The Little Cottage on the Hill Read online

  In her mind she ran back over the details of her arrival at Joy’s Acre, trying to see it from a visitor’s point of view. To her, it was obvious where the issues lay, and she fished in her bag for her notebook, feeling slightly more resolute. This was what she knew, what she was good at. She had filled a page before she knew it.

  Lost in thought, it was some while before she became aware that a huge ginger cat had approached and was winding itself around her feet, rubbing itself against her ankles and purring in pleasure. She reached down a hand to push it away, tucking her legs underneath the bench. Undeterred, the cat simply changed position and rubbed its head against her knee instead, stretching its neck up and dribbling slightly as it pushed its mouth against her. She stood up crossly. What was it with the animals around here and their constant desire to share bodily fluids?

  She took this as a cue to move on to the other three cottages on the opposite side of the garden to the first, grouped together and arranged in a semi-circle. A series of paths connected them all, linking with the main garden in front of them. A long low barn and a couple of small sheds completed the set-up.

  It was the barn that most interested Madeline. She needed a feature, something stunning that would unite the use of the space and provide a focal point to tie it all together. The barn looked in a pretty poor state of repair, but if the wooden exterior was replaced with glass, a covered walkway could be extended out to pass in front of all the cottages. The combination of old and new could look amazing. She flipped a page in her notebook and sketched a quick design. The garden would have to change; it was far too kitsch, full of flowers and vegetables. It needed to be sleek and sculptural, not sweet and rambling.

  There was no sign of Seth, but she supposed he had deliberately made himself scarce. Her employer’s brief here was clear enough, however. Joy’s Acre was to be a luxury holiday and leisure destination and, even if it wasn’t yet, there was no reason why it couldn’t be. All it took was imagination and money, and she had been all but promised as much of that as she needed. In Seth’s absence there was no other choice but to carry on by herself. She walked resolutely back up the path to the first cottage and rattled the door handle.

  It creaked, but the door swung open, and she tutted again; it was downright irresponsible leaving them open, anyone could walk in. Sadly, the interior was just as she’d anticipated: depressing, and lacking in even the most basic of facilities. On a whim she pulled her phone from her bag and checked the display. She was right about that too – hardly any signal, and nothing in the way of Wi-Fi to connect to. She stood for a few moments more, marshalling her thoughts before heading back to the house. She had a lot of work to do.

  * * *

  The time was approaching seven o’clock when she next looked at her watch and there was still no sign of Seth. She had parked herself at the kitchen table and for the last three hours had typed steadily into her laptop. Now her initial report was virtually finished and her stomach, which so far today had only had a very unsatisfactory roadside service station sandwich, was beginning to protest.

  She got up, stretching out her neck and back, and went to fill a glass from the tap. No mention had been made thus far of the domestic arrangements at Joy’s Acre, but it would make sense for her and Seth to eat their meals together, daunting though that sounded. She would have to ask at the earliest opportunity; it would be helpful if she knew what was expected of her.

  She threw a furtive glance over her shoulder and peered quickly and hungrily into the fridge, hoping to find something that her basic cooking skills might cope with. For the most part she lived off salads or pre-prepared foods from the posh delicatessens near where she worked and lived. She had the feeling that things would be rather different here.

  To her surprise, the fridge was full of all manner of things, muddy fruit and vegetables mainly, and nothing remotely like the uniform selections sitting on little plastic trays that she was used to seeing. Aside from two pieces of salmon nestled on a plate, there seemed to be little which Madeline could turn into a quick meal, and she closed the door in a desultory fashion. She was about to inspect the contents of the bread bin she had spied earlier when she heard the front door bang shut, and she jumped guiltily.

  Seth stared at her laptop before glancing up at her in perplexed manner, almost as if he’d never seen her before, or perhaps didn’t expect her to still be here. His hands were covered in black, grubby oil.

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t realise the time,’ he said, and then, ‘I should go and shower.’

