Summer At Skylark Farm Read online

  About the Author

  Heidi Swain lives in Norfolk with her husband, two allegedly grown up children and a mischievous black cat called Storm. She is passionate about gardening, the countryside and collects vintage paraphernalia.

  Her debut novel The Cherry Tree Café was published in July 2015.

  You can follow Heidi on twitter @Heidi_Swain or visit her blog:

  http://www.heidiswain.blogspot.co.uk/

  Also by Heidi Swain

  The Cherry Tree Café

  First published in Great Britain by Simon & Schuster UK Ltd, 2016

  A CBS company

  Copyright © Heidi-Jo Swain, 2016

  This book is copyright under the Berne Convention.

  No reproduction without permission.

  ® and © 1997 Simon & Schuster, Inc. All rights reserved.

  The right of Heidi-Jo Swain to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

  Simon & Schuster UK Ltd

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  Simon & Schuster Australia, Sydney

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  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  Paperback ISBN: 978-1-4711-5783-7

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-4711-5009-8

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Typeset by Hewer Text UK Ltd, Edinburgh

  Printed and bound in Great Britain by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon, CR0 4YY

  Simon & Schuster UK Ltd are committed to sourcing paper that is made from wood grown in sustainable forests and support the Forest Stewardship Council, the leading international forest certification organisation. Our books displaying the FSC logo are printed on FSC certified paper.

  To

  Mary Anne Lewis

  The bravest lady I know

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  At precisely 11.57 p.m., on Friday the 13th of March, I fumbled to answer my mobile phone yet again and in that moment, that much anticipated moment, when I was leaning in for my first longed-for kiss of the day and it was denied me, I knew I had reached a point in my life when something simply had to change. There was no work/life balance any more; no spontaneity, no fun, and I’d had enough.

  Of course I didn’t remember the blinding flash of enlightenment, the Bridget Jones ‘that was the moment’ freeze frame revelation as soon as I scrambled out of bed some time before six the following morning, but it did come back to haunt me. I can now say without a shadow of a doubt, that that was indeed the moment everything began to change.

  Chapter 1

  Friday 13 March, 11.57 p.m.

  ‘No, no, no, don’t go,’ I whispered, quickly stretching across the bed as Jake sat up and began pulling his T-shirt back over his head. ‘I’ll only be a minute.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ he whispered back, the faintest glimmer of a smile playing around his lips, but not quite making it as far as his eyes. ‘I’m used to it.’

  He leant over, kissed my forehead and headed for the door with his pillows and the throw from the chair tucked under his arm.

  ‘Sorry,’ I mouthed as he took one last look at me before slipping quietly out to take up his increasingly familiar Friday night spot on the sofa.

  ‘I’m used to it,’ he’d said. How tragic was that? How awful that he was resigned to the fact that our Friday Night Special would, at some point, be interrupted and that he’d be relegated to sleep on the sofa on the assumption that I would be working into the wee small hours. And to make matters worse, I was about to discover that this time the interruption was actually all my own fault.

  It hadn’t been my fault when my boss, Simon Hamilton, had called on the commute home, then during supper and then again in the middle of the very first episode of Gardeners’ World (which, according to Jake, was the only way to start the weekend from March onwards), but this time it most definitely was.

  So exhausted from yet another full-on work week, I’d signed for the eagerly anticipated concert tickets a client had been clamouring for, grabbed my coat and bag and headed for the door. No one in their right mind wanted to be chained to the office at seven o’clock on a Friday night and I was completely unaware that I’d stuffed the tickets in my bag, along with my diary and half-eaten lunch when I scrambled to get out the door and run for the bus.

  ‘Amber? Are you there?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, stifling a yawn, ‘yes, I’m here.’

  ‘So, have you got them?’ Simon asked. He was beginning to sound unusually impatient. ‘I think you must have because I’ve searched high and low this end.’

  ‘Sorry,’ I apologised again, as I heard him slamming drawers and dropping papers, ‘just give me a second and I’ll have another look through my bag.’

  ‘And if you have got them,’ I heard him say before I put the phone on the bed and began another search, ‘shall I send a courier or can you deliver them yourself in the morning?’

  I rifled fruitlessly through the array of interior pockets for a few seconds then gave up and tipped everything out on the bed. My heart sank as I spotted the envelope amongst the detritus, now unattractively flecked with low-fat salad dressing courtesy of my lunch container, which had parted company with its lid.

  ‘Oh God, Simon, I’m so sorry,’ I winced, biting my lip as I picked the phone back up. ‘Yes, yes, they are here. I’ll deliver them first thing in the morning.’

  ‘OK, no worries,’ he breathed, sounding far happier. ‘That’s fine then. Don’t worry about it, Amber. I know it’s been a hell of a week. It could’ve happened to anyone. I’ll expect you at the office around nine.’

