Read Online The Real Katie Lavender by Erica James - Free Book Online

blue. A Volvo estate was parked in front of the double garage, which gave her hope that somebody was at home.
    She rang the doorbell and tried to contain her nerves.
    When nobody responded, she rang the bell again, this time for longer.
    But still nobody came.
    She had come this far; she had no intention of giving up so easily. She walked round to the side of the house on the gravel path and called out, ‘Hello, anyone at home?’
    Still no response.
    She pressed on through a dappled tunnel of laburnum whilst continuing to call out. She stepped into a courtyard where the walls were covered in variegated ivy and water gently played from a fountain in the farthest corner, its base surrounded by a bed of lush hosta plants. It was very tranquil, a cool and restful oasis.
    Opposite her was a small arched wooden door; it was only about four feet high, and there was a sign on it that read: ‘Open Me’. Feeling a bit like Alice in Wonderland, she self-consciously turned the metal handle, bent down and went through.
    And again like Alice, she found that she’d stepped into another world, a beautiful and enchanting world. After the shade of the courtyard, she blinked at the brightness of the sun and teased out the impact of what she was seeing. In front of her was an immaculate stretch of perfectly striped, luxuriant green lawn that was flanked by two deep borders and enclosed by soft-hued brick walls covered in a scrambling rose the colour of clotted cream. The borders were stunning, planted with delphiniums, lupins, hesperis, alliums, aquilegia and poppies – all the flowers that Katie’s mother had adored, and which in turn had become favourites for Katie. She walked to the middle of the lawn and slowly turned round, looking back at the small wooden door through which she’d entered, as if not really believing it would still be there. It was truly spellbinding.
    ‘Can I help you?’
    She spun round at the sound of a woman’s voice, fully aware that if this was the owner of the house – Mrs Penelope Nightingale – she had every right to be angry, to accuse Katie of trespass. But pushing a wheelbarrow and dressed in a loose-fitting top and jeans that were rolled to just above her ankles, with off-white canvas shoes on her feet and a large-brimmed hat on her head, the woman didn’t look angry, just enquiring. She actually looked quite a nice woman, down-to-earth, with an open and friendly expression. On the shortish and dumpy side, she wasn’t at all what Katie had expected. She had dreaded a gentrified gorgon of a woman, one of those tall, haughty horse-faced types prone to wearing headscarves. Although, of course, Katie had yet to establish whether this was the owner. Maybe she was a gardener who worked here.
    ‘The garden isn’t open to the public yet,’ the woman said in a pleasantly low and rich husky voice, when Katie still hadn’t replied.
    ‘Um . . .’ Oh hell, she’d forgotten what she was supposed to say. She’d been so blown away by her surroundings, her mind had gone blank, every carefully chosen word of her ruse gone from her head.
    ‘That’s all right,’ the woman said, letting go of the wheelbarrow. ‘People are always turning up at the wrong time. I’m quite used to it. You need to come back a week today, next Saturday.’
    Katie tried to pull herself together. ‘I did ring the bell,’ she began. ‘I rang it several times.’
    The woman laughed. ‘Sorry. Once I get stuck in, there’s no chance of me hearing it. But as I said, you’ll have to come back next weekend.’
    ‘Um . . . it’s not the garden I’ve come about,’ Katie said. ‘It’s . . . I’m looking for Mr Stirling Nightingale. I have a delivery for him. This is his address, isn’t it?’
    The woman tipped the brim of her hat back and wiped her face with her forearm. ‘I’m glad I’m not the only one who gets things muddled up,’ she said. ‘I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong Nightingale house; Stirling, my