Saving Willowbrook

CHANGE OF SEASON

CHESTNUT LANE

THE CORRIGAN LEGACY

FAMILY CONNECTIONS

A FORBIDDEN EMBRACE

AN INDEPENDENT WOMAN

KIRSTY'S VINEYARD

MARRYING MISS MARTHA

MISTRESS OF MARYMOOR

REPLENISH THE EARTH

SAVING WILLOWBROOK

SEASONS OF LOVE

THE WISHING WELL

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This first world edition published 2009

in Great Britain and in the USA by

SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD of

9–15 High Street, Sutton, Surrey, England, SM1 1DF.

Copyright © 2009 by Anna Jacobs.

All rights reserved.

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

Jacobs, Anna

Saving Willowbrook

1. Family farms – Fiction 2. Real estate development – Fiction 3. Love stories

I. Title

823.9'14[F]

ISBN-13: 978-1-78010-026-5   (ePub)

ISBN-13: 978-0-7278-6738-4   (cased)

ISBN-13: 978-1-84751-120-1   (trade paper)

Except where actual historical events and characters are being

described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this

publication are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons

is purely coincidental.

This ebook produced by

Palimpsest Book Production Limited,

Falkirk, Stirlingshire, Scotland.

With love and gratitude to my niece Louise and her family, husband Kevin, children Archie and Scarlett, who have helped me with the research for Spinal Muscular Atrophy and given me an understanding how it affects people.

And with warmest wishes to all families whose children have been affected by SMA.

One

Ella picked up the mail from the post office box, muttering in annoyance when she saw how battered and torn the largest envelope was. Whoever had sent it should have used more secure packaging.

It was addressed to her husband and Miles really hated anyone to open his mail, even circulars. She'd found that out the hard way early in their marriage when she accidentally opened one of his letters. It had been their first quarrel – but not their last.

As she walked out of the post office, a youth running past bumped into her and knocked the letters flying. Before she could pick them up a policewoman chasing the lad trampled on them. Ella was pleased to see a passer-by trip up the fugitive and end the chase.

The torn envelope had burst open and its contents were jumbled up with the other mail, some pages marked by a dirty footprint. As she sat in the car, smoothing out a crumpled letter, the words on it jumped out at her:

She couldn't move for a moment, so shocked was she, then she read the letter carefully, close to tears at what it revealed. Miles was trying to sell the home that had been in her family for centuries, and without telling her! When had he shown these people round? Oh, yes. Two months ago he'd insisted she and Amy spend a weekend at the seaside while he went away on a business trip. It could only have been then.

She'd been touched by his thoughtfulness, only he'd been lying to her, tricking her!

By the time she'd finished reading, blazing anger had taken over from the urge to weep. She'd learned to control her temper years ago, so she breathed deeply and did nothing till she was calm enough to think straight. That took a while.

She and Miles hadn't been getting on for some time, didn't even share a bedroom any more, but she'd hung on to the tatters of their marriage for their daughter Amy's sake – and with a vague hope that things might improve. And he could be charming when he wanted, even now. But Ella had never thought he'd try to cheat her. Had he forged her signature? What did ‘finalizing the sale' mean? They couldn't do that without her, surely? Willowbrook was hers alone. She'd owned it before they married and made sure it would stay hers legally.

At first Miles had pretended to love the country lifestyle, but he'd gradually grown weary of commuting and had suggested she sell the farm and invest the money. She'd refused, of course she had, because the farm wasn't hers to sell. It had been in her family for several generations and she regarded it as a sacred trust. She was merely the person who looked after it in this generation of Turners, as her daughter Amy would in the next.

She shook her head in bafflement.
How could Miles expect to get away with this?
Perhaps he thought she'd change her mind if he presented her with a good enough offer. He was always optimistic about his own powers of persuasion – and about the power of money. It was what made him a good salesman and ideas man – well, ideas that might make money, he wasn't interested in any other sort.

In the end there was only one thing to do. She went to see the lawyer who'd dealt with her family's business until – stupidly, in the first flush of love! – she'd let Miles persuade her to move her affairs into the hands of his London lawyer and leave things to him. At least she'd never signed anything without reading it, even if that had caused more quarrels. She wasn't that stupid. Not quite.

Grimly she started the car and drove to the other end of the village, parking outside the old-fashioned ‘rooms' where the Hannows had done business for as many generations as the Turners had farmed at Willowbrook.

Arthur Hannow came out of his office, walking stiffly but still escorting a client to the door with his usual old-fashioned courtesy. Then he turned to her with a beaming smile. ‘Ella, my dear girl, how delightful to see you again!'

