He seems annoyed, as if I created the problem and am being unreasonable expecting him to sort it out.
"It might be better if you make an appointment for another day," he replies, drily, fixing me with a stare. A flash of anger finds me struggling to hold back the first retort that pops into my head. Instead, I take a deep breath and speak slowly, but distinctly.
"I think it might be even better if you ring the office now and have the conversation, so that you aren't late getting off to your next viewing."
Connor looks at me, surprised by the forcefulness of my words and heads off back to his car, mumbling something totally incoherent as he brushes past me.
I wander down to the bench by the shed, fighting my way through one of the overgrown pathways that traverse the garden. A large fuchsia bush is covered in deep, double pink heads, the branches hanging low overhead causing me to duck. On the other side a climbing rose has suckers extending three feet and making it almost impossible to squeeze through without getting snagged. However, I persevere and take the final steps down to the bench. I was right, the view from here is completely different and it feels protected, despite being very open. With the terraced garden rising high above it to the rear, the sloping grassy bank falling away below it and a high hedge to the side, it sits in a hollow.
The sun is warm on my face and I close my eyes for a second, taking in the peacefulness of the setting. All you can hear are the birds and the odd ripple of leaves caught in the breeze. A crack in the overhanging branches of a hazelnut tree, about five feet away, announces the appearance of a young, grey squirrel. He jumps with ease across to a large branch on a neighbouring ash tree. It isn't until this moment that I scan around and really take note of the trees. The variety is amazing; however ash seems to grow particularly well here and is a fitting winner for the aptly named cottage.
"Mrs Brooks!" Connor's agitated voice calls out – a few seconds later he emerges from one of the overgrown pathways.
"I'm here and it's Miss Brooks," I reply, trying hard not to over-react to his faux pas.
He approaches the bench, inspecting the arm of his jacket as he walks.
"I think that rose has pulled a thread," he utters, sounding really fed up and choosing to ignore my comment.
"Poor you," I reply, dourly. "What did the office say?"
"There's no one available. You'll have to ring in to arrange another appointment and I'm going to have to shoot off now." He looks at his watch impatiently and that makes me really cross. I make no attempt to move, despite the meaningful glance he throws my way.
"So, I've driven all this way and I can't get access to the cottage today?"
He at least has the good grace to look a touch embarrassed, but I realise there's absolutely no point in making a fuss.
"Well, just so my journey isn't a complete waste of my time, is it okay if I take ten minutes to look around the garden?"
My request clearly presents him with a new dilemma. He's torn between having to think through the implications of leaving me here to my own devices and, after yet another flick of his wrist to check the time, being late for his next appointment.
"Well…I suppose it will be all right." He looks at me as if appraising whether or not I can be trusted.
"I am in the process of buying the property and contracts have already been exchanged." I throw this in, not to reassure him, but to remind him I'm not some total stranger who is here merely to nose around.
He nods and without another word begins his retreat back through the undergrowth.
"An apology would have been nice," I pipe up, "or a goodbye…" hoping my words will carry and perhaps remind him of common courtesy, let alone good manners.
I wait until I hear his car pull away and then venture down to locate the boundary at the bottom of the garden. The grass is on such a steep slope that it's not easy to walk down without slipping. Thankfully, I manage it without mishap and discover two crowns of rhubarb hidden among a border that also holds a beautiful mock orange blossom shrub. Everything is leggy and overgrown, sadly neglected over the past few years by the looks of it. Behind this is a hedge that runs along the bottom. The other side abuts a large grassy area, belonging to a cottage that is almost completely obscured by trees. Well, it's private, that's for sure.
Making my way slowly back up the grassy bank, I notice that the two large apple trees are badly in need of pruning. Hidden in the branches is a telegraph wire that is almost low enough to touch. Aside from that, the garden needs a lot of weeding and a tidy to take away the debris that has built up over a number of years. However, it is packed full of a whole variety of plants, trees and shrubs. It's enchanting, and a little thrill courses through me. This is going to be my garden very, very soon.
I discover a different pathway to take me back up to the top level that isn’t quite so overgrown. Thankfully, it doesn’t have any thorny branches to contend with. As I emerge, directly in front of me is the garden room. It’s still full of old furniture, although I’m sure it will be emptied before I take possession. It was used as a piano room and that, too, is built into the slope of the hill. Either side of it are storage rooms hewn into the rock face. Both are rather dank and full of cobwebs, but they will be useful. To the left stands the oil tank for the central heating and I’m dismayed to spot a small pool of oil on the floor. A little investigation is enough to confirm that the pipe going into the tank appears to have been vandalised. Well, maybe today hasn’t been a total waste after all. If I hadn’t spotted this it would have been a nightmare moving in to discover the tank was empty. I make my way back to the car to ring Cooper and Tate, thankful that this is one problem I’m not going to have to sort out on moving day.
