Free Hidden Cottage by Erica James Page A

then,’ Daisy said, ‘give us the lowdown so we can report back to Mum and Dad.’
    ‘His name’s Owen Fletcher,’ Wendy said excitedly, ‘and he’s bought The Hidden Cottage, just moved in.’
    ‘Really?’ Daisy said. ‘I didn’t know it had been on the market.’
    ‘Apparently he got in fast, before a for-sale board went up.’
    ‘That’s the internet for you,’ added Bob, struggling to get round his substantial wife behind the counter. ‘He saw it online and snapped it up PDQ.’
    ‘Is he going to live in it?’ asked Eliza, unable to contain her own curiosity now.
    ‘He certainly is,’ Wendy said. ‘Unlike that stuck-up couple from London who only used it at weekends and brought all their own food with them. They came in here once, just once mark you, and that was to buy a measly carton of milk. They had the brass-neck cheek to complain about the price of it as well.’
    ‘And they criticized our choice of pasta. “What no organic trofie pasta?”’ Bob said, imitating a woman’s haughty overbearing voice. ‘Good riddance to them, that’s what I say.’
    For the last two years, nearly everyone in the village had had an opinion or a story to tell about The Couple From London; their mean-spiritedness and unsociable manner having gained them a less than flattering reputation very soon after becoming the new owners. Despite the minimal time they’d actually spent in Little Pelham, they had fallen out with an extraordinary number of people. They had accused Joe Coffin of deliberately over-charging them for some joinery work he’d done on the house; they had told Ricky Jones who had cut the grass for them that he didn’t know a thing about gardening; they’d reduced Karen Jackson to tears, claiming that while cleaning the house in their absence she had stolen a tea towel, and even the vicar, the Reverend Jane Beaumont, had come in for a tongue-lashing when she hadn’t taken seriously their complaint that the church bells were rung too loudly during bell-ringing practice. Working on the basis that The Hidden Cottage was on the edge of the village and almost a mile distant from St George’s, she had assumed they were joking.
    Would the new owner of The Hidden Cottage make as many enemies? Eliza wondered as Daisy surprised her by saying, ‘It’s such a lovely day, let’s have an ice-cream.’
    Bob pointed over to the freezer. ‘Plenty of choice, girls; take your pick.’
    At Daisy’s suggestion, they didn’t go straight home but sat on the bench on the green with their Magnums and watched a group of children kicking a ball about. Her sister was right; it was a lovely day. Eliza supposed the reason Daisy wanted to sit here was that she was in no hurry to get home, where Dad would be due back shortly.
    But as cross or disappointed as he was, Eliza knew he wouldn’t shout or rant at Daisy; he saw her as being too fragile for that. Which, of course, was another reason he was so protective of her.
    Eliza wasn’t proud of it, but as a child she had harboured an unhealthy amount of ill-feeling towards Daisy. As an adult, however, she came to realize that Daisy’s horrendous behaviour when she’d been little had not been entirely her fault; she had merely reacted to the way their father treated her. Placed high upon a pedestal, she had learnt to wield the power she’d been given and had done so with tyrannical zeal and spite. One word from her perfect little rosebud mouth and their father would be in uproar with Eliza and Jensen, his ears closed to any claims that Daisy was lying or manipulating everyone. Even when Mum stepped in, as she so often had to, and defended Eliza and Jensen, he refused to listen or believe that Daisy could be anything other than perfect. In the end, it was easier to give in to their little sister, to let her have her way in whatever it was she wanted. But it was to do her no good in the long run; it could only ever lead her towards a crisis of some sort.
    And that crisis