Page 3 of Boomerville at Ballymegille

‘I know that nothing will ever replace Hugo and your time together.’

‘No.’ Hattie sighed. ‘We had some wonderful experiences and it’s a shame we couldn’t have had a few more.’

‘Perhaps you need to keep busy?’

It was a tentative suggestion and Jo didn’t want Hattie to recoil, but she was convinced that if she could get Hattie back to the hotel and installed in her previous position as manager, work would take over and help her friend heal.

Hattie was thoughtful as she looked around the vast garden. ‘These last few months with Hugo were like a dream, a delightful episode in my life.’ She shuffled in her seat.

‘No one can take that away; you’ll always remember the good times with Hugo.’

Hattie sat up. ‘You’re right, they can’t.’ She shook her head. ‘But it’s no good feeling sorry for myself and isn’t it the motto of Boomerville to get some more memories in the bank, for the days when you no longer can?’ She smiled.

‘Are you saying what I think you’re saying?’ Jo stared at her friend.

‘Aye, where else would I go and, after all, who wants to be cooped up here with the Grim Reaper and his gang hovering day and night?’ Hattie nodded towards Geoffrey and the ravens. ‘I’ll come back on a temporary basis, but I’m making no promises about staying on.’

Jo reached out and, taking Hattie’s hand, began to relax. The sun had broken through the mist and felt warm on her face. She closed her eyes and said a silent prayer of thanks to whatever guardian angel was sitting on their shoulders.

Hattie was coming home.

2

Melissa stared at the advert for a house-sitting job. She wondered if hiding away for a month in a remote cottage in Cornwall would be sufficient to get her out of the mess she was in. Fluffy, a ten-year old Siamese cat, needed a sitter to brush her twice daily and massage her to sleep. The homeowner, advertising on Mind A House Services, was most specific in their demands, which included litter-cleaning and housework. But Melissa didn’t like cats and as housework was low on her list of priorities, it was a job that she wouldn’t be applying for.

She sighed. Everything seemed so hopeless and, in her heart, Melissa knew that running away to a remote house-sit wasn’t the remedy that would sort out her complicated life.

Beyond open windows overlooking an immaculate garden, a lawnmower chugged back and forth across an expanse of grass and Melissa leaned back in her chair to look out. The gardener had his attention focussed on the first cut of the year and the neat lines he’d created. Following a winter of high winds and heavy rain, which had threatened to uproot trees and flatten shrubs and plants, Pendleton House had been fortunate and had withstood the battering.

Melissa loved this garden and she’d enjoyed the challenge of turning the overgrown site into a formal affair. The old manor house in Cheshire had been as tired as the landscape when they’d moved in three years ago. Weathered and in need of a helping hand, she’d transformed it into what it was today, a stunning home with every conceivable luxury and a garden good enough to be opened to the public.

Melissa felt a tightness in her chest. Life had been so perfect then.

A new bride embarking on marriage with excitement and hope, she’d created a sanctuary for her husband, Malcolm, a place where he could relax and unwind. Pendleton House was home too for their offspring when they visited. Malcolm and Melissa each had a son from previous relationships and now she thought of Patrick, her own beloved son, handsome and kind Patrick, who lived in London and worked long hours in his business. He was so different to Giles, the arrogant, cocky young man who spent most of his time in Spain with his father.

Melissa knew little about her husband’s work. Malcolm’s businesses operated between Spain, the UK and Ireland, destinations that he visited on a regular basis. She knew that he dealt in property and the stock market but he repeatedly told her that she mustn’t trouble herself with either. Being a good wife was her priority. When Malcolm disappeared into his office for hours at a time, Melissa was on hand to dispense refreshments during the visits of his lawyer, accountant and men whom he said were his ‘right hand’. They employed a live-in housekeeper too and a security team manned the grounds. But with renovations complete and the garden orderly, the running of the property took little of Melissa’s time and she spent most of her days on her own, wondering what to do to fill the lonely hours. She had no friends, for Malcolm discouraged any social activity that didn’t involve him, and he didn’t like her going out on her own.

Melissa knew that she was trapped. At fifty-one she was trapped in a relationship with a man who held her prisoner at this fortress-like house. He controlled both her finances and her emotions in a farcical sham of a marriage. She rubbed at the faded bruises on her arms and stroked the soft fabric of a blouse that covered sore and aching ribs. This wasn’t what she’d signed up for when she’d fallen in love, in a nightclub in Marbella.

Malcolm wasn’t the loving husband he’d promised to be and Melissa wanted out.

She turned from the garden. Tears blurred her eyes and she choked back a sob. It had been a rash decision to marry Malcolm and now she wondered what the hell she was going to do. Malcolm was due back that evening. His flight from Spain landed at Manchester at seven-thirty and he would be home by nine. Melissa prayed that he’d had a successful trip. If business hadn’t run as smoothly as he’d hoped there was every chance that he’d be in a foul mood and her life for the next few days would be hell.

She hadn’t accompanied him to Spain for some time. Their villa in Marbella, in the foothills of the Sierra Blanca, had stunning views of the Mediterranean Sea, and on a clear day the Straights of Gibraltar could be seen. Melissa missed the sunshine and luxurious lifestyle but in recent months Malcolm hadn’t wanted her to go with him. He was too busy, he said, with no time to escort Melissa around the restaurants, shops and playgrounds of the well-heeled residents. Melissa was more than happy to spend time in Spain on her own but she had to admit that on her last two trips she had been un-nerved by the characters that came to the house and the shady-looking staff who hovered close by.

Melissa wiped her eyes. Despite the warmth of the spring sun latticing across her desk, she felt cold and she shivered. Living with Malcolm when his wrath exploded was like being held captive whilst a gale raged. Cunning and careful, in the outside world he was charming and kind to his wife and displayed a great deal of affection. But these days, behind closed doors he was a monster and his temper escalated whenever they were on their own.

There were times when Melissa feared for her life. She felt weak and helpless and afraid to stand up to the brute who knew how to hurt with maximum pain but minimum marks to exposed areas of her body. If his dinner wasn’t perfect, or his shirt pressed neatly enough, his eyes would half close as he reached for the brandy decanter to pour a large measure. The drunker he became the more he taunted. On one occasion he’d even tied Melissa to the leg of a table, so he didn’t need to stoop when his carefully aimed kicks connected with her stomach and ribs.

Wind rattled a window and Melissa flinched.

Turning back to her laptop, she began to type. Earlier, a website for a holiday hotel had caught her eye. It was called Hotel Boomerville and was discreetly located in a village called Kirkton Sowerby, in the peaceful countryside of Cumbria. The marketing pitch explained that the facility offered courses for mid-lifers in need of a change. She gazed at the list and thought of the tranquillity of meditation in a yoga studio overlooking the fells or learning how to craft metals into saleable items. There was a pool too and Melissa imagined how beneficial a swim in warm soothing waters would be. She scrolled around until she found an online booking form and stared at the page.

Taking a deep breath, she resumed typing.

Her heart hammered as she pressed thesendkey and waited. Minutes felt like hours and she was about to close the screen when a new message popped up in her inbox. The email was from the reception manager who said that there had been an unexpected cancellation and a room had become available at Boomerville.

Melissa’s fingers shook as she typed post code details into a route finder. Kirkton Sowerby was less than a three-hour drive from Pendleton House. She glanced at her watch and bit her lip. Beads of perspiration broke out on her forehead and, clenching her hands into fists, Melissa felt sick. Would she walk out and could she really get away from Malcolm?

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