‘Well,’ she sighed, ‘just about managing that stubborn, old uncle of yours.’
Jasper chuckled down the phone. ‘How is he?’ He stopped laughing when hearing Lilly pause.
‘Jasper, I think he needs help.’
‘Is he ill?’ came the immediate reply.
‘No, but he isn’t looking after himself properly. He’s banged his head, a lump’s come up and he refuses to see a doctor.’
‘Is he there?’ The concern in his voice was evident.
‘No, he’s in the garden, tending to his beloved vegetable patches. Shall I get him?’
‘No.No, don’t tell him I’ve rung, Lilly.’ He stopped in thought for a moment, then made a decision. ‘I’m coming to see him.’
‘When?’ she replied with surprise.
‘As soon as I can arrange it.’
‘Good, Fletcher would love to see you, especially as he missed you at Christmas.’
Although the remark was meant innocently, it dug deep into Jasper’s conscience. He should have gone back home to England to see his family, but work had been hectic and completely took over.
Swallowing, Jasper said his goodbyes and sat back in his swivel chair. Turning to the huge office window, the magnificent views of the tall buildings against a cloudless, blue sky shone before him. There was Dubai in all its glory, with its bustling streets, bright lights and lazy beaches stretching out, waiting to be enjoyed. And he had enjoyed it, so much so he had extended his contract for another couple of years. Now, after that phone call, he had begun to have doubts. Had he done the right thing?
Chapter 3
‘Your usual, Fletcher?’
‘Aye, lass.’
The young girl parked a pint of real ale in front of him.
‘Ouch, that looks sore,’ she winced at closer inspection of the bump on Fletcher’s head.
‘Don’t you start,’ he grumbled into his beer.
Cassie smiled to herself. Being a local and working in the pub meant she knew only too well how awkward Fletcher could be. Her dad was a farmer and a tenant of his, so she’d known him all her life. Cassie also knew that deep down Fletcher was in fact a softie and had a kind heart. More than once, he’d bailed her parents out when money was tight, allowing the rent to run over whilst getting back on their feet. As a teenager, she had happy memories of working in Fletcher’s orchards and always recalled how well he’d treated the small set of fruit pickers earning cash as students. She also recalled the dishy nephew he had that had spent a lot of time at his home, as did most of the girls that had caught a glimpse of him about the estate.
Cassie had had an idyllic childhood growing up in the village, so much so she couldn’t wait to return from university. Having completed a degree in Hotel Management, she had taken on the role of assistant manager at the Inn at Lilacwell, an award-winning country hotel, boasting Michelin stars and luxury accommodation. The place oozed rustic character, with its stone floors, inglenook fires, antique furniture and four-poster beds. Yet for all the Inn’s splendour, it still held an intrinsic down-to-earth charm, welcoming visitors donning either dressy heels or muddy walking boots, and, of course, dogs were always made a fuss of, even having their own baskets and treats in the rooms.
The rear of the Inn gave magnificent views of the River Hodder, filled with salmon and fresh trout. The Inn lay nestled deep in the valley, surrounded by forest, so whilst being an area of outstanding natural beauty, it also meant a mobile signal wasn’t guaranteed. This fact in itself brought visitors flocking, desperate to get away from the demands of everyday life. The Inn at Lilacwell was a haven, a retreat, a place to unwind and deeply breathe in that clean, country air. It was both a romantic getaway that lovers gravitated towards and a country lodge for shooters and fishermen. The official owner was the Duchy of Lancaster, as it was situated on an estate owned by the Queen. However, the Inn had been leased to the Davenport family for the last century. The current proprietor, Charles Davenport, looked upon the hotel as all his ancestors had, as a much-loved family business.
Fletcher knocked back half his pint. It was thirsty work digging and planting vegetable patches, but enjoyable. It gave him a sense of satisfaction, being in the outdoors, working his land. Although he hated to admit, his back ached and that thumping headache refusing to fade made him feel worse for wear now.
Slowly making his way to sit down, Fletcher glanced up as Charlie passed him.
‘Hello there, Fletcher,’ he smiled at one of his oldest customers.
‘Charlie,’ he nodded back, then recoiled in pain as his back niggled him.
‘You OK?’ Charlie halted, looking concerned.
‘Yes, it’s just newness wearing off,’ came the flippant reply, however unconvincing.
‘Shall I get you a menu?’ Charlie didn’t want Fletcher having to move again, looking uncomfortable as he did.
‘No need, I’ll have the fish pie please.’
