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‘It’s kind of cute?’ Alice finished for her, seeing the same battered wooden interior as Niamh, though through more rose-tinted glasses. ‘Let’s open the windows, get rid of the damp smell. It’ll be fine once it’s aired.’
‘You think?’ Niamh’s gaze swept from the lumpy double bed at one end of the caravan to the threadbare seating at the other, taking in the tatty kitchenette and holey lino on the way. ‘Is there a bathroom?’
Alice stepped along the central aisle and they both reached for a wall to steady themselves as the caravan lurched downwards at one end.
‘Oops! Legs must need putting down.’ Alice smiled nervously. ‘The bathroom’s in there,’ she added, waving an expansive hand towards a slim door beside the bed. ‘There’s a loo and everything.’
She looked back over her shoulder at her friend’s doubtful expression. ‘Don’t pull that face. Work with me here, I need your vision. You’re an artist; can’t you see it as a blank canvas ready to be made gorgeous?’ She ran her hand over the faded wooden kitchen cupboard. ‘A rub down here, a lick of varnish there … some pretty curtains maybe?’
Alice watched Niamh study the interior, silently willing her to see beyond the shabbiness. Slowly, her friend began to nod.
‘Yes? You see it?’ Alice took Niamh’s fledgling encouragement and ran with it. ‘I looked on the net today, you should see some of the vintage Airstream makeovers I’ve found. It might be a bit of an ugly duckling now, but it’s got potential, and that’s the main thing, isn’t it?’ Alice needed Niamh to share her vision; not least because she couldn’t sew so much as a button on while Niamh could operate her state of the art sewing machine with her eyes closed.
‘It’s an old girl, but she’s got good bone structure, so just maybe,’ Niamh said, ever cautious.
Alice nodded. ‘She’s Greta bloody Garbo!’
‘Steady on. Let’s start at Dot Cotton and work our way up.’
Suitably sobered, Alice ran through the basics she could remember from the eBay seller she’d bought it from. ‘Everything works. The water, gas, electrics, everything should be fine once it’s had a spruce up.’
‘Heating?’ Niamh pulled the sleeves of her jumper over her fingers as she spoke.
Alice nodded again, even though she couldn’t precisely remember the heating being mentioned. ‘I’ll be snug as a bug.’
‘A bed bug, probably,’ Niamh said, casting a glance over the tired-looking mattress. Alice followed suit and then breathed in deeply.
‘I’ll just bring my mattress topper down from the house. It’ll be fine.’
They both turned as Pluto appeared in the doorway, a heavy breathing thud of paws as he dropped his damp ball on the grubby floor and rolled his good eye at them hopefully.
‘Not on Alice’s new carpet, Plute!’ Niamh scolded, earning herself a nudge in the ribs for her sarcasm as they headed out of the caravan and back to normality. It didn’t escape Alice’s notice that it was a degree or two warmer outside than it was inside the caravan, despite the early morning frost. She made a mental note to order the highest possible tog-rated quilt later. Was arctic-tog even a thing? Dithering as they crunched back over the lawns towards the house, she really hoped so.
CHAPTER TWO
‘Are you sure this is the place?’ Robinson Duff frowned out of the passenger window of the taxi as it slowed to a halt outside Borne Manor. Set well back from the road along a sweeping drive, the house was nothing like Robinson’s sister had led him to believe. She’d used words like modern and cutting edge, he distinctly remembered their telephone conversation when she’d raved about having found him the perfect place on the internet.
This place wasn’t modern. As soon as he was settled they’d be having another conversation, one that began with something distinctly like ‘why the hell have you posted me out to Middle Earth for six months? What do you think I am, a fucking hobbit?’
Lounging splendidly in the watery afternoon sunshine, it was cute on a grand scale, the kind of house you might see on the English Tourism website alongside rolling green countryside and adverts for Shakespeare.
