That Special Something: A heartwarming, small town romance to fall in love with

One

‘You’re late.’

Hope tapped her watch and tutted good naturedly as her elder sister dashed into the cosy kitchen of The White House for the Sunday morning meeting of Eversley Events, the events planning company set up by Pat and Simon Eversley fifteen years before. Grace had joined the business straight from school; Hope, on the other hand, couldn’t wait to go to university but she returned once she had gained her degree, and joined the, by then, already thriving family enterprise.

‘I know,’ said Grace, puffing out her red cheeks and huffing out a sigh of exhaustion. ‘But with good reason. You won’t believe what’s happened.’

‘You haven’t been mugged, have you?’ Hope was joking. But not entirely.

‘No. But I do have news about that.’ Grace looked pleased with herself as her tone rose an octave or two. She joined her family at the large, circular, pine kitchen table and dropped on to an empty chair.

Although not all the Eversley family sat around the table. Pat’s mum, Granny Joy, was snoring softly in the armchair situated between the inglenook fireplace where a log fire roared, and the big green Aga in which Sunday lunch was cooking, having joked that she wanted to get nice and toasty on both sides. Lady Elizabeth, the family’s French Bulldog known as Lady E, was fast asleep in her comfy basket next to the Aga, one small paw resting on her water bowl beside her.

Mingled with the smell of beef slowly roasting in the oven of the fairly ancient Aga, the aroma of coffee permeated the air as it always did between the hours of seven a.m. and noon in the Eversley household, and Hope poured her sister a cup from the pot on the table without enquiring if Grace wanted one.

‘News about Naomi’s mugging?’ Pat, their mum, queried.

‘Have the police finally done their job and found the culprit?’ asked Simon, their dad.

Grace took a sip of coffee, eyeing her family over the rim of the cup while raising the forefinger of her free hand.

‘I needed that,’ she said, letting out another sigh.

‘Are you going to keep us in suspense all morning?’ Hope said.

Grace took another sip and then shook her head. ‘I’m not sure where to start.’

‘Who cares,’ said Hope. ‘But start at the best bit. You can add the details later.’

‘There’re two best bits,’ said Grace, now barely able to contain her obvious excitement. ‘Naomi’s handsome stranger has reappeared. He was outside the café yesterday, looking for her. She saw him whilst out on a walk. His name is Lucas Dove and he says he feels the same way about her as she feels about him. They went for a drink at The Royal Oak and now they’re dating! It turns out he had only recently moved to Folkestone and had got lost the day they first met. Isn’t that incredible? It’s clearly Fate. I mean what are the chances?’

‘Blimey!’ Hope glanced around at the others who were all as equally astonished.

Naomi Hart, who was the older sister of Hope’s best friend Fiona, had met a handsome stranger in Betancourt Bay Café two weeks before, having been mugged after her car had broken down a mile or two outside the village. She had gone to the café for help because her handbag, containing her mobile phone, had been stolen and she wanted to call her family and the police. The café was the closest place on a cold and snowy January night. The owners of the café, Doris and Derek Dunpole had been their usual unfriendly selves, but the handsome stranger had lent her his phone and bought her a hot chocolate. A commotion had then ensued between the Dunpoles and in the confusion, Naomi and the stranger had parted ways without exchanging names or numbers.

But that winter night hadn’t been all bad for Naomi. Not only did she meet the man of her dreams, she also found a two-pound coin on the pavement and bought a Lottery ticket with it the following Wednesday. No one was more amazed than Naomi to discover she had won the sum of one million two hundred and fifty-one thousand nine-hundred and forty-five pounds and thirty-two pence, which was in her bank account less than a week after a visit from a member of the Lottery team.

She immediately made an offer to buy Betancourt Bay Café and the sale was proceeding quickly. And now it seemed, she’d also got the man she had been searching for. “Blimey” didn’t really cover it.

‘Good heavens,’ said Pat. ‘And until recently, Naomi didn’t seem to have much luck, did she? I’m so thrilled for her. Now all her dreams have come true. Isn’t it strange how one’s life can change so fast?’

