Moonlight Kisses at Willow Tree Hall Read online

  Despite its being off the road for the time being, he liked to think that owning the motorbike kept him apart from the pack. That he still wasn’t one of them.

  He glanced across at Richard, his colleague, who was still speaking. Jack knew the type of man Richard was. A silver spoon in his mouth at birth, he had gone to the best schools and been afforded every opportunity in life. Meanwhile, Jack had fought and scrapped for everything.

  Boys like Richard had once looked down on Jack. But he was having the last laugh now.

  As the best salesman on the team, Jack had the biggest Rolex, the most expensive company car and the largest bonus each and every Christmas.

  He had a lot to be grateful to Eric Thatcher for. Jack looked at the grey-haired man at the head of the glass table they were seated around. Eric had started with nothing, or so he claimed.

  ‘We’re alike, you and me,’ he said all the time.

  Jack had outwardly agreed with his boss, but, inwardly, he knew that Eric was wrong. Eric had rich parents who had given him everything, including the money to start up his now legendary hotel chain. First, he had conquered the world and now he wanted a Thatcher’s hotel in every county across England. They were expensive, classy places to stay in the countryside for people with large amounts of money who expected the very best.

  Jack always thought it ironic that his job involved dealing with such elegant places when his own upbringing had been anything but. Eric knew a little of the story – just as much as Jack would let on. Hardly anyone knew about the hard beginning he had been afforded in life.

  Only his adoptive parents knew the whole sad tale. He frowned to himself as he realised the date. When had he last seen them? Had it been Father’s Day, he wondered. A brief visit, as always, out of duty, having just returned from abroad after a long absence. A nondescript card handed over, followed by a cup of tea quickly gulped down before he rushed off.

  He had barely had time to see them since arriving home three months previously. He spent much of his time going around the country and staying in Thatcher’s hotels, which suited him just fine. The house he had built himself on the outskirts of his home village lay vacant most of the time. As well as the motorbike lying idle in the garage.

  He fiddled with the gold signet ring on his little finger. What would his birth father make of it all if he could see his son now? Jack’s eyes hardened as he stared across the table at the blank wall. He would probably just want money. Certainly not a relationship. Nor would he be likely to display any kind of pride in what his son had achieved from his lowly beginnings.

  But Jack didn’t care. Why try and have a relationship with the birth parents who’d abandoned him at such a young age? He had spent most of his childhood being shunted from foster home to foster home, being dismissed as worthless, useless or dangerous. But he had proved them all wrong, hadn’t he? In retaliation, he got his thrills by making more money than he had ever dreamed of. Each year he wanted more and more, determined to make his own destiny – to hell with everyone else.

  If they could see him now, all those people who had looked down on him in the past, they would be amazed. He was an accomplished salesman in high demand. He was mortgage-free. He would never be homeless or hungry ever again. He belonged to nobody and no one.

  On top of this, Eric had had to give him a vast pay rise just to lure him back from the Middle East earlier that year.

  Yet, deep down, he frequently felt frustrated. He felt stifled and bored. Really and truly bored, each and every day.

  ‘So, Jack, I think this should be your baby.’

  Jack blinked back to life on hearing his name and found everyone turning to look at him.

  ‘Sure,’ he said, nodding along as if he had understood every word.

  Actually, it wasn’t that hard to work out. Eric Thatcher bought run-down large properties for dirt-cheap prices and then renovated them, turning them into his chain of hotels. It was probably just another large house for Jack to buy, making a deal with some poor owner who had got themselves in too deep with a hefty mortgage, as usual.

  ‘It’ll be perfect for us,’ Eric carried on. ‘I mean, look at it! It’s an absolute beauty.’

  Jack looked at the photo on the screen at the end of the room. It was a large, elegant mansion that stirred some distant memory inside his brain.

  ‘Nice,’ he said, with an approving nod.

  ‘What about the bypass?’ asked Richard, looking down at his notes. ‘It’s been flagged up on the initial searches.’

