Page 25 of The Allotment on Willow Tree Lane

Having never ventured this far down Willow Tree Lane before, Ceri was curious about the house at the end of it, and as she drew closer she saw that it was a quite substantial property, old and rather beautiful. Set back off the lane in its own grounds, it was two storeys high – three, with those little windows in the eves – with a large open porch and an impressive front door.

The gravelled area at the front had space enough for several cars and was rather overgrown, the trees and bushes to either side unkempt and unruly. They could do with some attention, she thought, and she saw with dismay that bindweed was growing rampant, climbing up the tree trunks and clambering over the bushes. The owner would need to do something about that before it choked the life out of everything. And so many weeds were poking through the gravel that she didn’t think the drive had seen any car action for a while.

In fact, there wasn’t a vehicle in sight, which made her wonder if the house was empty, as Terry believed. Ceri could see why he thought that, despite her conviction that she had heard music coming from it. It looked unloved and appeared to be deserted, yet she had a sense it wasn’t abandoned – the windows were clean, for one thing, and the porch was devoid of the dead leaves she would have expected to see if no one had stepped over the threshold for a while.

Hoping someone was home, she marched up to the front door and pressed the old-fashioned brass doorbell. From deep inside the house, she heard a jangle. It sounded like a proper bell, not a buzzer, and her eyes widened. How very Victorian upper class-ish.

After waiting several seconds without any response, she rang it again.

Still nothing, and she was about to walk away, beginning to think that Terry was right, when she heard a key turn in the lock. Hastily, she stepped back, not wanting to crowd whoever came to the door, and smiled broadly, hoping she would get the answer she wanted.

‘Hi,’ she began as the door swung open, then she stopped abruptly and her heart lurched. ‘You!’ she cried. The last person she had expected to see wasDamon.

He appeared just as surprised to see her – surprisedandannoyed. The scowl was a giveaway.

‘What do you want?’ His tone was equally as unwelcoming as his expression.

‘I… er… just wanted to know—’ she began.

‘Are you stalking me?’ he interrupted.

‘What?No!I’d never— I didn’t— I was told the house was empty.’

‘So why are you here, if you thought it was empty?’ He clearly didn’t believe her.

Oh my God, did he think she wascasing it out? That she was planning on breaking in, or something?

Ceri drew herself up and pressed her lips together before she answered. ‘I heard music yesterday and—’

‘Does that give you the right to knock on my door?’

‘Actually, I rang the bell. I didn’t knock.’

He stared at her.

Ceri stared back. Was this surly git the same man who she had lain next to under the stars? The same man who had kissed her so passionately? Or was this man his nasty twin?

Feeling uncomfortable under his stony gaze, Ceri broke the silence. ‘Sorry to have bothered you.’ She began to walk away, anger bubbling, but couldn’t resist saying over her shoulder, ‘By the way, you should sort that bindweed out before it’s too late.’

‘Excuse me?’ His voice was cold enough to make a tender annual wilt.

‘Bindweed.’ She turned around, but kept walking, taking small backward steps. ‘You’ve got a problem.’ She pointed to a particularly vigorous patch of bright green foliage dotted with white trumpet-shaped flowers.

He followed her finger, his eyes narrowing, before returning his attention to her. ‘What’s it to you?’

‘I wouldn’t care, except it grows like billy-oh and spreads like wildfire. Once established it’s a bugger to get rid of and I don’t want any germinating in my garden, if it’s all the same to you.’

‘I know what bindweed is.’ The icy tone hadn’t thawed.

‘Then you also know you should get rid of it,’ she retorted sharply.

‘Are you some kind of plant police?’

‘No, I’m some kind of horticulturist.’

His scowl lifted. ‘Is that why you are here, about the bindweed?’

Ceri stopped walking backwards. ‘I’m here about the orchard, actually.’

---