Chapter 1
ONE
ANNIE
I held my secateurs against my chest, letting the hot sun warm my upturned face as I waited for the fat, fuzzy bee to finish pillaging the lavender I was attempting to cut.
The smell of the purple flowers brought back a thousand happy memories of my childhood in this very garden, made me picture my mother out here, her small bare feet on the hot stone path as she tied ribbons around bundles of fragrant bouquets, leaving them in my clothes drawers to ward off the moths.
The yellow stone of the manor house behind me shone like buttercups in the late-afternoon sun, and I smiled to myself.
Was it any wonder I felt so safe here? It was my own little slice of heaven.
The prettiest house in the village, at least to my mind.
The bee buzzed over towards the honeysuckle bush, and I took my opportunity, humming to myself as I cut through the long stems, placing the bundles into the woven willow basket slung over my arm.
‘Beautiful day for gardening!’
I turned, a smile already on my lips as I saw Aaron at the gate. His words never seemed to carry any hint of sarcasm, though living right next door to me, he knew more than anyone that I would be out here whatever the weather. I liked routine. Needed it. It made me feel safe.
Like clockwork, from 2 p.m. every day, come rain, snow or baking sun, I was out here.
In the winter months, I might only last an hour or so, but in the summer, on a balmy June day like this, I could stay out until the sun went down.
This garden, tending to the plants, watching them grow, gave me a sense of peace I had lost for too long. I never took it for granted.
‘Hello,’ I said as he opened the gate, heading up the path towards me.
‘I was watching you from the window. You look very relaxed.’
I screwed up my face, trying to work out how his confession about watching me made me feel. If it had been anyone else, I would have been uneasy, but Aaron had become a friend to me over the past three years.
‘You of all people should know that stalking is a crime,’ I said, though I couldn’t help but grin.
He held up his hands, his brown eyes sparkling, the tanned skin around them crinkling. ‘You got me. I’m a disgrace to the police force. Do you want to handcuff me now?’ he teased, flashing a playful wink.
I felt my cheeks turn hot, the blush creeping up my neck, and turned my attention back to the flower beds, moving over to the rose bushes, snipping at a few of the blooms and adding them to my basket.
I was grateful that he stayed put on the path, not following me, always so careful not to invade my space.
He seemed better at reading my cues than any other man I’d met.
Perhaps that was why I’d accepted his presence in my life.
That and the fact that life without his help would be pretty damn hard, considering the restrictions I’d put on myself.
‘Anyway,’ he said, moving past the joke, sensing my change in mood, ‘I’m popping down to the village to get some bits for my dinner. Do you need me to pick anything up for you while I’m there?’
‘Thanks, but I’m okay today.’
He gave a nod, already turning for the gate. ‘I’ll check again tomorrow. Oh, and I’ve got an abundance of strawberries out the back. I’ll drop some round for you sometime.’
‘That would be lovely. Thanks, Aaron.’
‘Don’t mention it. See you later, Annie.’ He flashed me another cheeky smile, and I tried not to look like a smitten schoolgirl as he waved, taking long strides down the lane towards the village centre.
He stopped suddenly, turning as if he’d forgotten something, and I glanced away, guilty at having been caught staring.
‘Oh,’ he said, walking back and stopping by the gate, ‘I meant to tell you…’ He reached into his pocket and produced a folded piece of paper.
‘It’s about the birdhouses… Ron gave me this when I dropped off the last collection yesterday.
’ He cleared his throat. ‘It’s a contract. ’
‘For what?’
‘Online sales.’
I frowned, stunned. I’d been making the birdhouses for as long as I could remember.
Back at school, I’d fallen in love with woodworking, and from the moment I held that first smooth, warm block of wood in my hands, I’d felt a sense of peace that had stayed with me.
As the years had passed, and I found myself with nothing else to fill my time, the quiet time spent sanding, chiselling, carving had become an escape I couldn’t live without.
It had been a hobby, done for my own mental health, but since moving back here, I had begun to sell them as a means to pay for my simple lifestyle.
