One Hot Summer: A heartwarming summer read from the author of One Day in December. Kat French

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СКАЧАТЬ 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?’ СКАЧАТЬ