All I could say for sure was that I’d compared every man I’d dated since then, with Sam, and they’d all been wanting in one way or another.
Ted was the longest relationship I’d had, so he must have been doing something right. Until it had all gone wrong.
‘Well,’ Erin said, raising her glass and clinking it with mine. ‘Here’s to you finding out whether or not Sam has changed.’ She grinned. ‘And maybe to you taking up where the two of you left off.’
Just the thought of that made me nearly spill my orange juice.
Even now, I could remember what it felt like to be in Sam’s arms. What would I give to be in them again?
But if I did get the chance, would I take it? He had broken my heart once, could I afford to take the risk that he might do so for a second time?
It had been ten years, and I still wasn’t over him completely. Did I really want to feel like this for another ten years?
Seven
I’m not sure I believed in good omens, or magic (although that week with Sam ten years ago was definitely magical) or even in Destiny, but it was as if the stars were aligned as I packed up my car the next morning and headed towards Fairlight Bay and the tiny hamlet of Midwinter.
The rain we’d had all week had stopped and the sky was the bluest of blues without so much as a puff of cloud in sight. The sun, which had been noticeably absent for some time, was not only shining brightly, it was warmer than it should have been for the time of year. It might’ve been the start of the second week in February, but the air was spring-like and the cold winds of the previous week had blown themselves out. I even had my window open for part of the journey.
I had left my home at ten having calculated that the latest I’d arrive was twelve, even if I hit traffic. It was eleven thirty-five when I saw the ‘Welcome to Fairlight Bay’ sign beside the road.
I had printed out the directions, having been advised that as Midwinter was so small, not all navigation systems seemed able to find it, and most gave directions to Midwinter Farm whichwas in the valley below on the leeward side of Midwinter Ridge. There were three cottages high up on Midwinter Ridge, one of which was the one I’d booked, and there was only one lane that led to the cottages. Midwinter Lane was absent from several road maps so I wasn’t going to take any chances.
I arrived at a junction with three signposts and three roads ahead. One pointed to Fairlight Bay, one to Midwinter Farm, and the third to Midwinter Ridge. I was to take the third and then, after about half a mile I would see a small sign for Midwinter Lane. If I missed that, I would end up skirting the back of the town of Fairlight Bay.
As I seemed to be the only vehicle on this road, or should I say lane, which was what this one was, I drove slowly. Even so, I nearly missed the sign and had to brake hard and reverse back a little to turn into Midwinter Lane. Thank goodness it wasn’t dark or raining. I’d never have spotted that sign.
I remember Sam telling me all those years ago, that Midwinter Ridge wasthe group of hills that rose behind Fairlight Bay, sheltering it from the worst of the winter winds from the North, and that they were also known as the fire hills. This was because the wild gorse bushes that grew on the seaward side were covered in a blanket of yellow-gold blooms in the spring, giving the appearance of being on fire. It was too early yet to see this display but within a few weeks the hills would be transformed.
Sam had also told me that Midwinter Ridge could be reached by foot from almost anywhere along both the seaward and the leeward side of the hills, but I’d now discovered that the only way to reach the three cottages that stood on the ridge, by car, or any other vehicle, was via Midwinter Lane.
The first part of the lane was fine, but I could see the rest of it was far too narrow for cars and was unadopted. It was made up of sandstone, rocks, and rubble with the odd smattering of tarmac dotted here and there and I was more than a littlerelieved that I didn’t have to drive on that. I took the turn off for the allocated car parking area which I had been told was opposite the cottages. This was clearly a much more recent addition and it had been tarmacked, I was pleased to see.
I pulled up beside three other vehicles, one of which was a van and bore a sign with Alec Richman, plumbing and heating engineer, on the side. I hoped he wasn’t dealing with a heating or plumbing problem in the cottage I was renting. But then I recalled being told that the boyfriend of the woman who lived in Middle Cottage, the centre of the row of three, was a plumber, so that was a relief. I couldn’t recall the woman’s name though.
I got out of my car and took in the vista before me. But it was chilly up here, so I opened the rear door and grabbed my faux fur jacket, the scarf that Erin had bought me for Christmas, and my black leather gloves from the back seat, and put them on to keep out the cold. Then I soaked up the view once more.
The hills of Midwinter Ridge were as impressive as I remembered, and the rooftops and buildings in Fairlight Bay below, glowed in the morning sunshine. The sea was a greeny-blue and it sparkled as if Neptune had cast a net of flashing fairy lights across the glass-like water.
My mind drifted and I wondered if Sam was somewhere down there in Fairlight Bay, and if so, what he might be doing, but I quickly pulled myself together. I wasn’t here to think about Sam Worth.
I turned my back on the town and looked at the cottages. All three were bathed in sunshine and all three looked equally welcoming. They were also remarkably similar, each one having a tiled roof with two stubby chimneys either end, and three casement windows built in. The ground floors of each cottage had two larger casement windows either side of a central front door, framed by a stone pediment, one of which had been painted a fawn colour to match the façade. That one had a brownfront door and when I spotted the red post box by the garden fence, I realised it was Far Cottage, the one in which I would be staying. The cottage next door was painted a bright fuchsia with a lime green front door, and the third was a soft grey with a black front door, each cottage garden separated by low hedges and edged with wooden rail fences.
Midwinter Brook separated the cottages from the car park and an old wooden footbridge stood over the babbling brook. The water looked cold and yet beautiful as it danced over the rocks, and pulled at the reeds running along the edges. A Canada Goose attempted a landing and then thought better of it, its massive wings flapping so close to me that I could feel the breeze on my face, as it flew up into the clear blue sky, before turning to give it a second try.
The brook ran close by the row of cottages and I was aware that it was a tributary of Midwinter River which was about two miles away. The river cascaded down one side of Midwinter Ridge, then flowed past Midwinter Farm, before it curved back around the foot of the hills and made its way through Fairlight Glen and then skirted the town on its way to the sea.
I remembered Fairlight Glen so well. It was a beautiful area of woodland and shrubs in which Sam and I had … No. I must not think about Sam. And definitely not about what we had done in Fairlight Glen.
I shook off that memory as fast as I could, and studied the cottages. I had no idea who had built them, or why whomever it was, had chosen such a high and exposed place to do so, away from the town, and yet visible from almost anywhere in Fairlight Bay, but I remembered Sam telling me they had been farm cottages originally, dating back to the Middle Ages. They were rebuilt in the early 1800s to replace the former, much smaller dwellings.
All the land for miles around had once been part of the ancient, Midwinter Farm, but most of it had been sold off. Looking at the map and online information, the farm was little more than a smallholding now, consisting of a few fields of sheep and cows, some chickens and ducks, and a rather grand Elizabethan Farmhouse that had also replaced the original.
I got my bags from the car and walked over the footbridge. I’d expected it to be rickety as it looked rather old, but it didn’t even creak as I made my way across and headed towards my home for the next seven days.
Far Cottage. Not an especially appealing name, but the online photos I had seen of the interior, made it look warm, welcoming, and romantic. It could also hold its own against any other property in one of those home design magazines.
The owner had told me via email that she and her partner, who was a property developer, had recently refurbished the entire cottage. So recently in fact that she joked that the paint might still be wet. At least I hoped she had been joking. It was apparent from the photos that they had spared no expense, although she hadn’t said so.
