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

by Emma Davies

  ‘Tom Hollingsworth,’ he began.

  She tried to slink down further into the seat.

  He paused, frowning. ‘Ah, hello, yes I did get your message. How can I help…? No, it’s not that, I… Perhaps if you tell me now, I can pop out tomorrow and take a look… Oh, right…’

  Tom cut off the call, swinging his foot at the path and scuffing it in anger, before storming towards her. ‘Bollocks!’ he said loudly, mid-stride.

  She saw exactly the point he caught sight of her, and for a second she thought he was going to carry on marching straight past, but then he stopped, holding out his phone to direct her attention to it.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I just lost a job. A big one.’

  ‘Oh… I wasn’t listening, but I couldn’t really help hearing… sorry.’

  Tom heaved a sigh. ‘No, I think I shouted loudly enough for everyone to hear, not your fault. In fact, absolutely, totally, one hundred percent my fault. I should have called them back days ago, and I forgot, so they’ve gone elsewhere.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘Indeed… a shitty end to a shitty day in fact.’ He plonked himself down next to her on the bench, and then immediately scrambled back up again. ‘Sorry, you don’t need this either, do you?’ He made to walk off down the path.

  ‘Tom, wait. What do you mean?’

  She saw the hesitation cross his face. ‘The Tchaikovsky? I’ve never heard it played quite like that before… What were you doing to it earlier?’ His eyes searched her face. ‘Although, to give you your due, I admire your commitment. I mean, you murdered it over and over again…’

  She could feel the hot flush racing up her neck. How dare he when he had no idea what she was up against? When he didn’t have care in the world, just sat on a bloody roof all day in the sun…

  ‘Sorry, I said you didn’t need this, and I was right.’ He hung his head. ‘I’ll leave you in peace. Night, Isobel.’

  She took in his tired eyes, his hair sticking up on end. Even in the dimming light, she could see his face was far too pale. Isobel dipped her head.

  ‘No, I’m sorry. I can see you haven’t had a great day either.’ She shuffled over on the bench and waited while he retook his seat. They sat in silence for a few seconds.

  ‘Actually, I wasn’t trying to murder the music…’

  ‘Ah… so someone or something? An ex-husband perhaps, a jealous boyfriend…?’

  ‘My mother, actually.’

  He nodded, considering her words, but remained silent.

  ‘So, you’ve had a rough day too?’

  He rubbed his jawline. ‘I wasn’t feeling great, that’s all. I don’t usually feel like work is work, if you know what I mean, but it’s been a bit of a hard slog today.’

  She turned to face the cottage behind her. ‘But it’s very late. That’s still pretty dedicated, particularly if you weren’t feeling well.’

  Tom smiled. ‘Not dedicated often enough actually, hence the lost job. No, I haven’t only just finished. I went for a walk after dinner, a long one, to try to clear my head a bit before I even contemplate heading home.’

  ‘And I’m out here, trying to avoid going back inside…’ She shrugged. ‘What are we going to do, sit out here all night?’

  Tom eyed the bench, and the soft grass that lay in front of it. ‘I’ll take the floor,’ he said.

  Isobel returned his wry smile and there was silence for a few moments before Tom spoke again.

  ‘I admire your dedication actually,’ he said. ‘Even though you were frustrated you must have played that piece, what, twenty, thirty times?’

  ‘I never count,’ she replied. ‘That way madness lies. I just do it until I’m satisfied, or I feel like I’ve made enough progress.’

  ‘So, what was the problem?’

  She stared out across the garden. It probably wasn’t wise to be talking about it, but it had been a very long time since she’d been able to share anything.

  ‘Funnily enough it wasn’t the Tchaikovsky that was the problem. In fact, it was supposed to be part of the solution… it just didn’t work out that way.’ She tucked her hair behind her ears. ‘The composition I’ve been working on isn’t going well; it’s making me panic rather.’

  ‘Because of your deadline?’

  She nodded.

