Free The Way to a Woman's Heart by Christina Jones

grinned. ‘Actually, I thoughtmaybe you and Ash could get to know a bit about the surrounding area – although Ash has lived fairly locally anyway – but even I still get lost on some of the back lanes. And I do need some shopping, so I thought maybe you could take George and drive into Hazy Hassocks.’
    ‘With Ash as a tour guide?’ Ella grinned. ‘Sounds good to me. When do we start?’
    ‘After breakfast,’ Poll said firmly, heaping scrambled eggs on to chunky slices of toast. ‘Grab that tray please. There’s a love. It’s so hot, I thought we’d have ours in the garden.’
    ‘Bliss.’ Ella scooped up mugs, glasses, the jug of juice, knives and forks and plates on to the tray. ‘Oh, I’m so pleased I took this job.’
    ‘Are you? Really? Even though you’re not sure about why I’m doing it?’
    ‘Really.’ Ella nodded, following Poll out into the sweetly fragranced, sun-drenched garden with animals sprawled somnolently beneath the low-hanging lilac branches. ‘And I think I know why you’re doing it, Poll. And I think you’re amazing – it’s just…’
    ‘You’re not sure about Billy and Trixie?’
    ‘Well, no.’ Ella pulled out a chair and waved at an already dusty George. Oh, what a sweetheart George was, Ella thought as he waved a grubby fist cheerfully back at her, and what a lovely childhood he had. So safe and innocent and old-fashioned. ‘Especially Trixie and the fairy stuff. But if you say they’re OK, then I’m going to trust you.’
    ‘You’ll love them,’ Poll assured her. ‘They’ve had such a rotten time of it and I know all about rotten times, believeme. And I just thought if I had the chance to make a difference to other people’s lives then I simply had to do it.’
    Ella nodded round her scrambled eggs. ‘Yes, I understand that part – but rotten times? You? With all this? Surely not?’
    ‘It wasn’t always like this.’ Poll poured more coffee and juice. ‘In fact, it was all far from like this. Until Dennis – my husband – went, my life was pretty grim.’
    ‘Really? And I know I said I was nosy, and I don’t really want to pry, and you can tell me to mind my own business, but didn’t Mr Andrews want to be involved in this… altruism? Is that why he, er, you… ?’
    Looking amused, Poll sipped her coffee. ‘Mr Andrews wouldn’t have wanted anything to do with this, no, and anyway, he’s dead.’
    ‘Oh, God, is he?’ Ella put her fork down quickly. ‘I’m so sorry. I thought you said you were divorced?’
    ‘I am.’ Poll laughed cheerfully. ‘Dennis wasn’t Mr Andrews. Mr Andrews was my father. He’s dead. Dennis is alive and well and living blissfully in Berne or Bulgaria or Brussels or somewhere with a Much More Suitable Woman.’
    ‘Ah, right.’
    ‘I kept my maiden name.’ Poll beamed across the table. ‘Because Dennis’s surname was Perkins – and with me being Poll – well, I certainly wasn’t going to be known as “Pretty Polly Perkins of Paddington Green”.’
    Ella frowned. Who the hell was Polly Perkins? And did Poll come from Paddington? ‘But what’s wrong with being Polly Perkins?’ she queried. ‘I’m not with you. And Paddington Green? Is that where you’re from?’
    ‘No! I’m Reading born and bred.’ Poll laughed loudly. ‘Bless you. I’d forgotten you’re so young. “Polly Perkins” was clearly way before your time. It’s a childhood rhyme, nursery rhyme, sing-along song, you know? I had enough problems with low self-esteem without adding that one to my repertoire. Dennis and I should never have got married – and not just because of the Polly Perkins thing… Still, once we were divorced, everything improved hugely.’
    Ella frowned. Did this mean it was only after the divorce settlement that Poll could afford to renovate, furnish and decorate Hideaway Farm on a scale to rival Chatsworth? Hah! Right! Ella had always been scathing about women who bled their ex-partners dry. Poll’s selfless