Copyright
HarperImpulse an imprint of
HarperCollinsPublishers
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk
First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2017
Copyright © Teresa F. Morgan 2017
Cover design by Cherie Chapman © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2017
Cover images © Shutterstock.com
Teresa F. Morgan asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780008225346
Ebook Edition © April 2017 ISBN: 9780008225339
Version: 2017-03-11
Dedication
For my dad, my real life hero
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
Also by Teresa F. Morgan
About This Author
About the Publisher
Chapter 1
Maddison Hart threw her bag on the passenger seat, turned the key in the ignition and, checking the pavement was clear, reversed off the driveway. A bad memory reminded her to glance in her wing mirror just in time. She was about to hit her neighbour’s pickup truck on the opposite side of the road – again. She slammed the brakes and cursed. She’d only just had her damn brake light fixed.
‘Bloody idiot,’ she said, screwing up her face.
Why did he park it there, on the road, and not on his driveway? It was big enough!
He always seemed to be parked there when she wanted to reverse off her drive, too! Damn the man.
Her neighbour, wearing only a pair of knee-length khaki shorts, and busy putting some tools into the back of the black pickup, smirked.
Oh, crap, he’d heard her too, with her window partially down. Sod it, he’d been living here three months, and now it was getting annoying. She pressed the button, and lowered her window further. She would not be intimidated by his bare chest and muscles.
‘Mr …’ she glanced at the stickers reading ‘Tudor Landscapes’ along the truck’s side, ‘Mr Tudor,’ she said more assertively, ‘could you not park your truck right there?’
‘It’s Harry.’
‘Okay, Harry,’ she sniped, ‘could you please not park your truck right there.’ Everything about him, his whole demeanour, infuriated Maddy.
‘Why?’
‘I nearly hit it – again!’
‘What do you mean again?’ He glanced at the truck, rubbing his hand along the paintwork.
‘I said nearly.’ She lied. Last time she had clonked it, but it had done more damage to her car than his.
‘It’s easy, look in your mirrors as you reverse off your drive, lady.’
Maddy took a deep breath, her teeth clamped together and she dramatically swished her strawberry blonde hair off her shoulders before choosing her next words. ‘It’s awkward whether I look in my mirrors or not.’
‘Drive slower then.’
Maddy refrained from growling with frustration, instead she gripped the steering wheel tighter. The man was obviously too arrogant to listen. ‘It doesn’t matter how fast I go. I’m used to reversing off my drive, hassle free. The people who lived in the house before you never parked on the road. They used their driveway.’
‘Then reverse onto your drive, so you can see what you’re doing when you leave, if it’s so difficult.’
‘It’s not easy to reverse onto my drive either, with your monstrosity of a truck in the road.’ The road was too narrow, as it only led to a handful of houses.
‘Maybe you should own a smaller car if you can’t handle it.’
Deep breath, Maddy. One, two, three … She did not like his smug expression, and wished he wasn’t six feet tall and built like a marine, standing there baring his tanned torso, because she wanted to wipe that smirk off his face. Bastard. She hated smug bastards.
‘Are you implying I can’t drive?’ Her eyes narrowed. She drove an estate car so that her paintings fitted in the back. A smaller vehicle was not suitable – she’d tried it. However much she’d loved her Mini Cooper S in racing green, it had not been practical.
‘I can’t see why it’s so hard, but I’ll tell you what, I’ll stop leaving my truck here when you stop your damn cat from crapping in my front garden.’
‘My cat has a litter tray.’
‘Well, the thing isn’t using it!’ He slammed the remainder of the tools he held into the flatbed, and headed back up to his garage, cursing about cats.
How had this conversation gone from cars to cats? Idiot.
‘You’re such an arsehole!’
‘I’ll take that as a compliment!’ he called over his back, without turning round.
Maddy swore again, and forced the car into gear, crunching it with anger. ‘There is more than one cat in this close, you know!’ she shouted and sped off. Well, tried to. Her wheels spun with her quick release of the clutch and a bit too much throttle. And then her front tyre hit the kerb with the lack of turning space, making a rubber-scraping-concrete sound, angering Maddy further.
She loved her cat. Sookie was very affectionate, and Maddy liked how her little companion purred and greeted her when she got home. Her cat’s love was the only sort she got lately.
And it was enough. All she needed.
Harry was obnoxious and fancied himself. It seemed to her there wasn’t an affectionate bone in his body. If there was, it was probably buried under his bulk of muscle. Too cocksure, the way he flaunted himself – shirtless or with too tight a T-shirt. She hated men like that.
Bastard.
Look what the man did to her. She hadn’t stopped cursing since leaving her house. She felt red with rage, and probably looked it too. She feared it wouldn’t be the last time she’d have heated words with Harry.
