CONTENTS
Cover
About the Book
About the Author
Also by Sheila Norton
Title Page
Dedication
Part 3: Trust Your Heart
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Acknowledgments
Read More
Copyright
ABOUT THE BOOK
Emma Nightingale finds she’s accidentally becoming something of a local celebrity in the small town of Crickleford, and it seems that everyone wants her to look after their pets.
While looking after a hamster, she accidentally uncovers a mystery that threatens to draw even more attention to her. With nowhere to turn, soon Emma will have to make a decision that could cost her everything …
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Sheila Norton lives near Chelmsford in Essex with her husband, and worked for most of her life as a medical secretary, before retiring early to concentrate on her writing. Sheila is the award-winning writer of numerous women’s fiction novels and over 100 short stories, published in women’s magazines.
She has three married daughters, six little grandchildren, and over the years has enjoyed the companionship of three cats and two dogs. She derived lots of inspiration for her animal books from remembering the pleasure and fun of sharing life with her own pets.
When not working on her writing Sheila enjoys spending time with her family and friends, as well as reading, walking, swimming, photography and travel. For more information please see www.sheilanorton.com
Also by Sheila Norton
The Vets at Hope Green
Oliver the Cat Who Saved Christmas
Charlie the Kitten That Saved a Life
For all my friends and readers in my adopted county of Devon. Crickleford isn’t a real place, of course – but I think it should be!
PART 3
TRUST YOUR HEART
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Where was I? What had happened? I held my hand up to my head. I was burning up. I tried to sit up, but everything started to spin around again.
‘Lie still,’ someone said. The voice seemed to come from a million miles away. ‘I’m taking you to hospital.’
Hospital? Why? I shook my head, trying to make sense of it, but it just made my head hurt even more. I blinked and my surroundings suddenly became clearer. I was lying on the back seat of a car. And we were moving. Who …? And then I remembered.
‘Shane!’ I gasped. I sat up, trying to ignore the dizziness and nausea. ‘Stop the car! Let me out!’ I made a grab for the door handle, and the car screeched to a halt. Through a haze I saw the driver jump out of the car.
‘Hey, what are you doing?’ he yelled, wrenching the back door out of my grasp, but I’d already fallen back onto the seat, unable to move. ‘For God’s sake, Emma, just lie still. You fainted. You’re ill. We’re going to A&E, OK?’ He paused. ‘Who’s Shane?’
I stared back at him. Blinked again.
‘Oh. Matt.’
‘Yes. I found you collapsed in the street. It was lucky I just happened to be passing. Now, could you possibly just stay in the back there and not throw yourself out of the car?’
‘OK,’ I said, weakly. ‘Sorry.’
I couldn’t work it out. I felt too ill. I closed my eyes again, and when I next came to, I was being lifted into a wheelchair and taken into the hospital. And it wasn’t until I was, eventually, waking up again in a bed on a ward, with a drip pumping intravenous antibiotics into me, that I noticed the state of my arm. It was red and swollen from elbow to wrist, the wounds where the cat had scratched and bitten me looking twice as big and twice as nasty as before.
‘Cat scratch fever is bad enough,’ a nurse told me a little later. ‘But their bites are often really dangerous. Cats have all kinds of horrible bacteria in their mouths from killing and eating their prey. You’ll be all right now, thankfully, but I’ve nursed patients before who needed emergency surgery because their infections went right down to the bone.’
I flinched. That bloody vicious tabby cat! ‘Sorry to have caused so much trouble,’ I muttered.
‘Not at all. It was lucky that young man found you. Apparently you’d passed out at the side of the road.’
‘Matt,’ I remembered. ‘Yes. Lucky he was there.’
