Free The Barn on Half Moon Hill by Milly Johnson Page A

‘He’s twelve. I love Pilot.’
    The man’s size had deceived Viv. Up close, she could see he must only have been about eighteen or nineteen and mentally, he seemed to be much younger.
    â€˜Well, you make sure you hold on to his lead properly next time,’ Viv said softly.
    â€˜I will,’ he replied. ‘Where are you going, lady?’
    â€˜To Wildflower Cottage, the animal sanctuary,’ replied Viv. ‘Am I heading in the right direction?’
    The young man brightened. ‘Oh yes. That’s where Pilot lives. Don’t tell them, will you? They won’t let me walk him again.’
    â€˜I promise I won’t.’
    â€˜You need to turn right just after the cafe. It’s on the corner. It’s called the Corner Caff.’
    â€˜Thank you. That’s very kind of you.’
    â€˜My name’s Armstrong. If they ask, will you tell them that I’m doing a good job? I’m going to take Pilot for a biscuit at the bakery up the road. They make biscuits with
liver in them especially for dogs. Pilot loves those.’
    â€˜I will,’ smiled Viv.
    â€˜See you. Come on, Pilot.’ And with that, Armstrong tugged on the lead and he and the giant shaggy dog began to lumber up the hill.
    Viv set off slowly in case anything else should run into her path. She didn’t want to start off her new job in an animal sanctuary by killing something. The cafe on the corner was painted
bright yellow and hard to miss. She swung a right there and was faced with a stunning view of the bottom of the valley. In the centre of it sat a long cottage couched in a bed of fairy-tale swirls
of low mist and to its left was a tall tower with a crenellated top. Viv’s jaw tightened with nervousness as the car ate the distance towards it.
    She parked as directed by a crooked wooden sign saying ‘Visitors’, at the side of a battered black pick-up truck. As she got out of the car, she noticed sprinkles of flowers in the
mist, their violet-blue heads dotted everywhere she looked. The second thing she noticed was the biggest cat she had ever seen in her life walking towards her, muscles rippling under his velvet
black fur. She’d thought her family cat Basil was huge but this guy was like a panther. The cat rose onto his back legs in order to brush his face against her thigh. As Viv’s hand came
out to stroke his head, a voice shrieked from the cottage doorway.
    â€˜For goodness sake don’t touch him. He’ll savage you.’
    A tall, slim woman had appeared there. She was wearing a long flowery hippy dress and had a mad frizz of brown hair. ‘He’s called Beelzebub for a reason. Bub for short.’ She
walked towards Viv with her hand extended in greeting. ‘Viv, I presume,’ she said. ‘I’m Geraldine Hartley. We spoke on the phone.’
    Viv had rung the sanctuary as soon as she spotted the advertisement in the
Pennine Times
and after a surprisingly brief conversation, Geraldine had offered her the job right there and
then, subject to a personal reference and an assurance that Viv had no criminal history or accusation of animal cruelty. The wage was basic, cash in hand, although meals were included as was a
small grace and favour house. Her friend Hugo, who now had a scientific research job down south in London had supplied a glowing appraisal of her abilities and character. She’d taken the risk
of giving a false address in Sheffield and so far there had been no comeback. It wasn’t the most professional organisation she’d come across.
    Viv shook her hand. Geraldine had a very strong grip. She also had the most beautiful perfume. Viv instinctively breathed it up into her nose and her brain began to dissect the scent:
rose
– definitely. Violet – probably. Orris . . . maybe
. It was floral, but with a hint of something else that she couldn’t quite pin down. Complex, but there wasn’t a scent