One Hot Summer: A heartwarming summer read from the author of One Day in December. Kat French
fine with whatever Alice wanted to do where the manor was concerned – or so the message came back from the solicitor who’d also been responsible for making the switch from mortgage payer to landlady a relatively easy one. Alice herself hadn’t needed to be involved in the legal ins and outs, so she’d spent her days clearing out her personal effects in order to prepare the house for its new inhabitants.
It had all happened with quite indecent speed once the ball was rolling; from ‘on the market’ to ‘six-month rental secured’ within a few days of being on the agent’s books.
It was mildly surprising that the new people hadn’t even bothered to come and view the house before signing on the dotted line, but Alice was just relieved to know that she was still the legal owner of Borne Manor, even if she didn’t get the joy of living in it, for the next few months at least.
Three raps on the doorknocker. It was time to meet the lucky new people who’d get to call the manor home, and then it would be time for Alice to move into her own new home too. She took a deep, calming breath, arranged her smile, and then reached out for the door handle.
Robinson watched the taxi disappear off down the drive and then knocked the huge blacked doorknocker three times and waited. It struck him as weird that the homeowners had insisted on meeting him here themselves rather than arranging for a key to be waiting.
In truth he’d have preferred to skip the tea, biscuits and guided tour, but then he was in England now, the homeland of, well, tea, biscuits and guided tours, so he steeled himself to suck it up and get rid of them as soon as he possibly could.
Setting his Goldilocks fantasy aside, he laid himself a private bet that the door would be opened by an elderly guy in tweed or his equally elderly wife in a woollen twinset and pearls. Or a butler, maybe? He’d seen enough movies about big English houses, there was an outside possibility of staff in a place like this.
Maybe living here for a while wouldn’t be so bad if there was someone around to help keep the fridge stocked with beer. Maybe he’d get really lucky and land up with a guy who liked to shoot pool, too … Robinson’s daydream came to a halt as he heard the catch on the inside of the door move, and a second or so later it swung wide.
Well, hell. Maybe there was something to those fairy stories after all, because it seemed that he’d been right first time around. This house was straight out of the pages of a beautifully illustrated children’s book, and even odder still, it appeared very much as if Goldilocks actually did live here.
Okay, so maybe she’d switched the pinafore dress for ripped jeans and a sweater that slid off one shoulder, but her hair was bang on the money. Golden ripples that fell past her elbows, and nervous, startlingly blue eyes that looked into his as her lips curved into a slow, uncertain smile.
‘Mr Duff? I’m Alice McBride.’
She stuck her hand out and Robinson dropped his bags onto the wide stone step so he could take it. Glancing over her shoulder to make sure the three bears weren’t anywhere in sight behind her, he slid his hand into hers.
She glanced over his too, and then managed to frown and keep that fixed little smile in place all at the same time.
She had a surprisingly strong handshake for a girl who appeared so delicate on first glance.
‘Come in, come in,’ she said, letting go of his fingers at last and stepping aside to allow him entry into the hall. More fairytale stuff. The hallway was big enough to count as a room in its own right, and the fire crackling in the hearth took the chill from the air. His hostess glanced around outside in the empty driveway for a moment and then banged the front door shut and turned to him.
‘Will the rest of your family be joining you later?’
‘My family?’ he frowned, nonplussed.
Alice faltered.
‘I’m sorry, I just assumed, given the size of the house and all …’ she trailed off, and a rose-petal warmth tinted her cheeks that had nothing to do with the warmth from the fireplace.
‘Maybe later. It’s just me for now.’
Robinson didn’t elaborate, and found himself irritated by her automatic assumption. The last thing he planned on doing was sharing his domestic arrangements with strangers. He’d come here to get away from prying eyes and nosy neighbours, not hurl himself headlong into the middle of village gossip.
Alice recovered herself well, switching that polite smile of hers straight back on.
‘Shall I show you around, or would you like a cup of tea? You must be exhausted after all the travelling.’
How very English. Welcoming as she was clearly trying to be, what Robinson really needed her to do was to leave him alone to get his head together.
‘Actually, you’re right. I am exhausted. Maybe we could take a rain check on the grand tour until tomorrow? I’m sure I can find somewhere to lay my head.’
He noticed how Alice blinked two or three times as she deciphered the request to leave hidden behind his polite words.
‘Right. Right, yes, of course.’
She spoke haltingly, that smile still there but no longer touching her eyes. She seemed momentarily stuck, wiping her palms on her jeans as if she wasn’t sure which way to go. He looked down at her bare feet and hoped she wasn’t planning to tackle the gravel driveway without shoes.
‘Okay, so I’ll leave you to it then,’ she said eventually, and then, oddly, she added, ‘it’s just this way,’ and turned and disappeared through one of the wide doorways that led off the hall.
Curious, he followed her and found himself heading into the kitchen.
‘This is the kitchen,’ she said, redundantly. He watched as she trailed her fingers over the central island as she passed it, almost an affectionate stroke. ‘The oven can be a bit temperamental, I can show you how to coax it, if you like.’
‘I’m not much of a chef,’ he murmured. An understatement. He’d barely cooked more than bacon and eggs in his life.
‘Right.’
She reached the backdoor, and then turned with her hand on the latch.
‘I’ll be off then,’ she said, her eyes moving from him to sweep slowly around the room.
Was it an English thing to leave by the back door? If it was he’d never heard of it. He watched as she stepped outside and pulled on a pair of bright red rain boots from beside a bench by the door, her curtain of hair swishing around her shoulders as she straightened. That resolved the shoe issue, at least.
‘Let me know if there’s anything you need.’
He nodded, and then realised he had no idea where she lived.
‘How do I find you?’
She glanced away from him across the gardens. ‘Easy. I’m over there.’
Turning away, she started to tramp across the damp grass.
He watched her go for a few seconds, confused.
‘You live in my garden?’ he called after her. She paused, then turned back around.
‘Well, no, not exactly,’ she said, holding up her finger. ‘If you check the lease you’ll see that you get the house and the top lawn. I’ve got the rest of the land.’
He frowned, lost.
‘My place is just the other side of the trees,’ she said. ‘I can have a fence put in to divide the garden more clearly, if you like?’ She looked at him testily. ‘I didn’t because it seemed a bit unnecessary, but maybe I was wrong.’
Robinson realised that he hadn’t just been being polite when he’d said he was tired. He was exhausted all the way down to his bones, and try as he might he couldn’t work out what the hell was going on here. He needed a bath, a beer, and