as I can remember, Suzy.’
‘I mean it this time!’
‘Sure you do!’ the other girls drawled, and her friends in the back seat giggled.
‘It’s like driving around with a lot of kids; stop squabbling,’ Laura said, then ruefully realised that kids were what most of them were. Suzy was twenty-one now, Yasmin nineteen, but the others were mostly sixteen or seventeen.
Mr Dale had turned off the road now on to a rough, bumpy track between wire fences which clearly led eventually to a farm. Laura followed him; the car bumped and grated over ruts in the track. Laura hated to think what this was doing to her tyres. Surely this wasn’t the only road to this cottage?
Then she saw it and her green eyes widened, glowing. In one glance she saw that it was the sort of place she had always dreamt of living in. An old flint and stone-built cottage with a slate roof, set in a walled garden with an apple tree leaning over the gate, it stood alone with fields all round it, and Laura loved it at sight.
She pulled up behind Mr Dale’s car and got out, slamming her door. The models fell out, chattering excitedly.
‘Oh, isn’t it sweet? You going to buy it, Laura?’ Yasmin asked, walking with difficulty on the rough surface of the track in her stilt-like heels.
‘Is this where you and Patrick are going to live when you’re married?’ asked Suzy.
‘Oh, he’s lovely,’ cooed Yasmin. ‘You are lucky, Laura. Mind if we gatecrash the church? I’d love to see you getting married.’
‘I’ll send you an invitation,’ promised Laura, and the other girls excitedly chattered to her.
‘For all of us? Can we all come to the wedding? Oh, great, thanks, Laura.’
‘Want a bridesmaid?’ Yasmin asked wistfully. ‘I’ve never been a real bridesmaid. I dressed up as one, once, for that bridal shop advert—ever so pretty the dress was, sort of peach satin, lots of lace, too, and I carried a little round bouquet of creamy rosebuds with a silver foil backing. I kept it afterwards, got it hanging on my dressing-table; it dried lovely, the roses still smell nice. But I’ve never been a real bridesmaid.’
Two girls were tottering along the track, giggling. ‘Ooh, look, there’s cows in this field...black and white ones! Moo, moo, come here, moos! Look at them staring; what a hoot... I’ve never seen one this close, have you, Yaz? Come and look! Haven’t they got big heads...oh, look at that one’s tongue—all rough, like sandpaper...Hello, moos...’
Mr Dale watched them with a mixture of disbelief and indulgence. ‘No brains at all, have they?’ he murmured to Laura, who smiled and shrugged.
‘They’re nice girls, though, when you get to know them.’
At that instant a tractor turned out of one of the fields and chugged noisily towards them only to stop dead, the engine throbbing, while the driver stared at them with a dark scowl on his face.
He shouted something Laura couldn’t hear above the noise of his tractor, and waved his arms at them.
Mr Dale groaned.
‘What did he say?’ asked Laura, but before the estate agent could answer the tractor driver switched off his engine and shouted again, and this time they all heard what he said.
‘How many times do I have to tell you? Get off my land or I’ll set my dogs on you!’
The models shrieked and ran back towards the car.
‘His land?’ Laura asked Mr Dale. ‘I don’t understand; is this his cottage?’
‘No, no, it belongs to a lady who’s lived here for years.’
‘Then what does he mean, his land?’
Mr Dale didn’t answer. He was looking nervous. The tractor driver had jumped down, was striding towards them, long, muscled legs rapidly covering the ground. Laura tensed with an instant hostility. He was everything she disliked in a man. Tall, broad, with thick, windswept black hair, he certainly couldn’t be accused of charm or good looks. His face rugged, powerful, he had a jaw she recognised as belligerent, even at a distance, and piercing grey eyes glittering with rage.
‘Ooh...’ giggled the models, clustering behind Laura, as if for protection. ‘He looks real mad, doesn’t he? Wouldn’t want to meet him on a dark night.’
‘Don’t know about that! Wouldn’t mind at all, actually!’ Yasmin whispered and set them all shrieking with laughter, which didn’t soften the lines of the man’s angry face.
‘Who is he?’ Laura hurriedly asked Mr Dale, who crossly muttered back,
‘Josh Kern. He owns the farm, all this land...’ His voice broke off as the dark man reached them and stopped, his legs apart in a threatening stance.
Mr Dale was not the nervous type, but Laura saw his throat move convulsively as he swallowed.
‘For the last time, will you get off my land?’ snarled Josh Kern.
Mr Dale stood his ground, facing up to him. ‘Mr Kern, you don’t own this cottage, and the owner has been using this right of way for many years, as you know perfectly well.’
‘There’s no right of way; this is a private road, and I’m taking legal steps to establish that fact!’ Josh Kern snarled. ‘Now, get these women out of here, and don’t come back!’
Laura bristled. ‘I came here to see this cottage, Mr Kern, and as you don’t own it you can’t stop me!’
He slowly swung his head in her direction, his grey eyes full of menace.
‘Don’t be so sure about that, whoever you are.’
‘She’s Laura Grainger,’ Yasmin told him, her face flushed with the excitement of the conflict, and determined to get his attention. She wasn’t frightened. In fact, this was her idea of fun, watching an angry man bellowing at someone, especially a man this sexy. It beat hanging around waiting to be photographed any day!
She was disappointed, however. Josh Kern ignored her. He went on staring narrowly at Laura, from her clouds of blonde curls and full pink mouth to her long, slender legs and tiny feet, his cold eyes contemptuous.
‘Who are all these people, Dale? Actresses?’ he bit out, flicking a glance over the other girls with the same distaste.
‘Models,’ Mr Dale growled.
Josh Kern’s mouth tightened. ‘Models!’
The girls posed for him, smiles inviting.
His face tightened. ‘My God! Are they all planning to move in here? Not if I can stop it. Listen to me, Miss...whatever your name is...if you’re the one who might buy this place... Did Mr Dale explain that this cottage really belongs to my farm? That it was given to someone, not sold, and that I want it back? I hoped to get it back legally, because there was no legal conveyance, just a scribbled paper saying the cottage was a gift, but the court upheld it. Then I tried to buy it back, but my offer was refused although it was far more than the cottage is worth on
