Summer at the Little Cottage on the Hill_An utterly uplifting holiday romance to escape with

by Emma Davies

  Tom replied with a broad grin. He waved and gave a thumbs up, swiping his hand across his face to wipe away the perspiration. He turned his tanned face to the sun, checking its position in the sky and realising it would be a long time yet before dusk. Just as well – a huge expanse of roof lay beside him and he would need to put in another long day’s work to make any real headway. He rubbed his eyes and began to stow his materials where they wouldn’t fall, before shinning down the ladder.

  Everyone else was already seated around the table when Tom arrived. There were only two places left, but rather than sit at the head of the table where he would feel conspicuous, he chose the place immediately to its right. Since Trixie had arrived at Joy’s Acre they always stopped for lunch and, even though this was often just sandwiches, the bread was always freshly made and Trixie made sure she came up with some great combinations for fillings. It was a perfect break for all of them, busy as they were with different things in different places, and the opportunity to come together and share aspects of their day was something they all treasured and were rapidly getting used to. He could see that Trixie and Clara already had their heads bent together, no doubt discussing menus for the days ahead dependent on what was ready to harvest in the garden, but they both looked up when he arrived, smiling a greeting. It made him feel as if he belonged.

  And Maddie was right, Trixie had indeed prepared a feast. The table was groaning with food, both savoury and sweet. Big bowls of colourful salads jostled for room with two types of quiche, sandwiches, triangles of homemade pizza and a huge jug of lemonade. If he had his way he would have made straight for the Victoria sponge which Trixie often made, the best cake he had ever tasted. However, the manners drilled into him as a child dictated that pudding (or dessert as his mum called it) was left for the second course. He was so intent on filling his plate that he hardly noticed the place beside him had become occupied until the conversation stilled.

  He looked up, practically choking on the cherry tomato he had just popped into his mouth. He had no idea that Isobel would be joining them for lunch. He put his plate down, chewing quickly.

  ‘Isobel!’ exclaimed Maddie. ‘Welcome to Joy’s Acre… again!’

  ‘Yes, welcome,’ echoed Seth, raising an imaginary glass to her.

  There was a smattering of laughter around the table, and Isobel herself smiled, dipping her head in acknowledgement.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said, looking shyly back at the many faces turned towards her. ‘It’s beautiful here. I’m so glad you had room for me.’

  She glanced around the table looking unnerved at the array of food in front of her.

  ‘I know,’ said Trixie, grinning. ‘Once you get me going, there’s little hope of stopping me. But if I know this lot, it’ll all get eaten, and sooner than you’d think.’

  Tom looked down at his own plate which was heaped with food. It seemed rather extravagant now.

  ‘I need to keep my strength up,’ he said, hoping that Isobel didn’t think he was a complete pig.

  To his embarrassment, Clara groaned. ‘Oh Tom, don’t. At least spare us the details of your love life while we’re eating, please.’ She rolled her eyes at everyone around the table and was rewarded by a gale of laughter from Maddie.

  He couldn’t even look at Isobel. And to his even greater embarrassment, he felt his cheeks burn bright red. He would normally have retaliated with a cheeky comment, but not today. Not when the most beautiful woman on the planet was sitting next to him. Instead, he said nothing and was just about to sink his teeth into a sandwich when he realised that Isobel was still sitting, unmoving. He cleared his throat.

  ‘Can I pass you something?’ he asked, hoping he didn’t have tomato juice down his shirt.

  Her eyes were roaming the table, considering the options. ‘Perhaps just some of the salad,’ she replied. ‘Thank you… And a slice of the quiche.’

  He waited while she helped herself from the bowls and plates he offered up, refusing most of the options. He watched her small neat fingers as she did so. Even her hands were beautiful; slim, with long fingers, and the way she held them…

  ‘Well it’s very exciting having a musician here, Isobel,’ said Seth. ‘You said in your emails that you were working on a project, so presumably that means composing, does it?’

