Hidden Treasures

Chapter 23 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 24 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 25 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 26 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 27 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 28 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 29 (#litres_trial_promo)

Part Two (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 30 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 31 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 32 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 33 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 34 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 35 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 36 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 37 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 38 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 39 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 40 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 41 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 42 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 43 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 44 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 45 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 46 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 47 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 48 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 49 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 50 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 51 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 52 (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo)

Keep Reading (#litres_trial_promo)

By the same author (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)

Prologue

Violet Wingham straightened up and allowed herself the pleasure of feeling the warm evening air on her face. This would be her last night at Gull’s Cry. During the seventy-seven years she’d lived in Pendruggan, tending her garden and her cottage, she had always prided herself on being no bother to anyone. Determined that wasn’t about to change now, at the age of ninety-six, Violet had made up her mind to place herself in a nursing home until God took her back to her family.

Brushing the damp earth from her fingers, she took one last look at the freshly dug soil. ‘Goodbye, my darling. For now,’ she said softly, then returned the spade to the old privy which doubled as her garden shed and walked back into her house for the last time.

Part One

1

The sound of a tractor bumping over the cattle grid of the farm across the lane rudely awoke Helen. Yesterday it was the cockerel at the village farm. She wasn’t used to hearing such rural sounds. Not yet, anyway.

Lying in bed with her eyes still shut, savouring the warmth of her duvet and the soft cashmere blanket on top (a house-warming present from Gray, her ex), Helen felt more comfortable than she had in years. Nothing to get up for, nobody to deal with and the whole day to herself. She felt her body start to get lighter and was ready to drift off again when the phone rang.

‘Who the f … ?’ she scrabbled for the receiver. ‘Hello.’

‘Mum, it’s me.’ It was Chloe, her daughter. ‘So how’s the new cottage and Cornish life? Got all the yokel men beating a path to your door yet?’

‘Darling, I’ve only just woken up. What time is it?’

‘Nine forty-five.’

‘Well, that’s virtually the middle of the night as far as I’m concerned.’

‘Sorry, Mum, it’s just that I’ve been thinking about you so much. Are you OK?’

‘Yes, fine.’ Helen sat up and plumped the pillows behind her. ‘But I’m desperate for you to come and have a look at the cottage. It’s so pretty.’