But as the nurse walked away, I frowned, trying to clear my head. I’d been at Bilberry Cottage. What a coincidence that Matt had turned up there, just as I collapsed. And – was that a dream I’d had about Shane appearing in the window? It must have been! A hallucination, perhaps, because I’d been running a fever. I shuddered. It had scared the life out of me to think he might somehow have found me here in Devon. Not that he’d ever want to see me again, of course, but he might be looking for revenge, after what I’d done. No, I had to think logically – it couldn’t have been him. Someone had been in the cottage, though, so perhaps it was occupied, after all. So that certainly put an end to my dream of buying it myself one day!
I had no idea where the hospital was – the journey had been a blur – but at least I had a mobile signal there, so I was able to call Primrose Cottage and tell Lauren and Jon what had happened. Once the doctor had pronounced me fit to be discharged on oral antibiotics, Lauren arrived to take me home.
‘You poor thing!’ she exclaimed, looking at me anxiously. ‘What an awful thing to happen. Are you sure you’re going to be OK?’
‘Yes, I feel much better now. Sorry to drag you all this way.’
‘Don’t be silly. I’m just glad Matt was kind enough to rush you here when you collapsed.’
‘Yes.’ I frowned, remembering the argument I’d had with him the day before I was taken ill. Although he’d still been good enough to bring me to the hospital, I guessed he’d probably left as soon as he’d deposited me in A&E, and I supposed he didn’t want to see me again in a hurry. I sighed. I ought to get in touch with him, if only to thank him. I wished we hadn’t fallen out, but I didn’t see how we could stay friends if he was going to keep on wanting to write stories about me, probably digging into my past despite all his earlier promises.
But of course, this being Crickleford, even though I’d refused to talk to Matt for the paper about the incident with Sugar, it was soon being gossiped about all over town.
‘I hear you’ve been the Good Samaritan again!’ Mary said when I met her while I was walking a Scottie dog for a man who’d gone to London for the week. She raised her eyebrows at me. ‘I’m surprised Vanya hasn’t thrown her old man out, putting her precious cat in danger like that.’
I shifted from foot to foot, feeling uncomfortable. ‘I don’t think I ought to be discussing my clients with each other,’ I said.
Mary gave me a smile. ‘And that’s a very commendable attitude, too. But well done, anyway, for the rescue. People are saying it was that nasty tabby cat, the one we all complain about, who attacked poor Sugar. Is that right?’
‘Well, it was a big angry tabby, yes – and I’m pretty sure it was the same one who was tormenting Pongo, Pat’s Alsatian, when I was looking after him. Do you know who he belongs to, then?’
‘He lives on Collier’s Farm up on the moor. Roams for miles, he does, hanging around people’s doors looking for food and scaring off anything that gets in his way. Used to try to get through other cats’ cat-flaps, until he got too fat and got stuck halfway through one. Wish they’d left him there. Nasty-tempered thing.’
‘I know,’ I said ruefully. ‘I ended up in ho
spital because of him.’
‘So I heard, love. Glad to see you’re OK now. Is Vanya aware of it?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said. But it seemed everybody else was! I’d only got a bit further into the Square when Annie came flying out of Ye Olde Tea Shoppe, having spotted me from the window.
‘I ’eard tell you got took bad, maid. Anguish in your arm, from a cat bite, was’t? That Montgomery woman, ’er be like a hen with one chick, all she care about be that buggering cat. Bettering now, bist thee?’
‘Annie’s asking if you’re feeling OK now,’ a woman who’d followed her out of the café translated for me.
‘Oh, yes, I’m fine now, thank you,’ I said. ‘Really, it’s not a big deal. I was just relieved Sugar wasn’t injured any worse.’
‘That buggerin’ tabby be a nasty cradded thing, oughta be kep’ up there on the farm instead of aggravating folk around town. Even sneaks in the café ’ere sometimes when I baint lookin’, on the sniff for crumbs drop’ by folks. An’ by all accounts ’ee do fritten the livin’ daylights outa that gurt cow-baby dog of Pat’s.’
‘I know,’ I said. ‘Poor Pongo. Well, I’ll be watching out for that tabby in future, Annie.’
