Saving Willowbrook (11 page)

‘Sorry. Didn't mean to startle you.'

‘I was miles away. Did you sleep well . . . ?'

They were a charming quartet, in their seventies, all seeming full of energy and with a young attitude to the world. They were very appreciative of her cooking and made arrangements to have dinner at Willowbrook again that night.

When they'd gone out for a day's sightseeing to Avebury, Marlborough and wherever chance took them, she cleared up quickly before going across to their chalets to tidy up. But everything was already immaculate, with beds made. They'd set out the card that said they were happy to reuse the towels, so she only had to put fresh milk in the fridge, and restock the biscuits, tea and coffee sachets. She wished all guests were as easy to look after.

She couldn't resist going into the chalet Cameron had used. He'd taken all his things. She stood there, wondering if he'd be back, then sat down for a minute on the bed, smoothing the duvet cover with her right hand. He'd talked about them getting to know one another. She'd really like that. Only . . . was she reading more into what he'd said than he'd meant? She'd rushed into a relationship once and look where that had led her.

She wasn't going to make that mistake again. Anyway, she'd only known Cameron for a couple of days. That was far too soon to talk about relationships.

Wasn't it?

But the dog liked him, and so did Amy. And he's said –
Oh, stop it!
she told herself.
You're being silly. He probably won't even come back
.

Back at the house the message light was blinking on the phone, showing two messages. She pressed the replay button.

Miles's voice. ‘Ella, will you call me back as soon as possible, please? I need to sort out something with you.' There was silence for a moment, then he added, ‘Now that I've got my life in order, I want to see more of my daughter. I can come down on Saturdays and take Amy out for the afternoon, starting this weekend.'

Ella stared at the phone in horror, ignoring the tinny voice still talking in her ear. Had she heard correctly? She replayed the message.

Yes, Miles really was saying he wanted to see Amy. Why? He had a very short span of both attention and patience where small children were concerned, so what on earth would someone like him do with a child for a whole afternoon?

Ella didn't want to give him any access at all. He'd hurt the child enough by not coming near her for three years. She remembered in the early days Amy asking where her daddy was. And one day, the child had suddenly asked if her daddy didn't like her because she couldn't walk properly.

A child shouldn't think that way. She hoped she'd convinced Amy that it wasn't because of the SMA. Whether she had succeeded or not, the subject hadn't been raised again.

It wasn't because he loved his daughter, Ella was quite sure of that. He could say the words of love, said them often and easily when he wanted something, but she'd found the hard way that he didn't really care about anyone but himself.

How was she to protect Amy from being hurt by him now?

Tears came into her eyes. She didn't think she had any choice about allowing access, was sure she remembered Ian Hannow saying her ex would still have the right to see his child, whatever they'd arranged.

Still holding the handpiece, Ella sat down on the ancient oak settle at one side of the kitchen. Miles would have some reason for doing this. She didn't know what, but she was quite sure there would be one.

She checked the other message and noted a booking for a few weeks' time, a couple who'd been here before.

Just as she was about to set the handpiece down, the phone rang. She stared at it, wondering whether to answer it or not. ‘Don't be such a coward!' she told herself and said crisply, ‘Willowbrook.'

‘Ella? Ella, is that you?'

Cameron's voice. Joy flooded through her and suddenly the world felt brighter. ‘Yes, of course it's me.'

‘You sound strained. Are you all right?'

‘I'm fine. I was just – um, lost in thought.'

‘You've not had any other problems?'

She hesitated, not knowing whether to tell him or not. She hardly knew him, after all, however comfortable she felt with him.

‘There is something. What's happened? Can I help?'

‘The security lights kept going on and off last night. I'm sure it wasn't an animal. Whoever it was would wait ten minutes, then trip the lights again. This morning I found footprints near the house.'

‘Hell! And I can't get back till late tomorrow at the earliest. Are those four people still staying there? Thank goodness. Look, you'll call me if anything else happens? Got something to write with? Good. Here's my mobile number. I forgot to give it you before I left.'

She scribbled it down, smiling. She'd been worrying about nothing.

‘I'm missing you, Ella.'

‘Are you?'

‘I wouldn't say so otherwise. Aren't you missing me?'

‘I've been busy with my new guests.'

He laughed softly. ‘You're right to tread cautiously. You don't know me yet. But you will.' There was the sound of voices in the background. ‘Oh, damn. I have to go now. I'll call again tonight. And Ella – be careful.'

The four guests came back mid-afternoon, teasing one another about their need for a rest.

Later Ella watched them walk round the lake, one couple holding hands and the other two looking as if they belonged together, even though they weren't touching. It renewed her faith in marriage just to see them.

And it made her feel good that Cameron had called. She couldn't help hoping . . . just a little . . . that something might come of their . . . friendship.

But she would definitely tread carefully. There wasn't only herself to be hurt this time, there was Amy.

Later that afternoon two men turned up in a large four-wheel drive. They were wearing business suits and didn't look at all like tourists. Puzzled, she watched them get out of their vehicle and stand for a long time, gesturing towards various parts of her property.

They were obviously checking out Willowbrook. Who'd sent them? It couldn't be the bank, because they'd sent Cameron. Was it the developer who'd approached her about the property recently? What were they called? DevRaCom, that was it. Why would they think she'd changed her mind? She hadn't. She wouldn't.

She couldn't help wondering if Miles was again behind these efforts to get her to sell. Was it just a coincidence that he'd rung today, wanting to see Amy every Saturday? That would give him an excuse to come down regularly. She hated the thought of it, wished she need never see him again as long as she lived, didn't want him upsetting her life – or her daughter's.

When the men came back round the house to ring the front door bell, she waited a moment or two before answering. A flurry of rain made her feel obliged to invite them into the hall.

