Back inside the kitchen, Seth was now sitting at the table, slumped against a chair, his legs stretched out in front of him. Madeline fidgeted nervously beside him, desperately looking for a way to restart the conversation. The silence began to grow.

All of a sudden, Seth drew in his legs and stood abruptly.

‘Well, what an utterly fabulous day this is turning out to be.’ He paused, looking at her. ‘Coffee?’

Madeline nodded, not quite trusting herself to speak, and for the second time that day was forced to watch Seth’s back while he made their drinks.

‘So what exactly did Natalie say to you?’ asked Seth, once they both had scalding cups of coffee in front of them. ‘Would I be right in thinking that you’ve been given a rather different impression of this place?’

Madeline thought about his question for a moment. It was tempting to just spell it out for him, but however cross she was, none of this was necessarily Seth’s fault.

‘I’m just surprised that you don’t know. You said that this is your place and made it quite clear that you don’t want me here, so how come I am here? If you didn’t want this to happen, why have we gone through the whole rigmarole of interviews, references, all of that? It makes no sense at all. Couldn’t you just have said no?’

‘It’s not that simple,’ he sighed into his coffee.

‘No?’ She raised her eyebrows.

‘No,’ he said, his mouth a thin hard line. ‘Agatha and I have… a family connection, and as such she and I both have a vested interest in this place. We have an arrangement. You don’t need to know what that is.’

Madeline held his look. ‘Okay… but I came here in good faith. I’ve given up my house in London, left everything I had behind… Don’t you think I deserve some sort of an explanation? Natalie spoke about a complex; a very upmarket complex. A range of luxury holiday accommodation, she said, together with leisure and business conferencing facilities. I understood it was all finished, but that now you needed input with the launch and ongoing marketing…’

Seth gave a bitter laugh.

‘… and putting aside the fact that this is your home, even you have to admit that this place is none of those things.’

Seth took a sip of his coffee and then a longer swallow, watching her over the rim of his mug as he did.

‘It might interest you to know that Natalie has only ever set foot in this place twice, and that was years ago. She likes to think she’s something big in the city, and usually only condescends to speak to me by email.’ He paused to take another sip. ‘Call me cynical, but I would imagine that the set-up of the whole interview process was designed to give you the impression that Joy’s Acre is rather more… upmarket than it obviously is.’

‘But why? What would she stand to gain?’

Seth cocked his head to one side. ‘Well, let me put it this way. If you had seen this place beforehand, or at least had an honest description of it, would you have been so keen to give up everything and come here?’

He quickly took in her expression.

‘No, I thought not. You’ve been given an impression of Joy’s Acre which sits with the vision that both Natalie and Agatha have for it. Sadly, that doesn’t fit with the way I see things. This place will be successful, unique too, but not on their terms. So, I’m not really sure where this leaves us.’

He fiddled with the edge of an envelope that was lying on the table.

Madeline picked at a mark on her dress for a moment as it finally dawned on her just how much she’d been deceived. For what purpose, she still wasn’t sure, but the fact was that she was being asked to play piggy in the middle in some ridiculous game to prove a point. The thought made her breath quicken, just a little; not again.

She looked at Seth’s tired face. There was a lot more to this conversation than either of them was prepared to discuss, but the long and the short of it was that Madeline was now here, and she’d rented out her flat in London, so she had nowhere to go either. Even if she did, London was not as welcoming as it had once been. There was no way she was going back, not until she could hold her head up high.

She ran through her options; unexpected and unwelcome they might be, but at least she had a place to live for the time being. She also had a salary, and whether it was what she had been promised or not, there was certainly work to do.

She should have known it wasn’t going to be the lifeline she’d been so desperate for. The last few months had been tough, and this first step on the road back to the kind of life she’d had before had fallen into place so easily. She had taken it as a sign that it was meant to be, but how wrong could she have been?

It was almost too much to bear. She could feel her heart beginning to beat faster and fought down the urge to cry. She needed to keep her breathing slow and shallow. Controlled. Her fingers pressed against the side of her mug. She must not give in to self-pity whatever happened – that was the deal she had made with herself.

She lifted her chin and cleared her throat, summoning the last dregs of her confidence.

