two cats and a dog go with it.’ He laughed when he saw her expression. ‘It’s quite a story. Apparently the property was owned by a rather eccentric old lady, and she specified to her solicitors that the house was only to be sold to someone who could take on the responsibility of her animals. Apparently she also specified that it was not to be sold to her next-door neighbour—the chap whose land runs adjacent to hers is Croft End’s equivalent of the local squire—owns the largest house in the neighbourhood, that sort of thing. He also owns and runs a highly profitable nursery garden, apparently, selling mainly wholesale, and he very much wanted the paddock attached to the cottage to extend his operation.
‘I don’t know the full story, but according to the estate agents there was some sort of quarrel between him and Miss Betts which led to her specifying that on no account was he to be allowed to buy either the cottage or the land. Apparently the proceeds from the sale are to go to an animal charity. Anyway, no one else seems to be interested—the property isn’t cheap, and the alterations won’t be either, because of the building being listed, but with the money I’ll get from this place I should be able to afford it. There’s a huge garden, complete with vegetable plot and fruit bushes; you always did fancy yourself as something of a back-to-nature freak, as I remember! It will be good for Carly, all that fresh country air …’
He wanted to go, almost desperately, Sara recognised on a deep twist of pain. This was the first time since Holly’s death that she had seen Sam enthusiastic about anything. He wanted her to share his enthusiasm, she knew, but as yet she was too surprised … too shocked by his news to know what she felt.
Only one thing was certain. Wherever Sam chose to live, she would be going with him. He and Carly were her only reason for living now. The three of them were a small, very close-knit family unit, and if Sam wanted to bury himself in a remote Dorset village in what sounded like a wreck of a house, then, like it or not, she would be going with him.
Taking a deep breath, she summoned a shaky smile. ‘Well, I hope it has electricity,’ she warned him. ‘Otherwise that very expensive piece of equipment you’ve just ordered will be no use at all.’
He gave a deep laugh and reached forward to rumple her hair. ‘Yes it has, my little pessimist, and not only that, but there’s also an ancient generator in the garage. I don’t know if it works, but if not I can amuse myself by taking it to bits and then putting it back together again.’
‘Yes, minus several parts,’ agreed Sara with a grin, remembering the variety of dismembered radios and televisions that had filled their garage at home when they were children. Invariably Sam would be left with several ‘parts’ over, and yet, incredibly, he had nearly always managed to make the things work.
‘I know this has come as a shock to you,’ he said quietly, covering one of her hands with his own, ‘but I feel in my bones that I’m making the right decision, Sara. I want you to come with us, you know that … but if you feel you can’t, then Carly and I will still go.’
‘I’m coming with you.’ She forced herself to sound light-hearted and cheerful as she added, ‘When do we actually get to move in?’
‘Not for a couple of months yet. I’ve put Phil in charge of organising the essential work that needs to be done. The property actually becomes ours at the end of the month, and Phil reckons it’ll be another couple of months after that before we can move in. Décor and furnishing I’m leaving up to you. Phil is going to come round later in the week with the plans of how it’s going to look, and that should give you an idea of what we’re going to need.’
‘Can’t I go down and see it before then?’
Sam shook his head.
‘I’d rather you didn’t,’ he told her with a faint grin. ‘It looks so ramshackle that if you saw it in its present state you’d probably refuse point blank to move.’
‘But what about these animals?’
‘All being taken care of until we actually move in. The two cats are apparently half wild; the dog’s boarded out and the donkey is being fed twice daily by a neighbour.’
All in all, she had had an extremly eventful homecoming, Sara thought later as she curled up under her quilt.
Carly was asleep in the bedroom next door, while she, Sara, slept in what had once been the spare bedroom. No one slept across the landing in the bedroom that had been Sam’s and Holly’s; Sam slept downstairs in what had been the dining-room, in a specially adapted bed. Although he could do most things for himself, his legs were too weak to allow him to climb the stairs. The accident had not caused any paralysis, but the many operations involved in the rebuilding of his legs had meant that Sam would always have a degree of disability, although in time he should be able to walk, even if he had to resort to his wheelchair occasionally.
As she sank slowly into sleep, picture-book images retained from her childhood mingled with her dreams. A Tudor cottage in the depths of the country. What could be more in keeping with the secret adolescent dreams she had once woven for herself? Dreams that had been upstaged by Rick’s emergence into her life, but which were now resurfacing, offering her comfort and something to cling to.
But what about their neighbour-to-be? The local would-be ‘squire’ whom the old lady had specifically refused to allow to buy her home and land?
Every paradise had to have its serpent, Sara reminded herself drowsily, mentally picturing a heavy, brash male with a ruddy complexion and a manner very like Wayne Houseley’s. Did he bully his wife the way Wayne Houseley had bullied his? Probably, she thought bitterly. Men of that stamp liked bullying women.
Before Sara finally let sleep claim her, she summoned up Rick’s beloved image, a ritual she had performed every night since he had been killed. As always, she felt the enormity of what she had lost consume her, her dry eyes burning more painfully than if she had shed tears.
If only she and Rick had been given more time … if only she had his child to comfort her as Sam had Carly. If only … The saddest words in any language, surely?
‘WOW! It’s terrific, isn’t it, Aunt Sara? Just like that jigsaw Gran sent me for Christmas?’ Carly demanded enthusiastically as Sara emerged from the driver’s seat of the car to stand alongside her. The rutted track which had led from the main road to the front of the house had jolted Sara’s small car roughly from side to side, and she grimaced slightly, wondering how long her ancient Mini’s suspension would last if it was constantly exposed to the rigours of the cart track. Little wonder that Sam had not seen fit to mention it during his eulogy on the delights of their new home!
Carly was quite right, though: the white plaster-work and black beams of the cottage, and the lavish display of cottage garden flowers in the beds bordering the road, made an ideal picture-postcard scene. A narrow brick path led towards the open front door, the bright May sunshine bouncing off the diamond-paned windows.
Sam had travelled down to their new home the previous day with Phil, leaving Sara and Carly behind to finish cleaning up the house and to check that the furniture removers did their job properly.
The furniture van had not yet arrived, and Sara suspected that its driver would be none too pleased with their cart track of a road. Still, she certainly could not carp at the setting: lush fields, broken up by green clumps of woodland spread all around out on three sides of the cottage. On the fourth was what Sara guessed must be the paddock, complete with