‘None of us know what it has in store for us,’ said Simon, shaking his head as if he couldn’t quite believe this news.

‘Anyway,’ Grace said, clearly eager to continue. ‘Naomi called me this morning to tell me all about yesterday and I asked her round for coffee because Griff was in a meeting with Sandy and Sonia Grey. I assumed it was just something about Clifftop Farm they wanted to discuss with him, but it turned out it wasn’t. Well, not exactly.’

Grace and Naomi, like Hope and Fiona, had been best friends growing up in Betancourt Bay, but Naomi had moved to London and they’d drifted apart somewhat, although they still met up sometimes when Naomi came home to visit her family.

And then Naomi had been made redundant from her position as manager of an Art Café, on top of which the rent on the flat she shared increased beyond her means. She had no other choice but to ask her parents if she could move back home temporarily and was planning to do so the weekend she was mugged.

Returning to Betancourt Bay meant Naomi’s friendship with Grace had blossomed once again, and her life had gone from rock bottom on that first fateful night, to the mountain top in the space of a couple of weeks.

But in a way, so had Grace’s. She had believed herself to be in love with Russell Betancourt for most of her life, although that love was unrequited.

Russell was the blond haired, blue eyed youngest son of Archie and Francesca, but Francesca sadly died more than twenty years ago and three and a half years later, Archie met, and soon after married, his second wife, Bianca. The Betancourts no longer owned the village nor the huge estate their ancestors had, but they were still a rich and powerful family, loved and respected by all who lived in Betancourt Bay and beyond. Although that love and respect did not extend to Bianca who did all she could to create a distance between the Betancourts and the villagers.

Then last Christmas the Eversleys had been hired by Griff Betancourt, Russell’s older brother, to organise the annual Mistletoe Dance, the most prestigious event of the year which had been held at Betancourt for centuries. It had proved to be a revelation.

To her astonishment, Grace discovered it was Griff she was in love with, and as family secrets had been revealed, so had the fact that Griff had been in love with Grace for as long as she had believed herself to be in love with Russell.

The only small fly in the ointment, was Russell. He had also declared his love that night – but not for Grace. For Hope.

Hope loved Russell dearly but only as a friend and when he had told her how he felt she had to let him down. She tried to do it gently. She even said she knew he was only teasing so she wasn’t taking it seriously, hoping that such a comment might save him some embarrassment.

He seemed to realise her intention and he’d managed to laugh and make light of it, but they both knew the truth.

And so did most of the village it seemed because since Christmas Eve, not only her own family but almost all the residents of Betancourt Bay had been constantly telling her how wonderful Russell was, what a catch he would be, and how he’d make her blissfully happy.

Hope simply couldn’t see it.

‘Don’t keep telling me how wonderful he is,’ she snapped at her family shortly after the New Year. ‘I know he’s wonderful and kind and generous. I know he’s handsome with his golden blond hair and blue eyes. I know he’s rich and works for the family’s auction house. I know that I’m insane not to bite his hand off and marry him immediately. But I can’t. I don’t know what it is but it’s … oh, I don’t know … there’s simply something missing. I’m just not crazy about him. No bolts of electricity shoot through me when I look at him, or when he smiles at me, or touches my arm, or anything. And there should be, shouldn’t there? Shouldn’t I feel … that special something when he’s near me? Because I don’t. And I can’t pretend I do.’

After that, her family had been less forceful.

‘Perhaps you’ll grow to love him,’ Grace had said hopefully.

‘I’ve known him since I was about five,’ Hope replied. ‘I’m thirty now, so at this rate, I’ll be about ninety-five when I fall in love with him. Just accept that it’s not meant to be. Even Russell has.’

Hope was fairly sure he hadn’t accepted anything of the sort, but he had told her he had and confirmed that they could just be friends. The problem was, he kept popping up wherever she was and now if she spotted him before he saw her, she had taken to hiding from him. Sometimes in the unlikeliest of places.

