A British Contemporary Romance Book Series
Appleton Vale by Anneli Lort
Series Excerpt
Boris! Heel!” shouted a panting Dee Dee Bains. It was too late. Boris the Jack Russell terrorist had taken off after the rabbit that was now running for its little life, and Dee Dee was struggling to catch up. Well, she was in her sixties, although she would never admit that to anyone. She had lived in Appleton Vale for the past twenty-five years with her partner, Jane Coombes, running the local tearooms, spreading gossip and hosting the weekly book club. Shunning the WI in nearby Fiddlebury - “too old” - Dee Dee and Jane lived for village life, their neighbours, long walks in the hills with their surrogate child, Boris, and of course, each other.
Dee Dee, pausing for breath, looked up to the brow of the hill where she spotted the lean, striking form of a young woman taking in the scenery next to a dark grey car. Could she be our new resident? she pondered, wondering what the girl’s story could be. Everyone who came to Appleton Vale had a tale to tell, and Dee Dee saw it as her neighbourly duty to root it out of each and every villager. She turned on her heel and started for the path back to the village, pausing to inform the missing Boris that he would be left to fend for himself unless he came back right now. Perhaps she would pop into the Riverside Inn later to see if anyone had met the new girl.
As ‘new girl’ Olivia turned left past the village green at the bidding of her satnav, Tom Feltham, owner of the Riverside Inn and Bistro, was overseeing a delivery from the local brewery. He and his wife Susie took pride in sourcing and serving as much local produce as possible, which attracted punters from far and wide. Tom, being a natural host, strode over to where Olivia had parked up and introduced himself.
“You must be our new neighbour.” he said cheerily. “I’m Tom Feltham. I own the pub with my wife, Susie. We were wondering when you were going to turn up.” Tall and lean, Tom had floppy, mouse-coloured hair that kept falling into his eyes. His face was soft and had kindness etched into it, along with a permanent but genuine smile.
Olivia paused before offering her hand to greet Tom. How much did the locals know about her already? She had heard village life could be intrusive. “Hi, I’m Olivia,” she smiled. “Pleased to meet you. The estate agent said you would have the keys for the cottage for me to pick up?”
“Indeed I do,” he smiled and nodded his head towards the pub. “Why don’t you come and meet Susie and have a drink while I get them? You must be parched after your journey.”
“That would be great,” said Olivia, but as she started to follow Tom into the pub, a muffled woof reminded her that Hector, her gorgeous, goofy golden retriever, was still wedged in the car, surrounded by various items of luggage and boxes that Olivia had brought from London.
Outwardly, Hector had the appearance of the perfectly-trained dog, with his lazily wagging tail, goofy smile and gentle nature. However, as Olivia opened the door he bounded out and made a beeline for Tom, jumping up and sending him flying, narrowly missing the open hatch of the pub’s cellar.
“Hector, NO,” she shouted too late, and rushed over to where Tom was lying on the ground. “Are you ok? I’m so sorry, he doesn’t have an off button. He’s possibly the worst-trained dog in the world,” said Olivia, with the practiced, disarming smile she had used so often to make amends for Hector’s boisterous behaviour. “Does your pub welcome ASBO dogs, as well as their owners?”
Tom laughed, picked himself up and dusted himself down, “Of course! Come on then, Susie will be delighted you’re here, she does love a new face in the village.”
It was the end of the lunchtime rush and the pub was emptying as people went about the rest of their day, many to return later for a swift half before going home for dinner. Olivia breathed in the heady mixture of delicious scents wafting from the restaurant, and the slow burning wood from the logs hissing away in the inglenook fireplace that dominated the room. In front of her lay an immaculate mahogany bar, and beyond that a cosy but stylish restaurant. Oak beams and uneven creaking floorboards added to the charm, and the atmosphere was warm and welcoming.