  Eric waved away his concern. ‘My contact on the council says the route will be signed off later this year. One of the proposed directions was quite near to the place but my friend assures me that it won’t happen.’ Eric laughed. ‘It’ll cost me, mind you!’

  Eric had quite a few dubious friends in high places, which always worked to the company’s advantage.

  ‘How do you know the owners will sell?’ asked Jack.

  It was always the biggest problem that they had to contend with.

  Eric was still smiling. ‘I pulled a few strings with my contacts at the bank. Apparently, the family are only just keeping their heads above water.’

  ‘I’m not surprised, if it’s privately owned,’ said Jack, looking at the photo once more. ‘The overheads must be huge to run a place like that.’ But the familiarity of the place was still nudging his brain. ‘What’s it called?’ he asked.

  ‘Willow Tree Hall,’ said Eric. ‘But we can change the name.’

  Jack turned to stone. He glanced down at the paperwork in front of him as Eric continued chatting. He hadn’t even bothered to check it until that moment.

  ‘It’s in some little village called Cranley.’ Eric looked at his notes. ‘Apparently it’s a small estate with cottages and so forth. But we’re not interested in those. We just want the big house. Maybe the family can move into one of the outlying properties. Anyway, it’s all owned by Arthur Harris. You won’t believe it but his actual title is—’

  ‘The Earl of Cranley,’ said Jack, with a small sigh. No wonder the photo had rung a bell.

  Eric looked impressed. ‘You know your Debrett’s, that’s for sure. Maybe you’ve got friends in high places as well.’

  ‘Cranley is the next village along from where my parents live,’ said Jack in a flat tone.

  Eric looked hopeful. ‘And do you know this earl?’

  Jack shook his head. ‘Never met him, but I went to school with his eldest grandson, Sam.’

  ‘Better and better,’ said Eric. ‘You can use that old school network to our advantage.’

  Jack nearly burst out laughing at the irony. The private boarding school had been a nightmare where the boys had teased his rough accent and even rougher ways. His adoptive parents had scraped together the money to send him there as a day pupil, but he had never fitted in. There were only a few boys that he had got on well enough with, two of whom were Sam Harris and his younger brother Will. They had been kind enough towards him in those days.

  ‘Are you still friends?’ asked Eric. ‘It would certainly smooth along the consultation period if you were in with the family.’

  Jack shook his head. ‘Sam and I haven’t seen each other since school.’

  Perhaps it would be nice to catch up with Sam after at least twelve years. But that’s all, thought Jack. He had pretty much kept himself to himself at school, such was the shock of going from the streets to a private boarding school in the space of a year.

  ‘Pity.’ Eric brightened up. ‘Ah well. At least you’ll be going in there as a friend and not the enemy.’

  Jack wasn’t sure the word friend applied when he hadn’t seen Sam in so many years. They had both moved on in that time.

  But Eric sounded determined. And whatever Eric wanted, he normally received. ‘So you make the contact and have a nice little chat with the family,’ his boss was saying. ‘Go there and offer what it takes to get them to sign on the dotted line. Not too much though, eh? I still wa
nt to make a tidy profit. But I want this place for our portfolio. Got it?’

  Eric could be ruthless on occasion but business was business, after all. And if Jack could get the Harris family to sell up, it would be another major accomplishment in his career.

  As Jack tidied up his paperwork after the meeting, he spotted one of the secretaries looking at him. As always, his automatic assumption was that they were inspecting him like a speck of dirt on their shoes. But, no. Glancing at her again, he realised she was giving him a flirty smile. He didn’t return it.

  He didn’t like being the centre of anyone’s attention. He knew that he was OK to look at. But he didn’t need anyone else’s company or desire it to keep him warm at night. He was just fine on his own. He couldn’t imagine ever falling in love with someone so hard that he couldn’t bear to be without them. It was unthinkable.

  Everyone else had let him down too often. He didn’t need anyone.