That wasn’t easy, given the fact that the ornate iron gates of Betancourt were just across the road, and visible from the sitting room of The White House. The sweeping curved drive leading to the front door of the impressive but understated frontage of the stately home was a good half a mile long though with wide green lawns either side of the drive, and thankfully, between the gates and the house were rows of shrubs and trees lining the walls surrounding the estate, that blocked out a direct view of the ground floor rooms of both houses.

And luckily for Hope, there was a row of large evergreen Bay trees that hid the upstairs windows of The White House from the upstairs windows of Betancourt, no matter the angle you might try to view the cottage from, or which room you were in within the stately home. Hope had recently, and surreptitiously, checked. The last thing she needed was Russell Betancourt spying on her in her bedroom, from his.

Not that she thought he would. Russell wasn’t a creep. Yet he did seem to have the uncanny ability to be wherever she was more often than not. Perhaps it was coincidence. They did have several friends and acquaintances in common. Even so, it was somewhat irksome at times.

But at least the close proximity of their homes was handy for Grace who now spent most of her nights at Betancourt. Grace and Griff had been together since the night of the Mistletoe Dance, and were head over heels in love. So much so that Grace was thinking of proposing.

‘Well it is a leap year this year and women can propose on leap years,’ Grace had stated only a few days ago.

Hope had pulled a face and rolled her eyes. ‘We can propose whenever we want, Grace. We don’t have to wait for a leap year. This is the twenty-first century, you know.’ And then, realising the last thing she wanted right now was for her sister to propose to Griff, had hastily added, ‘But just because we can, it doesn’t mean we should.’

‘What? Why not? He’s asked me to move in with him.’

‘Asking someone to live with you doesn’t mean you’re sure you want to marry them. That’s the whole point of living with someone. You have all the benefits of marriage – apart from the tax breaks – but you also have the freedom to leave, or ask them to leave in Griff’s case, anytime you want without having to deal with all the legal formalities of a divorce.’

Grace looked like one of the deflated balloons at the end of the engagement party bash at which they’d had this conversation.

‘Are you saying that Griff’s not sure he wants to spend the rest of his life with me? He told me himself that he does.’

Hope didn’t want to upset Grace but she had an ulterior motive. ‘People say all sorts of things when they’re in love. And I’m sure it’s true. But you’ve only been dating since Christmas and it’s not even Valentine’s Day yet. And please, please, please, don’t tell me you’re thinking of proposing on Valentine’s Day.’

‘What’s wrong with that?’ Grace said sheepishly.

‘Grace! It’s corny. It’s boring. It’s … just don’t do it. Okay?’

Grace had shrugged. ‘We might not have been dating that long but we’ve known one another for most of our lives. He’s the one for me, Hope, and he says I’m the one for him. He’s loved me most of his life, so why would he have doubts now?’

‘I’m not saying he has doubts. I’m just suggesting you wait.’

‘For what? For how long? Your problem is you’ve only been in love once and because that ended badly you think all relationships will.’

Hope had bristled at that. ‘No I don’t. I couldn’t do this job and organise all the engagement parties, weddings, christenings etc if I did. But some do, you know. I’m not saying yours will. You and Griff were made for one another and I don’t know why it took all of us so long to see it when it was so obvious last Christmas. All I’m saying is wait a bit longer. Besides, we can’t fit in another surprise proposal or an engagement party. If you must do it, at least wait until March. From a purely practical viewpoint, we might not be quite so busy by then. I know we have at least two days in the diary free next month. Although since the Mistletoe Dance, we’ve been inundated, so that might be a moot point.’

The newly engaged couple had interrupted them at that precise moment to thank them for organising such a splendid party so nothing further was said about it that night, and in the days since, Grace hadn’t mentioned it again.

Hope prayed she had dodged a bullet.

‘What do you mean by “not exactly”?’ Hope now asked Grace. ‘Clifftop Farm is no longer part of the Betancourt’s estate and hasn’t been for years, so why would Sandy and Sonia need to discuss anything about their small holding with Griff?’