  Madeline gave a nervous smile. She was still standing far too close to the fridge to have been doing anything other than inspecting it.

  ‘No, me neither. I was thinking about dinner but I didn't know…’

  ‘Great idea, I’m starving… The fridge is full and so are the cupboards, so just make anything you fancy. I’ll only be ten minutes or so and I'm not fussy.’

  He turned on his heel, leaving the room as quickly as he had entered it. Madeline stared at his back and then once more at the fridge, which she now had an overwhelming urge to kick.

  Of all the nerve! It was her first day here, and although she hadn’t expected a three-course meal, neither had she thought she’d have to fend for herself in this way. So far, she’d been subjected to a less than enthusiastic welcome, been left on her own for hours, and now that Seth had actually deigned to return home she was clearly expected to cook for him too. Well, he had another think coming if he thought it was acceptable to treat her like a common or garden skivvy…

  * * *

  Madeline yanked the fridge door open for a second time and then slammed it shut. There was nothing in there that she knew what to do with and she was damned if she was going to start making something from scratch, even if she could. Seth would more than likely turn his nose up at anything she prepared, and she was not about to give him the satisfaction. She lifted the lid of the bread bin. He could bloody well make do with beans on toast.

  Madeline stood in front of her laptop once more, and jiggled the mouse to awaken the screen. She quickly reread the last few paragraphs of the words she had written, and gave a nod of satisfaction. It was a good report – factual and to the point without being overly derogatory, and more importantly, highlighting the vast potential of the site which was still waiting to be tapped. Madeline was just the person to sell what Joy’s Acre could offer, and her report would surely convince Seth of the work that was required to bring the site up to scratch.

  She cast her mind back to the brief tour of the house Seth had provided on the way up to her bedroom, and remembered him saying something about a study. If there was a printer in the house, it would surely be in there. Rummaging around in her laptop bag, she found the cable she was looking for and headed down the hallway. She might not be able to cook, but she could certainly find her way around most office equipment; getting the machine to spit out her report in all its glory took her all of five minutes.

  Seth reappeared ten minutes later and demolished the plate of food in front of him in minutes. Throughout, their conversation was polite but, although Madeline made mention of her report on several occasions, she was hugely disappointed that he seemed unwilling to enter into discussion about her work. Instead he asked her a series of boring questions about her family, none of which she wanted to answer in much depth. In the end, her frustration mounting, she whisked his plate away and plonked the sheaf of papers containing her report in front of him.

  ‘It’s only my initial ideas,’ she began, ‘but I'd like to see what you think of these for starters before I begin to add in the detail. I think it’s important that we’re both singing from the same hymn sheet.’

  Seth stared at her. ‘What’s this?’ he asked.

  Madeline thought she had made her last statement perfectly clear and frowned.

  ‘What do you mean, what’s this? It’s my initial report. I wanted to get down to things straight away, so I’ve done an initial assessment of the current
situation, how I see things progressing and, ultimately, where I see Joy’s Acre pitched in the marketplace.’

  He was still staring.

  ‘I know I don’t properly start until tomorrow, but let’s face it, things are far from where they should be by now, and I thought it best to make a start as soon as possible. Have a read.’

  Seth picked up the top sheet, glancing at it before spreading the other pages on the table, scattering them out of order. It set Madeline’s teeth on edge. He read for perhaps five seconds before replacing the page with the others.

  ‘How can you possibly know what I want when we’ve not yet discussed it?’ he said slowly.

  Madeline was confused for a moment until she realised what the problem was; it was surprising the number of people she’d worked with before who didn’t understand the importance of clear communication.

  ‘You don’t need to worry,’ she said. ‘Natalie has fully briefed me on the requirements already so that I could hit the ground running. I’ve prepared my report accordingly; focusing on the high level of finish that even the most discerning clients will demand, and backed this up with a comprehensive range of luxury facilities with service to match. I had of course already checked out what the competition has to offer and, believe me, with what I have in mind, Joy’s Acre will be unparalleled in the local area.’