  Isobel paused, looking at Seth intently for a moment, before her expression softened slightly. ‘Yes,’ she said. ’Something I’ve been writing for a little while, but which became… delayed. Now I’ve been given an opportunity to finish it, but I have a rather tight deadline for its delivery.’

  Seth held up the jug of lemonade and a spare glass towards her. She nodded, and once poured he passed her drink along the table.

  ‘That must be difficult,’ he said. ‘Working to a deadline, I mean. I imagine it must be hard being creative on tap?’

  Isobel gave a slight smile. ‘It can be, on occasion, but you just have to put the hours in and get it done. Same as most things.’ She looked down at her lap momentarily before raising her head once more, this time giving Seth a slightly bigger smile. ‘That sounded rather pompous, sorry… but I’m afraid I’m not very good at conversation. Too many hours spent practising on my own.’

  She didn’t look particularly sorry, thought Tom, entranced by the way the coil of her plait snaked its way around the curve of her long neck. If anything she looked wary.

  He cleared his throat, conscious that he was staring at her. ‘Is that how you got to be so good?’ he asked, cringing as he suddenly realised his mistake. ‘I mean, you must be if you put in that much practice…’

  Isobel stared at him, eyes narrowed, and he thought for one moment she was going to challenge his comment.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, after a second, ‘although actually, I haven’t played in a long time, not properly. These days I mostly compose.’

  ‘For what though?’ asked Clara. ‘Which instrument?’

  ‘The violin. Although the piece I’m working on now is for a string quartet, so there are four of us, two violins, a viola and a cello.’

  Clara sighed. ‘How on earth do you even begin to do that?’

  ‘It’s complicated,’ she replied. ‘Hence why I need to be here for six weeks.’

  ‘And we’re already keeping you from your work,’ said Maddie. ‘But it is lovely to have you here.’

  Isobel dipped her head again. ‘It makes a nice change for me,’ she said carefully. ‘I don’t live too far away, but I had no idea this place even existed, and it’s a beautiful spot. The view from my bedroom is lovely.’ She turned to include Seth in the conversation as well. ‘Have you had this place a long time?’ she asked, finally picking up a piece of quiche, and taking a small bite.

  ‘Me?’ replied Seth. ‘Well, yes I’ve been here a while… The house belonged to my wife’s family.’

  Isobel looked at Maddie, clearly confused. She frowned gently. ‘But I thought…’ she said, looking at Maddie. ‘Oh, I’m sorry…’ A pink flush crept up her neck.

  Seth exchanged a glance with Maddie and gave a shy smile. ‘No, we’re not married,’ he explained, leaning towards her, ‘but you didn’t get it entirely wrong. Maddie and I are, well…’

  ‘Love’s young dream,’ sighed Clara, and then giggled. ‘It’s a recent thing,’ she added, ‘and they’re still stupidly embarrassed about it, even though the rest of us could see it way before they did.’ She grinned happily, crunching on a stick of celery.

  ‘I should explain,’ began Seth, clearing his throat. ‘My wife died six years ago, Isobel—’ He put out a hand as hers fluttered to her throat. ‘No, don’t worry, it’s fine… She inherited the farm from her grandfather, so we came to live here intending to renovate it and bring it back to life.’ He pulled a face. ‘She became ill not long after we moved in though, and after her death I’m afraid it took me rather longer than I anticipated to make our dream come true… In fact, it took Maddie here to finally spur me into action and the result is the cottage you�
�re staying in now. The rest is rather a long story, but Tom and I go way back, and Clara is another friend, who very kindly came to rescue my garden from the wild.’

  ‘I’ve only been here since the spring myself, Isobel,’ added Maddie, ‘and Trixie even less time than that. But there are plans afoot to open the rest of the cottages for accommodation in due course, and in time to return the land to traditional farming. The site has a rather interesting history actually.’