Robinson didn’t do cute. Jesus, the mellow stone walls were practically pink, and was that wisteria winding its way around the huge, old, wooden front door? It made him think of fairy stories and afternoon tea, not usual or welcome thoughts for a man more accustomed to packed stadiums and the technicalities of a recording studio. Who the hell lived in a place like this? Goldilocks, maybe?
‘This is definitely you,’ the driver confirmed, glancing at the satnav app on his iPhone clipped to the dashboard. ‘I’ll get your bags out of the boot, shall I?’
Robinson unhooked his seatbelt with a resigned sigh. ‘Looks that way.’
Inside Borne Manor, Alice paced barefoot across the cool flagstones of the square entrance hall. She’d fallen for the house as soon as she’d first set foot on those flagstones, picturing the grand stone fireplace alive with flames in winter and a cheery jug of flowers on the central table in springtime. The sound of car doors slamming had her heart bumping around behind her ribs. The new tenant must have arrived. Her heart didn’t know whether to soar or sink.
One of the benefits of being with Brad had been access to decent legal advice, and this had served her well over the last couple of weeks when she’d decided to rent the house out. Brad hadn’t been bothered; as long as he didn’t have to cover the mortgage payments, he was 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 his bed, wherever that was.
‘I’ll give it some thought,’ he said, and she gave him the smallest of perfunctory waves and set off again across the grass.
In the caravan a couple of hours later, Alice went into battle with the archaic heater and lost. She wasn’t altogether surprised; disappointed, but not especially surprised given that it was a game of luck to get the gas rings on the cooker to work and the water pump was distinctly dodgy. The eBay seller who’d sold her the caravan had certainly added a gloss of efficiency to the advert that wasn’t strictly true, but Alice wasn’t to be deterred. This was home now. She was just relieved to have a roof over her head, even if it was made of tin and not one hundred per cent draught proof.
Making herself a sandwich as she warmed the kettle to fill two hot water bottles, Alice considered her new neighbour. The last thing she’d expected when she opened the door to Borne Manor that afternoon was a six-foot-two cowboy, much less a cowboy with broad shoulders, clear green eyes and something about his guarded manner that rendered her mildly speechless. He was … interesting.
Climbing into the huge bed, Alice set herself up for the evening. The memory foam mattress from the house had been a pain in the ass to lug down to the caravan, but boy was she glad of it now. She was equally glad of the myriad pillows and the cloud of quilts, and especially thankful for the luxury fur throw she’d given to Brad for Christmas that he hadn’t bothered to take. The rest of the caravan might be lacking in amenities, but the bed was hotel luxurious with her five-hundred-thread-count bed linen thrown into the mix.
Warm and fed, Alice lay back and pulled the quilt up to her nose. Through the trees she could just about make out the honey glow of lights in the kitchen up at the house, and she could imagine standing by the Aga to warm her bum as the underfloor heating warmed her toes.
Bah. Who needed all that jazz anyway? She wiggled her toes on the hot water bottle and switched her Kindle on, the only light inside the dark caravan. Clicking through to the internet to browse for something new to read, Alice scrawled through the recommendations and huffed softly as a scorching cowboy romance appeared on the screen. The blurb promised a hot Texan bad boy who could do a lot more than play the guitar with his wicked hands. Her index finger hovered over the buy button for a second, and then she thought better of it and scrolled forward to the next recommendation. Cowboys might make good romance novel fodder, but she’d had her fill of romance for at least the next twenty years. All that romance had got her lately was a broken heart, a dodgy heater and a no-fixed-abode address. Resolute, she clicked buy on the latest gory thriller to hit the top of the charts and settled down to read.
Up at the manor, Robinson picked up the coffee he’d just made and turned out the kitchen lights. Beyond the windows he could see only evening darkness, no sign of any lights or life beyond the tree line. This really was turning into the strangest of days. Bizarre as it was, it would seem that he’d flown straight out of Nashville and become the lord of his very own English manor, complete with fairies at the bottom of the garden.
