the door. She wrapped her arm around his neck. He kissed her with desire and she kissed him back. At first she felt unsure, lost and confused, but the hunger in him ignited something within her and she abandoned all control and kissed him back with a passion that matched his. His hand slid under her dress and stroked her thigh. She shook uncontrollably. His lips moved to her neck and she moaned. The throbbing in her loins was unbearable, begging for release. His hand slid higher and she gasped. His tongue explored hers and she thought she would die from the desire. And then his fingers touched her and she almost screamed with pleasure, but his kiss silenced her.

'Please,' she begged hoarsely.

'Are you sure?' he whispered, his fingers hovered teasingly.

Her feverish kiss was all he needed as an answer. Her breathing quickened as his fingers gently played with her. She moaned and her hand clenched his neck as waves of pleasure washed over her. She shuddered and bucked her hips under his touch. He released her and she wound both arms around him to stop herself falling.

'Oh God,' she groaned, as her body went limp.

As if wakening from a dream, she looked around. Her dress was still up to her hips and she pulled it down. Rafe stepped back as she did so.

'What are you doing?' she asked breathlessly, meeting his eyes for the first time.

A clap of thunder made her jump.

'You're tense and tired Birdie, Ben doesn't look after you,' he said softly.

'And you think that what you just did fixes everything?' she whispered.

He bit his lip and didn't speak. Her eyes landed on his hands and she pulled them away, not wanting to remember the power they had just wielded over her.

'How dare you,' she whispered.

'I did dare,' he said boldly, 'and you didn't stop me.'

'I should fire you,' she said, her voice trembling.

'You could, but I don't think that's what you want. Besides, don't you think you're exhausted enough without getting rid of your one helper?'

She took a breath and went to march past him but he caught her arm and swung her round to face him.

'You'd like it to happen again wouldn't you?' he said huskily. 'I know I would.'

She lifted her hand to slap him but he caught it in his.

'I think you should leave,' she said shakily.

'You should rest,' he said gently. 'I'll finish everything off here and, if it's easier for you, I'll hand in my notice then you have no explaining to do.'

Birdie struggled to stop her body from trembling. It tingled all over and felt more alive than it had in years.

'I have to see to the horses,' she said.

'I'll do them. I'll do everything. Have a hot bath, unwind. You're worth it Birdie. You need to think about yourself. You don't have to worry about the farm. I know what needs to be done, just rest for a while. Trust me, I can do it.'

She felt tears well up and her lips trembled at his words. He released her arm and she opened the barn door.

'Birdie?' he said quietly.

She stopped, the freshness of the air reviving her.

'Do you want me to hand in my notice?'

She was silent for a moment as her mind struggled to keep up with her body.

'No,' she said finally and left the barn.

# Chapter Seventeen

Milly moved the kiln for the third time. Yes, that was the best place, she decided. She plugged her iPhone into the portable speaker and sang along to Sam Smith as she unpacked her boxes. She looked lovingly at the fruit bowl she had made for Frankie and Roux as a wedding gift. She still had to decorate it. She wanted something special and luckily she still had time to look online for the ideal graphic. She placed it carefully on a shelf. On the second shelf she piled her transfers alongside her moulds. She looked at the kiln and felt the excitement build within her. Things were really looking up. In a few days she would be working at Briar Lodge, and that reminded her of the recipes she had promised to look up. She'd do that when she got back to the flat.

She looked at the kiln again and tapped it with her hand.

'We've got work to do haven't we?' she said, clicking on the shed light. She got the cup mould from the shelf and placed it on the worktop and then carefully poured the slip from the jug into it. She repeated this several times with different moulds and left them to harden. She then took a mug she had made the previous week. She had designed it with Frankie in mind and chose flowered letters to spell out her name, cutting them carefully from the sheet. Below it she stuck a long stemmed rose to represent Aunty Rose and gently sponged them into place. She held it up and studied it, looking for the tiniest flaw. When she was happy with the result she opened the kiln and placed it carefully inside. The fact that this was her own kiln felt like a dream.

As it always did when Milly was working with clay, time flew by. It was warm in the shed and she hadn't turned on the kiln yet. It felt as though another storm was brewing and that made her think of Ash. She wondered what he was having for his dinner this evening and if anyone had told him that the fish and chip van came to the village on a Wednesday. She could text him. It would be a shame if he missed it. It stopped right near Briar Lodge. If she didn't do it now she would forget. She'd never remember on Wednesday. Impulsively she wiped her hands and took her phone from her bag and tapped out a quick message.

_Hi it's Milly_ ,' she typed. _I forgot to tell you that the fish and chip van stops in the village on a Wednesday. It gets to the corner near Briar Lodge around 7.30. I can recommend it. See you soon_.