  ‘I saw that,’ nodded Isobel. ‘On your website, I think.’ She frowned. ‘In fact that’s how I found you in the first place.’ She stared into middle distance. ‘I Googled places for artists to stay, meaning somewhere more like a retreat I suppose, but then I found you. I probably wouldn’t have paid it much attention if your website hadn’t been so appealing. I thought the colours were beautiful.’

  It seemed an odd thing to say, thought Tom, seeing as Isobel was wearing a black tee shirt and a long black flowing skirt in the same dark palette she had also worn the day before. But he nodded at Maddie anyway, who beamed with pride.

  ‘Way to go, Mads,’ he said, grinning.

  Maddie returned his smile. ‘I designed the website,’ she explained. ‘So that makes me very happy to hear. But more than that, we rather hoped that the story of our artist in residence would be a draw for people, even if she is in spirit form.’

  ‘Not that she’s haunting us,’ put in Seth quickly. ‘But her husband built Joy’s Acre for her, not only as a grand gesture of love, but as a kind of sanctuary, a place where she could paint undisturbed. I suppose, in its own way, putting this place back together has given us all a little of that. When you’re here, sometimes it’s easy to forget that the real world outside the gates exists at all.’

  Now it was Isobel’s turn to pull a face. ‘Well that would suit me fine just at the moment,’ she said, opening her mouth to say something else, but then thinking better of it. ‘This is gorgeous quiche, Trixie,’ she said instead, although she’d hardly eaten anything. ‘I’m sorry, I’m not a very adventurous eater, I’m afraid, but this is all lovely.’

  Trixie just laughed, her spiky hair glowing a vivid magenta in the sunlight. ‘Quiche, adventurous? You’re really not, are you. Don’t you worry though, by the time you leave here you’ll be a connoisseur of the kitchen garden, and all it has to offer. Even if that is courgette one hundred and one different ways…’ She caught sight of Isobel’s expression. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not about to inflict that on you!’

  The conversation continued for a while longer as plates were steadily cleared and glasses emptied, refilled and emptied again, but Tom remained uncharacteristically quiet. With Isobel sitting at his side at the head of the table, it meant that whenever she spoke her eyes were fixed on someone else and she looked straight past him. It gave him ample opportunity to study her, while looking to the others as if he was turned to her out of polite interest. The more he looked, the more he was struck by something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. It had caught his attention yesterday, but he hadn’t thought a great deal of it, having spent so little time with her. But there was definitely something about her mannerisms that seemed familiar, and yet he was certain they had never met before. Try as he might he couldn’t work out who she reminded him of, but it tugged mysteriously at something deep in his past…

  Chapter 4

  There were still plenty of hours left in the day but Tom was struggling. The picnic at lunch had been a lovely idea, but it had been too long a break and he had eaten far too much. Now he was feeling incredibly sleepy and the heat of the afternoon wasn’t helping in the slightest. He climbed his ladder wearily, willing his legs to respond. Hoping he would find a cooling breeze up high to make him feel more alert, he was dismayed when he reached roof height to find the sun’s rays even more relentless.

  He glanced over to the cottage on the opposite side of the garden. Isobel had been the first to leave the table, thanking everyone politely, but explaining that she really had better get back to work. He had watched her as she walked barefoot up the path, acutely aware of the way she swayed as she walked.

  If he had been sensible, he would have gone back to work himself at that point, but that had always been his trouble; he never knew when to stop. Instead he had stayed talking to Clara and Trixie about their plans to try and expand the business potential of the gardens at Joy’s Acre. So far, their forays into selling its produce had been very successful and they were keen to build on the great start they had made. It was always interesting talking to them, but often left him feeling rather inadequate by comparison. They had energy and drive in spades, not traits Tom was renowned for…

  Sighing, he took up his tools and began to work. Fifteen minutes later, he put them down again and climbed back down the ladder. His vision was swimming in and out of focus in the heat and he couldn’t concentrate. There was only one thing for it.

  Picking his way through the garden, he took the path that led behind the cottage where Isobel was staying and opened the gate at the far end into the fields beyond. A beautiful willow tree lay just the other side and was a particular favourite spot of his. He crossed into the dappled shade and sat down, leaning his back against the trunk, and within minutes he was asleep.