  ‘I have a deadline too,’ he replied. ‘Tricky buggers. The more you think about them the worse it becomes, until it gets so that you can’t think of anything else. Then you might as well give up altogether.’ He sighed. ‘I’m not best qualified to give advice, but if you want mine, I’d try and forget about it for a while. Do something else, go for a walk, anything, but learn to take a break and pace yourself. The chances are you’ll still get done what you need to.’

  ‘But what if I don’t?’

  He gave a sudden smile. ‘I see you spotted the fatal flaw in my plan.’ He shrugged. ‘I told you I wasn’t very good at dishing out advice, but to be fair I do think you’ll get it done, you seem very…’

  ‘Obsessive?’

  He didn’t reply straight away.

  ‘I was going to say committed, but if you think you’re obsessive, doesn’t that tell you something? I do think I could learn a lesson or two from you though,’ he said. ‘I give up too easily. That job tonight’s a prime example. All I had to do was give the folks a call, but I put it off and put it off, telling myself I was too busy and I’d do it the next day, and then of course, I didn’t. End result? Quite rightly, they took their business elsewhere.’

  ‘And I probably need to take a leaf out of your book, and learn when to stop. To go for a walk, or something, anything, instead of thrashing my violin.’ She pulled a face. ‘So, I have four and a bit weeks until the end of the summer, by which time my magnum opus will be ready to be delivered.’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘And you have until the end of the summer to finish the roof, by which time the Thatcher’s Cottage should be ready for occupation. So, perhaps in return for helping you run a tight ship, you might help me achieve a little more balance in my life, get a little perspective on my composition.’

  He was about to reply, but then a wary expression flashed over his face. ‘Let’s just see, shall we? I don’t like to make promises I can’t keep, Isobel, but I tell you what, think about coming to Lily’s concert? It might do you good to get out for a bit and listen to someone else play for a change. I can’t guarantee that the music will be up to much, but everyone loves a good kids’ concert, don’t they?’

  The thought made her stomach churn. ‘Thank you.’ She smiled. ‘I’ll think about it.’

  Chapter 9

  ‘Tom, can you turn back around to face me a little? Lovely though it is, all I’m getting are photos of your bum.’

  ‘And what’s wrong with that? I thought you were trying to encourage people to visit…!’

  Maddie lowered the camera, laughing. ‘I would hope they’ll come for the accommodation, rather than just to look at your underwear.’

  Tom lifted another bundle of straw, settling it into place. ‘So why are you taking pictures of me then? I’m massively photogenic I know, but…’

  ‘They’re for the website,’ Maddie explained. ‘I want to get the details of this cottage on as soon as I can. If everything goes according to plan, we can accept bookings for the end of August, and I don’t want to lose out.’

  He considered his recent conversation with Isobel before answering. ‘Then you’d better pray for good weather,’ he replied. ‘It’s been too fine for too long now. It makes me nervous.’

  ‘And is that the only thing that might put a spanner in the works?’

  It was a reasonable question. Tom had been less than reliable on occasion, but the fact that Maddie felt she needed to ask the question still hit home.

  ‘Unless I fall off the roof, yes… and I’m not planning to,’ he added, catching sight of her face. ‘But in all seriousness, the forecast looks set fair for the time being, but August can be a funny month. I’ll do what
I can.’

  ‘I know you will, Tom.’ Maddie smiled. ‘And in the meantime, give me your best look at me I’m gorgeous grin and I shall immortalise you on the website.’

  He did as he was asked, going along with the banter. He might have opened up to Seth, but no one else at Joy’s Acre was aware of the struggles in his past, and for now he was happy to keep it that way. His looks and his love life were the butt of many a joke at Joy’s Acre but only Seth knew why Tom never wanted to get close to people, or why the flirting, and the jokes and the series of one night stands presented him with the perfect smokescreen. But he was such an idiot. Only the day before Tom had told Seth he wanted nothing more to do with Isobel, and yet last night he had somehow entangled himself with her in something which had disaster written all over it.