‘Good fer you.’
The other woman had been listening to our conversation. ‘You’re a good girl,’ she said, grabbing my hand and pumping it up and down. ‘Local heroine, that’s what they’re all calling you. You should get your picture in the paper—’
‘No!’ I said, a little too loudly, and she dropped my hand, recoiling slightly. ‘Sorry,’ I went on. ‘But I’m … a bit shy. I don’t like a lot of fuss. Honestly, it was nothing out of the ordinary, I was just looking after my client’s cat, that’s all.’
‘Well, I know one thing: it’s you I’ll be asking to look after my cats when I go on my holidays now,’ she said. ‘And I’ll tell all my friends too.’
‘Thank you.’ I smiled at her. My diary for the summer was already filling up. The publicity certainly wasn’t what I’d wanted, but there was no denying it was good for business. And that evening I had a surprise visit at Primrose Cottage. It was Vanya Montgomery, bearing flowers and chocolates.
‘But you’ve already given me extra money!’ I protested.
‘That was before I knew you’d been ill and ended up in hospital because of what happened,’ she said. ‘I’m so sorry, Emma. I can’t tell you how angry I am with Rob. But you’ll be pleased to hear Sugar has made a full recovery, thanks to you. There’s no sign of her injuries whatsoever now. Just in time for the show tomorrow.’
‘So she’s on course to win Best in Show?’
‘Fingers crossed! I’ll let you know.’
I watched Vanya walk back to her car, wondering which version to believe: was she, despite her rather supercilious and overbearing manner, really a pleasant lady who was frankly a saint for putting up with her husband? Or was he right – did she love Sugar to the exclusion of everything and everyone, including him? Although I was still angry with him for the incident that could have ended up with Sugar being so much more seriously hurt, I had to admit to a certain degree of sympathy with him. She seemed to view him with complete contempt. I just wasn’t quite sure whether he deserved it. Relationships were far more complicated, I realised now, than I’d naively assumed when I fell in love with Shane, when I was little more than a child.
Over the next few days, the weather stayed fine and I went for long walks with Jock, the stout little Scottie dog I was looking after now. The fresh spring air helped to clear my head. The trees along the lanes were sprouting bright new green leaves and some were already wearing their pretty new outfits of pink and white blossom. Cottage gardens were coming alive with flowers, their walls suddenly garlanded with baskets of colourful blooms. During my years in America, I’d forgotten how beautiful England could be in late spring and early summer – and I was already aware that it didn’t get much more beautiful than Crickleford on a sunny day. Now that I’d recovered from my brief spell in hospital, I was feeling fit and healthy again. The regular exercise was doing me good; I could now get up Castle Hill without pausing for breath. The sight of the old castle walls, golden in the sunlight, never failed to lift my heart, and the view over the town and the river from the top of the hill was lovely too. On other days, I took the footpath out to Windy Tor and gazed out across the vast expanse of Dartmoor, now ablaze in every direction with the bright yellow flowers of gorse.
But one place I stayed away from that week – and for the next week or so to come – was Moor View Lane. Whenever I thought back to the illusion I’d had of seeing Shane in the window of Bilberry Cottage, I felt sick with dread. I knew it must have been my fever, giving me hallucinations, but I just couldn’t chase the fear away yet. And the other place I didn’t visit was the office of the Crickleford Chronicle. I’d seen Matt, briefly, in the newsagent’s on Town Square a couple of days after I came out of hospital, and thanked him effusively for his help in taking me there after I’d collapsed.
‘You’re welcome,’ he’d responded. ‘I hope you’re feeling better now.’
But the exchange was stilted, as if we were two strangers who weren’t very sure if we even liked each other. Perhaps that’s what we are, after all, I thought to myself sadly. He’d helped me when I was in need, as I suppose anyone would have done, but it seemed clear that he didn’t want any more to do with me since I’d refused to let him write about me in the paper. Well, in that case the feeling was mutual, I decided crossly. But feeling cross about it just made me sad. I hated to admit it, but I missed him. I should know better by now. I should have learned that I couldn’t trust anyone, especially a man, particularly a good-looking one with a smile that made my heart miss a beat. No good could ever have come from it.
