turn, narrowly avoiding the tins of custard. ‘See you tomorrow, Nina!’
‘Goodbye, Mrs Milton,’ Nina called after her, watching Olivia waltz away with her errant trolley.
Grabbing a bottle of tomato sauce in a brand she’d never heard of, but that was offering twenty per cent free, Nina felt a definite skip in her step as she headed towards the check-out. She was going to visit The Old Mill House. With the river rushing by it and buttercup fields and bluebell woods on the doorstep, it was a little piece of paradise in the heart of the Norfolk countryside. It had been years since she’d been there, years since she’d even thought about it, but it had always held a special place in her heart. It would be wonderful to see it again – wonderful to see the boys again. Perhaps, Nina thought, this was the very door she’d been looking to open.
Olivia couldn’t wait to get home. For once in her life, she’d managed to leave the supermarket with more than a carrier bag filled with magazines and what her husband referred to as ‘entertaining food’. No, this time she had real, edible food that would fill bellies and, what was more, a piece of news she couldn’t wait to tell Dominic.
The narrow winding Norfolk lanes almost shook as she drove home and the thick hawthorn hedges seemed to tremble as Olivia took a corner a little too fast here and braked a little too hard there. She knew she was the perfect picture of the sort of woman men cursed to see behind a wheel, and it had only been a few minutes since she’d been telling Nina that it was Dominic who shouldn’t be driving. If there was such a thing as driving genes, Dominic had certainly inherited his from his mother.
Turning into the unmade lane that led to The Old Mill House, Olivia heard the bottles of wine clinking on the back seat and slowed her speed, winding her window down to inhale the sweet perfume of the hedgerows. It really was the most perfect place, she thought, and that was saying something for the girl who’d seen the world as a cruise director on The Sea Queen.
That was how she’d met Dudley, of course. He’d been accompanying his elderly mother on holiday and, after playing Cupid on behalf of her shy son, Delia Milton had had the pleasure of welcoming Olivia to the quiet corner of Norfolk that the Miltons had owned for decades. Olivia had known that her voyaging days were over, but she had happily settled into the role of wife and mother, dedicating herself to her husband and three boys, and throwing herself into every committee going, organising charity events and jumble sales for the local church as well as the village horticultural show.
Even though her three boys were now all grown-up and independent, her time was still wonderfully full, she thought, as the car bumped down the lane. She shook her head. Ever since her arrival as Dudley’s bride, he had said he’d get the overgrown and pothole-filled lane into some sort of order, but Olivia rather liked it. It added to the overall charm of the place and she adored the feeling of leaving the tarmac and venturing onto the bare earth.
She bounced along, her eyes darting about the hedgerows, which were a froth of white cow parsley, as her nails drummed a pink tattoo on the steering wheel. Since the meeting in the supermarket, her mind had been working overtime.
‘Secretarial work … I’m trying to find something that fits,’ Nina had said. It seemed almost too perfect, what with the organisation of the anniversary party and her husband’s current helplessness. Olivia knew that, as a struggling author, Dudley really couldn’t operate without a secretary and, since ‘Teri with an i’ had walked out, his mind, as well as his study, had been in dire need of organisation. He’d been driving everyone potty lately, wandering around the house, looking for someone, anyone, to drag back into his study and help him clear up the mess.
‘How am I expected to do everything?’ he’d rail, as if he really had lost the plot completely. Honestly, Olivia had always been under the impression that writing a novel was a nice, relaxing sort of a pastime, but Dudley made the whole experience sound horribly painful. She often wondered why he didn’t give it all up and just play golf instead. It would have been much simpler.
She shook her head in despair as she thought of her husband. She’d never washed so many dishes in her life as recently, quickly learning that, as soon as his footsteps were heard on the hallway tiles, a quick dip in the sink gave her the perfect pardon from the dreaded typing duties. But that was no answer to the problem. ‘Teri with an i’ hadn’t been perfect, but at least she’d been present. However, Dudley’s terrible temper had obviously been too much for the poor girl to handle – although Olivia had her suspicions that her middle son, Alex, might also have had something to do with Teri leaving so suddenly, without an explanation. Alex was usually at the root of any problems to do with young ladies and, with him planning to come home for part of the summer, The Old Mill House would no doubt become one giant light-bulb, with the county’s female population playing moths.
Honestly, she despaired of her sons sometimes. Alex, with half of Norfolk’s girls after him as if he were some sort of Pied Piper of passion, and Dominic, dreaming his life away into his paintings. Then there was Billy – her beloved eldest – who seemed to work all the hours God gave him, but still hadn’t sorted himself out in the girl department. Olivia rolled her eyes. Sometimes she felt as if she was a modern-day Mrs Bennet, only with sons instead of daughters to marry off.
Crunching her car into a position that wasn’t quite straight and that would be testily commented on later by her husband, she grabbed the bags of shopping and practically ran into the house.
‘Dommie? Dud? Anyone at home?’ she called into the echoing hallway.
The house was quiet apart from the excited barks of Ziggy. She walked through to the kitchen, gave Ziggy a dog treat to shut him up and sat on one of the stools, shopping bags surrounding her, looking at the antique clock on the wall that was always set ten minutes fast and knowing that she should really make a start on lunch. But it was too late; her eyes had caught sight of one of the bottles of wine. Not too early for a drink, was it? She’d just make it a quick one, give herself a chance to flip through the magazines and catch up on the celebrity gossip.
Nina sighed as she picked up the telephone. Her eyes ached as she read the tiny print of the local newspaper. Situations Vacant. Nina knew why they were vacant, too. Badly paid, badly run companies with no perks and definitely no prospects – but she nevertheless felt compelled to find out what her options were on the job front. But would this one be any different from the others she’d circled?
‘Hello, can I speak to Mrs Anne Conti, please?’
There was a pause as the receptionist transferred her call to the human resources department via a blast of Vivaldi.
‘Hello? Is that Mrs Conti? My name’s Nina Elliot. I’ve just seen your advertisement for a secretary and was wondering if you could send me an … oh, really? So quickly? Okay. Thank you for your time.’
Nina hung up and drew another neat red line across the paper. Internal applicant no doubt, she thought, realising she’d been through half the paper without any success.
She got up and crossed the room, looking out of her flat window and up into a sky the colour of forget-me-nots. It was a lovely day again, and she was looking forward to visiting Olivia. Images as pretty as a Monet painting filled her mind. The Old Mill House. Green fields stretching to the horizon, a garden overflowing with flowers, the river – rushing and rousing – the perfect restorative. She hadn’t thought much about Olivia’s mention of a job the day before. She hadn’t dared to. Remembering Olivia from her time at the mill, it was probably something like arranging the flowers on her hallway table
