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Authors: Milly Johnson
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a large bedroom, a much
smaller bedroom and the sweetest square bathroom ever; on the second floor was a long attic room with a large dormer window affording views of the Pennines and beyond. Outside at the back was a
cottage garden, once Jack’s pride and joy but now an overgrown mess. Violet had spent many happy hours trailing after him, helping him plant seeds and taking the fat white rose heads that he
cut off for her so she could make some rose-water perfume with Nan. But now the rosebushes and flower beds had been swamped by virulent choking weeds rampaging over everything they could grab at
and cling to.
Violet’s eyes filled with a blind of tears. She loved this cottage; it was so full of warm memories for her. She wished she could lock the door and stay there.
So why can’t you? asked a tempting voice inside her. It would be the simplest thing.
She opened the bag of cleaning products she had bought en route and began to scrub at everything in sight, as if she were scrubbing at her own life, trying to take the grunge from it and make it
clean.
Chapter 12
Bel’s father’s house was a beautiful new build, constructed to make it look old and as if it had been there for ever. An architectural triumph, it was built five
years ago on the site of his previous house – the much smaller, but still sizeable, nineteen thirties dwelling in which Bel grew up. Faye was naturally gifted at interior design and had done
a fabulous job of making the huge new home feel like an old lived-in and loved one. While Vanoushka and Martin’s house was magazine perfect, it wasn’t cosy at all. But the Nookery was a
place where comfort came before the need to impress. It was a welcoming house, and even though Bel had long since left home, the Nookery had a bedroom for her use only. Not that she had ever used
it.
It was a source of annoyance to Vanoushka Bosomworth-Proud that her sister’s house had more rooms than hers. And an orangery. Vanoushka would have sold her liver for that orangery, but her
husband’s financial advisory business wasn’t nearly as profitable as her brother-in-law’s confectionery factory. Treffé Chocolates had started life as Trevelen Chocolates
– a two-man business consisting of Trevor and Helen Candy. It didn’t do that well, though, and was wound up. Helen died within the year and Trevor went back into business management,
only to marry his secretary – Faye – who reignited all his dreams of being a chocolate magnate, and thus Treffé Chocolates was born. They worked well, and hard, together and
Trevor had learned a lot from mistakes made the first time round. Now Treffé had stretched over the sea, first to Germany then to France and Belgium, giving the experts there a run for their
money. Their products had won many awards and the company was defying the recession and rising from strength to strength. Bel only wished the success story had been her mother’s and not
Faye’s.
‘Hello, darling,’ said Trevor, coming to the door to greet the daughter who always rang the bell to gain entry rather than just walk in, even if both Trevor and Faye told her that
the Nookery was as good as her home too. He had a pipe lodged between his lips and he removed it in order to give Bel a peck on the cheek. With his large ears, thinning grey hair and easy way, he
had more than a passing resemblance to Bing Crosby. ‘Come in, come in. And by the way, I have a bone to pick with you. Why haven’t you banked that cheque I gave you for the wedding
yet?’
He smacked his daughter’s bottom lightly as she walked into the house.
‘No rush, Dad. Too busy at the moment,’ said Bel.
‘Hello, darling,’ chirped Faye. She’d appeared at the lounge door wearing some sort of pale blue kaftan that would have looked ridiculous on anyone else. But on tall, slim Faye
it looked like something a top model would have worn, and the shade was stunning against her expertly dyed caramel-blonde hair,
smaller bedroom and the sweetest square bathroom ever; on the second floor was a long attic room with a large dormer window affording views of the Pennines and beyond. Outside at the back was a
cottage garden, once Jack’s pride and joy but now an overgrown mess. Violet had spent many happy hours trailing after him, helping him plant seeds and taking the fat white rose heads that he
cut off for her so she could make some rose-water perfume with Nan. But now the rosebushes and flower beds had been swamped by virulent choking weeds rampaging over everything they could grab at
and cling to.
Violet’s eyes filled with a blind of tears. She loved this cottage; it was so full of warm memories for her. She wished she could lock the door and stay there.
So why can’t you? asked a tempting voice inside her. It would be the simplest thing.
She opened the bag of cleaning products she had bought en route and began to scrub at everything in sight, as if she were scrubbing at her own life, trying to take the grunge from it and make it
clean.
Chapter 12
Bel’s father’s house was a beautiful new build, constructed to make it look old and as if it had been there for ever. An architectural triumph, it was built five
years ago on the site of his previous house – the much smaller, but still sizeable, nineteen thirties dwelling in which Bel grew up. Faye was naturally gifted at interior design and had done
a fabulous job of making the huge new home feel like an old lived-in and loved one. While Vanoushka and Martin’s house was magazine perfect, it wasn’t cosy at all. But the Nookery was a
place where comfort came before the need to impress. It was a welcoming house, and even though Bel had long since left home, the Nookery had a bedroom for her use only. Not that she had ever used
it.
It was a source of annoyance to Vanoushka Bosomworth-Proud that her sister’s house had more rooms than hers. And an orangery. Vanoushka would have sold her liver for that orangery, but her
husband’s financial advisory business wasn’t nearly as profitable as her brother-in-law’s confectionery factory. Treffé Chocolates had started life as Trevelen Chocolates
– a two-man business consisting of Trevor and Helen Candy. It didn’t do that well, though, and was wound up. Helen died within the year and Trevor went back into business management,
only to marry his secretary – Faye – who reignited all his dreams of being a chocolate magnate, and thus Treffé Chocolates was born. They worked well, and hard, together and
Trevor had learned a lot from mistakes made the first time round. Now Treffé had stretched over the sea, first to Germany then to France and Belgium, giving the experts there a run for their
money. Their products had won many awards and the company was defying the recession and rising from strength to strength. Bel only wished the success story had been her mother’s and not
Faye’s.
‘Hello, darling,’ said Trevor, coming to the door to greet the daughter who always rang the bell to gain entry rather than just walk in, even if both Trevor and Faye told her that
the Nookery was as good as her home too. He had a pipe lodged between his lips and he removed it in order to give Bel a peck on the cheek. With his large ears, thinning grey hair and easy way, he
had more than a passing resemblance to Bing Crosby. ‘Come in, come in. And by the way, I have a bone to pick with you. Why haven’t you banked that cheque I gave you for the wedding
yet?’
He smacked his daughter’s bottom lightly as she walked into the house.
‘No rush, Dad. Too busy at the moment,’ said Bel.
‘Hello, darling,’ chirped Faye. She’d appeared at the lounge door wearing some sort of pale blue kaftan that would have looked ridiculous on anyone else. But on tall, slim Faye
it looked like something a top model would have worn, and the shade was stunning against her expertly dyed caramel-blonde hair,
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