Chapter 1
ONE
Four weeks later Rita Jory stood in her kitchen, casually dressed in joggers and one of Jago’s oversized hoodies.
Staring out over the orchard, she heard the wind whipping around the farmhouse, rattling the bare branches of the trees, and carrying a lonely whistle across the sombre grey sky.
Outside looked cold, quiet, and a little miserable, not unlike she was feeling today.
She missed Jago. The laughter, the fun, the relief he offered from the monotony of everyday life.
Since Valentine’s Day they had exchanged only a handful of texts. They had seen each other in passing and, even then, barely spoken. Jago had been clear that he needed time. They both did. Time to work out what they really felt.
She knew he was right, but that did nothing to dull the ache.
Rita picked up her planner and forced herself to concentrate on her to-do list. It had been almost a year since she’d opened the Seahaven Bay Retreat.
And what a rollercoaster of a year it had been.
She’d made a firm decision last autumn: no organised retreats from January to March.
It was simply too cold, wet and miserable for anyone to enjoy breathing exercises in the High Meadow or icy plunges in the sea.
But with the extra cash now coming in, she’d been able to invest in transforming the temporary marquee structure, previously known as the Snack Shack, into the Cosy Café, a place for eating, drinking, and reflection.
Rita had also converted one of the larger outhouses into the Nook, a space for mindful creativity, and upgraded the shower and toilet block.
So, Christmas this year? Rain, snow, or shine, she was absolutely organising a festive retreat.
It was her favourite time of year, full of twinkly lights, mulled wine, and the comforting chaos she secretly thrived on.
And now they had more facilities, she could make everything just a little bit more magical and hopefully warmer!
In fact, this year was shaping up to be busier than ever.
She wanted to work with the seasons. On her vision board were the Spring Awakening Retreat, a gentle Eastertime reset to coax everyone out of winter hibernation and into the blossom-bright new season.
Summer would bring the Sun-Kissed Serenity Retreat, all long hazy days, sunset meditations, and barefoot yoga in the orchard.
Autumn practically begged for the Halloween Hocus-Pocus Retreat, where guests could fully unleash their woo-woo side, with moon-circle rituals and pumpkin-spiced everything.
The Christmas Cosy-Up Escape would be a fireside haven of twinkling lights, hot-chocolate sound baths, and deeply indulgent self-care.
She’d also decided that during the quieter weeks, when the official retreats weren’t running, the yurts could be rented out separately. That way, a steady trickle of income would keep flowing in during down times, and her team would be kept happily busy all year round.
Rita had to admit to feeling a flush of pride at what they’d accomplished.
She, along with her amazing staff, had come a long way.
Teo, her live-in Spanish yogi and accidental DIY virtuoso, had been a marvel, as had Zenya, her radiant self-proclaimed ‘spiritual goddess and IT expert’ and Stan, her dependable part-time farmhand.
Between them – and Jago, she thought, with a pang of sadness, remembering how energetically he had had thrown himself into helping her every step of the way – they had managed miracles on a shoestring budget, even harnessing the sun with solar panels to keep her dreams of sustainability alive.
There had been births and deaths in her animal kingdom. She’d welcomed kid brothers, Vincent van Goat (Vinny) and Billy Idol (Billy) to the goat herd, and dealt with the sad demise of Nigel the cockerel.
Rita glanced down fondly at Henry, her elderly Labrador, before noticing he looked a bit under par.
‘It’s OK, boy.’ She crouched down beside him, coaxing him gently towards his food bowl, one back leg dragging in a stubborn limp that made her stomach tighten with worry.
She was just running a steadying hand along his flank, murmuring further reassurance, when her mobile buzzed.
She answered and her best mate’s bright Cockney twang burst through.
‘Reet. It’s me. What’s happening down there, then, I want all the gossip? ’
An automatic smile pulled at Rita’s lips hearing her friend’s voice before she glanced down at Henry again. ‘Henry’s not recovering as quickly as I thought he would after his joint op,’ Rita said, frowning. ‘Maybe he was too old to have it done.’
‘Aw, bless him,’ said Kelly. ‘Try not to worry; the vet said he would be fine, didn’t he?’
‘Yeah, it’s only been a few days, I guess.’ The old dog licked her hand slowly as if in agreement.
‘And how about the petulant Poldark; has he returned yet?’
Rita stood up and sighed deeply. ‘No. I’ve reached out but he still wants space. It’s been a month, now. It’s ridiculous.’
‘Space! Bloody men! Launch him to the moon if you have to. They always come scuttling back the minute you stop waiting by the phone or they need their balls emptying.’
Rita smirked as she flicked on the kettle. ‘I still can’t believe I called him Archie.’
‘Well, you did. After twenty-five years of marriage. It was going to slip out at least once, surely?’ Kelly sniffed. ‘I wish my old man would call me something different. Might spice things up a bit. The closest he gets to excitement these days is finishing his Wordle in two goes.’
Rita laughed loudly. ‘What are you like! I know it got intense quickly with Jago, but I do love him, Kel.’