‘Perhaps someone has complained about all the waifs and strays the couple take in,’ suggested Pat, ‘and they wanted to ask Griff to put in a good word. I know he’s not the Lord and Master, although Archie has as good as passed the baton on to him, and the Betancourts don’t own the village these days, but everyone still looks up to the Betancourts. Especially to Griff. If he told people to leave the Greys to get on with things, everyone would.’

Clifftop Farm had once been massive and owned by the Betancourts who rented it out to tenant farmers for centuries. Over the years land was sold off and a smaller area of farmland was sold to Mr and Mrs Bean who had both passed away when Hope was in her late teens. Even more of the land had been sold off since then and now Clifftop Farm was just a small holding with a few acres of land.

Sandy and Sonia Grey had moved there shortly after and they kept some sheep and other animals, but they were known as good Samaritans by the rest of the village as they often took in all sorts of waifs and strays, both animal and human. No one ever knew what or whom they might find in the Grey’s cosy kitchen when they popped in for a cup of tea, or to see the lambs in the spring and help with feeding. But as far as Hope was aware, no one had ever complained about them.

Grace shook her head. ‘That wasn’t it. It wasn’t about the farm or the animals. It was about someone they’ve taken in.’ Her eyes lit up with excitement. ‘It was also about Naomi’s mugger.’

‘What?’ Hope shrieked. ‘Are you seriously going to tell us that the man who mugged Naomi is staying at Clifftop Farm?’

Grace laughed. ‘Nope. Because it wasn’t a man. It was a young girl of twelve who Sandy and Sonia are fostering temporarily. She said that it was the first time she had done anything like that but she’d been surrounded by gangs where she had lived in London and they’d often tried to persuade her to – in her own words, “steal and do other stuff like that”, so she thought she’d give it a go. She’d only arrived at the farm on that Friday morning, and was feeling lost and lonely, apparently, so she’d stolen Sandy’s bicycle and run away. But it was bitterly cold and she had no idea where to go so when she spotted Naomi, who had just fallen over and was getting back on her feet, the girl stole the bag hoping there would be money to buy a train ticket to London. The purse only had a few coins in it, and then she realised what she’d done and that the police might start looking for her, so she hurried back to the farm and was going to run away as soon as she could steal some money from Sandy or Sonia.’

‘Good heavens!’ Pat exclaimed. ‘So how did Sandy and Sonia find out? Did they find Naomi’s bag and purse?’

Grace shook her head. ‘The girl came clean. To quote what she told us this morning, if I can remember the exact words, “They were really kind and the farmhouse was very warm and cosy and it was freezing outside. Plus the cops were probably looking for me, so I thought I’d stay the night. And then I liked it. The animals are so cool and I had a bedroom of my own. And a radiator in my room. I wanted to stay, but I knew I’d done something bad. I don’t know why but I just blurted it out when we were watching Midsomer Murders on TV last night.” That’s almost word for word, I think. Obviously, everyone in the village, including Sandy and Sonia, had been talking about the mugging and saying what a nasty piece of work the mugger was and that they hoped Karma would pay the evil person back. And then when Naomi won the Lottery, everyone was saying that her win was the universe putting things right. The youngster did some thinking and decided that crime doesn’t pay, and that if she did something good, she might be rewarded by the universe.’

‘Ah. So she’s hoping Naomi will give her some cash from the Lottery winnings, is she?’ Simon said, looking cross. ‘I doubt that very much. I hope Griff called the police.’

‘No,’ said Grace. ‘The girl just wants to stay with Sandy and Sonia. She says she’s really sorry and that she’ll do whatever it takes to put things right. Griff called us in, when he realised Naomi was with me, and the girl repeated what she’d told Griff, and gave Naomi back her handbag, purse, and phone. Everything was there. So Naomi said she wouldn’t report her if she swore never to do anything like it again. And then Sandy and Sonia suggested the youngster could help Naomi with cleaning the café and the flat above, once the sale completes, in lieu of community service, which is the most the girl would get if the police were involved. In fact, they’d probably let her off with a caution.’

‘Was the girl genuinely sorry?’ Hope asked. ‘Was she sincere?’

