Four
Jemma couldn’t remember ever having seen rain quite like this. It had started with a few heavy drops that had plopped onto her windscreen as she had been speaking with Molly that afternoon around four p.m., whilst stuck in traffic on the motorway, and it hadn’t stopped since then.
The hold-up, she and Molly had soon discovered, had been due to a rather large accident involving a number of cars, two lorries – one of which had jack-knifed, and a caravan.
‘I don’t think you should wait for me,’ Jemma had reluctantly said. ‘I have no idea how long this is going to take to clear.’
‘Unfortunately, I agree.’ Molly had let out a sigh. ‘Those huge grey clouds you mentioned are chasing my blue skies away, and it looks like it’s going to chuck it down. The café is in the middle of a green, so I’ll get drenched if I go there. I could wait inside the cottage but … well, I’d rather not. And I don’t fancy sitting in my car for long. I know it’s not ideal, but why don’t I leave the key beneath a plant pot? There are two, one each side of the front door. I’ll leave it beneath the one on the left.’
‘Oh. Erm. Are you sure?’ The thought of leaving a key beneath a plant pot filled Jemma with concern. She wouldn’t consider doing such a thing in Orpington. ‘I’m happy to come and collect it from you in Folkestone, if you’d prefer.’
‘No. This village is fairly safe so I’m sure it’ll be fine. I’ve left a little booklet I made, explaining how things work and where to find everything you need, and you’ve got my number, so you can call me if you encounter any problems. This way, you can settle in, and make a note of any questions you might have. I can come and see you in the morning and we’ll have a chat about everything then.’
‘That sounds good.’ In a way, Jemma was relieved. Molly sounded lovely, but this day had been more tiring than Jemma had expected, and after sitting in traffic for ages, all she wanted to do was have a glass of wine, take a long, hot bath, make something to eat, and have an early night. ‘If you’re sure.’
‘I’m sure,’ Molly had replied. ‘I hope the traffic starts moving soon. The emergency services are generally good at clearing motorways after accidents, or so my dad has often said, so it shouldn’t be too much longer. Don’t forget. Call me if you need to. I hope you like the cottage. Have a lovely evening, Jemma, and I’ll see you in the morning. I’ll text you tomorrow to arrange a time that suits us both.’
‘Thank you, Molly. You have a lovely evening too. I’ll look forward to meeting you tomorrow.’
After that call, Jemma had been stationary for another half an hour, and despite being a mere ten miles from Betancourt Bay, according to the signposts and her satnav, it had taken her a further thirty-five minutes to reach her destination.
She finally arrived in the village a little after five p.m., and it was still pouring with rain. She had spotted Betancourt Bay Café to her right, together with the local pub, The Royal Oak to her left, as she had turned right from London Road into Oak Street.But something else had caught her eye and she had pulled up sharp in the middle of the road.
Beyond the pub, were impressive wrought iron gates, and she could just make out a long drive and the shape of the magnificent, yet understated, stately home of Betancourt. The curtain of rain obscured her view but her heart leapt in her chest. It had looked beautiful in the photos she had seen during her internet search, but even in this torrential rain it stood out like a beacon. She couldn’t wait to see the place when the rain eventually stopped.
She had intended to ask Molly if she knew the Betancourts. That would have to wait until tomorrow. Reluctantly, she dragged her gaze away and back to the road ahead, and immediately saw Oak View Cottage. She recognised the dark green front door and the soft green façade, from the photos. The cottage looked as idyllic in real life as it had on the website. As did the village of Betancourt Bay. No amount of rain could dampen their appeal. Jemma was eager to explore. But that would also have to wait until tomorrow.
Luckily, she was able to park right outside that green front door, and although she longed to stretch her legs after sitting in a car for so long, she remained where she was for a while.
Apart from the drumbeat of the rain pounding her roof and the body of her car, she couldn’t hear a sound. No traffic. No sirens. No loud music. No rowdy teenagers. No dogs barking. Nothing but silence … and the rain.
Despite this afternoon ending in the way it had, Jemma was certain she had made the right choice. Betancourt Bay was perfect. And so was Oak View Cottage. At least, from the outside.
Jemma opened her umbrella, thankful for the last-minute decision she had made to bring it, grabbed her handbag and her laptop bag from the passenger seat, and made a dash for the front door. She quickly found the key beneath the plant pot onthe left, just as Molly had said, and the front door opened with the merest creak. Jemma pushed it closed behind her. She would get her suitcases later.
She dropped the key into a small bowl on a narrow hall table and placed her umbrella in the stand beside the door. She hung her jacket on the coat rack and opened the door to her left.
For a moment it was as if she had travelled back in time. This sitting room reminded her so much of the one in Esme’s cottage. The cottage that had been their home for all those happy years.
But this room seemed colder, somehow, and not due to the weather. The heating was on. Jemma had heard the click of the boiler in a cupboard in the hall, and warmth radiated towards her, yet still the room felt cold.
There was a wood burning stove set on a small slate hearth, and a basket filled with logs, but the stove had not been lit. It was June, and it had been sunny earlier in the day. It wouldn’t take long to get a roaring fire going. Depositing her handbag and her laptop bag on the comfy-looking sofa, Jemma set about bringing more warmth and a cosy glow into the room before she did anything else.
That task having been accomplished, Jemma explored the rest of the cottage. The room on the right was a dining room with a mahogany table large enough for four, and four matching chairs with padded seats. A small mahogany sideboard sat opposite the front window, with the table and chairs in between, and a rug covered most of the parquet floor. A painting of a gigantic oak tree hung on the wall facing the door, and Jemma recognised the tree as the one she had seen across the road from the pub. She walked to the window and looked out and sure enough, there it was. It must be ancient, judging by its size and shape. No doubt, that is how this cottage got its name. It certainly had a commanding view of that oak tree.
The kitchen was a little larger than she had thought, and she was glad of that. Despite the fact her cooking left a lot to be desired, she liked to eat her meals there. Her flat didn’t have a dining room though, and this cottage did, so perhaps she could eat her meals in the dining room instead. Or, more than likely, in the café or the pub. She had not come here to cook. She had come to write her book.
There was a door leading out to a small rear garden and rain bounced off the patio table and the patio on which it sat. In the near-distance was a wood and that was somewhere she had planned to take a walk. Once the weather was more pleasant.
Upstairs were two bedrooms, each of a comparable size, and both decorated the same. Beyond those, was the bathroom which was large, tiled, and white, with a shower separate from the bath. Jemma disliked baths with showers over them, and the separate shower was one of the things she had been pleased to see on the website.
There was a large cupboard opposite the bathroom and next to that was a flight of stairs leading to the attic room. But Jemma had seen on the details that this room was empty, so she didn’t bother to look at it. She was dying for a glass of wine. No. She fancied a nice hot cup of tea.
But first, she needed to bring her suitcases in from the car. She had hoped it might stop raining but there seemed little chance of that. She may as well get them now, and then she could take a bath, followed by that cup of tea.
The rain went right through to her bones, to use an expression of her gran’s, and she was shivering by the time she stepped into the bath. But the warm water soon soothed her and she felt her entire body relax, as she listened to the rain battering the thatched roof, and slashing against the window panes.
She put on her cotton pyjamas and her lightweight, summer, dressing gown and slid her feet into her open-toed slippers, andthen she made her way downstairs. She had left her phone on a side table next to the sofa, and she heard it ring as she stepped off the final stair. She raced into the sitting room, and Clarice’s name flashed across the screen.