Aaron had contacted a shopkeeper in a tourist town five miles away and made all the arrangements for me, but in the past year, the shopkeeper had grown increasingly insistent that we were missing out on profits by not advertising online.
Aaron had hand-delivered a letter from him pushing me to allow him to expand, and reading his words – growth, opportunity, international potential – had made me want to refuse to send any more of my birdhouses his way.
The thing that made them sell so well was that they were distinctive, different from anything else on the market.
Made from a single block of wood and hours of patient, intricate work, with tiny flowers adorning the edges, squirrels and blue tits carved into the borders.
If they were plastered online, they would be recognised…
and it would only be a matter of time before the wrong person saw them, tracked me down.
The thought made my mouth dry, a shudder working through me, my fingers curling into a tight ball.
I shook my head. ‘Aaron?—’
‘He’s offering you fifty-fifty,’ he said, interrupting me.
‘He’ll pay for the social media ads and manage the website.
He asked if you might be willing to make some videos showing how you work, but I told him that would be out of the question.
They sell so well in the shop, he just wants you to make more money. ’
‘No, he wants to make more money. This isn’t about what I need. The answer is no. I’ve told you before. Local sales only. I won’t risk my privacy. You of all people should understand my reasons for that!’
He met my eyes. ‘Annie… he already did it. He wanted me to tell you that he’s sold more online in a week than in a month in the shop. He’s asked me to let you know he can take as many as you can make.’
I shook my head, horrified at the revelation. ‘He did it already? Despite my saying I wouldn’t allow it? You told him that, right? That I didn’t consent?’ I hated that I had to rely on Aaron as a go-between, but the idea of speaking to the man myself was out of the question.
‘Of course. Maybe I didn’t make it clear enough, though. I didn’t want him asking too many questions.’
‘Tell him to take it down. Today. I mean it.’ I glanced at the contract still clutched in his hand. ‘You can bin that. And remind Ron that if he tries anything like this again, we’ll find another shop willing to sell my stuff. I’ve a good mind to do it now anyway. The trust is broken.’
He met my eyes. ‘I’ll sort it. I promise. But you have nothing to worry about, Annie. I’m right next door. You’re safe here.’
I shook my head, feeling anything but.
I watched him leave, then sighed, pressing my lips together before turning back to the garden.
The clang of the bells striking 5.30 p.m. from the church two lanes away filled the air, their distinctive tune so familiar it was almost a part of who I was now.
The village was famous for those bells. It was one of the oldest churches in the whole of England, and the tradition had been going for almost five centuries.
I couldn’t understand why anyone would object to the sound, but Aaron had mentioned that a new couple who had moved to a house at the far end of the village last month were furious that they kept getting woken up by the bells.
They’d turned up at a meeting at the community hall to demand something be done, and according to Aaron’s retelling, it had cemented them immediately as difficult outsiders.
They would tune them out soon enough. It was easy to let them fade into the background.
The ringing stopped, and I heard the bang of the gate behind me. I turned, wondering if Aaron had forgotten to latch it, to find a woman standing on the path.
‘Oh, hi,’ I said, instantly tensing at the unexpected arrival. ‘Can I help you with something?’
She rushed forward, the sudden burst of movement startling me, and it was only then that I saw the cotton baby hat, the bundle strapped close to her body.
‘You have to help me!’ she whispered, grabbing my arm tightly, looking over her shoulder as if she felt sure someone was chasing after her. ‘I need help.’
I shook my head, yanking back my arm as if the touch of her fingers had burned, and stepping away, wanting to turn from her, to run inside and bolt my door.
I didn’t let people into my home. Not ever.
Not even Aaron. But this woman looked like she was running for her life. Like she had no other option.
I opened my mouth to say something, to tell her I wasn’t any use to her, but she stepped closer, gripped my arm again, tighter this time, as if she could sense the refusal on my tongue. There was something about her expression that gave me pause, and I stared at her, wondering if we’d met before.
‘ Please ,’ she begged. ‘Please help us!’
I bit my lower lip, fighting against every instinct in my body, then gave a slow, reluctant nod. ‘Okay,’ I conceded. ‘You had better come inside.’