“Yes, I am Pippa but no, n-not his lass anymore,” Pippa stammered. “Alex left.”
“Oh.” Mick frowned. “Actually, I did hear something about that. I’m sorry. He had big plans for the both of you, as I recall.”
“Well.” Pippa shrugged. “The less said about that the better.”
“Right.” To his credit, Mick didn’t push her for details. He invited her in and offered tea. “Don’t mind me as I finish my lunch, will you? Must rush out to the top fields in a few.”
“I won’t take up too much time.” Pippa gratefully accepted a cup of tea. It gave her something to do with her hands. Mick resumed attacking a half-eaten tuna sandwich, his kind eyes fixed upon her face. It hit Pippa that she hadn’t even worked out how to ask for what she wanted, she’d just rushed out here unprepared. Most unlike her. Nonetheless, she took a deep breath and launched. “As you know, I was a key player in the business development for Goodman’s Farm. I oversaw a profit growth averaging around 7% year on year. Thanks to me, the margins—” She stopped as Mick lifted a polite hand.
He swallowed, washing down his sandwich with a swig of tea. “Sorry, love, are you after a job?”
“Big time.” Pippa nodded. “Alex kind of left me high and dry.”
“Oh, goodness.” Mick put his mug down.
Pippa’s wave of desperation began to crest. “Please, I could really help you align your interests now you’ve acquired Goodman’s Farm. No one knows it better than I do.”
“It’s land, love.” Mick smiled at her. “Cattle. And with all due respect to you, I know land and cattle.”
“But surely I could help,” Pippa said, keenly aware her tone was akin to begging. “There must be something I can do. Taxes? I’m dead good at payroll, anything to do with HMRC.”
“I’m sorry,” Mick said. “I do a lot of that myself. And the wife takes care of the rest.” His eyebrows drew together as he regarded her. He picked up his sandwich. “I wish I could help. But part of the reason I’ve done so well is that I run a lean team and we’re fully staffed. Honestly, if I had a space, it’d be all yours.” Sharp incisors tore into fresh bread and Pippa’s tummy growled. “Hang on!” Mick’s words were muffled by sandwich, and he swallowed quickly. “If you’re looking for a job, I might know of something.”
Pippa exhaled in relief. “You do?”
“But not here,” Mick said. “Squires is looking for a caretaker. A housesitter, if you know what I mean.”
Pippa was thrown. “Squires?” But then she remembered what Mae had said recently about Grantham, and how his wife was ill. He was probably not able to fulfil his usual duties and if the house was sitting empty, then his absence would pose a problem. No doubt the place was full of valuables that would need protecting until one of the family was able to take up residence.
“Yup.” Mick sucked mayonnaise off his thumb. “I saw Grantham in town the other day and he mentioned it. Want me to put in a good word?”
ChapterFive
Acouple of days after the fruitless job hunt at Mick’s, Pippa found herself back in Hurst Bridge, but this time she was visiting Squires. It had been years since she’d seen the house this close. Her last visit had been at the last Wheelbarrow Race the town had hosted. She’d been twenty-one that year, freshly graduated from her accountancy and business courses. Alex had finished college the year before and was already learning the ropes to become the new head of Goodman’s Farm, far too busy to run the races with her and as Mae had been wandering Cambodia at the time with Frankie, Pippa had had to make do with being a mere spectator of the races. Vincent Squires had been visibly weak after a stroke six months before, even though his smile could have been seen from space. Due to his father’s condition, Carmichael had picked up the reins of the fair organisation with minimal enthusiasm, yet Pippa still recalled a sun-drenched, happy day. Vincent had died only weeks after, and it seemed the appetite for the Summer Fair had left with him, as there had never been another fair in Hurst Bridge since.
The spring sun presided over a cloudless sky and the town of Hurst Bridge basked in its warmth. As Pippa approached from the Sheffield Road, modern boxy dwellings gave way to the old farmhand cottages that formed the heart of the town. All of them were picturesque little buildings of grey stone with well-tended gardens and rambling flower bushes that were set back from the road. There was the old primary school, now surrounded by forbidding iron fences that hadn’t been there in Pippa’s day. She grew closer to the green and the few shops Hurst Bridge boasted came into view. There was the corner shop that had become a SPAR, surrounded by a few more stores that were recent additions to the town; an Instagram-ready hair salon, a sophisticated-looking coffee shop and a chemist that proudly advertised high-end cosmetics. She continued past the green, the centre of the little town with its picturesque duck pond and majestic oaks that lined the promenade cutting through it. In the far corner, Pippa could see the playground she’d frequented as a child and a few yards from that, the ancient pub she’d had her first beer in at thirteen, now owned by Mae, who’d infused the lovely old pub with her trademark style and excellent IPAs from all over the world.