Grace nodded. ‘Yes. We all believed her. I think she’s had a tough life so far and within the space of a few days, Sandy and Sonia made her feel she was part of a family, and that’s when the guilt and remorse set in.’

Hope laughed. ‘Those two could turn a murderer into a saint. So has everyone agreed then?’

‘Yep. Griff said everyone deserves a second chance. He also said that he thinks it’s best if we don’t mention this to anyone else. So please don’t repeat this, okay? I’m telling you this in confidence. Some of the villagers might not feel quite as lenient, so Griff’s intending to tell people that he’s heard the perpetrator was from London and the chances of this ever happening again are practically zero. But he told the girl in no uncertain terms that if she put a foot wrong from hereon, he would personally take her to the police station in Folkestone. He also said that if she proved that she could really be trusted, he’d buy her a bicycle of her own. I’ve never seen anyone as happy as she was. But this is the best bit. Guess what her name is. I haven’t said it because I think it’s so ironic. No. You’ll never guess. It’s–’

‘Honesty?’ Hope said.

Grace’s eyes opened wide. ‘How did you know that?’

‘Just a hunch. Now isn’t it time we actually got on with this meeting? It won’t be long before lunch is ready.’

‘Oh good heavens,’ said Pat. ‘And we won’t be able to talk about the business once Mum’s awake. She’ll be constantly interrupting and asking questions, like she always does these days.’

‘Right,’ said Hope, opening her laptop. ‘I’ve still got a million things to do for Fiona and Greg’s wedding on Saturday, not to mention the rearranged family dinner on Friday evening in Folkestone. Although Naomi is helping me with that. And she’s paying for everything.’

Grace tutted. ‘Why Greg’s mum is still insisting on having this celebratory meal is beyond me. Their engagement was announced six months ago. Move on, I say. Focus on the wedding.’

Greg and his mum had attempted to get the families together for this celebratory meal several times during the six months after he proposed, but Greg’s family was large and exceedingly busy. Time, other commitments, and finding a suitable venue had proved difficult. Greg had six siblings, most of whom had partners of their own and some of whom had kids, and both his parents also came from large families, which meant aunts and uncles and cousins, galore. His mum wanted an early evening seating so that all the children could attend and still be home in time for bed, but as several came from a distance away, that too was an issue. They had eventually found a restaurant and all had gone well – until Naomi’s car had broken down on her way to Betancourt Bay and the restaurant in Folkestone. Fortunately, this same restaurant had already been booked for the wedding reception, and, when there was a last-minute cancellation by another large party, for the Friday night, Eversley Events had snapped it up on behalf of Greg and his mum. Although as Naomi was now paying for it all, she was really their client for that particular event.

‘Tell me about it,’ said Hope. ‘But between us, Fiona’s pleased his mum is so obsessed about the family get together. It’s meant she’s let Fi concentrate on the wedding without poking her nose in too much.’

‘I bet that’s another reason Fiona wanted us,’ said Grace. ‘To act as a barrier between her and Greg’s family. Anything they suggested, like having butterflies fly out of Greg’s top hat, for example, she knew she could rely on you to veto.’

Hope rolled her eyes and shook her head. ‘Fi says she still has nightmares at the thought of that. It always astonishes me just how crass some people can be. Those butterflies don’t know how lucky they are to have escaped that fate.’

The wedding was taking place at St Gabriel’s Church in Betancourt Bay but then it was back down to Folkestone, a few minutes’ drive away for the reception and the disco at the restaurant, which meant transportation for the guests, accommodations for those who weren’t local, and the nightmare of ensuring that not just one three course meal menu, but two, catered for all taste preferences and more importantly, food allergies for more than sixty people. And that was Greg and Fiona’s idea of a ‘small wedding’.

‘Moving on,’ said Simon. ‘No date as yet for the Grand Opening of Betancourt Bay Café once Naomi becomes the owner, I take it.’

