The Little Clock House on the Green. Eve Devon

she finished with, ‘Well, Daniel Westlake, it’s been lovely to meet you. Enjoy your visit at The Clock House. I’m Trudie McTravers. It’s a small place, so no doubt we’ll run into each other again.’

      ‘Don’t forget to stretch and cool-down properly before you leave the green.’

      She smiled and in a flurry of pink and red, jogged back across the green.

      Daniel walked towards The Clock House and bypassing hopping over the wall, opted for the perfectly accessible gated entrance. Three strides across the gravel and he was poking his head inside the front doors.

      ‘Well, I’ll be damned,’ he muttered as he stepped across the threshold into the large foyer that was so much more grand than he had been expecting.

      He turned in a circle, blowing out a long whistle when he saw the beautiful sweeping staircase which curved up to the next floor. The stick balusters were painted in thick creamy gloss, and the handrail and stair-treads had been left in their original dark wood, though stained with a clear protective varnish. All the walls were painted in a watery green, right up to the cornicing, which was painted in simple white.

      Daniel couldn’t believe the owner, this Old Man Isaac fellow, had let the village use such a stately place for meetings and what-not. Or that the villagers had kept it so lovingly maintained. Said something about the people of Whispers Wood, didn’t it?

      As he crossed the parquet floor he wondered what it would have been like to grow up in a house like this one. He’d spent most of his childhood in a crowded semi in Stevenage with his mum, his aunt and uncle, and their two kids, because his father was away such a lot. It hadn’t been a bad upbringing, but he’d rather have been on the road with his dad. At least in those early years, Daniel reflected, before automatically shutting his thoughts down.

      Taken with the welcoming ambience, he stole up the staircase to explore, forgetting he was supposed to be looking out for a glimpse of his ‘wonder woman’.

      He guessed once upon a time the rooms on the second floor would have been one-room deep, in keeping with the traditional Georgian layout. Reaching out, he knocked against one of the walls in the same way he’d seen the woman with all the scarves do in that property programme – and concluded that most of the walls were partition. If it was up to him he’d keep some of them divided and open some out.

      To use as what, though?

      And that’s when it hit him.

      If it was him he’d open this place up as office space… conference facilities… something that would bring people who worked in isolation together.

      Within minutes, the creative side of his brain, held in check for far too long, was firing like a Nerf gun at a seven-year-olds birthday party. Inspiration flexed back to life like an old and wasted muscle and as he continued his tour he focused on the fact that the place was for sale and how he needed something to do.

      What would it be like to get to come to work in a space like this every day?

      Hadn’t he been looking for a fresh start?

      Maybe Monroe breaking down was fate. Daniel came to a sudden halt halfway back down the stairs to the ground floor. He wasn’t sure he believed in fate. Believing in fate would surely render the last year as being unavoidable and Daniel couldn’t accept that. He was too certain that if he’d been paying proper attention – been looking at the whole picture – he would have spotted what Hugo had been up to earlier.

      By the time he’d made it back down to the foyer Daniel had all but totally convinced himself that one weird flight of fancy was allowed after everything that had happened lately. To truly consider buying this place when he already had one failed business under his belt was career suicide.

      Except… he couldn’t imagine working for someone else. Couldn’t think how to transition from accountancy to anything else without having to explain this whole sorry year and as soon as anyone discovered what had happened at West and Westlake, it wouldn’t matter that he was the innocent party. He’d be considered a risk.

      Trudie McTravers had said the village used this place for functions. All he’d be doing, if he bought it, would be guaranteeing that even more people could use it. He remembered all those fruitless hours searching for affordable business premises when he and Hugo had located to London. For the first eight months, they’d had to run West and Westlake from a combination of Hugo’s front room and the Starbucks down the road.

      There must be people in the surrounding villages who worked from home. Sole business owners having to ask their kids to keep the noise down because they were working. Or people trying to find a place to hold a meeting. Setting up this place as a pop-up and pop-in work premises would make the perfect small business.

      A business where the only faith he’d have to have would be in himself.

      He wandered into a room with a small kitchenette, thinking that he was crazy.

      A business like he was thinking of wasn’t about numbers. It wasn’t accountancy.

      It was… sexier.

      More appealing.

      But who swapped numbers, facts and assurances for a creative small business that would depend on getting people in to turn a profit?

      Straight-down-the-line Daniel Westlake certainly wouldn’t. Would he?

      Shoving a hand through his nut brown hair in frustration, he sighed. He probably couldn’t afford it anyway.

      There was something about this place, though. He’d only been in it for a few moments.

      Only been in the village for a handful more.

      Crazy.

      Yet he had his phone in his hand with half a mind to check house prices in the area before he realised that it was actually ringing.

      ‘Hello?’ he said, answering the call, grateful for the interruption because there was working out what to do next business-wise and there was getting completely carried away without doing a shred of research into a field he knew nothing about.

      ‘Mr Westlake? It’s Ted… said I’d ring you when–’

      Daniel couldn’t hear a thing over the music playing in the background. ‘Sorry? What? I can’t hear you.’

      ‘…I just wanted to let you know that it’s going to take a few more days to fit it.’

      ‘So, what exactly was the problem with her, then?’ Daniel shouted. ‘Sorry – can you turn the music down your end? I can’t make out – oomph–’

      Daniel felt a sudden impact against his back.

      ‘What the–’ he stopped mid-sentence because then there was softness pressed up against him.

      Instinctively he turned, his arms coming protectively out and around the warmth that had ploughed into him.

      The fall was so unexpected he didn’t have time to twist and soften the other person’s landing.

      His breath whooshed out of him as he landed and then didn’t quite make it all the way back into his lungs because that was when he registered that the person on the hard parquet floor with him, was her.

      Outstanding!

      Because falling on her was so much better than falling down in front of her.

      ‘I’m so sorry,’ he finally managed, growing concerned when she didn’t move or make any kind of sound as she lay under him. ‘Hey?’ he whispered, leaning forward to check for signs of life, his heart speeding up when she didn’t respond. ‘Hey, hey, hey,’ he repeated, each word getting a little louder and more panicky when she continued to lie silent under him.

      His hand came out to gently sweep across her cheekbone and without giving him any time to prepare, her huge, sparkling brown eyes suddenly flashed open to stare up at him.

      Daniel