Page 13 of All Summer Long

‘I’m going to turn the gardens of the manor into a glampsite.’

Niamh studied her intently. ‘In the tree house, and the boathouse? Alice, that place is rotten through. I know, I paint there sometimes.’

Alice waved her hand, undeterred. ‘Picture it, Niamh. The tree house, expanded to be big enough for a love nest for two. The boathouse, shored up, a perfectly secluded honeymoon spot to watch the sun go down over the lake. A tee-pee somewhere, or a yurt, even. There’s so many quirky places you can stay in now, I could have all sorts.’ She watched her friend’s perplexed expression closely, waiting for it to clear. It didn’t. ‘I know it seems impossible, but nothing ever is really, is it? You just have to want it hard enough.’ Reaching into her bag she pulled out her laptop. The Airstream was too distant from the manor to get reliable net reception. ‘Let me steal your Wi-Fi and I’ll show you what I mean.’

An hour later and Niamh’s printer had worked overtime to provide the images that now filled a red file Niamh had dug out of the cupboard beside the fireplace.

‘I love this,’ Alice said, tapping her fingers against a shot of a converted vintage grain lorry. ‘Where could I get a lorry from?’

‘Let’s not run before you can walk,’ Niamh cautioned, but her eyes shone with excitement that mirrored Alice’s as she closed the file. ‘Let’s start with the tree house and see how it goes.’

Alice knew it was sage advice and went to close the laptop lid, and then had second thoughts and flipped it open again.

‘Alice …’

‘Shh. I’m not going to search for wooden igloo’s again, promise.’ Her fingers flew over the keys and pressed enter.

‘What are you looking for then?’

Alice clicked on the first link that came up. ‘Robinson Duff.’

‘The country music star?’

It was hard to decide between looking at the screen and looking back up at Niamh. She chose the latter.

‘You’ve heard of him?’

Niamh blew her dark fringe out of her eyes. ‘Heard of him? Jesus, yes. Hasn’t everyone?’

Alice scanned the screen, her eyes slowly widening. ‘Everyone but me, it seems.’ Image after image of Robinson filled her screen; publicity shots, paparazzi shots, and fan pictures of him on stage playing to packed stadiums. Wow. Her mouth formed the word, even though no sound came out. ‘He’s pretty famous, isn’t he?’

‘I have his latest stuff on Spotify.’ Niamh reached for the TV remote and clicked through the on screen apps. ‘Just a sec …’

Music filled the room, followed by a voice that Alice recognised easily as that of the man she’d drunk rum with last night. It was a song she was vaguely familiar with from the radio, just as she’d been vaguely familiar with his name when he’d first said it. He must think her totally clueless to have not known precisely who he was from the get go. She certainly felt it now.

‘He’s the cowboy.’

Niamh nodded, humming along to the track. ‘Cowboy through and through.’

‘No, Niamh. He’s THE cowboy. The one who’s living in my house.’

To say Niamh looked shocked would be an understatement. She stopped humming abruptly, her brown eyes rounding to at least twice the size they usually were. ‘Robinson Duff is living in Borne Manor?’

Alice nodded. ‘Right this very minute, and for the foreseeable future.’

‘Have you heard him sing yet?’ Niamh’s fingers curled around Alice’s forearm. It was difficult to tell if she was actually breathing.

‘Not a dickie bird.’ It felt somehow disloyal to tell anyone, even Niamh, what Robinson had said about his career. She hadn’t realised last night quite how big a deal it was for him to give up on singing.

‘What the hell is Robinson Duff doing here in Borne?’ Niamh whispered, shaking her head in childlike wonder.

‘Beats me, but I’m pretty sure he wants to fly under the radar, so don’t tell anyone else, okay?’

Niamh drew a dainty cross on her red polka dot PJ top with her fingertip. ‘Cross my heart.’

CHAPTER FIVE

By lunchtime, it was apparent that Niamh’s crossed heart wasn’t to be entirely trusted. Alice returned from the supermarket to find most of the residents of Borne cottages clustered on deckchairs and upturned buckets outside her caravan, and Pluto darting excitedly in and out of the trees.

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