The older one held out a business card. ‘We're from DevRaCom. Do you mind if we look round the property?'

‘Why should you want to do that?'

He looked at her as if she was dull-witted. ‘I just told you. We're here on behalf of DevRaCom, doing a preliminary survey. You know . . . the company that's buying this place.'

She heard the timer go and let out a puff of annoyance. ‘Excuse me just one moment. I have to take something out of the oven.'

When she got back they were still standing there. The spokesman's expression suddenly brightened as he took in her dirty apron and the duster she'd stuffed into her pocket. ‘Ah, you must be the cleaning lady. You won't know about DevRaCom, of course. Look, could you fetch the owner, please? Ella Turner.'

She folded her arms. ‘I
am
the owner. And no one is buying this property that I know of.'

Silence. They exchanged puzzled glances, then one said, ‘I think you'll find Mr Parnell has already started making the arrangements.'

‘I think
you
will find that since I'm the owner, Mr Parnell, who is my very-much-ex-husband, has no authority here. I'm definitely –
not
– selling Willowbrook.'

Another silence, then the spokesman said, ‘We'd still like to take a quick look around anyway, if that's all right.'

‘Sorry, but this is private property. Only family and guests have the right to walk around it.'

‘Then we'll book a chalet for the night, for heaven's sake. How much is it?' He pulled out a credit card.

‘I don't have any vacancies. And I'm busy today, so I'd be glad if you'd leave.'

Their expressions grew ugly, but after another exchange of glances they walked back to their car, where they sat for ages talking on a mobile phone. Even when the call ended they still sat on for some time. It wasn't until they'd received another call, which involved some earnest talking and gesticulating, that they drove away.

She watched them go with a sick feeling in her stomach. They'd been so confident about the development. Why?

She'd guessed right. Miles was behind this and it was the second time he'd tried to sell her property against her wishes. Why did he think he'd succeed now, after a three-year break? Did he know something she didn't?

She had to get her loan, pay him back, get him out of her life for ever. If there was no financial benefit for him here, she could be pretty certain he'd leave Amy and her alone.

Rose took off her painting overall and tidied herself up a bit, but didn't change into anything smart. She was going to look at the flat not trying to attract a man, especially that man. He could take her as she was – or better still, not take her.

Oliver was waiting for her at the rear of the surgery, which had a second car park there for staff. He was leaning against the wall, face turned up to the sun with a half-smile. She'd expected him to be walking up and down impatiently, because she was a few minutes late. He always used to do that.

He didn't open his eyes for a moment, though he must have heard her footsteps.

She went right up to him. ‘Well?'

He smiled at her. ‘Impatient, aren't you?'

‘I have a lot to do today.'

‘Come upstairs, then.'

The flat was lovely, two large bedrooms and a huge living room, all with big wide windows that caught the light, and there was even a small storage room which would be perfect for her painting materials. She walked slowly round, hoping she was hiding her feelings, reluctant to admit that it was much better for her purpose than the cottage. Eighteenth-century cottages were not built to let in much light. But when they were as small and inconvenient as hers, when the owners had known her since she was a child, they came very cheaply.

He didn't say anything, just waited . . . and watched. ‘It'll do,' she said in the end.

‘Is it just me or have you turned grumpy in your old age?'

‘
Grumpy!
What do you mean, grumpy?'

‘You're not exactly chatty and cheerful today, Rosie baby.'

She didn't rise to that one. She'd always disliked being called Rosie and he knew it. ‘I have to move out of my home. I'm a busy person. I can do without all these hassles.'

‘Tell that to Brett Harding. He caused this trouble, not me.'

‘I'd not give him the time of day. Do you know, he's been sexually harassing my cousin for a while now? He'd been out to Willowbrook pestering her just before he crashed into you.'

‘Why hasn't she laid charges, then?'

‘His father still runs the planning committee. Mr Harding isn't a man to cross when you're hoping to expand your tourist development.'

‘Ah. Dad said Ella put up some chalets out there after she split with Parnell. How is the old place? I used to love the feeling of history you got there.'

‘Willowbrook is fine. It'll outlast us because it's better built than most modern houses and—' she realized he'd got her talking and clamped her lips shut ‘—I'll go home and pack.'

‘I've got the packing cases my stuff came in. I can borrow Dad's car and bring them across. My car will be out of commission for a while, unfortunately, until the bodywork is repaired.'

She turned to stare at him, arms akimbo. ‘Why are you suddenly being so helpful? We didn't part on the best of terms.' And there'd been no word from him in five years. Not one lousy email, even.

His face took on a shuttered look. ‘Do you object to me being helpful?'

She didn't answer. There had been a flash of pain in his face before he hid behind that inner wall he could erect. Unless he'd changed totally, she knew his expressions nearly as well as she knew her own face in the mirror. No use being stupid about his offer, though. ‘Thank you. You can use my van to fetch the stuff, if you like. It'll probably hold more than a car and it always behaves well for you.'

‘You haven't still got the same old van?'

‘Yes.' She handed him the keys.

‘Seems we've both had our ambitions frustrated, doesn't it?'

She watched him stride away. What did he mean by that? How had his ambitions been frustrated? What exactly had brought Oliver Paige back to Chawton?

Whatever it was, she wished he hadn't come. He was yet another failure in her life.

In London, Cameron was greeted by Miss Bradley, Ray's secretary, who gave him one of her tight smiles. She'd been with DevRaCom for at least twenty years and was reputed to be willing to kill on her employer's behalf – though you wouldn't need to go as far as killing when you could make a man feel nervous and ten years old again simply by looking down your nose at him. Even Ray sometimes bent to her will.