Page 92 of A Fresh Start at Bramble Cottage
“He did one of Jack’s mother too,” Pam added. “It’s upstairs.”
“That old thing?” From the other end of the table Jack laughed raucously. “It’s hideous. If these auction people think they can sell it, let ’em! Be glad to see the back of it — gives me the heebie-jeebies.”
“You’re going to sell the portrait of Molly?” Pam asked.
Vicky nodded. “Yes. I’d like to keep it, but I need the money to pay the inheritance tax on the cottage. And besides... well, if it goes to an art gallery, more people will be able to see it.”
“So you’re going to stay here?”
“Yes.” Vicky glanced briefly at Tom. “I love it here — the beach, the village, the countryside. It’s so beautiful.”
“It is. So we’ll be neighbours. That’s nice.” She stood up to collect the empty plates, waving Vicky and Lisa back to their seats when they rose to help her. “No, sit down, you two. It won’t take a tick to put these things in the dishwasher. Coffee, everyone?”
* * *
Vicky sighed in well-fed contentment. “That was a lovely evening.”
They were strolling up the lane to the cottage, Tom’s arm resting casually around her shoulders, Rufus running at their side and dodging in and out of the hedges. “You enjoyed it?”
“It was really nice to see your mum and dad again. They’ve hardly changed a bit. Though I suppose they must be in their sixties now.”
“Dad’s sixty-seven.”
“So he’ll be retiring soon?”
He laughed, shaking his head. “Farmers don’t retire.”
“The farm always comes first?”
“You’ve got it.” He hesitated briefly. “Sometimes... outsiders don’t understand how it is. I was engaged once, but... She didn’t want to stay buried away down here.” There was a tension in his voice. “So it didn't work out.”
They walked in silence for a few moments. Vicky didn’t want to tell him that she knew about Nyree — it didn’t feel like something to discuss. She crossed her fingers behind her back as they reached her gate. “So... would you like to come in for a coffee?”
He smiled down at her, that smile that always sent her pulse into overdrive. “I like your thinking. Anyway, it looks like Rufus has already decided.” The pup had raced up the front garden andwas scrabbling excitedly at the door. “He’s going to be asking me to move his basket up here.”
He spoke lightly, but Vicky felt her heart skip. Could she dare hope that he was suggesting... ?
No — she mustn’t let herself read too much into it. It had been less than a week... But the dream had lodged obstinately in her brain, and it wouldn’t go away.
* * *
“Yes, you can get to Dartmoor very easily from here. It’s only about a twenty-minute drive, at most.” Vicky picked up one of the leaflets from the reception desk and handed it to the couple who had enquired. “This will show you the easiest paths for walking.”
Saturdays were always busy at the hotel, with guests leaving and new guests arriving. But she didn’t mind — she enjoyed it. Even when, as tonight, it meant working late.
It was after nine o’clock when she left. A soft breeze was drifting in from the sea as she strolled up the hill, the air tinted gold by the last long rays of the sun as it slid down behind the hills to the west of the bay.
She had a lamb tagine cooking in the slow pot — if Tom was held up by the calving, she could put his share in the freezer. She turned into the lane — and stopped dead. Dammit. There was only one grey BMW that would be parked on her drive. What on earth was Jeremy doing here?
He was sitting in the front seat, absorbed by his phone. He didn’t even notice her until she tapped on the window. His face was taut with annoyance as he climbed out of the car.
“Where the hell have you been?” he demanded.
“What do you mean, where have I been?” she retorted. “What are you doing here?”
“I came down to see you, since you aren’t answering my calls. I’ve been sitting here for two hours.”
“I’ve been to work. You could have texted to let me know you were coming.”