‘Give her a chance, Dad,’ said Grace. ‘Griff only agreed to sell it to her this week, once Derek and Doris Dunpole’s lease was officially surrendered. But the way things are moving, it won’t be long. I’m tentatively saying the end of March. Easter is early this year and she wants to be open for that if possible. Griff’s agreed to give her early access so she’s getting started on the work required this coming week. Of course now that her new boyfriend Lucas is on the scene that could either delay things or move things forward faster. She’s told him everything. All about the café and the Lottery winnings. He was shocked about the money, apparently, but delighted that Naomi plans to use it to buy the café and that she’ll have a special menu to provide free meals for those who can’t afford to pay. I’ll keep you all updated on dates.’

‘And now she also has a little criminal to help,’ joked Hope.

‘It’ll be lovely to have the café open every day again,’ said Pat.

Grace nodded. ‘Naomi said she’s going to employ some staff to help so that she won’t have to work every day, now that she’s rich enough not to have to do that.’

‘Lucky for some,’ said Hope. ‘Although Naomi deserves her good luck at last.’

‘We’ve got four proposals slash engagements on Valentine’s Day,’ said Simon.

‘Really?’ said Grace, sarcastically. ‘How clichéd!’

‘Funny,’ said Hope.

‘They’re all on track,’ Grace confirmed. ‘Just the last few minor details to deal with on the actual day, like the flowers turning up, etc.’

‘And the would-be fiancés,’ said Hope, winking at Grace. ‘I’m meeting with Bruce Boot tomorrow to finalise the surprise eightieth birthday bash for Rita and Vera.’

The elderly Boot twins had lived in Acorn Cottage on Oak Street their entire lives. They had an older brother, Brendan who moved into Folkestone when he married, but who sadly passed away a few years ago aged seventy-nine, his beloved wife having pre-deceased him by five years. It was his son, Bruce Boot who had decided that his spinster aunts, Rita and Vera Boot deserved a birthday party.

‘I’m sure they’ll be overjoyed,’ said Pat. ‘I can’t wait to see their faces.’

‘I wonder why they never married,’ said Grace.

‘Good sense, perhaps,’ said Hope.

Grace tutted and gave her a playful shove.

‘You’re doing the launch for Laurence’s latest cosy crime novel, The Lady in the Lake, aren’t you?’ Simon asked Hope.

‘Sadly, yes.’ Hope sighed. ‘Six p.m. sharp. Laurence will give a reading and then there’ll be half an hour for questions followed by the book signings, and drinks and nibbles till around eight, or when everyone leaves.’

The launch was to be held at Bishop’s Books in Folkestone, which was owned by Laurence’s friend, Greg Bishop who lived in Bluebell Cottage in Betancourt Bay. It was very confusing having two Greg’s to deal with and more than once in recent weeks, Hope had thought she was speaking to Greg Bishop of Bishop’s Books when in fact it was Greg Carter, Fiona’s fiancé on the line. Not that they sounded that alike, but when you were busy it was easy to make mistakes. Now she double-checked the name or phone number of the caller before answering her phone.

She just hoped that people didn’t turn up for the book launch and go to Greg Bishop’s uncle’s shop next door called Bishop Estate Agents. Perhaps she’d ask Greg to get his uncle to stick a notice in the window, just in case.

‘Assuming Laurence doesn’t bump her off first,’ Grace quipped.

‘I might be the one to bump him off,’ Hope retorted.

Laurence Lake had purchased Seaview Cottage in the village about eight years earlier, as soon as Greg Bishop told him it was going up for sale. Laurence had used his royalties from the sales of his phenomenally successful cosy crime books and had outbid everyone. The cottage had been rented out as a holiday home for many years and all the villagers were pleased it was going to, once again, be someone’s permanent home. Until the new owner started trying to bump people off – even if it was just in the pages of his books.

Hope was his latest victim for his new, as yet untitled, cosy crime novel. He was harmless enough but a bit like Russell Betancourt, Laurence was always popping up out of nowhere. Each time he had thought of a new method for her murder, and frankly, it was getting a little tiresome.

There was one man who seemed to want to show Hope his love for her was undying, and another man who loved to find new ways for her to die.

It could only happen in Betancourt Bay.