‘I probably ought to make a few phone calls,’ she said. ‘Is there somewhere private I could go… or perhaps my accommodation, now that I am here?’

Seth looked rather uncomfortable and the penny finally dropped.

‘I’m staying here, aren’t I?’ she said, sighing. ‘In this house? I might have known.’

Seth got slowly to his feet and held out his hand, waggling his fingers.

‘Car keys?’ he said. ‘I’ll go and get your bags. And it’s not all bad,’ he added. ‘At least you have your own room.’

---

In fairness, the room was lovely; large, airy, and perhaps surprisingly, nicely furnished. There were huge voile drapes at the window which billowed in a gentle breeze blowing in from the garden. And yet, after fifteen minutes, Madeline was still slumped on the bed, unmoving. Her fingernails were pressed hard into the palm of her hand, but even this could not deter the onset of stinging tears. She blinked rapidly, trying to slow her breathing before a full-blown panic attack ensued. She was stronger than this, she reminded herself. She had to believe that.

Seth had carried her bags effortlessly up the stairs, pointing out his room, the bathroom and a few others before leaving her to settle in. Should she need it, he had added, then she would find the telephone in the living room. Her signal-less mobile phone lay beside her on the bed, completely useless.

What could her contact at the recruitment agency even do, she wondered. No crime had been committed – a gross exaggeration maybe, but nothing that would stand to be in breach of contract and she certainly wouldn’t be the first person in the world to discover that their new job wasn’t quite what they thought it was going to be. As far as Madeline was concerned she had two choices: she could stay, or she could go. It was as simple as that. Right now, she had money coming in and a roof over her head; both of which she desperately needed.

Wearily she got to her feet and unzipped one of her bags; she might as well unpack. A large oak wardrobe stood in one corner of the room and she shook out her dresses and suits one by one, moving aside the lavender sachets that hung there to fill the empty space. After that, she placed her toiletries in the adjoining bathroom. All of ten minutes had passed and there was nothing else to do. Officially, she didn’t start work until the morning, but she doubted she was going to receive any formal induction of any kind. She had no idea what was required of her, or whether she would be allowed to do anything at all. But unless she wanted to hide in her room all day weeping into her pillow, she might as well go and see what she could find. She picked up her bag, slid a notebook and pen into it and pulled open the door, heading back downstairs.

Retracing her steps from earlier, Madeline went through into the garden and surveyed the scene in front of her, trying to ignore the dereliction and instead gain an overall impression of the place. Apart from the gardens themselves, which looked neat and well cared for, the whole place looked very sorry for itself, and yet… She turned her head from left to right, trying to orientate herself. If she was right, they should be somewhere near to the top of the hill.

She moved in the direction of the first cottage, standing back and peering at the exterior with a critical eye. She tried to view it dispassionately. It wasn’t her cup of tea. The top-floor, ultra-modern loft apartment where she lived in London was far more to her liking, but she could see how this place could be considered charming – after a huge facelift, that is. She followed a path to her right which led around the rear of the cottage and almost gasped when she realised that, instead of simply leading to the other side of the house as she had thought, the path opened out, sweeping on to a set of large wooden gates set in the boundary fence. The view behind had been quite hidden by the angle of the cottage. Perhaps this was not the full extent of Joy’s Acre after all. Her professional interest rose a notch.

It was like being in a different world. Whereas the main house seemed almost cloistered, approached from the road via the tiny lane, the world beyond the gates was an expansive sweep of fields and trees, a patchwork of colours and textures that, especially to Madeline’s city-jaded eyes, seemed like a small miracle. She had lived a large part of her life surrounded by buildings and industry, roads and noise and she had never ever thought that there might be an alternative. What must it be like to wake every morning to this…? Even if just for a holiday?

As she watched, the sun broke free from behind a group of clouds and lit up the fields, light and shadow falling in turn as the breeze chased the clouds across the sun’s path once more. She stood for a minute before turning around and looking at the sorry state of the building behind her. Joy’s Acre might be a pastoral gem, but it was a long way from being polished.

She stared for a few moments more, lost in thought, and then made her way to sit on a bench she had noticed in the middle of the garden. It, too, had seen better days and she sat gingerly on the edge of the wooden slats, looking with distaste at the bird droppings that covered one half of it. Her dress was already stained from the dogs’ saliva and some other mark she had picked up from somewhere. A nice view was one thing, but so far the countryside had proven itself to be a dirty inconvenience.

