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Einband grossHawthorn Close
ISBN/GTIN

Hawthorn Close

E-BookEPUBePub WasserzeichenE-Book
320 Seiten
Englisch
Allison & Busbyerschienen am23.11.2023
From the multi-million copy bestselling author ... Recently moved to the village of Essington St Mary, Rob Carswell discovers the plight of his new neighbour Ilsa who is battling illness as well as the bullying tactics of a local builder. It is proving to be a more dramatic corner of Wiltshire than the tranquil atmosphere would suggest. Nearby, Amy Hatherall is feeling adrift following the death of her mother, but a final handwritten letter leads her in an unexpected direction to a great-aunt she never knew she had. As the line of old hawthorn trees begin to blossom, they keep watch as romance and new beginnings bloom for the residents of the close.

Anna Jacobs was born in Lancashire at the beginning of the Second World War. She has lived in different parts of England as well as Australia and has enjoyed setting her modern and historical novels in both countries. She is addicted to telling stories and recently celebrated the publication of her one hundredth novel, as well as sixty years of marriage. Anna has sold over five million copies of her books to date.mehr
Verfügbare Formate
BuchGebunden
EUR28,50
TaschenbuchKartoniert, Paperback
EUR14,50
E-BookEPUBePub WasserzeichenE-Book
EUR7,19

Produkt

KlappentextFrom the multi-million copy bestselling author ... Recently moved to the village of Essington St Mary, Rob Carswell discovers the plight of his new neighbour Ilsa who is battling illness as well as the bullying tactics of a local builder. It is proving to be a more dramatic corner of Wiltshire than the tranquil atmosphere would suggest. Nearby, Amy Hatherall is feeling adrift following the death of her mother, but a final handwritten letter leads her in an unexpected direction to a great-aunt she never knew she had. As the line of old hawthorn trees begin to blossom, they keep watch as romance and new beginnings bloom for the residents of the close.

Anna Jacobs was born in Lancashire at the beginning of the Second World War. She has lived in different parts of England as well as Australia and has enjoyed setting her modern and historical novels in both countries. She is addicted to telling stories and recently celebrated the publication of her one hundredth novel, as well as sixty years of marriage. Anna has sold over five million copies of her books to date.
Details
Weitere ISBN/GTIN9780749028862
ProduktartE-Book
EinbandartE-Book
FormatEPUB
Format HinweisePub Wasserzeichen
FormatE101
Erscheinungsjahr2023
Erscheinungsdatum23.11.2023
ReiheLarch Tree Lane
Reihen-Nr.2
Seiten320 Seiten
SpracheEnglisch
Dateigrösse980 Kbytes
Artikel-Nr.13085706
Rubriken
Genre9201

Inhalt/Kritik

Leseprobe



Chapter Three


The next day, after a good night´s sleep, Rob woke in a better mood. He went downstairs to get a second cup of coffee and what he saw through the kitchen window took the smile from his face. Hang being tactful with the woman next door! A huge dog of nameless parentage was busily digging up the flower bed to one side of his patio, grunting happily as it tore into the soft new earth and scattered the delicate seedlings he´d planted yesterday.

He´d seen the trays of baby plants at the local supermarket and bought one as a token gesture to brighten up the place till he could get round to sorting out the garden properly. He´d already regretted the purchase by the time he got them home and planted because he had other jobs that were far more pressing.

He looked for his intruder´s point of entry and quickly found the spot where it had pushed through a gap where the low fence between the houses had been broken. The dog looked vaguely familiar. It must live next door.

When it sent a particularly pretty purple petunia that had been the only seedling in bloom flying across the paved area in a shower of earth, he roared, That´s it!´ and rushed outside to do battle.

Only, he didn´t have to worry about restraining the dog because it came when he called it, wagging its tail and giving him a broad doggy grin, then nudging him with its head to get him to stroke it.

He couldn´t resist giving it a token rub, then grabbed its collar and walked it round to the front door of the next house. When he rapped on the door, he was surprised to see scratch marks on the frame, and new unpainted putty round the panel of frosted glass in the upper half, as if the window had been broken recently. Windows like that didn´t usually break easily, so how had that happened?

The whole place was in a dreadful state, far worse when you saw it from close up. He was about to knock again when he heard footsteps come along the hall and a shadowy figure appeared behind the glass panel.

A breathy woman´s voice asked, Who´s there?´ but the door stayed shut. He suddenly noticed that it had a shiny new peephole in it. A pang of guilt shot through him. Her voice had quavered. He didn´t want to upset some poor old lady, so he would offer to help her sort something out to keep the dog in her garden.

I have your dog here,´ he began gently, then the rest of the speech he´d prepared died in his throat as the door opened.

She wasn´t an old lady. Most definitely not. She was about his own age or perhaps a little younger, say thirty or so. And she was gorgeous in a pale, ethereal way. Her long, honey-brown hair had enough curl in it to make you want to wind it round your fingers. She had huge blue eyes and generous lips.

He blinked and the words he´d been going to say went right out of his head. All he could manage was, I´m Rob Carswell, your next-door neighbour. Is this your dog?´

I´m Ilsa Norcott. I´m just looking after the dog for a few days.´ As she stood on the doorstep, staring up at her tall visitor, Ilsa was torn between good manners and wanting to snatch Tiny´s collar from him and slam the door in his face. She´d had enough of men towering over her.