CHAPTER THREE
‘There’s a cowboy living in my house.’ Alice shrugged her damp coat off and left it on the hooks just inside Niamh’s front door. She’d huddled inside the hood of her parka and made an early morning dash from the caravan to the cottages, eager to talk about the new tenant of Borne Manor.
Dropping into the armchair by the fire, she gratefully accepted the mug of tea Niamh had already made for her in anticipation of her arrival.
‘A cowboy?’ Niamh perched on the seat of the other armchair. ‘As in Elvis and horses and all that stuff?’
‘Are you sure Elvis was a cowboy?’
Niamh shrugged. ‘I’ve definitely seen him in a Stetson, and he sure sounded like one, ma’am.’
Alice raised an eyebrow at Niamh’s dodgy attempt at an accent. ‘Not as much as this guy does. He has a guitar, and he wears his jeans like a cowboy, and he speaks with this deep drawl.’
Niamh considered Alice’s words for a moment then held up her palm. ‘Whoa. Back up there a second. He wears his jeans like a cowboy? What does that even mean?’
Alice floundered for the right words and pulled a face. ‘You know … all low slung and snug. As if he’s just got off his horse or something.’
’Please, God, tell me he’s good-looking?’
Alice paused, trying to decide how to answer.
‘He’s sort of striking, yeah. He’s got that laid-back, tanned cowboy thing going on.’
She looked at Niamh, who raised her eyebrows and waited for more. Alice shrugged, not wanting to over commit about the handsome but somewhat grumpy man living in her house.
‘I don’t know, really. He’s just got this capable way about him. Charismatic, I suppose.’
Niamh laughed into her coffee mug.
‘I think I need to see this man for myself. Think he’d fancy sitting for me?’
Alice shook her head. ‘Doubt it. He seemed a bit grouchy, to be honest. Although …’
‘What?’
Alice glanced across at Niamh’s canvas on the easel behind the armchairs, at the all too evident beginnings of yesterday’s octogenarian nude.
‘Nothing,’ she said, her eyes dancing as she looked back at Niamh. ‘It’s just that from the way those jeans fit him, I think you might need more than an old fig in your fruit bowl.’
A little later that morning, Robinson pulled back his bedroom curtains just in time to catch his resident woodland nymph running across the grass towards her mystery residence beyond the trees. Although she was more Eskimo than nymph this morning; he wouldn’t have recognised her except for her telltale red boots and the long blonde trails of hair escaping the hood she’d turned up as protection against the lashing rain. ‘Welcome to England,’ he muttered, scrubbing his hands through his hair to wake himself up. Jetlag was one hell of a bitch to shake.
His thoughts turned back to his new landlady as he brushed his teeth. Where had she been so early, anyway? Or had she just been coming home after a night elsewhere? He pushed the disturbing thought away and headed downstairs. He didn’t really object to her coming and going, but it was going to be kind of hard to keep a low profile if his garden became a thoroughfare for a steady stream of Alice’s friends and lovers.
Maybe that fence she’d mentioned was going to be necessary after all.
‘Alice?’
Even though she’d barely had one conversation with him, Alice recognised Robinson’s voice straight away. No one else in Shropshire, or in England for that matter, had that odd mix of gravel-rough and silky smooth when they said her name. She swung the caravan door open, frowning at the grey, drizzly day beyond the canopy awning.
‘Morning,’ she said, keeping her guard well and truly up. ‘Have you decided you need that guided tour after all?’
‘You live in an Airstream.’
Alice looked at him steadily, taken aback by his bluntness. ‘Yes. I do.’
His face had confusion written all over it. ‘You moved out of that huge house into a van in your own garden?’
It nettled her that he didn’t keep his confusion to himself, mostly because she wasn’t any more ready to elaborate on her situation than he’d been when he’d arrived yesterday.
‘Is that a problem to you?’ she said, not quite challenging, but not quite polite, either.
He looked mildly taken aback, shaking his head with a tiny shrug.
‘I guess not, so long as you don’t plan on throwing all-night parties down here.’
