A Cottage In The Country – Katie Fforde

Almost everybody Hattie asked accepted, despite the very short notice, as she had felt sure they would. A chance to dress up to go to a house they hadn’t been to before was always going to be popular, among the women at least. Sheila had reiterated that she was not impressed by the length of Hattie’s guest list, insisting that she wanted her garden – and therefore her party – to be full.

So as well as her close friends and the estate agents, Hattie invited a couple of local solicitors – one had been really helpful over the negotiations for Nick’s house sale; Hattie was delighted that after some intense haggling his offer had been accepted – and a handyman and his wife. This couple had rescued many a local with a suddenly blocked drain, missing roof tile or mysterious damp patch, several of them Hattie’s clients. This was a thank you for their assistance over the years she had been in business.

Luke, however, was the only builder she asked, although he said, as he accepted the decorated card, that he was always booked for months ahead and really didn’t need to do any more extensions. ‘I’d still feel disloyal if I became friends with any other builders,’ she said. ‘That’s only right and proper,’ he said with a smile. A couple of days before the party, Hattie went to see Mary with an invitation. She found her friend sitting in her chair, facing the garden, as usual.

‘Hello!’ she said brightly, having let herself in. ‘I’ve come to invite you to a party. It’s for my birthday,’ she added, giving Mary her invitation. ‘I know it’s a long shot, but if you thought you could manage it, I could bring you, and take you home. You wouldn’t need to stay long if you didn’t want to.’ Mary took the invitation. ‘It’s very pretty. Did Rose design it for you?’ ‘Yes. She’s so clever.’ ‘And remind me who Sheila is?’ asked Mary, reading the details.

‘The mother of the bride, Fiona. I told you all about it.’ ‘Oh, yes. The awful man. You were so clever to stop the wedding. So is that why she’s giving you a party?’ ‘Partly. But do you want to come?’ Mary shook her head.

‘I’m fairly sure you’re going to love this one, Fiona,’ said Hattie as she and her clients surveyed the property they had just parked in front of. ‘I certainly do. Not so sure about you, Lance, although the bones are all there.’ Hattie, whose job – passion even – was finding houses for people, led the way round the house to the back.

Behind them was a garden with borders full of delphiniums, cosmos, peonies and larkspur. Beyond that were trees with rambling roses climbing up them. A summer house was covered in wisteria which provided wafts of perfume on the breeze. Late May was Hattie’s favourite time of year for gardens, and this one was sure to melt even the coldest heart. Now, she turned a big iron key.

‘We’re using the back door, which as you know is the country way. And the front door is a bit stiff.’ In fact, it was completely seized up through lack of use but she didn’t feel the need to share that particular piece of information. Before she opened the door, which led straight into the kitchen, she paused. ‘The current owner is an artist, and isn’t what you’d describe as a minimalist.’

Lance would describe all the pretty things inside as clutter, but Hattie knew Fiona would love the look as much as she did herself. She didn’t say any more, she just gestured for them to head in before her and let her clients take in the huge space. This was the third property she had shown them and was the one that matched their requirements the best. And although there was approximately a ten-year age gap between them, Hattie and Fiona had become friends over the last few months, meeting for coffee and a trip around the shops on a couple of occasions.

She wanted Fiona to have the house of her dreams. This could be it. But only the range cooker (minus the stained orange Le Creuset casserole on top) and the double Belfast sinks could be crossed off Lance’s extensive kitchen wish list straight away. As yet, there was no vast granite island, no handleless built-in cupboards, and the floor, although made out of the required golden stone flags, was uneven, shiny with age, and there was no heating underneath.

Instead of the island, there was a large refectory table, scarred with use, surrounded by mismatched kitchen chairs. Instead of the fitted cabinetry, there was an ancient dresser, a huge chest of drawers and a few cupboards for storage. (Hattie would refer to at least one of them as an armoire, should she need to describe it.) The rest was open shelves, full of jugs and mugs, jars full of wooden spoons, ladles, whisks and any other conceivable kitchen utensil.

Brightly painted plates, vintage biscuit tins and other kitchenalia covered every inch of the shelving.

This is a short excerpt from the opening of “” by Unknown, quoted for review and introduction purposes. All rights belong to the copyright holders.

Book Information

• Unique ID: dc0f470af3a67829
• File Extension: .pdf
• File Size: 2,319,286 bytes (2.212 MB)
• Title: –
• Author: Unknown
• Pages: 284
• Language: English (en)

Reading & Word Statistics

• Estimated Reading Time: 464.36 minutes
• Total Words: 92,871
• Total Characters: 502,875
• Average Words per Page: 327.01
• Average Characters per Page: 1770.69

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