The Little Clock House on the Green. Eve Devon

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      Time slowed. But not in a hero-walking-down-the-road-slow-mo-movie way – more in a let’s-get-a-full-look-at-the-idiot-who-doesn’t-know-how-to-drive-a-classic-car kind of a way.

      Daniel actually found himself hunkering down in his seat as he brought his arm up to rest on the window frame so that his hand could shield his face from her inquisitive gaze.

      Bunny-hopping past a beautiful woman in his beloved Triumph Spitfire was definitely not how he’d imagined his fresh start beginning.

      Neither was sounding like he couldn’t find a gear if his life depended on it.

      All ability to appear cool having disappeared out of Monroe’s exhaust pipe, Daniel opted not to stop after all. Wonder Woman looked like she had everything under control and he… didn’t.

      His gaze shifted to his rear-view mirror, where he allowed himself one last look at her, before concentrating on not driving into the hedge.

      Thankfully a few yards further and the narrow country lane opened out so that on his right was a large village green with some sort of stately-home affair at the end of it and on his left were yet more stone cottages, this time with roses rambling up them.

      As he sputtered through the picture-postcard-perfect village a few choice words came to mind. Should’ve checked the oil before leaving London, shouldn’t he? He usually did, but today he’d done what he assumed all people did when attempting an impromptu getaway from life in their classic car. He’d glanced dutifully up at the sky, noted the lack of rain clouds, chucked his holdall onto the passenger seat of the car, hopped in and revved the engine. Tearing out of London as fast as the speed limit permitted.

      Giving up before he did irreparable damage, Daniel steered safely towards the thick hedgerow on the other side of the green. He cut the engine and hopped out of the car. At the edge of the green a proud wrought-iron sign twisted into the form of a row of trees read: Welcome to Whispers Wood.

      He’d never heard of it. With a sigh he wandered back up the road in the opposite direction from which he’d come until he found another signpost which read: Whispers Wood 1/4 mile, Whispers Ford 2 miles.

      He hadn’t heard of Whispers Ford either and now wished he’d been paying attention when he’d driven through the last town.

      Which village would have a garage?

      A cow mooed, making him jump. Daniel turned around and looked at the field of cows beyond the hedgerow. One of the cows had its head poking over what he considered to be – although he wasn’t exactly an expert – an insubstantial fence-line, considering how big cows were close-up. The cow was looking at him like it had initiated conversation. Daniel found himself holding his hands up to placate as he backed carefully away a couple of steps. The cow watched him with a sort of doleful look on its face before it mooed again.

      Since the cow was so talkative Daniel held his hands back out. ‘Garage?’ he asked. ‘That way,’ he pointed left. ‘Or,’ he pointed right, ‘That way?’

      Damned if the cow didn’t bow its head as if to say, yes there was a garage, before it then swung its head to the left before turning around and ignoring him.

      Countryfile hadn’t exactly been part of Daniel’s ‘on demand’ viewing schedule so he had no idea whether it was possible to get pied by a cow, but just in case he was going to take cow-conversing with a giant pinch of salt.

      Of course, he could always wander back through the village, to where he’d seen Wonder Woman, and ask her if there was a garage and mechanic he could trust Monroe to, but let’s face it, being that asking for directions wasn’t part of a man’s make-up, he was never going to ask a human who could actually judge him.

      He took out his phone and Googled.

      Bingo.

      It looked as if a garage was one of the few facilities Whispers Wood did have.

      With a last glance to check the cow was on the right side of the fence, or at least the one the other side of him, Daniel strode off down the lane to try and locate Ted’s Garage.

      ‘So, when you say it could be the gearbox or the transmission…?’ Daniel asked.

      ‘I mean it could be the gearbox or the transmission,’ Ted, the portly overall-wearing, mechanic, repeated. ‘Won’t know until I look at it proper. Need me to tow it in for you?’

      Daniel wasn’t sure. The tow truck parked up on the verge looked as if it had seen better days. Monroe would probably take one look at it and refuse.

      ‘No, don’t worry,’ Daniel replied. ‘I think I can get it here without doing too much more damage.’ It could only be three hundred yards or so up the gentle incline to the garage. If he put it to Monroe nicely, he was pretty sure she’d oblige instead of suffering the indignity of a tow.

      Twenty minutes later, Ted was staring at the car appreciatively. ‘Well, now, it’s not every day I get to see one of these.’

      ‘Do you think you’ll be able to find out what the problem is?’

      ‘I reckon it’ll be a pleasure. If it is the gearbox, though, I’m going to need to order the part special. Not going to be cheap. Might take a few days.’

      This past year anger seemed to have top dog status in Daniel’s emotional repertoire and now he waited for it to pipe up. He was a lot relieved and a little surprised when it failed to rise up to bite.

      Must be the country air.

      ‘I don’t suppose there’s anywhere to stay in Whispers Wood?’ he asked.

      ‘There is,’ Ted answered, giving Daniel an assessing look. ‘Have to say, you look like you’d be more comfortable in the posh hotel in Whispers Ford.’

      ‘I’m happy to stay here in the village.’

      ‘Yeah?’

      Ted didn’t look convinced, but Daniel was hardly going to tell a stranger about to get intimate with Monroe that despite the shirt on his back being a slim fit, double-cuff from Burberry he was pretty much broke, bar his seed money for starting again. ‘Well, then,’ Ted continued, ‘you should try Sheila Somersby’s B&B. It’s about a ten minute walk, on the outskirts of the village, but I know she has a couple of vacancies at the moment.’

      ‘Thanks. What’s her number? I’ll phone her now while you’re looking Monroe over.’

      ‘Monroe?’ Ted turned in the direction of Daniel’s stare, his expression suddenly clearing and becoming warm. ‘As in Marilyn?’

      ‘Hadn’t actually meant to say that out loud,’ Daniel admitted. Not that there was anything wrong with naming your car. Just, maybe, not out loud! And maybe not Marilyn if you ever wanted to get girls into it.

      ‘Don’t you worry, Mr…?’

      Daniel hesitated and hated himself for doing so. He’d worked hard for years to be able to give his surname without worrying. Telling himself he wasn’t going to let Hugo take that from him as well, he cleared his throat and held out his hand, ‘Westlake. Daniel Westlake.’

      ‘Well, СКАЧАТЬ