Pippa drove on through the town, dozy in the spring warmth. As the road began to ascend out of the valley, the houses began to thin out. Just there, set off the road and almost hidden by a cluster of pines was the little house Pippa had grown up in. As her parents were living the retirement dream in Florida, Pippa wondered who lived there now, and if they had kids who went to the local school. She caught a flash of warm yellow light emanating from what had been the Munros’s dining room and she experienced a pang of unexpected nostalgia. Her life had been so simple back then; her future bright and welcoming.
Suddenly the road curved and became steep. On one side the edge fell away sharply, stretching down to a narrow valley with moorland peaks on the other side. Dots of fluffy sheep were studded like chess pieces in the patchwork of heather and drywall whilst an occasional bird of prey lazily swooped through the clear blue sky. It was a sight that never failed to take Pippa’s breath away. And then, like a sentry guarding the town against the wildness beyond it, was Squires House. It resided on a corner of the winding pass, the forbidding grey stone laced through with ivy that once had been dutifully pared back but was now running rampant, obscuring windows and choking roof tiles. The once lush wisteria was nowhere to be seen.
Pippa eased up to the tall wrought-iron gates, almost delicate with their curlicues and monogrammed decoration. She pulled on the brake and got out of the car, stretching. Behind the gates, the drive extended to the house, but no one was there. She frowned. The call with Grantham had been a little vague and she wasn’t sure if she was meeting him or someone else. Could Trudy or one of the twins have travelled to meet her? All Pippa knew for certain was that she was here to discuss a housesitting gig that was to last a minimum of two months but may extend to six. There was minimal pay, but food was included and, of course, lodging. Pippa would just be grateful to get out from under Frankie’s feet. The sexual tension between him and Theo was so palpable you could practically taste it. How the two of them hadn’t got it together was beyond her reckoning, but she suspected her presence had something to do with it. She checked her outfit. It was a favourite one to cope with the heat, a long linen dress with a square neck and a discreet floral pattern. It looked reasonably professional but ensured she wouldn’t boil in the heat of the midday sun.
A burst of crackle to Pippa’s right startled her. An intercom! Slick and metallic, it looked out of place next to the old perimeter wall of lichen coated stone.
“Hello?” The voice wasn’t Grantham’s; it was younger. Haughty.
“Pippa Munro. Here for an interview?”
There was silence for a few seconds, then a high-pitched buzz. The gates creaked open, and Pippa hopped back into Frankie’s Micra – because of course, the car Pippa used to drive had been in Alex’s name, for reasons she couldn’t recall. Soon, she was parking up right outside the garage block that possibly had been stables once upon a time, with fading double doors secured by rusting locks. She slid out of the car, barely able to believe where she was. The house was resplendent in the bright light, despite the aggressive ivy and the extensive lichen peppering the lintels.
As Pippa locked the car, she couldn’t help but notice the sweeping driveway was pock-marked by weeds and the once pristine edges uneven with thistles. She walked towards the front door, clocking the dandelions clustered around the entrance, the obvious crack marring the bottom doorstep. The building was no less beautiful for these little flaws of course, but she felt a small seed of sadness take root inside her at the notion this gracious house wasn’t looking its best.
Reeling with excited curiosity about what lay beyond the front door, Pippa lifted her hand to knock. Before she could even touch the door however, it flew open to reveal a man so tall and muscular he practically filled the doorway. He blinked rapidly at the sight of her, and Pippa felt a jolt of recognition.
“Why, you’re … Wolfie Squires!” The blond boy from the maze all those years ago had grown. And how. His face was still lean, with those high cheekbones and electric-blue eyes but now a thin silver scar bisected his chin, barely visible until it caught the light. When his eyes met hers, Pippa had a bizarre urge to reach out to the door frame for support. The sudden feeling was nameless, yet fleeting, like momentarily peering over the edge of a vast cliff and pulling back with fear at the depth of the fall. As someone who had spent the past two months mired in the monotone flatness of heartbreak, Pippa couldn’t help but wonder if Wolfie had experienced the same sensation too, such was the profoundness of it to her.
Wolfie’s lips parted, but then he merely blurted “You’re late, Pippa Munro.”