In her mind she ran back over the details of her arrival at Joy’s Acre, trying to see it from a visitor’s point of view. To her, it was obvious where the issues lay, and she fished in her bag for her notebook, feeling slightly more resolute. This was what she knew, what she was good at. She had filled a page before she knew it.

Lost in thought, it was some while before she became aware that a huge ginger cat had approached and was winding itself around her feet, rubbing itself against her ankles and purring in pleasure. She reached down a hand to push it away, tucking her legs underneath the bench. Undeterred, the cat simply changed position and rubbed its head against her knee instead, stretching its neck up and dribbling slightly as it pushed its mouth against her. She stood up crossly. What was it with the animals around here and their constant desire to share bodily fluids?

She took this as a cue to move on to the other three cottages on the opposite side of the garden to the first, grouped together and arranged in a semi-circle. A series of paths connected them all, linking with the main garden in front of them. A long low barn and a couple of small sheds completed the set-up.

It was the barn that most interested Madeline. She needed a feature, something stunning that would unite the use of the space and provide a focal point to tie it all together. The barn looked in a pretty poor state of repair, but if the wooden exterior was replaced with glass, a covered walkway could be extended out to pass in front of all the cottages. The combination of old and new could look amazing. She flipped a page in her notebook and sketched a quick design. The garden would have to change; it was far too kitsch, full of flowers and vegetables. It needed to be sleek and sculptural, not sweet and rambling.

There was no sign of Seth, but she supposed he had deliberately made himself scarce. Her employer’s brief here was clear enough, however. Joy’s Acre was to be a luxury holiday and leisure destination and, even if it wasn’t yet, there was no reason why it couldn’t be. All it took was imagination and money, and she had been all but promised as much of that as she needed. In Seth’s absence there was no other choice but to carry on by herself. She walked resolutely back up the path to the first cottage and rattled the door handle.

It creaked, but the door swung open, and she tutted again; it was downright irresponsible leaving them open, anyone could walk in. Sadly, the interior was just as she’d anticipated: depressing, and lacking in even the most basic of facilities. On a whim she pulled her phone from her bag and checked the display. She was right about that too – hardly any signal, and nothing in the way of Wi-Fi to connect to. She stood for a few moments more, marshalling her thoughts before heading back to the house. She had a lot of work to do.

---

The time was approaching seven o’clock when she next looked at her watch and there was still no sign of Seth. She had parked herself at the kitchen table and for the last three hours had typed steadily into her laptop. Now her initial report was virtually finished and her stomach, which so far today had only had a very unsatisfactory roadside service station sandwich, was beginning to protest.

She got up, stretching out her neck and back, and went to fill a glass from the tap. No mention had been made thus far of the domestic arrangements at Joy’s Acre, but it would make sense for her and Seth to eat their meals together, daunting though that sounded. She would have to ask at the earliest opportunity; it would be helpful if she knew what was expected of her.

She threw a furtive glance over her shoulder and peered quickly and hungrily into the fridge, hoping to find something that her basic cooking skills might cope with. For the most part she lived off salads or pre-prepared foods from the posh delicatessens near where she worked and lived. She had the feeling that things would be rather different here.

To her surprise, the fridge was full of all manner of things, muddy fruit and vegetables mainly, and nothing remotely like the uniform selections sitting on little plastic trays that she was used to seeing. Aside from two pieces of salmon nestled on a plate, there seemed to be little which Madeline could turn into a quick meal, and she closed the door in a desultory fashion. She was about to inspect the contents of the bread bin she had spied earlier when she heard the front door bang shut, and she jumped guiltily.

Seth stared at her laptop before glancing up at her in perplexed manner, almost as if he’d never seen her before, or perhaps didn’t expect her to still be here. His hands were covered in black, grubby oil.

‘Sorry, I didn’t realise the time,’ he said, and then, ‘I should go and shower.’

Madeline gave a nervous smile. She was still standing far too close to the fridge to have been doing anything other than inspecting it.