&
nbsp; Her thoughts whirred, mainly about the old man from across the road dying a few months after she’d moved in, and his elderly wife being put in a home by their children, and selling up. The house had been empty for nearly six months. She’d got into the habit of not really having to concentrate while manoeuvring her car off her own driveway. The old couple opposite had owned a vehicle but it had remained in the garage, the man being too ill to drive it.
She’d liked them as neighbours.
Now she had to put up with Harry and his monstrosity.
***
Harry slammed down his garage door. What was it about that woman?
Returning to his truck, he checked it over carefully, sure his neighbour, in her complete incompetence, had probably hit it before. He’d seen the lie in her eyes, the way she’d been unable to look at him, and more obviously, avoiding glancing at his chrome bumper.
He couldn’t see any marks, so maybe her car had come off worse. Well, serve her right. He paid his road tax, his pickup had as much right to be on this street as did her Ford estate.
A few deep breaths and he got into the cab of the truck. He was quoting for a new landscaping job today, and he didn’t want to be late. It was a big contract in Tinners Bay, an ex-holiday home in disrepair and the garden in similar state. With rain due later this afternoon the sooner he got started the better, but that woman had him so rattled he wondered if he needed to go back to the docs to check his meds.
Actually, let’s face it, he hadn’t got angry, more like sarcastic. Maybe his meds were working. Although frustrated, he felt positive – his whole world wasn’t closing in on him anymore. Even the nightmares had lessened. Karin played less on his mind. He’d get to work and feel better. Gardening was his new vice. You couldn’t stress about gardening really, unless you had a lawn to cut and rain was imminent, and even then it wasn’t a matter of life or death.
Unlike his old job.
To turn the truck, he reversed up his drive. As he was about to pull out, he noticed his neighbour’s front lawn needed cutting, and the bushes pruning … Even her blasted garden infuriates me. And there sat her black cat in the front window. Ha! His neighbour was probably a witch. Did she have green eyes? She certainly had the red hair … well, strawberry blonde his mother would call it. He narrowed his eyes at the cat. The thing was probably twiddling a whisker like some Doctor Evil, waiting for him to leave, so it could crap all over his front garden.
Being a landscape gardener, Harry took pride in his own garden – obviously. How else could he prove he was good at what he did? His own garden may be small but he made sure it showcased that he was good at his job. His intention was to build his business, then he could buy a larger property. That was the good thing about places like Padstow and Tinners Bay: there were plenty of holiday homes and second homes needing regular garden maintenance. Perfect for a landscape gardener starting up – he’d picked up quite a few contracts, and hopefully he’d pick up this one he was attending today.
Damn cats were the bane of his life. Even in the fire service, the amount of stupid cats he’d had to rescue stuck up a tree, or in some tight gap. He understood the saying curiosity killed the cat more than ever now. He would have been more than happy to release a well-aimed jet of water to get cats out of trees, but with an adoring owner watching you had to handle these matters with a lot more care.
Though, rescuing cats were the easy jobs … a calm before a storm. Others were much harder …
Harry gave himself a mental shake, bringing himself back to the present, and drove out of Annadale Close. His new home. His fresh start.
His neighbour would have to put up with his truck, if he was to put up with her annoying cat.
***
Maddy huffed and puffed, slamming the gallery door shut. Leaving her house in such an anxious state, she’d nearly had an accident at a roundabout, then followed a bloody camper van going at what felt like two miles an hour for most of the journey down the narrow country lanes to Tinners Bay, flaring her temper and impatience further. Sometimes, there was a downside to living in rural Cornwall.
‘What has got you in such a tizz?’ Valerie said, appearing from the back of the gallery with a steaming mug of coffee. ‘This is not a good start to your Wednesday.’ Valerie was Maddy’s colleague and surrogate aunt. She was always smartly dressed, today wearing a powder blue trouser-suit and cream blouse, smelled of Chanel No 5 perfume and wore her light-blonde hair in a fashionably short bob. Valerie had always been a friend of the family. Growing up, Maddy had known her as Auntie Val, and she could tell her things in confidence she couldn’t tell her own mother. When Valerie had moved to Tinners Bay with her new husband some years ago now, it had meant family holidays in Cornwall, which had developed Maddy’s love for the area.
Maddy gratefully took the cup and hugged it for comfort. ‘Oh, my bloody neighbour again. I nearly hit his truck. He’s got the sheer nerve to question my driving.’
‘Ah, yes, men.’ Valerie chuckled. ‘I assume you’re talking about the one built like a brick—’
‘Yes! That’s him.’ Maddy scowled.
