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

Alice chewed her lip. ‘Then I’ll get it sorted so I can. I mean it, Niamh. This is the only way I can think of not to let Borne Manor go completely, or at least until I’m ready to leave on my own terms, rather than because of Felicity bloody Shaw.’

Niamh fell silent for a moment and then reached down and felt around on the ground behind the bench. When she straightened she held a half-empty bottle of rum in her hand, the emergency supply they kept there for extra cold winter mornings or moments of dire need. Moving from the grandeur and luxury of Borne Manor into a caravan that probably wasn’t even watertight definitely fell into the latter category. Tipping a good snifter into each of their coffee mugs, she clanked her cup against Alice’s.

‘Let’s drink these then and go and view your new home.’

‘It’s … it’s …’ Niamh paused, stepping into the caravan behind Alice ten minutes later. It had taken almost five minutes to prise the door open, and the first thing that hit them was the pungent smell of damp when a hard tug had finally wrenched it from its seal.

‘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 (#u495c94fe-d165-5c18-bda8-32a3396c5df9)

‘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.