The Stolen Weekend. Fern Britton

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      ‘What on earth?’ Penny Leighton grappled at the side of her bed, trying to locate her mobile phone as it rang loudly somewhere close by. She blinked, bleary-eyed, at the blue fascia of her iPhone 5 as it flashed insistently at her in the darkness of the bedroom. The usually jaunty, old-fashioned ringtone was the last thing she wanted to hear at six in the morning. This morning in particular. Who the hell was ringing her at this ungodly hour?

      Penny sat bolt upright in bed as she saw the caller’s name appear.

      ‘Audrey bloody Tipton!!’ Penny angrily pressed the silent button and shoved the vibrating phone back under her pillow.

      ‘What is that woman pestering me for now?’ Penny turned over in the bed, directing the question to where her husband Simon ought to be, but was surprised to see that his side of the bed was empty. The Right Reverend Simon Canter, vicar of Pendruggan, was normally an early riser, as members of the clergy tended to be, but she hadn’t anticipated that he would have got up at this unearthly hour. After all, it was a Tuesday, no early services today, and last night they’d both got to bed late. Penny was the sole owner of Penny Leighton Productions, a successful TV production company that had a string of prime-time successes under its belt. Her latest hit was a TV show called Mr Tibbs, based on the mystery stories of Mavis Carew. The series was filmed in and around Pendruggan, a small, unspoilt Cornish village that Penny had discovered when her best friend Helen Merrifield decided to make a fresh start there after divorcing her philandering husband. Penny had come for a visit and ended up finding not only the perfect location for Mr Tibbs but the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. Though she would never have imagined herself as a vicar’s wife, she’d never been happier. Her loving and gentle husband with his chocolate-brown eyes and soft-spoken voice had brought out the best in Penny and she had no regrets about upping sticks to move to Cornwall. Or at least, not until this morning.

      Knowing that Simon was up and about, Penny found it impossible to settle back to sleep. She swung her legs out of the bed and reached for her satin dressing gown, which was hanging on a peg nearby. Then she went to the window and pulled open the heavy curtains, which kept out even the most persistent sunshine.

      It was April and the sky was still tinged with the night, but the purple and pink fingertips of dawn were already starting to snake their way across the horizon.

      ‘Mmm. Red sky in the morning,’ Penny observed. ‘Looks like bad weather. Again.’

      She trudged down the stairs to find that the house was in total darkness, except for Simon’s study, where a gentle light emanated from under the doorway.

      Penny knocked softly and popped her head around the door.

      ‘Morning, Vicar.’

      Simon’s head was head was buried in what appeared to be the parish appointments diary. Penny could tell from the way his fingertips were pressed against his furrowed brow that he was feeling harassed.

      ‘Oh, good morning, darling.’ He looked up from his desk, blinking at her through his glasses. ‘Sorry, did I wake you?’

      ‘I’m not sure it is quite morning yet,’ Penny replied. ‘And no, it wasn’t you who woke me, it was a phone call from that busybody, Audrey Tipton.’

      ‘Really, what did she want?’

      ‘Dunno – I cut her off.’

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