‘And he you, or he wouldn’t be acting like a teenager.
Wasn’t it the great bard himself who said, the course of true love never did run smooth?
He’ll be back, wait and see. And if not, head to the next young farmers’ singles night.
Saying that, if there is such a thing, I’m coming too!
’ Rita shook her head and smiled as Kelly continued.
‘So, what else is going on? The twins all right? Teo still shagging Jude? Hilda still breathing?’
‘Teo and Jude are talking of moving in together. My Sennen’s buried in a plethora of wedding organisation, and Thom has actually met someone, and it sounds quite serious.’
‘Ooh, a first for your bachelor boy,’ Kelly laughed. ‘As long as he’s still keeping in touch, is he?’
‘Yes. Calls me at least once a month now.’
‘Aw, that’s nice. Can’t say the same for my Dylan. Passed his helicopter training and I’m still not allowed to know where in the world he is.’
Rita put her handset onto speaker, placed it on the table, and made herself a tea. ‘That’s tough.’
‘He has leave in the summer. I cannot wait to squeeze him.’
A knock at the door made Rita jump. She glanced out of the window to see her ex-mother-in-law dressed head to toe in black. Picking up her phone again, she smiled. ‘And yep, talk of the devil, Hilda is here and very much alive.’
Kelly guffawed. ‘Has the life expectancy of a giant tortoise, that one.’
Rita’s shoulders shook. ‘More like a bearded dragon. Anyway, better go. Love you, mate. Catch up soon.’
Hilda waltzed in as if she owned the place, a lit cigarette perched between her fingers. Clocking Rita’s raised eyebrows, she nibbed it with her fingers and tucked the butt neatly into her handbag pocket.
She took a seat at the long kitchen table, and ran a hand through her neat grey bob.
‘Cuppa?’ Rita nodded towards the kettle.
Hilda shook her head. ‘No, thanks. Can’t be long, off to a funeral with Eric. Second one this week,’ she added with glee.
‘Still going well with him, then, I take it?’ Rita enquired, no longer fazed by the old woman’s death obsession and well over her shock when she had found out that the octogenarian’s ‘companion’ was twenty years her junior.
Hilda smirked. ‘What’s not to like about a man who’s got a hot tub and a cold fridge, full of champagne.’
Rita smiled. ‘You never slow down, do you?’
‘Slow down? Darling, I’m eighty-seven! Slow is for old fools. Me? I accelerate. Keeps life interesting…’ She smiled wryly. ‘And Eric on his toes.’ Her look then changed to a sharp one. ‘No sign of your boyfriend for a while, I’ve noticed. Everything OK?’
Rita shrugged, taking a sip of her tea to hide her irritation.
Hilda, who lived in the adjoining annexe, never missed a thing.
The old lady had also never quite recovered from the affair between Archie’s dad and Isobel Jenken, and the subsequent birth of Jago.
Rita had also discovered that Jago was Archie’s half-brother only last year, so pain and secrets ran deep all around.
‘Silly me for giving a Jenken the benefit of the doubt.’ Hilda tutted. ‘Right. You need to keep busy. When’s your next retreat? You can’t sit and stew.’
Rita wiped down the draining board. ‘Who says I’m stewing and who says he’s gone anywhere?’
‘The woman who knows you better than you know yourself.’ She checked her watch. ‘Blast. Eric will be here shortly. Poor old Barney Blunt. Tripped on a slipper, fell back down the stairs straight onto his beloved greyhound. Both dead as dodos. Tragic.’
She grabbed her bag, blew a theatrical kiss, and winked. ‘Never let life get boring, Rita. We all end up in the dirt eventually, so we might as well roll around in it whilst we are alive and kicking.’ Hilda paused. ‘So, you’re all right, are you?’
‘Yes! I’m fine,’ Rita hissed.
Hilda popped a Fisherman’s Friend into her mouth and started sucking it furiously. ‘It’s just Eric thought he saw a woman with Jago yesterday. At the gate down at Hawthorn Acre. Deep in emotional conversation, evidently. He assumed it was you. Was it?’
Rita took a sharp intake of breath. Hilda touched her arm. ‘I’m sorry if… well, Eric never wears his glasses. Too vain.’
And with that and a hint of Chanel No. 5, eucalyptus and cigarette smoke, Hilda Jory, part mischief-maker, part guardian angel, swept out.
Rita sat, swirling the tea in her mug. A woman at Jago’s gate.
Rationally, she told herself it was nothing, but her mind was already spiralling out of control.
He was allowed to talk to whoever he wanted, but Hilda was a wise old fox, and Rita knew that she would be looking out for her.
Yes, she trusted Jago… but he had made a grand point of wanting space.
Surely he hadn’t filled it with someone else already…
With a huge sigh, she pulled on her wellies. They were both grown-ups and quite capable of communicating like them. Enough is enough!
Grabbing her keys, she slammed the front door of Seahaven Farmhouse behind her and headed for her trusty Jimny and Hawthorn Acre.