A series of delicate, exquisitely detailed watercolours adorned the walls. “By our resident famous artist, Charles Harkley,” Tom said, nodding at the paintings. “You’ll see his work dotted all around the village. Ah, here’s Susie now. Susie, Olivia.”
“Olivia,” Susie cried, pulling her into a bear hug. “Welcome to Appleton Vale! You’re going to love it here, everyone does.”
Olivia smiled. She usually liked to take time to get to know people, but something about Susie, aided possibly by the very large glass of red wine that had been thrust into her hand, made her feel like she had come home and all her troubles would be swept away.
Susie was as short as Tom was tall, and they looked an odd couple. An elfin crop of brown hair framed her oval face, accentuating her huge grey eyes. Her cheeks were full and rosy, and she too had a smile that seemed to be an enduring fixture.
Turning to Tom, Susie said, “Darling, can you call Mandy and see if she would come in later? I could really do with a night off.”
“Your wish is my command,” Tom replied, doffing an imaginary cap as he pulled out his mobile phone.
“We work round the clock so we really cherish the nights we get off together,” explained a blushing Susie. “And we’re trying for a baby,” she whispered to Olivia.
At that moment, the door crashed open, hitting the coat stand behind it. A draught of autumn air and wood-smoke hit Olivia, and she looked around to see the very man she was here to work with, Sebastian Bloom, six feet and two inches of perfection. He was broad-shouldered with thick dark hair, cut short; his olive-skinned, angular face was breathtakingly chiselled, with a defiant chin. Dressed casually in what she recognised as an ultra-stylish, ultra-expensive Damian de Landre tweed jacket and jeans, he commanded the room before he set foot in it.
They hadn’t met before, even though she’d spent time at some of the more prestigious golf tournaments interviewing his peers. She knew he was good-looking, but close up he was mesmerising. Sebastian had the rare condition of Heterochromia, which had gifted him one smoldering brown eye and one exotic dark green eye under long, thick lashes. For the first time in her working life, and with all the fabulously famous sporting stars she had met, she went a little weak at the knees. Pull yourself together, Carmichael, said the little voice of reason in her head. This is purely professional.
Sebastian strode across the saloon towards her, stopping briefly to kiss Susie and exchange greetings with Tom. “You must be Olivia?” He offered his hand and Olivia, somewhat nervous, extended hers towards him.
“Yes, that’s me, guilty as charged,” she grinned and noticed a ghost of a smile cross his face.
“Welcome to Appleton Vale. I trust you’ve settled in already. I’d like to start work as soon as possible if that’s ok with you? Tomorrow morning around nine o’clock?”
It was more of a demand than a suggestion. Olivia immediately switched into work mode, her professionalism at the very top of her list of attributes when it came to dealing with superstars and their egos.
“Tomorrow’s Saturday, not strictly a working day,” she replied carefully, matching her words with a smile so as not to appear rude.
“Does that make a difference?” Sebastian replied. “Feel free to bring the dog if you want to.” He stooped down and acknowledged Hector’s presence with a loving chin scratch and then he was gone, leaving Olivia smarting in his wake, but unable to stop herself from sneaking an admiring look as he walked away.
She swung back round to the bar and looked at Susie, whose embarrassment was evident. “Who the hell does he think he is?” she demanded through gritted teeth. “I know he’s had had a rough time of it lately but that was just downright rude. I haven’t even set foot inside the cottage, let alone had a chance to settle in.”
Susie, flustered, leant over the bar and thrust an envelope into Olivia’s hand. “He’s a wonderful man, take my word for it.” She was becoming an expert in explaining away Sebastian’s boorish behaviour. “These are the keys to Brook Cottage. Get yourself sorted, and tend to Sebastian in your own time. His bark is worse than his bite, and I’m pretty sure you can stand up for yourself. Don’t judge him on what you’ve read and what your journalist friends have told you, he really is smashing when he’s on form,” she added with a smile. “Now, off you go. Pop in later and I’ll have something delicious ready for your supper; you can’t cook on your first night.”