  He hung up before I had a chance to apologise for causing him such a late night and, having scribbled myself a note to remember to deliver the tickets first thing in the morning, I repacked my bag, snuggled back down in the bed and drank in the still warm scent of my now absent other half. I ached to join him on the sofa and tempt him back to bed but my head was still too full of work stuff
to relax properly and it was hardly fair to disturb him now.

  I thumped my pillows into a more sleep-inducing shape, reminded myself that I loved my job and tried to ignore the little voice in my head that seemed determined to remind me that I used to love my job. For almost as long as I could remember my career had been my life, the whole of my life. Since graduating I had worked tirelessly to claw my way up the ladder and was currently considered the go-to girl in the company if you were struggling to secure tickets for, or gain access to, any sought-after or sold-out event.

  Top shelf corporate hospitality was my speciality and I was riding high on my success, but God only knows I’d worked hard for it. The only problem was that now I’d fought my way to the top, I wasn’t actually sure I wanted to stay there. Did I really want to be the go-to girl? Suddenly it didn’t seem like the be all and end all any more.

  I hadn’t taken a holiday in the three years since I’d joined the company or a single sick day, and the increasingly continuous night time and weekend interruptions were getting beyond a joke. Somewhere along the line, my life had definitely gone awry. Just six months ago I wouldn’t have made such a silly mistake with those tickets, or anything else for that matter, but now everything was beginning to feel different and I couldn’t help thinking that perhaps I didn’t care about it all quite as much as I should.

  I used to roll my eyes at colleagues who bemoaned the fact that their work/life balance was suffering and that they’d missed yet another school play or family function. Work was my life, no balancing act required. So what if I missed another family christening or my mum’s annual summer barbecue? I could send enough stork-shaped nappy bundles and elaborate floral bouquets to make up for my absence.

  Or I could until Jake Somerville landed the other side of my desk eighteen months ago and unwittingly set about pricking my subconscious into questioning my priorities. It had been a long and slow process I admit, but suddenly it was beginning to feel like there was no way back, and to be completely honest I didn’t want one. I was ready for a change, as long as it was a change for the better, of course.

  ‘Amber, let me introduce you to my little brother.’

  I recalled how I had swung round in my seat, a scowl firmly etched across my face. I really didn’t have time that morning for Dan Somerville, the office Lothario and all round Golden Boy. I had a fast approaching deadline and still no car to meet one of our most influential European clients whose plane was just about to touch down at Heathrow.

  ‘Jake, this is Amber,’ Dan grinned, ‘Amber, this is Jake.’

  ‘Hi,’ smiled Jake, offering me his hand.

  ‘Hello,’ I breathed as I stole a quick glance and struggled to ignore the unexpected eruption of butterflies in my stomach as a result.

  After a near miss at my first Christmas office party I’d sworn off the whole attraction, dating and romance thing. I really didn’t need that kind of distraction in my life, but in that moment I just knew my pupils had widened beyond all reason and the whole career driven ice queen act was traitorously legging it for the door.

  I quickly shook Jake’s hand out of politeness, momentarily turned back to Dan and then began distractedly flicking through the pages of my contacts book.

  ‘You didn’t tell me you had a brother,’ I mumbled, looking back up, but purposefully avoiding eye contact with either of them.

  ‘Now why does that not surprise me?’ Jake laughed.

  ‘Well,’ said Dan, adjusting his tie and running a hand through his obedient dark hair, his tone bearing his trademark hint of sarcasm, ‘to tell you the truth, we rarely mention him outside the family. He’s the black sheep. Everyone has that one family member who refuses to toe the line, don’t they?’

  Jake shook his head good-naturedly and I looked between the two for some kind of family resemblance but couldn’t find anything to link one with the other. Dan was dishy and dark, whereas Jake was dishevelled and decidedly lighter in every sense.

  ‘Well, if he won’t toe the line,’ I smiled, addressing Dan but daring to risk another, longer look at Jake, ‘then what’s he doing here?’

  ‘Temporary contract,’ Jake explained, fixing me with his amused hazel flecked stare, ‘arranged by my kind and helpful brother, to see how I like the idea of earning a decent city wage doing a job that suits his idea of what I should be doing with my life.’

  ‘What he means,’ Dan cut in, ‘is that he needs the money because bumming around has left him stony broke and he’s simply thrilled with the prospect of working as my assistant for the next few months.’

  ‘Yes,’ Jake agreed with an apologetic smile, ‘that is of course exactly what I meant.’

  ‘Well, I’m delighted to welcome you aboard,’ I smiled, ignoring Dan’s sarcasm and wondering exactly what it was that Jake thought he should be doing with his life. ‘If there’s anything you need help with, anything at all, just give me a shout.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Jake smiled again as Dan quickly steered him away, ‘I will.’