She tried to smile back, couldn't, and saw his eyes narrow. He might look like everyone's favourite grandfather, but he was as shrewd as they came. She let him usher her into his cosy office overlooking the main street of the village and sighed as she sank down on the worn oxblood leather armchair.

‘Something's clearly wrong, Ella. Can I help?'

‘I hope so. Will you take me back as a client, me and not my husband?'

‘Yes, of course.'

She explained to him what Miles was trying to do and, by the time she finished, she was in tears again. She couldn't take the end of her marriage lightly.

Mr Hannow pushed a box of tissues towards her and waited quietly until she'd stopped crying. ‘I'll have to ask my nephew to handle this, if it's all right with you, my dear.' He gave her a wry smile. ‘I'll be seventy-five next month and it's more than time I retired.'

‘I'm sorry you're leaving. You'll be greatly missed. I didn't know you had a nephew working with you.'

‘Ian's only been with us for a few months. He's young but he's smart. He's been in London for a few years gaining wider experience. You'll be safe in his hands.'

Ian Hannow joined them, a slimmer, younger version of his uncle, mousy hair already thinning, but with the same gentle smile. ‘Young fellow' was a misnomer. He must have been at least forty, ten years older than her.

‘I'm happy to help you, Mrs Parnell.'

‘It's Ms Turner from now on. I'm resuming my maiden name.'

‘What exactly do you want to do about this?'

She sighed. ‘For Amy's sake I'd rather settle everything quietly. Miles is still her father, after all. I just want him to leave Willowbrook and not come back.'

‘Do you hold the property as joint tenants?'

‘No, it's mine alone. I inherited it from my father before I even met Miles.'

Old Mr Hannow leaned forward. ‘We drew up a list of property and possessions before Ella married and he signed it.'

Ian nodded slowly and thoughtfully. ‘Good. And you never authorized your husband to sell Willowbrook, or gave him the impression you might be interested in considering selling, Ms Turner?'

‘Please call me Ella. And I definitely didn't authorize Miles to sell the property, though he's suggested it a few times. It was one of the things we quarrelled about. It might not be a legal trust but it's a sacred trust, which is why my father left Willowbrook to me, not my mother.' She frowned and added, ‘Miles put money into the tourist chalets we've built at Willowbrook. I can't pay that back now, obviously, so we'll have to come to some arrangement about it.'

‘Very well. We can't keep these papers, of course. You should send them back to your husband, including the torn envelope with the sticker “damaged on receipt”, explaining how they came to be opened.'

‘I'll send them via his London lawyers.' And she'd make photocopies of the papers first. But she didn't say that.

Ian cleared his throat, looking suddenly very wooden-faced. ‘You're not still – um, sharing a bed?'

‘No, we haven't been for a while. Miles comes down every second or third weekend, but he has a service flat in London. He said he was sleeping badly, didn't want to disturb me. We both knew it was a lie, but there was Amy to think of. Now . . . Well, I'd like to get a divorce as soon as I can.'

‘I see.'

She shrugged. The anger was subsiding, her main emotion sadness that it should come to this – and to her surprise, she felt deeply relieved to be done with the pretence. Miles's visits over the past few months had been full of arguments and bristling silences. Even four-year-old Amy had noticed that and no longer hurried to meet her father or show him things.

Ella would never forgive Miles for this. Never! He wasn't just trying to steal the inheritance from her, but from his own daughter. She was quite sure he'd have been getting a huge kickback from any sale of Willowbrook. He'd not have bothered to arrange it otherwise.

The thought of all the lies he'd told recently made her feel physically sick. She'd seen him use his charm on others, hadn't realized at first that he was using it on her too, that there was nothing behind his endearments.

She looked at her watch. ‘It's time to pick Amy up from my cousin's. Is there anything else we need to do now?'

‘We'll need to have an in-depth discussion about the details of the divorce – and the money your husband invested in Willowbrook. Perhaps you could make an appointment to do that?'

After she'd said goodbye to old Mr Hannow, Ian escorted her to the door in the same way his uncle did. That was comforting. A small continuity in a changing world.

A couple of weeks later Ella heard a car drive up to the farm and come round towards the rear. Putting down the potato she was peeling, she went to peep out of the window at Amy, who was playing with the dog. When the car came into view, Ella exclaimed, ‘Oh, no!' She wasn't ready for this confrontation.

Miles parked and walked towards the back door. He waved to the child, who had turned towards him, a hopeful smile on her face, but he didn't stop to speak. The dog had stiffened into an alert, watchful stance. Porgy had never accepted Miles, nor had her husband liked having a dog around.

It hurt Ella to see Amy's face crumple with disappointment as her father walked briskly past. What would it have cost him to stop and say a few words to his daughter?