  But the thought of Cranley had brought up other memories he had long since tried to hide.

  Of yet more guilt.

  Would Lily Harper still be living there? Surely not, after all this time. It was highly unlikely. The wild girl he had known would be all grown up and long gone. After all, she had always been desperate to escape and see the world.

  But he knew that he would be looking out for her as he drove through the village, anyway. And that she was the reason that he had barely been home for almost fourteen years.

  3

  The late afternoon sun blinded Lily briefly as she drove towards Cranley.

  Although the lane was narrow and twisty, it was her favourite way to go home as it afforded her the best view of the village.

  The view caused her to smile for the first time in a fortnight. It had totally been the right decision to head home for a while and not stay in London.

  She’d tried not to think about Mark’s betrayal and the utter misery of the past two weeks as she had packed up her life in London. She had tried to find a new job, but to no avail. Then the deposit on her flat had been kept from her due to her flatmates ruining the lounge carpet with candle wax burns.

  Lily sighed and concentrated on looking out from the high viewpoint over the last rolling hill towards the village of Cranley.

  It was a tiny English hamlet nestled amongst the hills in a valley. In the centre was the ancient church of St Barnabas, its wobbly spire high above anything else in the village. Along the main street was the infant school, a couple of shops and a pub.

  Willow Tree Hall could just be seen peeping through the trees beyond. Normally it was surrounded by lush green fields and, out of view, the river. But after a hot, dry summer, the fields were golden as the grass had died, leaving only the baked, scorched earth.

  She smiled, as she always did whenever she saw the view. She had been so determined to escape Cranley when she had been a teenager, but ever since then she had yearned to be back there and missed it terribly whenever she was away for any length of time. Especially as somewhere in the valley her parents and grandad were waiting for her in a tiny cottage.

  Her grandad had moved into the family home after he had been diagnosed with heart problems a year ago. He had taken Lily’s old bedroom and that was fine, because she was never going to move home again. Or so she had thought at the time.

  Lily glanced in her rear-view mirror but couldn’t see out at all, such were the number of bags and suitcases that she had packed into her Mini. She had spent all morning traipsing up and down the three flights of stairs, to and from the room she had rented in a shared flat, to cram her belongings into her car.

  She had been hoping to move out and straight into Mark’s flat once she was engaged. But she hadn’t even heard from him since that night at the Natural History Museum. She sighed heavily. A failed relationship. And now she was jobless too. So much for her life plan.

  But at least she was still in control. There was no way that she was going to even consider living in yet another dodgy flat. She would take stock in her lovely home village for a week or so and then start again. She really couldn’t afford to take any longer than a brief holiday, but it would be so good to see her family again.

  She pulled up the car outside No. 1 Cherry Tree Avenue. The road was wide and tree-lined, bathed in the warm sunshine on a mid-August late afternoon.

  As she got out of the car, she noted how dusty the ground was. It had been weeks since it had rained properly.

  She straightened up from grabbing her handbag from the passenger seat, and the front door to the neighbouring cottage was suddenly flung open.

  ‘Hiya!’ said Megan, popping her head around the corner. ‘I thought it was you. Welcome home!’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Lily.

  Megan’s family had lived next door, at No. 2, for as long as she could remember. When Megan’s parents had moved up to Scotland a few years previously, Megan and her husband Neal had moved in to make it their own family home.

  ‘I’m sorry about your job, though,’ said Megan. ‘Your mum told me. And about the breakup as well.’

  ‘Good news sure travels fast,’ said Lily, with a grimace.

  ‘I think your mum’s secretly pleased to have you back for a while,’ said Megan, with a wink.

  ‘I know she is,’ said Lily, blowing out a sigh. ‘It’s just, you know, having to move back in with your parents when you’re nearly thirty…’

  And the only spare bedroom was now a tiny box room.

  ‘Think of the cheap rent,’ said Megan, with a grin.