‘How dare he strut about showing off his tanned, taut body,’ Valerie said, sarcastically, mischief and an air of envy in her eye. ‘I assume that’s what he’s been doing again?’
‘Yes, he had his shirt off! And at this time of the morning, too.’
‘It is the summer. It’s not a crime, Maddy,’ Valerie said, chuckling. ‘I wish I had a young hot neighbour I could drool over.’
‘Not funny, Val.’ Any other time, Maddy would have joined in and laughed with Valerie, but nothing could snap her out of her mood. Once Maddy got riled, it took a while for her rational thinking to return. ‘He’s vain and arrogant. He’s the worst bloody type. He’s been annoying the shit out of me for nearly three months, and today I had it out with him.’ She regretted she hadn’t said more now, and got the whole lot off her chest.
‘Okay, calm down.’ Valerie rested a reassuring hand on Maddy’s shoulder. ‘Talking about arrogance and vanity, have you heard any more from that ex of yours?’
Valerie’s grimace showed she couldn’t even bring herself to say his name. She never failed to express her disgust at how Connor had treated Maddy. Valerie had given Maddy the strength to leave him, too.
Maddy gently shook her head. ‘No, I think he’s got the message I don’t want him back in my life.’
For a couple of weeks now her phone had remained silent. No texts, no calls – not that she’d reply if he did. He’d said he was returning to Bristol. Thank goodness.
‘Good. The rage you’re in I thought it was him who’d caused it, but the less we hear about that man, the better. It’s about time he got the message and left you alone.’ Valerie’s expression softened. ‘Now, go and set yourself up at your easel for a couple of hours. That always puts you in a better frame of mind.’
Maddy nodded, then twisted up her hair into a messy bun. She’d come in her not so posh clothes today, opting for old three-quarter length jeans and a short-sleeved floral shirt already with acrylic paint marking it. The clothes were clean on, but you could never get the paint out once dried. Some days she sat at her easel working on a commission, or something just for her. She’d set up an area in her gallery so that people could come in and watch her paint. Funnily enough, this had been one of Connor’s good ideas. She found it helped sell paintings and got more commissions because it made her approachable to the customers.
Maddy loved painting landscapes and seascapes, and would often disappear to different parts of Cornwall, and sometimes even North Devon, for inspiration. But most of her commissions were houses, something she’d started specialising in when living in Bristol and working from her mother’s gallery in Clifton. She painted for those with cute cottages or beautiful thatched houses, wanting their homes transferred eternally on to canvas. Luckily, gorgeous houses were in abundance in Cornwall. She also did pets. However, she was at her happiest painting landscapes becaus
e she could add her own imaginative touches to those. It didn’t matter if she omitted a tree or added some flowers, whereas houses and pets you had to get right. Currently, she was working on a seascape which she’d started a few weeks ago, trying to escape her thoughts of Connor. She loved creating the energy of crashing waves, of white surf and its swirling movement – a great mood improver.
‘While it’s quiet, I might go upstairs for a bit,’ Valerie said. She couldn’t work in public like Maddy did. She liked to tuck herself away somewhere quiet, so she usually worked upstairs above the gallery. The space was smaller, but there was a window that gave enough natural light. She worked in the room where they stored all the extra paintings, ready to go up when another sold, or commissions to be collected. Valerie and Maddy worked so well together, able to give each other advice. They knew each other well enough not to get offended by any constructive criticism. ‘When is Josie in next?’ Valerie called down the stairs.
‘Tomorrow morning,’ Maddy replied. She’d employed Josie part-time, so Maddy and Valerie weren’t always stuck at the gallery – they needed a life too. But with the holiday season rapidly approaching, the gallery had to be open seven days a week. Josie worked her shifts around her college work and covered the weekends. In the summer holidays, she upped her hours further.
Maddy’s gallery exhibited a mixture of paintings from local artists – Josie being one of them. She did the same deal for them all; they were responsible for framing their work if necessary and she took thirty percent commission on anything sold. Some worked in pastel, some watercolours, oils, and like Maddy, acrylics. She even had a local photographer who sold his photographs in her gallery too. Maddy usually relied on Valerie’s expertise to help price the work. Tinners Bay attracted a mix of holidaymakers – some from wealthy areas of London, and some average families – so it was about setting the price right. Or having a good selection of affordable pieces and some more exclusive work.
This was to be her first full summer in Cornwall, and she needed to make it work. Setting up the gallery last year, coupled with the purchase of her new house, had eaten up all the funds she’d inherited from her grandfather, so now she really needed to pull in the money to survive. She did not want to return to her mother in Clifton with her tail between her legs.
Meet Me at Wisteria Cottage Page 1