drummed up support from local business and enlisted the help of a volunteer army from our community to refurbish the pensioners’ day-care centre, built a modern, fully equipped sports pavilion on the old playing fields and turned a derelict cinema into an arts centre that is now a vibrant part of Maybridge life, as well as dozens of smaller projects to make life easier for groups and individuals.
So—what next?
We’re asking you to tell us what project you’d like to see tackled this year…
—Maybridge Observer, April 27.
* * *
‘Have you seen this?’
Hal glanced at the newspaper Bea Webb was holding up.
‘The Maybridge Observer Fairy Godmother?’ he asked blandly, ignoring the headline and concentrating instead on the cartoon fairy waving her wand and sprinkling gold sparkle over the newspaper masthead.
She looked exactly like Claire Thackeray.
‘If only. According to this, Maybridge has become a “fun-free zone” since your arrival.’
He took the paper from her and dropped it in the bin, refusing to think about the way she called him every day at the same time to ask about his plans. To think about the fact that he was always at his desk, waiting for her call. Glancing at his watch if she was a little late.
That her voice, clear, confident, the product of all that expensive private education that had gone to waste in a moment of lust with a man who hadn’t bothered to stick around and deal with his own mess, had taken up residence in his head.
‘I need someone in the office full-time, Bea,’ he said, firmly changing the subject. ‘Will you ask Penny if she’s prepared to do more hours?’
She shook her head. ‘Why don’t you stick to the plan and leave all this to the professionals, Hal?’
Good question.
* * *
Claire knew that Tim had just been winding her up, but she couldn’t get Archie out of her head.
Okay, he was a bit—more than a bit—of a liability and while Sir Robert might have had a soft spot for the beast, Hal North had no reason to consider him anything but a pain in the fishing rod, but…
Just…but.
She looked up as Brian stopped by her desk. ‘How far have you got with the Teddy Bears Picnic story, Claire?’
‘I’m working on it,’ she said. ‘I thought I might run over and take some photographs of Cranbrook woods.’
‘No need. I sent Marcus over there this morning. I want you to focus on the “all this and he won’t share it for a day, not even for a good cause” angle.’ Her heart was still sinking when he said, ‘On the other hand, it wouldn’t hurt to go and have a good look round. Take some pictures if you see any sign of surveying.’
‘Have you heard something?’ she asked.
‘No. Charlie Peascod is being unusually close-mouthed. Why don’t you pop along this evening and see what’s going on? Take your little girl with you. You can always say you’re on a nature walk or something.’
‘I’m not taking Ally with me! Suppose we’re thrown out for trespassing?’
‘We couldn’t get that lucky.’ Maybe her expression betrayed just how far he’d stepped over the line because he said, ‘It’s nearly lunchtime. You might as well go now. But don’t take all day about it.’
* * *
The minute Bea had left, Hal walked across the courtyard towards the garages.
Claire’s bike was standing, upended, still minus a wheel, in one corner. It had been more than a week since her bike had been damaged, too long for her to be without any kind of transport. And when it was fixed she wouldn’t have an excuse to ring him.
‘Gary?’
There was a clank of metal, the familiar sound of a spanner hitting concrete, followed by a muttered oath.
He followed the sound to the workshop and the years rolled back as he saw the boy and an old motorcycle in pieces strewn all around him.
* * *
The minute Claire got home, she changed into jeans, boots and, with her camera tucked into her pocket, she walked down to the meadow.
It was a classic flower meadow. It hadn’t been ploughed in centuries, just grazed by sheep, rabbits and Archie. Except that Archie wasn’t there.
Forget looking for surveyors setting up levels, she had to talk to Hal, find out what on earth was going on.
* * *
‘Okay, hand me the nut…’
‘This one?’
Hal, lying on his side as he tackled an awkward connection, turned his head a little too quickly and nearly lost the assembly he was rebuilding.
Claire Thackeray, all legs in a pair of close-fitting jeans, was offering him a large wing nut.
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ he snapped. ‘Anyone with half a brain cell can see that I need that one.’
‘Pardon me.’ She dropped the wing nut and bent to pick up the small nut he’d indicated, but instead of handing it to him, she closed her hand around it and straightened up. ‘Where is Archie?’ she asked.
Archie?
‘The nut?’ he prompted. It was taking a considerable amount of pressure to hold everything in place.
‘He’s not in his meadow.’
She was serious?
‘I don’t want another quad-bike incident.’
‘I shouldn’t have sent you that link,’ she said, ignoring the irritable clicking of his fingers. ‘What have you done with him, Hal?’
‘Give me that nut and I’ll tell you.’ She offered it between finger and thumb. ‘It may have escaped your notice,’ he said, through gritted teeth, ‘but I can’t let go of this.’
She took a step closer, close enough for him to smell the crushed grass on her boots, see the way her jeans stretched across her hips, clung to a backside his hand remembered.
‘Will you get down here?’
His voice felt as if it was wading through treacle.
She dropped to her knees and now he had the full impact of skin glowing from a brisk walk, wisps of cream-coloured hair escaping the clasp at her neck, huge grey eyes.
The wish-fairy come to life…
He closed his hand around the nut and discovered that her
