The Butterfly Cove Collection. Sarah Bennett

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      Reaching into the pocket of his jacket, he retrieved the digital camera that was always somewhere about his person and stepped closer to take a shot of the green man, for surely that was what the little statue was with its hair and beard carved to resemble ivy. The dark, almost waxy sheen of the leaves of the shrubbery framed the moss-covered stone and he knelt, heedless of the cold, damp gravel of the driveway to take a series of pictures.

      The sun found a small break in the cloud and its weak but welcome warmth bathed the back of his head. A glint to the right caught his eye and he turned to study another half-hidden fancy: a bronze fairy this time, standing on tiptoe with her hands held out as though drawing down the sunlight.

      Daniel scrambled closer, swearing to himself as the gravel dug into his knees through his jeans. Sitting back on his heels, he brushed a few stray stones from the two damp circles over his knees. He glanced towards the still-open door of the house, intrigued by the woman. She clearly had a sense of humour and imagination if these little secret figures were anything to go by.

      He rolled his head on his shoulders then pushed up to his full height and collected his bag, slipping the camera back into his pocket. He was stiff and tired from the long train journey and he could certainly do with the cup of tea he’d been offered. He’d drunk plenty of tea from dirty mugs in his art school days after all. Trying not to look too closely at the cobweb-strewn windows and the patches of weeds poking up through the driveway, he headed for the back door.

      Mia glanced over her shoulder from where she stood at the large white sink, scrubbing her hands with a brush. Catching a closer look, he realised she was a lot younger than he’d first assumed. Probably close to his own age. ‘Take your shoes off, please.’ She nodded to where her wet boots were drying on a piece of newspaper on the floor next to the radiator on the spotless stone floor. ‘And shut the door behind you. The boiler’s new but this house takes for ever to heat up.’

      Daniel paused to survey the kitchen, relieved to find it immaculately clean. A wooden table dominated the centre of the large square room and a huge cooking range surrounded by granite worktops filled most of the back wall. The appliances looked modern and were a soft duck-egg blue, providing a nice contrast to the stone surfaces and wooden cupboards. He toed off his shoes and placed them carefully on the newspaper as requested.

      ‘Have a seat. I’ll just grab my cup from next door and get the phone book and see if we can find you somewhere with a bed.’ His reluctant hostess spoke again and Daniel moved towards the table just as she took a step forward and they nearly collided. He reached out a hand to brace her, but she shied away. Wrapping her arms around her body tightly, she took an exaggerated route around the kitchen to keep well away from him. He dropped his hand swiftly, feeling big and awkward in comparison to her delicate height.

      ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.’ Mia turned in the doorway and offered a weak smile at his apology before disappearing.

      Heat rose on his cheeks as he sank into a chair; he was clearly not wanted here. How the hell had he got himself in such a mess? Getting away from London had seemed like such a good idea, but clearly he was not a spur-of-the-moment kind of guy. He was the man with the plan, the designated driver, always booked a table, always thought ahead.

      He was not impulsive usually, but he’d woken that morning with a stinking hangover. The scent of cigarette smoke and stale perfume on the pillow next to him had turned his stomach. A wash of guilt over his bad behaviour the day before added to his misery.

      His dreams of being an artist, a serious photographer, had taken him from his home to the bright lights of the capital like so many before him. London was where it all happened: where the connections were, the dealers who would frame his quirky black and white pictures and sell them to people with lots of money. His simple but arresting shots had captured attention and sooner than he could have ever dreamed of, he was flavour of the month with his pictures appearing in magazines and on the walls of the hip young things who set the trends others followed.

      Before he knew it, Daniel was attending parties and premieres and his picture started appearing in the magazines in the gossip sections more often than images of his work did. Then there was Giselle. Always perfectly dressed and styled, she knew the perfect places to go and be seen with lots of other perfect people.

      She was also a perfect bitch, although he hadn’t realised it until they’d somehow ended up living together. He still wasn’t sure how the hell that had happened, but Giselle had decided that she was going to be Daniel’s girlfriend and had attached herself to him like a limpet. He’d been too lazy, too enamoured with his own celebrity, and frankly, too stoned to do something about it until it was too late. The cold contempt in her voice had chased him halfway down the street as he scurried away with his hastily packed bag.

      Shaking off his melancholy thoughts, Daniel roused at the sound of Mia shuffling back into the room. ‘This is Orcombe’s idea of Google.’ She dropped the local phone directory on the table before skirting past, back over to the kettle.

      Daniel pulled the book towards him and started flipping through until he came to the section for hotels, inns and guest houses. He smiled slightly at using the old-fashioned book. So used to instant access to the world through his phone, it felt strange to be manually searching for information again.

      Several of the entries carried small ads detailing seasonal opening so he ignored those. His eyes skimmed down the list but nothing sounded appealing. Even the simple decision to choose which number to try first seemed too much of a trial. Desperate for a distraction, he leaned back in his chair and studied the room around him.

      Mia bustled around from the butler’s sink to the large retro-style fridge to fetch a pint of milk, which she plopped on the table before turning to rummage in one of the lower cupboards. Her bottom wiggled a little as she reached deeper into the cupboard.

      A man might notice such a thing, even under the swathes of material she was layered in, if he was so inclined. Not that he was so inclined, of course. This pale, scruffy little creature was nothing compared to the sleek London girls he hung with.

      Mia found what she was looking for apparently, given her little hoot of triumph as she backed out of the cupboard. She brandished a decorative cake tin in hand before dropping it on the table next to the milk. A quick rattle in the cupboard above the kettle and a side plate appeared, swiftly followed by two mugs of strong tea and a bag of sugar with a teaspoon poking out of the top.

      Circling the battered oak table, she pulled out a chair for herself, as far away from him as possible he noted. She added a splash of milk to her tea and nudged the cake tin closer to him, then sat back on her chair with one foot tucked underneath her.

      Raising the mug to her face, she blew across the surface of her tea before raising her eyes to meet his across the table. Deep brown, with thick sooty lashes framing them and large, almost purple bruising underneath. Her face was pale, too pale. It made her eyes seem huge above her button nose and dry lips that looked as though she chewed on them too often. As if to confirm his assumption, Mia drew her lower lip between her teeth and nibbled on it. She squinted her eyes at Daniel as though trying to come to a decision.

      Daniel ducked his head away from her scrutiny and raised his own mug of tea to his mouth, venturing a sip before quickly pulling the cup away with a rueful expression. ‘No milk,’ he muttered before adding some and taking another drink.

      ‘Are you hungry? There are scones in the tin. No cream, I’m afraid, but there’s butter and jam if you want it.’ Mia nodded with her head towards the cake tin. He put down his mug and pried open СКАЧАТЬ