LEWIS (#u9e65b9f4-ac6e-589d-81f9-b9de8d05752b)
CHAPTER 3 (#u9e65b9f4-ac6e-589d-81f9-b9de8d05752b)
"Can I speak to Sarah Manning, please, it's urgent?"
"Who's calling?"
"Lewis Hart."
"Hold the line, I'm putting you through."
Clearly, Sarah isn't there. It switches straight to her answerphone and I'm in no mood to leave a message. I'm so angry, my hands are shaking. As if the long drive home wasn't bad enough, when I passed Ash Cottage there wasn't just a For Sale sign outside, but it was almost obliterated by a Sold banner. Now I know what they mean when they say a red mist can descend out of nowhere.
I slam down the phone, desperately trying to regain control of my anger. I can't remember the last time I lost it – the feeling isn't a welcome one and reminds me of my youth. I simply can't believe that Sarah has sold Ash Cottage to someone else.
I try to straighten out my thoughts. The last couple of weeks have been a nightmare; planning a funeral messes with your head and I thought I'd made it clear I had every intention of buying Ash Cottage once it was on the market. Heck, I rang Sarah and left a message!
It dawns on me that I haven't checked my own messages for a while and, sure enough, the flashing icon tells me that was a mistake. There are two messages and they are both from Sarah. I let out a sigh, unable to stop myself from shaking my head at my own stupidity.
"Hello, Lewis, I'm ringing to let you know that Ash Cottage is officially on the market. I have no idea if your situation has changed and whether you are still interested, given recent events. I was sorry to hear the news about your mother, such an awful time for you. I'll await your call."
Damn! That must have crossed with the message I left her. What did I say? My mind tries to replay the phone call, but there was so much going on at the time. Maybe I only asked her to call me back. I meant to give her permission to match the asking price once the bank pressed the ‘go’ button. I listen to the second message.
"Lewis, I'm returning your call as requested. I don't know what you were going to say to me … um … oh, I hope this isn't going to be bad news for you. Ash Cottage is sold. If it makes you feel any better, an offer was made on it before I received the message to ring you. When we finally received the instruction to market it, there wasn't anything I could do without confirmation that the sale price was acceptable to you. I'm honour-bound to forward every offer that is made in a timely fashion, once a property is officially up for sale. This purchaser happened to be in the right place at the right time. Let me know when you are back and I'm sorry if your plans haven't changed, but there was nothing I could do."
It’s not Sarah’s fault, it’s mine. I understand her situation. For me nothing has changed, but she wasn’t to know that. This is a bitter blow I’m going to find very hard to accept. In my head Ash Cottage was already mine and I can’t believe some stranger has stepped in to snatch it away from me.
MADDIE (#u9e65b9f4-ac6e-589d-81f9-b9de8d05752b)
CHAPTER 4 (#u9e65b9f4-ac6e-589d-81f9-b9de8d05752b)
Popping back to the cottage the following Saturday to finally measure up and have a really good look around, Ryan offers to drive me. He knows how much I hate being behind the wheel and it's a thoughtful gesture. This time Sarah is the one to greet us and, after unlocking the cottage, she very kindly allows us to walk around unaccompanied. Ryan seems mesmerised by her. She's an attractive woman; blonde, quite curvy and a smart dresser.
"Take your time," she smiles, encouragingly. "I booked out a forty-minute slot. I have a few phone calls to make if that's okay with you, but if you need anything, just let me know. Here are the keys for the shed, garden room and store rooms. Enjoy!"
"Lovely woman," Ryan comments as he watches Sarah walking back up to her car.
"Yes. And extremely polite. You should have met her colleague, Connor. Well, what do you think – first impressions?" I'm buzzing and holding my breath to find out what his reaction is to Ash Cottage.
"Well, there's only one word to describe it, really, and that's wow!" Our eyes are, of course, focused only on the view. The valley is now sporting a full coat of autumnal colours; deep reds, oranges and browns, reflecting the drop in temperature early in the morning and late at night. The chill has begun and autumn is making its mark.
"You'll never get any work done. How will you be able to drag yourself away from this?"
That now-familiar little thrill courses through my body. It's a sense of excitement at the prospect of actually living here and waking up each morning to this beautiful picture of tranquility.
"I haven't heard a single car since I've been here. It's so peaceful and so very you." Ryan turns to face me, placing his hand on my arm. He gives it a friendly squeeze, his grey eyes warming as he takes in my expression. "I can see that you love it. I'm excited for you, Maddie – your new start."
In fairness, the conservatory is probably the only part of this property that doesn't need extensive work, but I can see he is caught up in the ambience. As we walk around I talk him through some of my ideas for the renovation and he throws in a few suggestions of his own.
"Who is going to do the work?"
"Well, that's the big question. Christmas is looming and, obviously, I'm unlikely to find anyone prepared to work over the period between Christmas and New Year. But the kitchen is small and even if it isn't finished in time, I hope to have the essentials installed ready for the holidays."