  Madeline tapped the uppermost page.

  ‘It’s all there,’ she said. ‘Please do read on. Take your time.’

  Seth’s jaw tightened and she could see a muscle twitching just below his right cheek. He looked like a coiled spring and subconsciously she sat slightly further back in her seat. His gaze travelled up the table towards her, as if taking her in properly for the first time.

  ‘Miss Porter,’ he said. ‘Do you own a pair of work boots, or heavy shoes, wellies even? Some jeans? An overall perhaps… In fact anything that you won’t mind getting dirty, dusty, torn, smelly and generally trashed. If you don’t, may I suggest you go into town to buy some, because when you start work tomorrow you will most definitely be needing them. What you will not be needing, is this pile of shit.’

  He picked up the sheaf of papers, pushing them roughly together before tearing them in two. His chair grated on the tiled floor as he stood up.

  ‘I’m going out now, so I’ll say goodnight. I have a key, obviously, as this is my house, so don’t wait up. Have a pleasant evening and I’ll see you at eight o’clock sharp tomorrow morning.’

  Madeline sat in stunned disbelief as his anger reverberated around the room for several minutes after he left. What on earth had she done to deserve that? She stared at the door and then around the room, almost as if she was looking for a witness to corroborate what had just happened. She was alone.

  Her brain whirred with a hundred pithy comebacks which had arrived too late. Selfish pig – he’d even left her to do all the washing-up. She thought about throwing something, and probably would have if this had been her house, but instead she snatched up the papers, her own anger rapidly reaching boiling point, and ripped them into a frenzy of confetti. She threw the handful of paper away from her, watching with satisfaction as some of it fell to the floor.

  A quick check of her watch revealed there was still plenty of time to pack her things and find a place to stay for the night. Even the back end of nowhere must have hotels. She could get herself a room, something nice from the bar, dial up room service for a late-night snack and then sink into a hot bath. With any luck she’d sleep like a baby, and in the morning she could drive back to civilisation and pick up her life where she had left off. She certainly didn’t need to stay here and be treated like a skivvy by a rude bully who didn’t know his arse from his elbow. These thoughts sustained her all the way up the stairs and into her bedroom, where she stopped dead in disbelief…

  Before she’d left the room earlier, she had laid some linen trousers and a jacket out on the bed – her favourites, the ones that had cost a fortune but always made her feel like a million dollars. In the face of an uncertain day tomorrow, she had thought that this outfit, at least, would give her the confidence to meet the situation head on, and demonstrate just how good at her job she could be. But now, plonked right in the middle, and kneading the French linen with sharp claws, was the huge ginger cat she had run into earlier.

  It really was the final straw. Her howl of rage gave way to choking sobs, and the startled cat shot off the bed, between her legs, and out through the door. She curled into a ball on top of the covers and shut her eyes.

  * * *

  The light outside had turned a deep violet by the time she awoke, her face red and creased from lying in a heap, taut with dried tears and snot. She lay for a moment trying to orientate herself in the strange room, with no idea what time it was and struggling even to remember what day it was. She shifted her weight slightly, grimacing as she realised that she was still fully dressed, and now another set of clothes were rumpled beyond recognition. Something warm and solid was pressed into her back, and as she wriggled again it seemed to move with her. She sat up, confused.

  She hadn’t even noticed the blasted ginger cat creep back into the room, never mind the fact that it had brazenly taken up a position next to her on the bed and curled itself against her spine. Two amber eyes regarded her solemnly as if challenging her to interrupt its sleep again. She sighed, and lay back down; she had no energy to protest, and her clothes were a mess now anyway, there was little more damage that could be done.

