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Authors: Christina Jones
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were the manicured lawns, the regimented borders, the angular concrete paths of his wife Caroline's régime. The garden now tumbled with flowers, and shrubs clambered haphazardly over arches and pergolas. Wild flowers flourished beneath the chestnut trees, a canopied swing stood among rustic benches, and a fountain played down stepping-stones into the shallowest of pools, carefully covered with netting to prevent Poppy rolling in.
It was cool and green and vibrant all at the same time. It was also very hard work, and extremely time-consuming, and as Maddy had gone back to running Shadows, her cleaning agency in the village, they'd decided to advertise the post of gardener/handyman in the local paper. Drew wasn't completely sure that they could afford one.
He stood for a second at the top of the steps and watched Maddy sitting cross-legged beneath the willow tree, tickling Poppy Scarlet's tummy, giggling with their daughter. He loved them both with painful intensity. The financial problems apart, he had never been so happy. And now, he grinned, every word of the e-mail imprinted in his memory, his personal happiness would be complete.
Two years previously, miserably married, Drew had moved from his small stable in Jersey to try his hand at breaking into British racing big time. Caroline, his elegant ice-cold wife, had remained in the Channel Islands to run her own business, only visiting Milton St John when her schedule allowed. Drew, lonely and confused about everything except his ambition to become a top-notch trainer, had been drawn to Maddy's chaotic and unself-conscious warmth. She'd lived in the cottage opposite Peapods, and Caroline had employed her as a cleaner. He and Maddy had seemed destined to bump into each other at every village function.
Friendship had developed into love, and love had led – eventually and after much moral anguish – to an affair that had shocked them both with its intensity. Neither of them had been prepared for the outcome.
He beamed happily at the memories as he leapt down the steps.
Maddy still wasn't aware of him. Her unruly auburn curls fell forward, curtaining her face. She was wearing a baggy T-shirt over her leggings again, still agonising, Drew knew, about the post-pregnancy weight that simply refused to go away. Drew told her every morning that she had never looked more beautiful, and every morning she wrinkled her nose in reply and said, 'Oh, yeah? I always thought I was fat before – but now I'm obese! And don't you dare go on about Rubens – I look like the Michelin Man with a bad hair-do! You're mad, Drew Fitzgerald, or short-sighted, or both!' And then they laughed and cuddled and tumbled back on to the bed. They did a lot of that.
Drew crossed the lawn accompanied by the dogs.
'Oh, brilliant! You're back earlier than I thought you'd be. Have you got time for a drink before lunch? It's nearly ready. Have you seen Holly? She's sorted everything out so it's safe for you to go back into the office.' Maddy scrambled to her feet, expertly tucking ten-month-old Poppy under her arm, and stood on tiptoe to kiss him thoroughly. 'What did Kath say?'
'The expurgated version?' Drew grinned, kissing her back.
'Of course. I don't want Poppy picking up any of Kath's more colourful phrases just yet.'
'Roughly translated, that she'll keep an eye open for useful horses. Oh, and that if Charlie comes within a mile of Lancing Grange she'll kill him.'
'Fairly mild then.' Maddy took Drew's hand and led him back to the shade of the chestnuts. 'Anyway you're looking pretty smug. Can you see yourself leading in a National winner already and putting a smile back on the bank manager's face? Or is it simply because Holly's rescued you from another black hole?'
'A bit of both.' Drew lifted Poppy from Maddy's arms and kissed his daughter's chubby face. She gurgled delightedly, grabbing a handful of his hair, already struggling to be put down. 'But mainly something else.'
'She walked again,'
It was cool and green and vibrant all at the same time. It was also very hard work, and extremely time-consuming, and as Maddy had gone back to running Shadows, her cleaning agency in the village, they'd decided to advertise the post of gardener/handyman in the local paper. Drew wasn't completely sure that they could afford one.
He stood for a second at the top of the steps and watched Maddy sitting cross-legged beneath the willow tree, tickling Poppy Scarlet's tummy, giggling with their daughter. He loved them both with painful intensity. The financial problems apart, he had never been so happy. And now, he grinned, every word of the e-mail imprinted in his memory, his personal happiness would be complete.
Two years previously, miserably married, Drew had moved from his small stable in Jersey to try his hand at breaking into British racing big time. Caroline, his elegant ice-cold wife, had remained in the Channel Islands to run her own business, only visiting Milton St John when her schedule allowed. Drew, lonely and confused about everything except his ambition to become a top-notch trainer, had been drawn to Maddy's chaotic and unself-conscious warmth. She'd lived in the cottage opposite Peapods, and Caroline had employed her as a cleaner. He and Maddy had seemed destined to bump into each other at every village function.
Friendship had developed into love, and love had led – eventually and after much moral anguish – to an affair that had shocked them both with its intensity. Neither of them had been prepared for the outcome.
He beamed happily at the memories as he leapt down the steps.
Maddy still wasn't aware of him. Her unruly auburn curls fell forward, curtaining her face. She was wearing a baggy T-shirt over her leggings again, still agonising, Drew knew, about the post-pregnancy weight that simply refused to go away. Drew told her every morning that she had never looked more beautiful, and every morning she wrinkled her nose in reply and said, 'Oh, yeah? I always thought I was fat before – but now I'm obese! And don't you dare go on about Rubens – I look like the Michelin Man with a bad hair-do! You're mad, Drew Fitzgerald, or short-sighted, or both!' And then they laughed and cuddled and tumbled back on to the bed. They did a lot of that.
Drew crossed the lawn accompanied by the dogs.
'Oh, brilliant! You're back earlier than I thought you'd be. Have you got time for a drink before lunch? It's nearly ready. Have you seen Holly? She's sorted everything out so it's safe for you to go back into the office.' Maddy scrambled to her feet, expertly tucking ten-month-old Poppy under her arm, and stood on tiptoe to kiss him thoroughly. 'What did Kath say?'
'The expurgated version?' Drew grinned, kissing her back.
'Of course. I don't want Poppy picking up any of Kath's more colourful phrases just yet.'
'Roughly translated, that she'll keep an eye open for useful horses. Oh, and that if Charlie comes within a mile of Lancing Grange she'll kill him.'
'Fairly mild then.' Maddy took Drew's hand and led him back to the shade of the chestnuts. 'Anyway you're looking pretty smug. Can you see yourself leading in a National winner already and putting a smile back on the bank manager's face? Or is it simply because Holly's rescued you from another black hole?'
'A bit of both.' Drew lifted Poppy from Maddy's arms and kissed his daughter's chubby face. She gurgled delightedly, grabbing a handful of his hair, already struggling to be put down. 'But mainly something else.'
'She walked again,'
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