A FRESH START AT BRAMBLE COTTAGE BY SUSANNE MCCARTHY – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: Susanne McCarthy
- Language: English
- Genre: Contemporary romance
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 4 MB
- Price: Free
“At the next junction, turn right.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me! I’m not driving up there.”
“Turn right.”
“Oh, shut up, you silly bitch. Have you seen it? It’s just a track. It’s all
potholes and mud.”
“Turn right.”
“If you don’t shut up I’ll swap you for Stephen Fry.” Vicky threw up
her hands in exasperation. “Oh, Lord, I’ve really lost it now! I’m sitting
here arguing with my satnav.”
“Turn right.”
“Okay, okay, I’m turning right.”
This was going to be tricky. Potholes and mud were the least of it —
there were deep ruts in the lane as well, as if something heavy had regularly
been driven over it, and it sloped steeply uphill. Her nippy little hatchback
was a city-bred car — it wasn’t accustomed to coping with that kind of
thing.
“If this goes pear-shaped,” she snarled at the annoying gizmo sitting on
her dashboard, “I’m never speaking to you again.”
Satisfied, the satnav lapsed into smug silence.
At least the ruts suggested that the lane led to somewhere. According to
the naggy voice of the satnav, it led to Bramble Cottage, which was where
she wanted to get to.
“Ah, well — here we go.”
Keeping her fingers crossed that the underneath didn’t bash on the ruts,
she eased her foot on the accelerator and the car edged forward reluctantly.
Replacing a dinted catalytic converter would be a nightmare inconvenience
at the moment.
Jolting and squelching, she managed to inch the car up the slope. The
lane might be rubbish, but the view was spectacular — gently rolling hills
of lush green grass, squared off with thick flowering hedges and stands of
trees. And off to the left, the shining blue of the sea.
When she was little, she had come down here every summer with her
parents to stay with Aunt Molly for a couple of weeks. Well, Great-Aunt
Molly to be more accurate — Dad’s aunt. After he died, they had gradually
lost contact with her, except for birthday and Christmas cards — always
with a five-pound note tucked inside.
After her mum had married again, holidays had become Spain or
Greece — much more exciting than South Devon, and you could always
rely on the sun.
But now she was remembering how much she had loved Bramble
Cottage. And Sturcombe, the little seaside village just down the hill. And
Aunt Molly, with her soft white curls and the sweet scent of roses that had
always clung to her.
And now the cottage was hers . . .
She had reached the crown of the slope, still with her foot on the
accelerator — and squeaked in alarm, the tyres slithering on the mud as she
braked too sharply. The lane ahead was blocked by a herd of black-andwhite cows, ambling slowly down the hill.
To make matters worse, the mud had been churned up by the cows’
hooves. She was helpless to stop the slide — and those swaying black-andwhite rumps weren’t going to shift out of the way.
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