Twilight Song. Cressida McLaughlin

on the reserve website.

      Abby felt her hands go clammy. Events were her responsibility and, over the last few months, they had become much more important. The nature reserve was under threat from various different angles, not all of which Penelope would talk openly about.

      ‘Can I help?’ she asked softly.

      Penelope turned to her with steely eyes. ‘It’s looking a bit thin, isn’t it? For the next few months, at least. This is the spring, Abby, when blossoms bloom and chrysalises become butterflies and birds sing gloriously, and we should be maximizing on that.’

      ‘Yes, I know,’ Abby started, ‘but this is only the beginning. I’m a bit behind with the website, but I have a whole series of workshops to add, and there are six schools confirmed for the last two weeks of term.’

      ‘And grand plans?’ Penelope asked. ‘The incentives and membership boosts that will secure our future long term? Expanding on the walks is all very well, but you’re not thinking big enough, scaling it up in a way that will truly make a difference.’

      ‘A camping event,’ she said quickly, because that was a grand plan she’d had, it just wasn’t that well-formed yet. ‘I thought we could hold it on the field behind the meadow. We can combine nature trails and stargazing, run activities and binocular displays. Stephan and the café could cater, and I can organize local, organic producers to come and sell honey, veg and meat. It would be like a mini festival.’

      ‘Excellent,’ Penelope said. ‘I’d like to see your proposal for that on my desk by Tuesday, complete with how we’re going to end that event with noticeably increased membership numbers.’

      Three days away. Shit. ‘A – a formal proposal?’

      ‘Desperate times call for desperate measures. Wild Wonders is gathering momentum, and we’re limping along at a much slower pace, despite the murmuration event and your other, select, successes. It’s a few bright stars in a black sky, Abby, when it needs to be a galaxy if we’re to have any chance of survival.’

      Abby nodded, feeling the weight of Penelope’s words. ‘And Swallowtail?’ she asked quietly.

      Swallowtail House, the grand Georgian mansion that was part of the Meadowsweet estate and stood looking over the reserve and Meadowgreen village, had once been Penelope’s home. She had moved out of it when her husband, Al, had died suddenly, and it had stayed empty for over sixteen years. A couple of weeks ago, Penelope had confided to Abby that if things didn’t improve quickly then Swallowtail House might have to be sold.

      Abby knew that Penelope loved it, that despite leaving it to the mercy of nature, she wasn’t able to fully let go of it. And since Abby had taken herself or, more accurately, been taken on a tour of the abandoned property by Jack Westcoat, she felt strongly about it too. There was a bright future for that house, but if Penelope was forced into selling it to someone who didn’t know the area or the importance of the reserve then it could be disastrous.

      ‘I am holding on,’ Penelope said, ‘my teeth and claws bared, but until I can show the bank that Meadowsweet is firmly in the black, then we’re teetering on a precipice. It’s not an ideal position to be in.’

      ‘I know,’ Abby said quietly. ‘I’m sorry.’

      ‘Don’t be sorry.’ Penelope stood up. She was a good few inches taller than Abby and intimidating in more ways than Abby had fingers to count. ‘Just be better. Are any birds nesting in the library, for example?’

      ‘What? No, I don’t think so.’ She gave a half-hearted laugh.

      ‘That’s interesting to know.’

      Abby’s gaze fell to the floor. Penelope knew that she’d been helping Octavia with the library event. She hoped that Penelope wouldn’t also have realized Abby’s main motivation for agreeing.

      When Penelope spoke again, her voice was softer. ‘I’ve spent some time with Jack recently, and I’m led to believe that he’s doing better than he was. Both by the man himself and someone I’m close to, who knows him well.’

      ‘The person you thought might be able help?’ Their previous conversation on this topic was etched into Abby’s mind because it was so unlike Penelope to show caring – and also because Jack Westcoat was her favourite subject, despite all her best intentions.

      ‘Indeed. His agent, Leo Ravensberg. We’re acquainted, and both invested in Jack’s wellbeing. If he’s agreed to Octavia’s event, then he’s made his bed and will have to lie in it. But it indicates that he’s prepared to show his face here, that he’s no longer hiding himself away, and that can only be a good thing. There’s no need for you to concern yourself with him.’ She walked purposefully back to her office, closing the door quietly behind her.

      Abby let her arms slide along the desk until she could lean her forehead on them. ‘Shit. Shitting shit.’

      Jack Westcoat, an author of dark, psychological thrillers, had escaped to the Suffolk countryside after an incident between a fellow author’s face and Jack’s fist, to try and write the book that would recover his reputation and restore his place in the hearts of his readers. At first, their relationship had been tempestuous; he’d complained about visitors to the reserve ruining his concentration as they walked past his new home, Peacock Cottage. Abby had explained that she couldn’t close the reserve just for him, and the tension had fizzed between them. But as the months had worn on, and their animosity had been overcome, Abby hadn’t been able to stop herself falling for him.

      And yet, though her pulse increased whenever she thought of Jack’s dishevelled mane of dark brown hair and his startling blue eyes, she still tried to convince herself the feelings would pass, that their kiss had been a one off. He wasn’t right for her and would probably be moving back to London soon anyway. She held out hope that the problem would resolve itself, a temporary blip on the otherwise beautiful landscape that was her life. Except that she had come to see Jack as the most attractive part, and not just because he was physically gorgeous.

      ‘What kind of impression are you trying to give?’ a familiar voice asked. ‘Meadowsweet zombie land?’

      Abby stood up, brushing her short blonde hair off her face. ‘Sorry, I was just—’

      ‘Swearing softly into the desk? What’s wrong?’ Rosa looked at her with sympathetic dark eyes.

      ‘The usual,’ Abby said. ‘Penelope doesn’t think I’m working hard enough, that I need to up my game. I have to write a formal proposal about my camping idea – by Tuesday!’

      Rosa wrinkled her button nose, obscuring some of the freckles. ‘But you’ve been doing a wonderful job.’

      ‘Not wonderful enough, obviously.’ She rubbed her eyes. ‘And now I have half an hour until workshop number two, and I haven’t had any lunch.’

      ‘Go and get a sandwich. I’ll book people in. Are you coming to the pub later? It looks like you could do with a chat.’

      ‘Tessa’s coming over,’ Abby said. ‘So I’m going to play it by ear.’

      ‘Bring her too!’ Rosa urged. ‘It’s been ages since I saw your sister, and if you don’t come it’ll be me and Octavia against the boys.’

      ‘You and Octavia are more than a match for them, but I’ll see. Thanks, Rosa.’ She hurried off in search of a sandwich, wondering if she could face another evening of Octavia Pilch talking about how wonderful Jack Westcoat was and how he was going to singlehandedly save Meadowgreen library from an early demise. If only she could get him to save Meadowsweet Nature Reserve as well, instead of just putting her off the job of doing it, then maybe she wouldn’t be feeling quite so worried.

      ‘You look like a lovesick teenager,’ were the first words that Tessa said as she stepped over the threshold into Abby’s homely front room.

      Abby almost dropped the bottle of wine her sister had handed her, before she took it into the kitchen