She habitually typed 'x' at the end and then quickly deleted it before sending. She threw the phone back into her bag and continued filling the kiln before covering her pieces with the kiln shelves and finally turning it on. She sat back with a contented sigh before opening the window. Droplets of rain pattered on the shed's roof and Milly decided that life couldn't get better. She plugged in a kettle she had brought with her and dropped a teabag into one of her home-made mugs. The rain began to hammer down on the shed roof. It smelt fresh and lovely. Milly loved this time of year in the country. The truth was she loved all the seasons now that she lived in Little Perran. She carefully poured the excess slip back into the tub, gently turning the moulds she had filled ten minutes earlier. She sipped her tea and watched the rain, the smell of its wetness on the grass comforting her. She spent the next hour trimming the clay from the new pieces and carefully carving patterns into them. Her tea was cold when she picked it up again and she glanced at her phone hopefully, but Ash hadn't replied. She hadn't really expected him to but all the same, she thought, it was a bit bloody rude not to.

***

Birdie felt the warm water soothe her aching muscles and closed her eyes. She allowed herself to relive the moments in the barn again. She could smell the rain on Rafe's body. She imagined running her hands through his thick dark hair as she pulled him down to kiss her. The memory of his fingers touching her aroused her again and she felt ashamed. Ben had never aroused such powerful feelings in her. Theirs was a comfortable relationship. Sex was part of it, of course, but it had never had that passion. She blushed at the memory of how quickly she had succumbed to Rafe's touch. He'd brought her body alive and she still tingled.

She snapped her eyes open as she heard a door slam.

'Hi, I'm back,' called Ben.

'I'm in the bath,' she yelled, trying to keep her voice steady.

The door was flung open and Ben strolled in.

'Everything okay?' he asked. 'Did you get the storm?'

Birdie's heart felt like it would burst, it thumped so hard.

'Yes, it was pretty heavy,' she said before taking a sip from a glass of wine.

'The show was awesome, absolutely brilliant,' he said, the enthusiasm for the show still with him.

'Great,' smiled Birdie but she felt angry with him. If he hadn't have gone then things would be as they always were.

'Did Rafe get everything done?' he asked, washing his hands at the sink.

Just the sound of Rafe's name made her tremble and her hand shook as she put the wine glass down.

'Yes, I'm wondering if we actually need him.'

His eyes widened.

'You're kidding. I don't know how we ever coped without him.'

She nodded.

'I'm whacked,' he said, removing his jacket. 'I'm going to pour myself some of that wine and then have a shower.'

The door slammed behind him and she slid down in the bath. Why did she let it happen? She could have pushed him away. He wouldn't have forced himself upon her, she knew that. Why did he have to care so much? Tears welled up in her eyes and she brushed them away. What was wrong with her? One kind word and she was off. Maybe Rafe was right, perhaps she was doing too much. His words echoed in her head.

'You'd like it to happen again wouldn't you?'

And he was right, she would. But it wouldn't happen again, she was determined about that.

# Chapter Eighteen

Billy chose a bright blue patterned shirt to wear with his jeans and tied a green bandana around his head. He knocked for Cynthia dead on time. She was wearing a white frilly skirt and silk blouse.

'Wow,' Billy said without thinking. 'You look nice.'

'Thank you,' she said and patted her hair into place.

Billy hurried to open the Cabriolet door for her.

'It's a nice car,' she said as she stepped inside.

'I've put the top down. Nothing beats it this time of year. Right, where to m'lady,' he said with a bow before climbing in beside her.

'The Cat and Pigeon in Chipping Norton is nice,' Cynthia said.

'Hit it,' said Billy as he revved the car engine.

Cynthia grabbed her seat belt but it was too late. Billy pushed his foot down on the accelerator jolting Cynthia back into her seat.

'Ouch,' she cried as she felt her neck click.

'Oh Christ,' said Billy and screeched to a halt sending Cynthia flying forward this time and banging her head on the dashboard.

'Are you okay?'

Bloody hell, they'll be going to A&E at this rate, forget the Cat and Pigeon, he thought.

Cynthia rubbed her head.

'I think so,' she said. 'I didn't get time to put my seat belt on.'

'Sorry,' he mumbled.

'It's okay,' she said patiently, although she could feel the stirrings of a headache, which was a shame as she had hoped to have a drink to calm her nerves. After all, it's not every day a woman gets to go on a date with a rock star.

'Shall we try again?' smiled Billy.

Cynthia nodded.

Billy turned on the CD player and The Killers _When You Were Young_ came on at full volume.

'I'm starved, I don't know about you?' yelled Billy above the music. 'That gardening malarkey gives you an appetite doesn't it?'

Cynthia tried to answer but she struggled to hold her hair in place as the car zoomed through the country lanes. The wind stung her face and grit flew into her eyes. She fumbled in her handbag for a scarf and tried to cover her head with it.

'I hope they do good old English grub,' said Billy, thumping the steering wheel in time with the music.

Cynthia's head was now thumping unmercifully. She managed to get the ends of the scarf together to tie it when Billy took a sharp turn and her hands left the scarf to grip the side of her seat. The scarf flew from her head.

'Could you slow down?' she shouted.

'What's that?' smiled Billy.