She relaxed a little, however, as she realised he wasn´t at all like the last man who´d hammered on her door. This one might be angry about something, but he didn´t make her feel threatened personally or seem likely to break the window as that other one had.

In fact, he looked - well, rather kind, and wholesome´ was a word that sprang into her mind to describe him, with his clear blue eyes, light brown hair and fresh complexion. She found that very attractive.

He was holding the dog tightly by the collar and although his voice had sounded a bit sharp, Tiny was wagging her tail. She only wagged like that when she was with people she liked but Ilsa´s heart sank as she noticed the dog´s muddy nose. Oh, no! Not again! Tiny had escaped custody and dug up part of her own front garden only yesterday.

The poor dog was bursting with energy, missing the hired dog walkers who´d been taking her for long walks three times a week previously because her late owner hadn´t been well enough to exercise her. Perhaps that´s why the poor creature had taken up archaeology as a hobby, hunting for buried treasure under every soft piece of earth she could find.

Ilsa should have asked the lawyers to continue paying for the dog-walking services, but she´d been too upset to think clearly. Well, everyone in the nearby houses and retirement flats had been upset when Judith died suddenly last week. Since she´d known her health was chancy, she´d told all the neighbours who her lawyers were just in case´.

When the visiting nurse found Judith lying peacefully in her chair, with Tiny at her feet, someone had phoned them with the sad news and a clerk had come at once to take charge.

Ilsa had promised Judith to look after Tiny if necessary, so when someone emailed her, she´d rushed back from Great Yarmouth. A friend had lent her a flat there for a couple of weeks to try the effect of bracing sea air on a lingering reaction to a virus. But keeping her promise to a dead woman was much more important than fresh air or even her first holiday in two years. And anyway, as the doctor kept saying, only time would sort out her body and see her fully recovered.

The lawyer´s clerk had been intending to put Tiny in some kennels while they waited for Judith´s heir to fly back to England from Spain, but Ilsa had taken her instead.

It had seemed a simple thing to volunteer to look after the poor creature. She was doing it partly because she liked the dog, and because Tiny looked a lot fiercer than she was and she was hoping that a big dog would provide some protection against Belkin´s foreman, a bully who was trying various nasty incentives to persuade her to sell her home.

Only yesterday one of Belkin´s men had parked his car next to her house and left it with its radio on loudly for three hours. She´d got dressed quickly and gone looking for someone to complain to, only she hadn´t been able to find anyone.

To make her current situation worse, she was missing Judith greatly. The old lady had been more like a grandmother than a mere neighbour and had helped Ilsa through a few bad weeks.

She sighed. Her new neighbour was scowling down at the dog as if Tiny had committed a major crime. The tapping foot suggested he was waiting for an answer so Ilsa dug her fingernails into the palms of her hands, not wanting to cry in front of him.

Well, is this your dog or isn´t it?´ he asked loudly, trying to glare down at Tiny. But when she wagged her tail vigorously and grinned up at him, the glare faded and he shook his head ruefully and spoke in a softer voice. Is it?´

No. She´s not mine. She´s called Tiny, by the way.´

I don´t give a damn what she´s called. Whose dog is she if she´s not yours?´

Ilsa could feel tears overflowing, couldn´t hold them back. She belonged to my neighbour and friend Judith, from Number 6. She died a few days ago so I´m just l-looking after Tiny till the heir gets here and takes over. Pam lives in Spain but she´s been away in Morocco on some sort of holiday tour.´

What? That nice old lady is dead? I´m sorry to hear that. I met her a couple of times, though I don´t remember seeing the dog. But they were only flying visits and I spent most of the time sitting with my great-aunt.´

Judith kept Tiny inside except when the walkers took her out.´

Well, do you think you could keep the dog in your garden and stop her visiting mine?´

I´ll try.´

As he glanced at her, Rob saw more tears rolling down her cheeks. She looked unwell, as if a breath of wind would blow her away, yet she was doing a last favour to her late neighbour. And here he was shouting at her - he, who hated bullies.

She bent down as if to cuddle the animal, only she had suddenly lost every last vestige of colour in her cheeks and was looking dizzy. Was she about to keel over?

Are you all right?´

She didn´t reply and he saw her grab hold of the door frame and cling to it. I´m sorry. I´m - recovering from a bad virus and-´

He was barely in time to catch her as she started to crumple. He swept her up into his arms, surprised at how light she was and how protective he felt. He stood for a moment staring down at her unconscious face, wondering what the best thing to do would be, then moved into her house, muttering to himself, Lay her down somewhere, you fool!´

Fortunately, the dog followed him inside, whining anxiously now as if she sensed something was wrong, so he quickly nudged the door shut with his foot to keep Tiny inside.

It had been a couple of years...

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Autor

Anna Jacobs was born in Lancashire at the beginning of the Second World War. She has lived in different parts of England as well as Australia and has enjoyed setting her modern and historical novels in both countries. She is addicted to telling stories and recently celebrated the publication of her one hundredth novel, as well as sixty years of marriage. Anna has sold over five million copies of her books to date.