‘No, me neither. I was thinking about dinner but I didn't know…’

‘Great idea, I’m starving… The fridge is full and so are the cupboards, so just make anything you fancy. I’ll only be ten minutes or so and I'm not fussy.’

He turned on his heel, leaving the room as quickly as he had entered it. Madeline stared at his back and then once more at the fridge, which she now had an overwhelming urge to kick.

Of all the nerve! It was her first day here, and although she hadn’t expected a three-course meal, neither had she thought she’d have to fend for herself in this way. So far, she’d been subjected to a less than enthusiastic welcome, been left on her own for hours, and now that Seth had actually deigned to return home she was clearly expected to cook for him too. Well, he had another think coming if he thought it was acceptable to treat her like a common or garden skivvy…

---

Madeline yanked the fridge door open for a second time and then slammed it shut. There was nothing in there that she knew what to do with and she was damned if she was going to start making something from scratch, even if she could. Seth would more than likely turn his nose up at anything she prepared, and she was not about to give him the satisfaction. She lifted the lid of the bread bin. He could bloody well make do with beans on toast.

Madeline stood in front of her laptop once more, and jiggled the mouse to awaken the screen. She quickly reread the last few paragraphs of the words she had written, and gave a nod of satisfaction. It was a good report – factual and to the point without being overly derogatory, and more importantly, highlighting the vast potential of the site which was still waiting to be tapped. Madeline was just the person to sell what Joy’s Acre could offer, and her report would surely convince Seth of the work that was required to bring the site up to scratch.

She cast her mind back to the brief tour of the house Seth had provided on the way up to her bedroom, and remembered him saying something about a study. If there was a printer in the house, it would surely be in there. Rummaging around in her laptop bag, she found the cable she was looking for and headed down the hallway. She might not be able to cook, but she could certainly find her way around most office equipment; getting the machine to spit out her report in all its glory took her all of five minutes.

Seth reappeared ten minutes later and demolished the plate of food in front of him in minutes. Throughout, their conversation was polite but, although Madeline made mention of her report on several occasions, she was hugely disappointed that he seemed unwilling to enter into discussion about her work. Instead he asked her a series of boring questions about her family, none of which she wanted to answer in much depth. In the end, her frustration mounting, she whisked his plate away and plonked the sheaf of papers containing her report in front of him.

‘It’s only my initial ideas,’ she began, ‘but I'd like to see what you think of these for starters before I begin to add in the detail. I think it’s important that we’re both singing from the same hymn sheet.’

Seth stared at her. ‘What’s this?’ he asked.

Madeline thought she had made her last statement perfectly clear and frowned.

‘What do you mean, what’s this? It’s my initial report. I wanted to get down to things straight away, so I’ve done an initial assessment of the current situation, how I see things progressing and, ultimately, where I see Joy’s Acre pitched in the marketplace.’

He was still staring.

‘I know I don’t properly start until tomorrow, but let’s face it, things are far from where they should be by now, and I thought it best to make a start as soon as possible. Have a read.’

Seth picked up the top sheet, glancing at it before spreading the other pages on the table, scattering them out of order. It set Madeline’s teeth on edge. He read for perhaps five seconds before replacing the page with the others.

‘How can you possibly know what I want when we’ve not yet discussed it?’ he said slowly.

Madeline was confused for a moment until she realised what the problem was; it was surprising the number of people she’d worked with before who didn’t understand the importance of clear communication.

‘You don’t need to worry,’ she said. ‘Natalie has fully briefed me on the requirements already so that I could hit the ground running. I’ve prepared my report accordingly; focusing on the high level of finish that even the most discerning clients will demand, and backed this up with a comprehensive range of luxury facilities with service to match. I had of course already checked out what the competition has to offer and, believe me, with what I have in mind, Joy’s Acre will be unparalleled in the local area.’

Madeline tapped the uppermost page.

‘It’s all there,’ she said. ‘Please do read on. Take your time.’

Seth’s jaw tightened and she could see a muscle twitching just below his right cheek. He looked like a coiled spring and subconsciously she sat slightly further back in her seat. His gaze travelled up the table towards her, as if taking her in properly for the first time.