  Isobel was beautiful, and she was smart, and he’d seen enough to know that she would get under his skin very easily indeed. And if she did, gradually, bit by bit the truth would come out. And Tom would have to deal with it. The problem was, Isobel’s suggestion that they try and help each other out seemed like the perfect answer to the situation they both found themselves in. She was obviously struggling with her composition and he’d spent so many years without any real direction in his life that things were long overdue for change. He turned his attention back to Maddie.

  ‘Not being funny, Mads, but shouldn’t you be taking pictures of the inside of the cottage as well? Just in case people want to see more than my blond-haired, blue-eyed good looks.’

  Maddie stuck out her tongue. ‘Actually, this was my idea,’ she said, ‘although I’m slightly beginning to regret it now… You know how we decided that each of the cottages was to have a theme, reminiscent of the Victorian farm? Well, this is obviously the Thatcher’s Cottage, and as well as having the story behind how Joy’s Acre got its name, we thought it would make an interesting angle for the website if we followed the renovation of each cottage through to its completion. We can include our ideas for the furnishing and decoration of the interior as well, just as we have for the Gardener’s Cottage where Isobel is staying.’

  ‘And do we have any ideas for the interior?’ asked Tom, arching his eyebrows.

  ‘Yes, as a matter of fact we do… I do.’

  Tom loved teasing Maddie. ‘You’re so clever,’ he simpered.

  ‘It’s my job,’ she said pointedly.

  ‘Ah, but is it?’ he asked, cocking his head at her.

  She smiled then, a beaming smile which lit up her entire face, and even from the roof Tom could see her blush. ‘I admit it might be rather more than that now…’

  ‘Well then, I’m glad. No one deserves it more than you do.’

  Her relationship with Seth was still in its early days, but Tom had never seen his friend looking happier, well not for a long time anyway. Seth had given Maddie a very hard time when she’d first arrived at the farm. The last few years had been tough for him too, and at first he’d seen her as a meddling interloper, but Maddie had been the bright spark they’d all needed to start to transform Joy’s Acre into the vision that Seth had always had for it; and just as she had fallen under its spell, so too had Seth fallen under hers…

  Tom stared out across the slope of the fields, bright in the morning sunshine, thinking about Isobel’s words from the night before. He was so lucky to be doing the thing he loved, and yet, given the lacklustre way he ran his business, you would scarcely know it.

  ‘Actually, Maddie,’ he began. ‘I wanted to ask you something myself, about the website, but only if you promise not to laugh.’

  She had raised the camera to take another picture but lowered it again at his words. ‘Go on,’ she said, looking up at him, ‘I promise.’

  ‘Well, I’ve been thinking about this for a while, seeing as I’m getting older and all that, but I wondered whether I ought to have a website myself.’ He pulled a face. ‘I know, it’s a radical idea, and I’ll be the first to admit that I’m a shocking businessman, but I probably ought to try and get myself in some sort of shape, at least look like I’m running a proper service and all that.’

  Tom didn’t expect her to laugh, but he did expect a degree of levity. The downside to always playing the fool was that invariably no one ever took you seriously. To his surprise, however, Maddie glanced at her watch, and then back up at him.

  ‘Have you got time for a break?’ she asked. ‘I could show you now if you like, the possibilities at least.’

  He swallowed, slightly nervous about looking a complete idiot, but perhaps there was no time like the present. He began to unbuckle his knee pads.

  ‘I’ll be with you in a jiffy,’ he said.

  By the time Tom had made two coffees and brought them through to the study in the main house, Maddie had already booted up the computer and was staring at a page of search engine results. He placed the mugs down on a piece of paper and pulled up a chair beside her.

  ‘What’s that?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m just checking out your competition,’ she said, clicking on a link. They were rewarded by a page which even Tom could see looked very amateurish. He peered at the screen.

  ‘Aye, Farmer and Sons,’ he said. ‘I know of them, but I don’t hear much about their work. They’re over Hereford way, a bit too far maybe for word from folks to reach me here.’

  Maddie nodded and clicked the mouse again, returning to the search results.

