A Village Secret by Julie Houston

Author:Julie Houston [Houston, Julie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781788549820
Publisher: Head of Zeus
Published: 2022-04-13T17:00:00+00:00

*

‘You came on a bit strong with Serena,’ Laurie said almost crossly as I drove us back down to Daisy Royd Farm; I still couldn’t think of it as driving home. ‘You know, somewhat indignant, puritanical and full of yourself.’

‘Just giving back as good as I got,’ I replied tartly.

‘And I can’t believe you admitted to actually writing that rubbish you’re obsessed with at the moment. You write literary, high-brow stuff…’

‘Not anymore I don’t.’

‘Didn’t think much of that Mayhew fellow,’ Laurie yawned. ‘Bit surly. Can’t imagine how he’s managed to net such a cracking wife as Serena.’

Net her? I turned to look at Laurie. Had Laurie actually said net her? As if Tod Mayhew had spent hours dipping his rod into a pond of potential marriage partners and had come up with a prize catch?

It wasn’t very late – probably not even midnight – as Laurie and I continued home in silence and I realised he’d fallen fast asleep. Luckily, there were certain landmarks I recognised – the old Victorian red pillar box, the Wesleyan chapel, the small Co-op on the corner – and then we were into the village itself with the church, The Jolly Sailor, Little Acorns and the fabulously upmarket dress shop which, a couple of weeks previously, I’d pressed my nose up against and sighed over. I knew my way back from there. Fifteen minutes later, I drove through the dilapidated farm gate tied back to its post with a piece of fraying rope, and pulled up into the yard. I made to nudge Laurie awake, but he’d obviously had too much to drink and didn’t stir. I was just considering abandoning him in the car, relishing the idea of having the bed all to myself, when I realised there was another car pulled up towards the side of the house. I peered through the windscreen and shook Laurie awake. Did we have burglars? I couldn’t imagine there was anything to nick unless someone in the village had got wind of the George Smith chairs or the TV monstrosity (which I’d have willingly handed over without the bother of anyone breaking in).

‘Laurie,’ I hissed. ‘There’s a man. Getting out of the car. Oh, dear God, it’s not the bailiffs, is it? We don’t owe more money?’

‘Bailiffs? At midnight on a Saturday night? What the hell are you talking about, Jennifer?’ Laurie hissed back but, nevertheless, made to lock the car doors. We both peered out through the windscreen as the figure, tall and dressed all in black, came towards us.

‘Who is it? Do you know him?’

Laurie shook his head and then stopped as he obviously realised, he did. ‘It’s Len Barrowclough from The Jolly Sailor. What the hell does he want, lurking out here at this time of night?’

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