  Isobel tutted and pulled the headphones from her ears, banging them down onto the desk. She had worked solidly for the last hour and it was all utter rubbish, she might as well delete every note. The break had done her no good at all and it had snapped her concentration so that she completely lost the flow of what she had been doing. What was worse was that she’d known this would be the case when she had accepted the invitation. She should have just stuck to her guns and had lunch like she usually did, alone.

  Her last thought made her tut again, all the more angrily. Being on her own was what had caused all the trouble in the first place, but how on earth was she supposed to spend more time with people when all they did was cause her problems? She shivered despite the heat of the afternoon, and rose from the desk. She could feel herself beginning to panic, and knew that there was only one thing that would soothe her. She picked up her violin from the coffee table, feeling its familiar weight in her hand, and walked out the room.

  She knew what she would play; it was what she always played when she needed something comforting, and the one piece she had never played in public. This piece was hers, and she hugged the thought of it to her as she followed the path from the cottage, not really caring where she was going.

  Her arrival at Joy’s Acre had been rather rushed, her desire to leave home overriding all thoughts about where she was going and what she would find when she got there. But the view from her bedroom window had shown her what lay beyond the gate behind her cottage, and although she had scarcely given it any thought before now, it was the perfect solution.

  The long grass tickled her legs as she walked, one hand lifting her skirt clear from the patch of brambles that lay beside the gate. She walked onward until she was far enough into the field to be clear of the hedgerow and then she stopped and lifted her face to the sky. Her arms hung limply by her sides, her violin dangling from her left hand as she breathed deeply, listening to the sounds around her.

  Far in the distance came the drone of an aeroplane, and nearer to home a fat bumblebee buzzed around the clover heads that wafted lazily in the breeze. Every now and again the wind stirred the longer grasses into a rustling sigh, and the air filled with expectant birdsong. Slowly, Isobel lifted her violin, raised her bow, and began to play.

  The first note soared out into the space around her and she felt her breathing calm and slow, allowing her to reach deep inside for the dizzying rush of energy that came next. Her bow flew across the strings in a blur of movement, raising notes in perfect accord. Her movements were automatic, instinctive, driven from years of playing, and she had no need to think about how she was playing, more about how she was feeling – it was this that directed her bow. It was a piece of music that never sounded exactly the sa
me no matter how many times she played it, because it was hers, to mould and to shape at her whim, always following the melody but never bound by tempo or style. She found the music from within, and it played her, just as much as she played it.

  After five minutes or so, Isobel slowed the pace and allowed her mood to slow with it, feeling the calm that now nestled inside her, filling the space inside her head. She slowed the music still further, extending each note until it had almost died away before playing the next, listening as the sound rang out across the field. She smiled, building the tempo back up to the pace she had originally written it, and she followed the slower section for a while, feeling the sun on her face, relaxed and at peace. She could still feel the music; she hadn’t lost it after all.

  Eventually, she stilled her bow and opened her eyes, gradually letting her surroundings seep back into her consciousness. The fields and trees and grasses were just as they had been before; it was she who was different. She stood for a moment more, and inhaled a deep breath before turning to make her way back to the cottage.

  She had taken only a couple of steps when she stopped dead, the breath catching in her throat as she caught sight of Tom. She realised immediately why she hadn’t seen him at first. He was sitting with his back leaning against the curve of the willow tree and the angle had meant that he was hidden from view as she had walked into the field. It was only now, as she faced in the other direction, that he came plainly into sight.

  He scrambled to his feet, running a hand through his hair to tidy it.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ he stuttered. ‘I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t leave, it would have… you would have…’ He ground to a halt. ‘I was asleep.’ He stared at the ground about a foot in front of her.

  She felt her anger began to rise. He had ruined everything, he—

  ‘That was private.’ She glared at him. ‘You had no right to listen to it.’