  ‘What about this one?’

  The site was very slick, with moving images which faded in and out across the screen.

  ‘Yeah, they get a lot of business, but they’re a national company.’ He pointed to the lower edge of the screen. ‘See? They have a Shropshire address but they cover most of the Home Counties as well. I hate that kind of thing.’

  ‘But they’re successful?’

  ‘Probably, and they have a website with all the bells and whistles on too. I imagine that pulls in the punters.’

  ‘Possibly,’ Maddie replied. ‘Although, personally I think it’s a little too… what’s the word? Impersonal perhaps? Showy? Too much design over substance. It doesn’t say very much about the people who work for the company, or about the fact that they’re local craftsmen, serving local people. If I were looking for a thatcher I think I’d like to know who was going to be working for me, and what sort of affinity they have with the local area.’

  Tom shrugged. ‘But perhaps that’s because you have a level of integrity that most people don’t. They just want a job doing reasonably okay for a cheap price.’

  ‘Possibly. But perhaps it’s more a question of what they think is available… Maybe, given a choice between cheap and showy, or a local person with a lifetime’s knowledge of the buildings around here, a passion for his work, and for the traditions of our countryside, they’d pick that option after all.’

  A wry smile crept across Tom’s face. ‘Okay, you got me,’ he said. ‘I can already see your little grey cells hard at work.’

  ‘I’m just saying that in a very short space of time I can clearly see where you might pitch your own site. What we’ve looked at so far has been very uninspiring, but with a little bit of thought you could come up with something that would serve you well in terms of future business.’ She gave him a sideways look. ‘You know you’re okay here until at least the end of the year though, don’t you?’

  ‘Yeah, I know. But after that? It’s all a bit vague, and while I’ve always worked on the principle that something will turn up, what if it doesn’t? I’d rather not have to resort to bar work again just to keep the wolf from the door. I’m getting too old for that.’

  ‘But what about your music?’

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘Well, isn’t there a way you could make more money from that than you do?’

  Tom stared at her. ‘Have you even heard us play?’ he asked. ‘Nah, it’s just a bit of fun. Me and the boys never meant for it to be anything serious. I mean, not like Isobel, it’s a different kettle of fish altogether.’
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br />   ‘Okay.’ Maddie turned her attention back to the screen, a slight smile crossing her face. ‘So let’s concentrate on this for a moment. You could put together something relatively simple with a couple of days’ work; that’s all it would take.’

  Tom shook his head. ‘No, Maddie, that’s all it would take you. I’m completely clueless, remember?’

  ‘So, I’ll do it for you. The ideas can still be yours – how you want it look, what you want to say – the rest is just mechanics. One of the most important things you need are some decent photos, and with any luck I may have just taken a few.’

  She picked up the camera from the desk. ‘Let’s have a look, shall we?’ She attached a lead from the computer and waited for the pictures to transfer. ‘The other thing we should do of course is credit your work here on the Joy’s Acre website. Testimonials are another great marketing tool. If you had a website and we linked to it, it would serve us both.’

  She took a gulp of her coffee. ‘In fact, that’s just given me another idea…’ She pulled a pad of sticky notes and a pen towards her and scribbled across one of the sheets. ‘Right, now let’s see what these all look like.’

  The photos were not what Tom had been expecting at all. From up on the roof all he had seen was Maddie pointing the camera in his direction and he’d envisaged a series of shots with him smiling away. Instead, without him realising, Maddie had used the zoom to extraordinary effect. In one picture the ends of a sheaf of straw were silhouetted against the bright blue of the sky; another photo showed only his hand in close up as he layered the straw. Even a clump of hazel twigs, as yet unused, which would bind the straw to the roof had been captured, the light and dark patterns of shadow they cast bringing the roof to life. What could have been flat one-dimensional shots had instead brought the very essence and meaning of the craft to life. They showed the roof as a living, breathing, thing and, as Maddie clicked through each of the pictures in turn, the images also showed Tom as master of it.