“I thought you were having a night between the sheets with Tom?” Olivia raised an eyebrow and smiled.
“He can wait. Besides, it’s only supper,” Susie smiled warmly. “So I’ll see you later?”
Olivia smiled, nodded her agreement and pulled on her jacket to brave the unseasonably cold wind outside. She didn’t have far to go as Brook cottage was just fifty yards down the road from the pub. Convenient, she thought, when writer’s block sets in, of course.
With Hector trailing behind, clearly annoyed at being asked to leave the warmth of the pub and the possibility of the odd chip making its way down to floor level, Olivia paused outside the cottage, already delighted with what she saw. Nestled behind a white picket fence was a beautifully proportioned, flint-built cottage, quaint and quirky with slanting window frames, a crooked chimney and the remnants of what had been a full-blooming wisteria crawling across the honeyed stone face.
She pushed through the gate. Sliding the heavy iron key into the front door, she paused, excited at what she might find inside.
Olivia hadn’t been that bothered when she initially took on an agent to find her something to rent in the area, she just wanted to get out of London fast. Terry Gullan, the agent, had called and told her that he had found a real gem. “This type of property just doesn’t come up in Appleton Vale…ever,” he’d enthused. So, on the word of a man she had never met, and an estate agent at that, Olivia had signed herself up for a year, renting a house she had never seen.
With trepidation, she opened the door and stepped inside, but she was pleasantly surprised to be hit with a wall of warmth: someone had been in and turned on the heating. The light was fading outside; the long winter night starting to set in. Olivia flicked on the light switch by the door, and gasped at the picture-perfect scene before her. The house couldn’t have been more ‘her’ if she had designed it herself. Brook Cottage looked quaint and chintzy from the outside, but inside it was all mod cons and understated elegance which somehow blended seamlessly with the character of the property.
Oak-beamed ceilings set off the smooth, original flagstones on the floors, and an inglenook fireplace in the centre of the lounge added yet more character. Walking into the kitchen she found a note fastened to the fridge door with a magnet:
Welcome to Appleton Vale. I hope you don’t mind me taking the liberty of popping in to get the place ready for you, there’s a little something in the fridge to celebrate your new home. I clean for you on Tuesdays but am sure we’ll meet in the village before that. Sincerely, Pat Cowan.
She moved from room to room, turning on the pretty lamps and drawing the heavy, lined curtains. Heading up the creaking stairs, she turned the corner at the top and poked her head in the first door, the master suite, and she gasped at how pretty it was. A huge wooden bed stood in the centre of the room, covered with a thick goosedown duvet adorned with pink and white rosebud bedding. Matching bedside tables and a pink velvet chaise longue completed the furnishings and a small wood-burning stove was ready to light. Two further doors in the bedroom housed a dressing room and an en-suite bathroom that had come straight out of a Ralph Lauren catalogue.
After exploring upstairs, Olivia went in search of Hector. She could hear him shuffling round under the bushes at the back of the cottage. Opening the stable door from the kitchen, she set off down the little path that led, to her delight, to a tiny waterside terrace with what, in summer, would be a rose-covered pergola.
Olivia hugged herself, partially to keep out the cold wind, but also because for the first time in almost a year she felt content.
A sudden bleep from her mobile brought her back to reality and she pulled it out of her pocket to find a text from Sebastian.
So are we on for tomorrow?
Smarting again at his abruptness but resolving to remain professional, Olivia tapped her reply,
Hi Sebastian, if it’s OK with you I’d prefer to start on Monday as per our
contract. I could do with a little time to settle in to your wonderful village and find my feet. I’ll see you bright and early on Monday morning, have a fabulous weekend. Olivia Carmichael.
She re-read the text, not wanting to give Sebastian any reason to be offended and, satisfied she had hit the right tone, pressed send.
“I think we’ve landed a tricky one here,” she said to Hector, who rolled onto his back and covered his eyes with his paws.
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