Alice considered her options for a moment. If she argued her right to do whatever the heck she pleased down here, then she’d also need to prepare herself for a reply that involved six-foot fences and privacy rights. On balance, she decided not to go in hard straight off the bat, mostly because it was still early and her brain needed more coffee.
‘Lucky for you I’m not the party sort, then.’ She nodded slowly. ‘You better come in out of the rain.’
Stepping back into the caravan, she flicked the gas on beneath the kettle, glad that the cooker co-operated easily for once.
‘Coffee?’
Robinson stepped inside the caravan, and Alice watched him silently size the place up. She knew perfectly well what he must be thinking.
Why would anyone move out of the manor into this? He looked at the eclectic collection of rugs she’d used to cover the old lino for warmth as well as appearance, and the faded cherry-red leather banquette seating covered in a mish mash of pretty cushions Niamh had made along with the new curtains. It wasn’t a palace, but the interior of the Airstream had a feminine, kitsch charm now that hadn’t been there before Alice and Niamh had set to work on it. Alice was particularly fond of how the polished chrome roof over her bed had come up; its curves and bolts all looked fabulous by candlelight at night. It was unexpectedly intimate, having him look at her bed. In the close confines of the caravan he was in her kitchen, her lounge and her bedroom all at once, and the breadth of his shoulders seemed more pronounced in the small space.
‘I love these old things,’ he said, surprising her as he ran an appreciative hand over the coach built cupboards. Okay, so maybe she hadn’t read his thoughts well at all. ‘My folks had one when we were kids. All of our holidays were spent pulled up beside one lake or another, climbing trees and running riot.’
Alice patted the worktop, basking a little in his approval of her new home despite herself.
‘I’m not sure she’s up to dragging around the country just yet, but I’m happy enough in here. Sit down,’ she said, motioning towards the banquette that ran around the opposite end of the caravan to the bed. He passed behind her where she stood at the cooker, close by necessity. He didn’t touch her, but all the same her body was unexpectedly aware of his in a way that made the hairs on the back of Alice’s neck stand up.
‘Sugar?’ she asked, flustered. What the hell was her body playing at? She was in the completely wrong place in her head for her body to be making such rash overtures, and it scared the hell out of her.
He shook his head, taking the mug she held out and placing it on the table in front of him. Alice picked up the drink she’d been part way through and joined him, perching a safe distance away on the end of the banquette opposite.
‘So, Mr Duff. How was your first night in the manor?’ She successfully fought the urge to say ‘in my manor’, or even worse, ‘in my bed’.
‘It’s Robinson, please.’
Alice frowned slightly, unsure she was happy to be on first name terms when her body had just acted in such an irresponsible fashion to his. Robinson Duff. Did something about his name ring a familiar bell? He must have sensed it in her, because he sighed a little and looked less comfortable than a moment ago.
‘I’m sorry,’ Alice said. ‘It’s just your name. I feel as if I’ve heard it before somewhere.’
He picked up his mug and drank slowly then lowered his eyelids, staring into his coffee.
‘I doubt that.’
He dismissed her words with a careless shrug.
Alice frowned, unconvinced, her head on one side as she looked at him.
‘No … I’m pretty sure I have,’ she said, sensing his annoyance and not understanding where it came from.
He sighed audibly.
‘Maybe you have, maybe you haven’t. It’s a pretty common name. Does it really matter?’ His carefully controlled look aimed for bland, but his eyes told a different story. They told her to back off. Alice received the message loud and clear and held her tongue, even though she wanted to point out that, actually, Robinson Duff wasn’t a very common name at all.
‘I used to be a singer, back home,’ he said, his tone flat, his eyes back on his coffee. ‘Next subject.’
Alice wished he’d look up. It was hard to read his expression without the luxury of seeing his eyes, but the quiet melancholy in his voice spoke of a heavy heart.
‘Must be it,’ she said, privately planning to look him up later. She’d heard of him, she was certain.
