The Little Clock House on the Green. Eve Devon

ever believe she deserved it.

      How had she managed to convince herself that Old Man Isaac selling and Juliet sending her the postcards were signs from Bea? Now that she was actually here, standing in front of the moon-gate, and faced with the reality of what running a business would entail…

      She should let it go.

      It would find lovely owners. Old Man Isaac would make certain of that, she was sure.

      And maybe whoever owned it next would turn it back into a house.

      A home.

      And on her visits back to Whispers Wood, she’d be able to walk past it without feeling so divided.

      Without feeling.

      With her heart heavy in her chest she opened the moon-gate and walked through, thinking she’d take one last look and then explain to Juliet that she was very sorry, but she wasn’t the right person to take over the place.

      She stopped to take in the scene before her.

      Oh my.

      So ironic that here time had absolutely stood still, she thought, as she looked around.

      It always looked best in spring and summer. The wild meadow on the other side of the moon-gate. Where tall grass vied for space with poppies, cornflowers and buttercups.

      And there, tucked away amongst the large shrubs of buddleia, was what Kate had been unconsciously looking for since opening the main door of the building.

      As she stared at the roofs of the white painted hives, the tears finally spilled from Kate’s brown eyes.

      She’d found Bea’s bees.

       Chapter 7

       Then I Saw Her Face, Now I’m A Belieber!

       Daniel

      Daniel was finishing his cool-down when the lady with the crazy energy from the exercise class approached.

      Impish blue eyes, fire-engine-red lips and dressed from head to toe in a pink so bright it hurt his eyes, she bounced up and greeted him with a ‘Cooee,’ and a hand-wave.

      ‘Morning,’ he replied cautiously.

      ‘I don’t think we’ve seen you around here before, have we, sweetie? I’m guessing it’s you that owns that beautiful car that Ted is working on?’

      Daniel tried to remember that outside London it was perfectly acceptable to talk to complete strangers. ‘That’s right.’

      ‘So, I suppose you’ll be with us until Ted fixes you up?’

      ‘I guess so,’ Daniel agreed, although, truth to tell, he’d enjoyed the last couple of days enough to have thought about staying on. He hadn’t had a holiday in years and the change of pace had reminded him that not everyone in the world was caught up in that ‘concrete jungle where dreams are made of’, mentality.

      When Ted had intimated that Daniel would rather be in a five-star hotel than the local village B&B, he hadn’t been that far off the mark. He’d hot-footed it out of London with his only thought being to get away, but if Monroe hadn’t broken down, it wouldn’t have occurred to Daniel to stop in a village, or even small town. He’d have carried on driving until he’d hit the next major city and paid a lot of money to stay in an impersonal hotel.

      He’d really lucked out at the B&B, though, because in addition to the fabulous breakfasts and scrumptious cream teas, he would swear his host had instantly picked up on his need for anonymity. Other than some quiet and polite greetings, he’d been left to his own devices. Kicking back and mulling things over had been something he’d needed to do for weeks.

      ‘What a shame you’re not staying the summer, at least,’ the woman in front of him said and Daniel felt her gaze slide interestingly over him from head to toe. He took an awkward step backwards. Was she… hitting on him? Surely not. She was at least twice his age.

      ‘I guess you probably don’t get a lot of newcomers to the village?’ he asked, attempting to stretch the conversation and prove he wasn’t feeling the pressure of small talk.

      ‘Too true, sweetie. But you mustn’t mind me – I’m always on the lookout, that’s all.’

      The lookout? He was just wondering if there was any tactful way of telling her he wasn’t interested but that he could show her how to set up a Tinder account when he saw her.

      It was the third time he’d spotted her in two days.

      The first time, she’d been hauling case out of the back of that taxi and Monroe hadn’t exactly shown herself in her best light. The second time, she’d been pacing back and forth across the small front garden of the cottage the taxi had pulled up outside of. The last time he’d seen her had been a few moments before – talking to the woman now standing in front of him. He’d spotted the boots first before lifting his gaze to notice the legs were out again. By the time he’d reached the daisy-dukes he’d been so distracted he’d nearly run into a tree. Righting himself and concerned he might end up doing something else embarrassing, like tripping over a leaf and face-planting right in front of her, he’d elected to pretend he hadn’t seen her and concentrate on getting the rest of his run in.

      ‘I have to be on the lookout,’ the woman in pink told him, ‘I’m casting for A Midsummer Night’s Dream and really want us in rehearsals by the end of this month.’

      Daniel wasn’t listening. He was too interested in watching the gorgeous brunette with the dynamite legs hop over the low brick wall in front of the building at the end of the village green and… wait, had she just kicked that For Sale sign?

      He grinned as he watched her give it a second kick before she disappeared into the building.

      ‘…and I’m always on the lookout for fresh talent. I don’t suppose you can act, sing or dance as well as you look?’

      Daniel whipped his attention back to the woman in front of him. ‘I’m sorry, cast members?’

      ‘Oh, sweetie, don’t worry, I can see your mind is elsewhere,’ she said, with a chuckle, as she turned in the direction of his gaze.

      She wasn’t wrong. With a nod of his head towards the building in front of them, he found himself asking, ‘Is The Clock House a private residence?’ Maybe she kicked the sign because she lived there and didn’t want to move.

      ‘I guess technically it is. Old Man Isaac – that’s the owner, moved out a few years ago when he turned eighty. Got a bit much for him,’ the woman confided. ‘Moved into one of the cottages opposite,’ she explained, pointing in the direction of the charming stone cottages at the other end of the green. ‘He never did get married nor have any children, so he sort of keeps the building open for the village to use it. You know, for toddler groups and the local flower-arranging class, that sort of thing. It’s a fabulous space. My am-dram group meets there every week.’

      ‘I see. So if the door was open I would be free to go in and take a look around?’

      ‘Of course. On a Thursday morning it should be empty. I’m going to need your name, though.’

      ‘My name?’

      ‘And a few other details,’ she said, grinning from ear to ear.

      Oh, she was good. He smiled and held out his hand. ‘Daniel Westlake. And you already know I’m in the village because my car broke down and I’m waiting for Ted to get the part he needs and then fit it.’

      ‘And where are you staying while you’re here?’

      ‘At the little B&B on the