But apart from this, I was mostly happy. Lauren, Jon and little Holly treated me like one of the family. I loved living with them in Primrose Cottage, playing with Holly, chatting to Lauren while I helped her cook dinner, sleeping in my little blue bedroom. It could never be quite the dream home I imagined when I looked at Bilberry Cottage, though. For a start, the view from the windows was of the other, less appealing and more modern houses in Primrose Gardens rather than the expanse of Dartmoor I imagined seeing from the windows of Bilberry Cottage. And while it was an attractive and homely little house, it didn’t have that ‘chocolate box’ prettiness of my favourite cottage.
My work helped to keep me happy too. It was so much fun looking after people’s pets that it didn’t even feel like work, but I’d taken Mary’s advice seriously, and looked after the administrative side of my little business carefully. She’d already called on me a couple of times, while bringing Lauren more books to read, to check that I was managing, and offer me more help if I needed it. I’d given her Shakespeare books back, trying to talk about the weather, the state of the footpaths, Scrap the dog – anything other than the plots of the damned plays – and to my relief she didn’t ask anything more at all about whether I’d enjoyed them, or offer to lend me more. Perhaps she’d forget, now, that we ever discussed literature. I hoped so.
And then, one day in May when I came home from looking after a rather spoilt Pekingese, Lauren greeted me at the front door with a worried look on her face.
‘There’s somebody here to see you, Emma,’ she said. ‘I tried to call you, but I presume you had no signal.’
My heart started to race.
‘Who is it?’ I whispered, the vision of Shane in the window of Bilberry Cottage coming back to me so forcefully that I had to hold onto the doorframe to stop myself from bolting back down the road.
But before Lauren could even answer me, the door to the lounge opened and there – her arms open ready to hug me, tears glistening in her eyes – was my twin sister.
‘Kate!’ I gasped.
And before either of us could manage another word, I was in her arms, both of us blubbing out loud from the emotional impact of being together again. My sister! It was so lovely to
see her – even though I had no idea what she was doing here.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Lauren took Holly into the kitchen, closing the door to give us some privacy, and Kate and I sat down on the sofa together, our arms still entwined.
‘It’s so good to see you,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry – it was such a surprise – I didn’t even notice your car outside.’
‘Lovely to see you too.’ She smiled, but there was something in her eyes I couldn’t quite work out. ‘Are you OK, Emma?’
‘I’m fine.’ I frowned. She surely couldn’t have heard about the cat bite incident? ‘I mean, I miss you, obviously – and Mum and Dad – but it’s all worked out so well down here. Lauren and Jon are so kind—’
‘Yes, they do seem nice. I must say I’m relieved that you’re staying with a decent family.’
‘There’s a huge “but” at the end of that,’ I said. ‘What is it, Kate? You obviously haven’t just turned up here out of the blue like this because you fancied a break from the kids. Is everything all right at home? Are Mum and Dad OK?’
‘Yes. Everything’s fine at home. It’s you we’re all worried about,’ she said, her voice now rising indignantly. ‘You never phone, you don’t respond to texts or emails—’
‘But I explained, didn’t I! I don’t get a phone signal here, and the internet service is terrible. Anyway, I have texted you, loads of times. I have to walk into town to get a signal—’
‘You haven’t, Emma. You did at first, but you haven’t lately. Not since you told us about this new business of yours.’
‘Well, that’s exactly why!’ I was on the defensive now, but I felt guilty too, because she was right, of course. I probably hadn’t been in touch with the family for weeks. ‘I’ve been so busy! I’ve had one job after another, and some of them have been difficult. I didn’t want to worry you, but I ended up in hospital because of one job. And it’s not exactly nine to five—’
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