  Lily didn’t have the heart to tell her that it wasn’t so cheap – she had been sending part of her wages to her parents each month to keep a roof over their heads.

  ‘Oh! I nearly forgot,’ carried on Megan. ‘I’ve got a parcel for you.’

  Lily headed around the path and up towards No. 2. The grass was overgrown on either side and, inside, the sounds of a hectic family home filtered into the evening air.

  ‘It’s a big one today,’ said Megan, reappearing with a large cardboard box. ‘Thankfully, it’s lighter than it looks.’

  Lily took the parcel and checked the label. She wasn’t surprised to see her dad’s name on the label, despite the box appearing to be from a baby food company.

  ‘Another day, another win,’ said Megan, with a smile.

  ‘I guess so,’ said Lily, looking down at the box. ‘If it’s age appropriate, you can have whatever’s in here.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Megan. ‘Little Sam really enjoyed last week’s free rusks.’

  Lily rolled her eyes. ‘I don’t know why Dad insists on entering all the competitions for children as well as all the other stuff,’ she said.

  ‘I’m not complaining,’ said Megan.

  Lily understood. Times were hard and her dad’s obsession with entering competitions at least meant that everyone stood to gain from his surprisingly frequent winning entries.

  The sound of chaos at the back of the house was getting louder.

  Megan groaned. ‘Paddling pool time,’ she said, with a grunt. ‘Which at least will replace the horror of bath time. And then bedtime followed swiftly by gin o’clock.’

  Lily smiled and laughed. ‘I’d better leave you to it.’

  ‘Look, pop in and have a coffee tomorrow, yeah?’ said Megan, giving her arm a squeeze. ‘You can bitch about your horrible ex and I can moan about the kids.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Lily. ‘That’d be nice. Good luck with the paddling pool!’

  ‘I’m going to need it,’ said Megan, rolling her eyes. ‘I don’t know who ends up more wet. See you tomorrow.’

  Lily carried the box across the front gardens and up to her own front door. She managed to manoeuvre the key into the lock whilst holding onto the box and open the door.

  ‘Hello,’ she called out, nudging the front door closed with her hip and putting the box down.

  Celia Harper dashed out of the kitchen, which was at the back of the house, to hurry along the hall towards her. She was sti
ll wearing the plain clothes that she always wore under her supermarket uniform. Her red hair was shorter and paler than her daughter’s, and sprinkled with grey.

  ‘Hello, darling!’ she said, sweeping Lily into a warm hug. ‘You’re almost late. Dinner’s in three minutes.’ She stepped back to give her daughter a once-over. ‘You’re looking tired. Hardly surprising given that your heart’s just been broken. My poor girl. Well, we won’t mention his name again. He’s not worth it.’

  Her mother paused for breath, and Lily took advantage to get a word in edgeways. ‘Shall I get the rest of the stuff from the car after dinner?’

  ‘Oh, lordy, yes,’ said Celia, rolling her eyes. ‘Otherwise we’ll never hear the end of it from your grandfather if it’s a minute over half past six.’

  As her mum rushed away again, Lily picked up the box and carried it into the front room where her dad was stationed in front of the television, as always.

  ‘Hi, Dad,’ she said, placing the box down next to his chair.

  She noted that he wasn’t wearing his prosthetic leg, which probably meant that he hadn’t left the house again that day.

  He muted the TV. ‘Hello, love,’ he said, as she bent down to give him a kiss on the cheek. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Never better,’ she lied.

  ‘Never liked the bloke, anyway,’ he muttered, giving her a wink.

  Lily nodded at the cardboard box. ‘They delivered this to next door by mistake.’

  ‘Great,’ he said. ‘I’ve been expecting this one.’

  With the delight of a child at Christmas, he ripped open the box and picked up the delivery note. ‘Five sets of bath-time toys, as well as baby talc, lotion and bubble bath.’

  ‘Well done,’ she said. ‘What was the competition this time?’

  ‘Can’t remember, love, to be honest.’