‘Where is home, Robinson?’
He didn’t reply for a few long beats.
‘Here, now,’ he said, finally glancing back up.
He said it in a way that closed that line of enquiry down too, told her very clearly that he’d rather talk about something else. Alice didn’t push it; recent events in her own life had taught her that some things are difficult to say. If Robinson needed to keep his secrets, she was okay with that. She just hoped he wasn’t planning to keep them for ever in her house, because some time soon she was going to want it back again. It was clear from his testy attitude that although they were going to be neighbours, they weren’t going to be friends. Alice found she was fine with that, because something about Robinson Duff made her profoundly uncomfortable. He was too much of a man; all broad shoulders and vitality and charisma. Her body approved, but her head and her heart didn’t, which put him right at the top of her ‘best avoided’ list. Wiping her palms down her jeans, she donned her professional landlady hat. She could be that, at least. She could be his landlady.
‘Want me to give you a guided tour of the house? There’s a few eccentricities to the place you should know about.’
His expression cleared back to neutral, as if he too found their professional relationship easier to navigate.
‘That might be a good idea, darlin’. I managed to find a bath and a bed without getting myself into too much trouble, but it sure is quite the house.’
Robinson’s accent was pure cowboy, as Dallas as Bobby Ewing and the way he said darlin’ sent a second unexpected and unwelcome prickle of awareness down Alice’s spine. She wanted to ask him not to say it again but knew that to do so would make her sound gauche and mildly militant.
‘It’s yours, I take it?’
She looked at him hard. What had they been talking about?
‘The house,’ he prompted. ‘You own it?’
Back in the room. ‘Yes. Yes, the manor’s mine.’
Robinson looked at her for a few silent seconds before he spoke again.
‘And will your family be joining you in the Airstream soon?’
He loaded the question with just the right balance of sarcasm and innocence, but he didn’t fool Alice.
Right. So that was how they were going to play it. She knew she’d read his fleeting expression of annoyance properly yesterday when she’d asked if his family would be coming to stay, and he was firing an answering shot across her bows.
It was her turn to play her cards close to her chest. Robinson’s eyes were full of questions, and she chose not to answer any of them.
‘You’ll like the village,’ she said, deliberately changing the subject. ‘There’s everything you might need, and The Siren’s a decent local.’
‘Local?’ he said, frowning.
‘Pub,’ she explained. ‘If you fancy a drink, it’s usually fun in there … a good crowd …’ Alice trailed off, aware that it sounded quite a lot like she was asking him out, which she absolutely wasn’t.
‘I’m pretty private.’
And that sounded quite a lot like a knock back.
‘I didn’t mean …’ he said, after a second, and then just shrugged and let his sentence hang in the air.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said, over bright and too quick, then pushed her cup away from her on the table and stood up decisively.
‘Come on. Let me show you around the manor.’
Robinson followed Alice hurriedly across the lawns and in through the back door of the manor, pausing with her to shed his coat and wet boots.
‘Is it like this much?’ he asked, already disenchanted with the English weather.
‘April showers, I’m afraid. There’s talk of a hot summer though, if that’s any help.’ Alice smiled as she stepped out of her boots, hanging her wet parka up. ‘Come and warm up by the Aga.’
She moved across the kitchen tiles, her feet once more bare.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, when he joined her by the stove. ‘I said that as if it’s my kitchen, didn’t I? Old habits.’
‘Change takes a while to get used to,’ he offered, wondering how the hell she’d wound up living in an Airstream in her own garden. Maybe in time she’d know him well enough to tell him. She was a very different kind of woman to those who’d filled Robinson’s life back home; there was a quietness about her, a self contained way that intrigued him despite his quest for privacy and peace. He hadn’t got the measure of her yet, but one thing was abundantly clear: she loved this house.
After a quick and complicated lesson on the Aga, Robinson resolved not to buy anything that couldn’t be microwaved and followed Alice back into the lofty entrance hall.
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