  In the weeks that followed that initial introduction, it turned out there were lots of things Jake needed help with. Initially he needed a tour guide, then a dinner date for numerous Friday nights, followed by someone to take ownership of the extra cinema or concert ticket he always seemed to have about his person and in less than six months he decided he needed someone to spend his entire weekends with. We’d been a couple for about a year now and I was beginning to forget what my life had been like before Jake landed in it.

  Dan readily feigned both annoyance and disappointment that I had so willingly fulfilled the needs of his slightly scruffy, but nonetheless effortlessly stylish, brother when I had been turning down his altogether more sleek and sophisticated advances for practically as long as we had known one another.

  ‘If I’d known you were going to fall for my baby brother,’ he moaned one day as we ate lunch while working at his desk, ‘then I would never have suggested he came to work here. It’s very hard for me, you know, seeing the two of you together all the time.’

  ‘What can I tell you?’ I quipped, knowing he was nowhere near as heartbroken as he liked to make out. ‘The heart wants what the heart wants. And besides, you only think you want me because I won’t let you have me.’

  During the next few days the ‘freeze frame, I want to get off the treadmill moment’, was pushed to the furthermost reaches of my mind, but it wasn’t completely forgotten. However, my work diary was beyond manic and required my undivided attention and therefore my loyalties were still very much focused on my job, even though my heart had begun to yearn for a break. I was becoming increasingly aware that it was looking less and less likely that I was ever going to secure myself a day’s holiday, let alone share one with someone else, and the acknowledgement troubled me far more than it ever had before.

  Truth be told, I couldn’t help feeling a little jealous of Jake who had the good sense to book the time off he was entitled to. He was staying with his spinster aunt and helping out at Skylark Farm for a few days, so I knew he would come back refreshed and ready to face whatever life threw at him, whereas I was slowly going under.

  The constant pressure and last minute changes to my so-called ‘free time’ plans, which more often than not meant they were abandoned completely, were really beginning to take their toll. I knew something would have to give soon and Jake’s absence from both the office and the flat did nothing to improve my mood.

  I was used to him spending one weekend a month at the farm, but the fact that he had given up asking if I would like to go with him set alarm bells ringing in my heart. I realised that if I wasn’t careful, I was in danger of losing a lot more than my perspective. I was one half of what had been a very happy relationship and it was time to find a way to tip the scales back in my favour.

  Chapter 2

  The kitchen in my little London flat was my favourite room in the whole place. One entire wall was covered by a seamless, smooth sheet of white high-sheen units, softly
rounded corners and a contrasting spotless hob that had never heated so much as a tin of beans. The whole area was an urbanite chef’s dream and I knew that should I ever decide to sell my abode the unblemished, sophisticated space would be the crowning glory on the estate agent’s details.

  Even though Jake and I spent practically all our nights together at my place I always insisted we ate out or ordered in. Consequently, the smell and noise that woke me the following Saturday, which was obviously coming from the aforementioned unblemished kitchen, sent a shiver down my spine and had me sprinting across the flat in a time that could have rivalled Usain Bolt himself.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’ I shouted above the noise of the radio. ‘Jake!’

  I twisted the dial from tinnitus level to off and gazed, open mouthed, upon the carnage. Eggshells, mushroom stalks, discarded bacon packets and a variety of abandoned tins adorned the formerly unsullied surfaces.

  ‘I take it you’ve never heard of a splatter guard?’ I frowned.

  ‘Oh, you’re awake,’ Jake beamed, leaving his greasy station and enveloping me in a hug. ‘I wanted to surprise you.’

  ‘You have,’ I mumbled, disentangling myself and venturing a little closer. ‘Why didn’t you ring and tell me you were back?’ I frowned, irritated to feel so annoyed that the thrill of seeing him was tainted by the mess he’d made. ‘I knew you were coming back at some point this weekend, but it would have been nice to have known when exactly.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Jake shrugged, pulling out a chair. ‘Like I said, I wanted it to be a surprise.’

  It was a lovely gesture, but I still didn’t feel ready to forgive him for the disarray.

  ‘Come and sit down,’ he coaxed. ‘Let me finish cooking breakfast and I’ll tell you all about what’s been going on.’

  ‘I didn’t realise anything in particular had been going on,’ I pouted, refusing to sit. ‘Other than the fact that you’ve been on holiday, and you’ve come back to transform my beloved kitchen into a greasy spoon, of course!’

  ‘Oh Amber,’ Jake teased, tearing the cellophane off my brand new set of stainless steel utensils with his teeth, ‘stop being so precious and put the kettle on if you won’t sit down. I’ll have tea, two sugars instead of one, please; I need a little extra after all my hard work on the farm!’