'Can you slow down? You're going much too fast. If a deer or anything ...' she began and then screamed as a pheasant ran out in front of them.

'Shit,' cried Billy, swerving around it.

Cynthia screamed and covered her eyes.

'It's okay,' he said. 'I missed it. It's only a bird anyway.'

'Stop the car,' she said, but Billy didn't hear her above the music.

'Stop the car,' she screamed, her hair blowing into her eyes.

Billy slammed his foot onto the brake and turned off the music.

'What's happened?' he asked.

'There is something wrong with you,' she said and fumbled with the door handle.

'What are you doing?' he asked wide-eyed.

'Getting out of this car, you're a maniac.'

'Don't be ridiculous,' he scoffed.

'How dare you call me ridiculous,' she retorted.

She went to step from the car but was tugged back by her seat belt. It cut into her diaphragm and knocked the wind out of her. She angrily unclicked it and fought her way out of the car.

'Is this just because of that bird?' Billy asked.

'It's more than a bird. It's a pheasant. They're beautiful creatures,' Cynthia snapped. 'I suppose you'd think nothing of killing a deer if it got in the way of your posh car.'

'Well ...' began Billy.

Cynthia threw the strap of her bag over her shoulder and began walking.

'Hang on, where are you going?' called Billy.

'Home,' she said hotly.

Billy shook his head. Women, honestly, they blow hot and cold. What did he do anyway? It's not like he killed the bloody bird was it?

'Come on Cynth,' he begged, driving alongside her. 'I'm sorry.'

'Oh, you _can_ drive slowly then,' she said scathingly. 'And don't call me Cynth.'

'You can't walk home. It's much too far and especially not in those shoes.'

She stopped and he put his foot on the brake.

'Please, take me home,' she said forcefully, climbing back into the car.

'You've got to be kidding, I'm starving.'

She looked sternly at him.

'Right,' he said, turning the car around. 'But don't expect another bouquet of flowers. I can't be doing with that. I said sorry and that's it.'

He drove slowly for a few minutes and then stopped the car again.

'Come on Cynthia, we were going to have a good night weren't we? Dinner and then rhubarb back at yours. You were going to give me a bit remember?' he said with a wink.

He saw a small smile play on her lips.

'Well ...'

'That's my girl,' he said tapping her on the knee.

'But drive slowly.'

'Of course, whatever you want.'

He leant over and kissed her on the cheek and found himself fighting the urge to plant his lips on hers. He pulled back in surprise and with a hint of embarrassment in his voice said, 'Everyone happy now?'

Cynthia nodded. Billy Baxter had kissed her on the cheek. It doesn't get better than that.

# Chapter Nineteen

Lee looked around for a second and inhaled deeply. It was good to be out, especially as it was unexpected. He'd been prepared for another two years.

'Good behaviour,' said his lawyer, 'you're very lucky.'

Luck had nothing to do with it. He'd been the model prisoner. He hadn't put a step wrong. He hadn't bargained for it coming this soon though. Barry waved from across the road and Lee grinned.

'Someone loves me,' he said.

'Way to go mate,' smiled Barry, hugging him. 'We've got a little welcome home party for you at The Dutch tonight. Need to get you spruced up first though.'

Barry took the suitcase from Lee's hand and led him to his Golf.

'You can stay at ours until you get sorted,' said Barry.

'That's good of you, won't Rita mind?'

'Oh, Rita's gone, she buggered off with some French geezer.'

'You never said anything when you visited.'

'No point. Anyway, who wants to talk about women? Colin said you can have your old job back, part-time mind you, in the workshop away from the customers. See how things go. He said he doesn't want any trouble.'

Lee nodded.

'I won't take any rent so you don't have to worry about that. You can do some cooking though. You said you got good at that inside,' said Barry.

'So, where is she living now?' asked Lee.

Barry shook his head.

'Don't even go there.'

'I want to see her.'

'She don't want to see you, okay. You finished it with that bank job. I'm not even mentioning the black eye and the rest that you gave her.'

'How can I say sorry if I can't see her?'

Barry turned to face him.

'Drop it Lee. You'll just get in trouble with her. You can't control your jealousy and ...'

'I had every reason ...'

'She's gone Lee.'

'What do you mean gone? Gone where?'

'I don't know. She left London.'

Lee bit his lip. She wouldn't leave London. Her life was in London.

'What about her mum and ...?'

'They don't know where she is either.'

'Or they're not saying.'

Barry sighed.

'Just let it go Lee.'

'I need to see her. I need to tell Milly I'm sorry.'

***

The story continues in A Summer Romance: the third book in the Little Perran series by Lynda Renham writing as Amy Perfect:

Milly settles into her new job but does her boss, Ashley Wilmot-Fox, have secrets that he is hiding in Briar Lodge? Will he be able to help Milly fight the ghosts from her past? Will Billy's blundering romance last, and will Rafe's secret affair be exposed? As the villagers prepare for their summer fete they have no idea what will be revealed on that day.

A Summer Romance is available for order now.

