The Little Cottage in the Country - Lottie Phillips

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      ‘Wow.’ His eyes widened with what would appear to be genuine admiration. ‘Are you going to work for someone locally?’

      ‘No, I’m freelancing for The Post.’ Anna laughed. ‘A London newspaper. My boss, Barry, wants to get the lowdown on moving to the countryside.’

      Horatio smiled. ‘That sounds like you might have to stick it out then, but…’ He paused. ‘Maybe not here.’

      ‘No,’ she shook her head. ‘No, I don’t think so. I think we should leave the village altogether. If it’s not here, I have to go. I can’t afford to rent around here.’

      ‘I haven’t known you for more than five minutes, but I’d quite like to get to know you, if you did stay in the area.’

      ‘Anyone would think you’re determined we’re not going to stay in this cottage!’

      He looked embarrassed and concentrated his gaze on the floor. ‘No, it’s just that…’

      She smiled. ‘Listen, you’re probably right, I should head back to London.’

      She gave him a small smile and glanced up at him through a blur of tears and, fearing she might cry, looked away again. ‘Listen, thank you for today.’ She paused. ‘We’d better get an early night. Head back tomorrow. Stay with my friend.’

      ‘Where are you going?’

      ‘My friend Diane’s.’

      Anna pushed the minor detail of her friend not even knowing of her plan to the back of her mind. Diane would never turn them away.

      ‘Where does she live?’

      ‘London.’

      He nodded slowly.

      ‘I made a mistake coming here.’

      A shadow appeared to pass across his features. ‘Anna, I don’t know how to tell you this… What I’ve been trying to say, but badly is…’

      She furrowed her brows, interrupting him. ‘Why do you look so serious?’

      ‘When your aunt died, this house actually rightfully became part of my family’s property again.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Or, at least, that’s the message I was given by my mother. I’m looking into it, but, to be honest, it’s news to me too.’

      She stood, unmoving, her mouth slightly gaping. Eventually she spoke. ‘No, I’m afraid there’s a mistake. My aunt owned it through and through.’

      ‘I’m afraid that, for whatever reason, my father gave your aunt this cottage, but it was with the proviso that we retained ownership of it.’

      She gritted her teeth, her heart hammering. ‘Well, I’m sorry, Mr Horatio, but you’re wrong and you’re going to have to leave.’ She stared at him defiantly, her tongue moving fast around her mouth. ‘NOW.’

      He nodded and shifted, turning on his heels. ‘Look, I will talk to my mother again. I don’t agree with it, I just want you to know that.’

      Anna shook with anger. ‘Get out.’

      He nodded, looked at the doormat. ‘You know there’s a letter there for you.’

      Anna followed his gaze to the mound of catalogues and unopened mail to her aunt. Sure enough, there was a letter addressed to her. Anna put the glass and bottle unsteadily on the floor and picked it up, frowning.

      ‘It’s my aunt’s writing,’ she murmured.

      Anna ran her forefinger along the breadth of the envelope and pulled out a gold chain with a heart-shaped locket, a letter on cream Manila paper and a notebook. She read quickly, mindlessly caressing the locket.

      ‘All OK?’ Horatio said eventually.

      She looked up, confused. ‘I’m not sure.’

      ‘Are you sure?’ Horatio furrowed his brows. ‘You’ve gone a bit pale.’

      ‘Yes, please go,’ she said firmly and moved towards the door, opening it.

      ‘OK.’ He stood on the doorstep, his face twisting with regret and hurt.

      ‘It’s just a shock to receive something from my aunt.’ Anna indicated the bundle and the chain. The locket twirled in the glow of the naked bulb.

      A throaty rumble built in his throat. ‘Anna,’ he started and, catching her look, shrugged his shoulders. ‘Oh, never mind.’ He gave her a small, hopeful smile. ‘I’ll talk to mother. See what I can do.’

      She shut the door and leant against the rough wood. Opening the letter once more, she mumbled aloud her aunt’s short note to her.

       ‘Dearest Anna, I’m sending this from the hospital. I didn’t tell you about the cancer because I didn’t want to concern you. Please don’t be cross. I’m an old lady who’s had a good innings. It’s time for me to go. By now, you will have arrived at Primrose Cottage. She’s yours. You’re probably thinking of leaving already (I know how much like me you are and don’t take this as a criticism), only I’m asking that you give her a chance. I didn’t have the energy to do much over the last couple of years. She is magical and the children and you will be very happy there.’

      Anna paused, biting down on her lips as warm, salty tears coursed down her cheeks. She berated herself for her own selfishness. She should have been there for her.

       ‘Please stay, do her up with the small amount of money I’ve left you and be happy. In return, I ask you to do me one favour. I’ve been keeping this diary for many years, ever since I moved to Primrose Cottage. I’d like you to read it. I wanted to tell you my story but I was too afraid you would judge me for what I did. The Spencervilles at Ridley Manor will no doubt introduce themselves to you. Just tread carefully. It gives me comfort to think someone will know my secret and, hopefully, forgive me.’

      Freddie appeared at her side and hugged her leg. Anna smoothed his soft hair with her hand and read the final part of the letter to herself.

       ‘Anna, I’m so proud of you. Please wear the necklace (my mother’s) and find your own happiness. You will, I know it. Love, Flo.’

      Antonia arrived at her other side and put her small arms around Anna’s waist. ‘I love you two, you know that?’

      They nodded and yawned.

      ‘Right, bedtime.’

      ‘Not go Dee-Dee?’ Freddie asked, his eyes wide with tiredness.

      ‘Not tonight. I’m going to get the bedding out of the car and then you’ll sleep upstairs, OK?’

      By the time Anna had managed to retrieve the black bags filled with duvets and pillows from the car, Freddie and Antonia were asleep on the sofa. She draped a duvet over them and looked adoringly at her children. They looked like angels. She glanced at the letter, then back at her children, before softly climbing the stairs to see if she could get any reception at the top of the cottage. It was time to ring Diane.

      The conversation with Diane did not go according to plan: somehow (and Anna blamed the one bar of signal and not the fact she had polished off most of the Merlot).

      ‘Hi, Dee-Dee, me ol’chumster can youzhearmez?’ Diane made some sort of sound at the end of the phone and Anna ploughed on regardless. ‘So, herezthing, thcottageisrubbish.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Wathwonderinifcouldstaywivyou? ThereizamancalledHorathio and he sayth house not mine.’

      ‘What do you mean? Your aunt left it to you.’

      Anna hiccupped. ‘Yesth, I know. But he says not mine so maybe best I come back London.’

      Diane

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