‘Miss Porter,’ he said. ‘Do you own a pair of work boots, or heavy shoes, wellies even? Some jeans? An overall perhaps… In fact anything that you won’t mind getting dirty, dusty, torn, smelly and generally trashed. If you don’t, may I suggest you go into town to buy some, because when you start work tomorrow you will most definitely be needing them. What you will not be needing, is this pile of shit.’

He picked up the sheaf of papers, pushing them roughly together before tearing them in two. His chair grated on the tiled floor as he stood up.

‘I’m going out now, so I’ll say goodnight. I have a key, obviously, as this is my house, so don’t wait up. Have a pleasant evening and I’ll see you at eight o’clock sharp tomorrow morning.’

Madeline sat in stunned disbelief as his anger reverberated around the room for several minutes after he left. What on earth had she done to deserve that? She stared at the door and then around the room, almost as if she was looking for a witness to corroborate what had just happened. She was alone.

Her brain whirred with a hundred pithy comebacks which had arrived too late. Selfish pig – he’d even left her to do all the washing-up. She thought about throwing something, and probably would have if this had been her house, but instead she snatched up the papers, her own anger rapidly reaching boiling point, and ripped them into a frenzy of confetti. She threw the handful of paper away from her, watching with satisfaction as some of it fell to the floor.

A quick check of her watch revealed there was still plenty of time to pack her things and find a place to stay for the night. Even the back end of nowhere must have hotels. She could get herself a room, something nice from the bar, dial up room service for a late-night snack and then sink into a hot bath. With any luck she’d sleep like a baby, and in the morning she could drive back to civilisation and pick up her life where she had left off. She certainly didn’t need to stay here and be treated like a skivvy by a rude bully who didn’t know his arse from his elbow. These thoughts sustained her all the way up the stairs and into her bedroom, where she stopped dead in disbelief…

Before she’d left the room earlier, she had laid some linen trousers and a jacket out on the bed – her favourites, the ones that had cost a fortune but always made her feel like a million dollars. In the face of an uncertain day tomorrow, she had thought that this outfit, at least, would give her the confidence to meet the situation head on, and demonstrate just how good at her job she could be. But now, plonked right in the middle, and kneading the French linen with sharp claws, was the huge ginger cat she had run into earlier.

It really was the final straw. Her howl of rage gave way to choking sobs, and the startled cat shot off the bed, between her legs, and out through the door. She curled into a ball on top of the covers and shut her eyes.

---

The light outside had turned a deep violet by the time she awoke, her face red and creased from lying in a heap, taut with dried tears and snot. She lay for a moment trying to orientate herself in the strange room, with no idea what time it was and struggling even to remember what day it was. She shifted her weight slightly, grimacing as she realised that she was still fully dressed, and now another set of clothes were rumpled beyond recognition. Something warm and solid was pressed into her back, and as she wriggled again it seemed to move with her. She sat up, confused.

She hadn’t even noticed the blasted ginger cat creep back into the room, never mind the fact that it had brazenly taken up a position next to her on the bed and curled itself against her spine. Two amber eyes regarded her solemnly as if challenging her to interrupt its sleep again. She sighed, and lay back down; she had no energy to protest, and her clothes were a mess now anyway, there was little more damage that could be done.

She looked over at the clock which travelled with her everywhere and whose display now glowed from the bedside cabinet beside her. It was very nearly ten at night and as she swivelled her head to listen, she could hear no movement from within the huge house. Was Seth even home? He hadn’t said where he was going, or how long he would be out for, and although it was no business of hers, she was in a strange place, where she knew no one, and where things so far had been entirely different from what she had been led to believe they would be.

She knew her tears had been a release from the last few difficult months when she had been forced to keep a tight lid on her emotions, but she couldn’t remember the last time she had cried like that, and she did feel better for it – washed out, but oddly at peace. She tried to remind herself why she was here. A few hours earlier she had been intent on leaving, but she’d already run away once and, despite the circumstances, she had no real desire to do it again.

One thing was certain, however; this evening hadn’t gone well and tomorrow, if she was staying, she would have to well and truly pick up her game. Whether in practice she was working for Seth, Agatha, or even Natalie made no difference; she must not appear weak under any circumstances and she had to hope that Seth had not been around to see or hear her tears. He might be grumpy and rude, and definitely unhappy about her presence here, but even his anger was slightly more appealing than Agatha’s dismissive condescension.