  She looked over at the clock which travelled with her everywhere and whose display now glowed from the bedside cabinet beside her. It was very nearly ten at night and as she swivelled her head to listen, she could hear no movement from within the huge house. Was Seth even home? He hadn’t said where he was going, or how long he would be out for, and although it was no business of hers, she was in a strange place, where she knew no one, and where things so far had been entirely different from what she had been led to believe they would be.

  She knew her tears had been a release from the last few difficult months when she had been forced to keep a tight lid on her emotions, but she couldn’t remember the last time she had cried like that, and she did feel better for it – washed out, but oddly at peace. She tried to remind herself why she was here. A few hours earlier she had been intent on leaving, but she’d already run away once and, despite the circumstances, she had no real desire to do it again.

  One thing was certain, however; this evening hadn’t gone well and tomorrow, if she was staying, she would have to well and truly pick up her game. Whether in practice she was working for Seth, Agatha, or even Natalie made no difference; she must not appear weak under any circumstances and she had to hope that Seth had not been around to see or hear her tears. He might be grumpy and rude, and definitely unhappy about her presence here, but even his anger was slightly more appealing than Agatha’s dismissive condescension.

  Chapter 3

  What on earth was that infernal noise? Madeline sat bolt upright, staring around her and listening hard. It had come from outside, but she could see the sky through the open curtains and it wasn’t even properly light yet. The noise came again and this time she got to her feet, padding across the room to investigate.

  Her window overlooked the garden, and it was only now that she was looking down on it she realised just how large it was, and just how much was planted there. Not a spare inch of soil showed, and there were even various troughs and planters dotted around, all of which were hung with flowers or foliage. She wasn’t a gardener by any stretch of the imagination, but even she could tell that it would need a huge amount of work to keep everything in its current condition. She shuddered, sincerely hoping that this was not a duty that would fall to her; goodness only knows what state her fingernails would be in afterwards.

  As she watched, two huge birds wandered into her line of sight; pheasants. She had seen enough of the stupid birds lying dead at the side of the road to know what they were, and these two seemed to
be no cleverer, strolling aimlessly about like they hadn’t a clue where they were. A raucous screech split the morning air, accompanied by a weird shaking and fluffing of feathers as one of the birds arched its neck and flapped its wings. It was clearly out to impress. Fabulous – she was trying to sleep and the local wildlife was hell-bent on having sex. She dragged the curtains across the window and stomped back to bed.

  Her head had been back on the pillow for only a few seconds when she sat up again. No, the whole point of leaving the curtains open in the first place had been to get an early start. Madeline was an early riser by nature – mornings were when she was at her best and most creative – and she was determined to start as she meant to go on. Languishing in bed wasn’t going to accomplish anything and, despite a slight stiffness and woolly feeling in her head from last night’s tears, she felt cleansed and energised – optimistic even.

  She eyed her wardrobe despondently, Seth’s words about having overalls still ringing in her ears. Pretty much everything she had brought with her was tailored and very expensive. She didn’t really do casual, and she certainly didn’t do scruffy. Her life in London had been punctuated by either work itself, or work-related events and activities. She dressed up for dinner with friends, and on the very rare occasions she had time to herself at home, she only ever wore jeans as a last resort. She shook her head; it wasn’t happening. She might be working hard – she had no problem with that – but she was damn well going to do it in clothes that she felt comfortable in. She selected a soft pink striped blouse and a pair of navy trousers, laid them out neatly on the bed and went in search of a hot shower.

  Half an hour later, with her expertly cut and highlighted hair curling gently onto her shoulders, she made her way back downstairs. It wasn’t even six o’clock yet, so she entered the kitchen as quietly as she could, suddenly remembering the state she had left the kitchen in last night. Not only would the bean-covered saucepan and plates from last night’s meal still be piled up next to the sink, but she had covered the table and a good part of the floor with tiny pieces of paper. She had no idea what time Seth had returned home last night, but with any luck he hadn’t ventured into the kitchen, or if he had, then she could clear away the mess quickly now and neither of them would have to refer to it again.