 Paradise
Fields
It's not as if Nel hasn’t enough on her plate
already: organising a farmers’ market in the picturesesque
Paradise Fields and keeping track of her unnervingly beautiful teenage
daughter – plus sorting out a houseful of animals –
are quite enough to keep her busy. The last thing she needs is yet
another complication in her life, but when her old frend Sir Gerald
dies and his son, Pierce – accompanied by his glamorous American
wife – takes possession of The Big House, it seems that preserving
the Fields is not on his list of priorities.
Nel takes up arms determined to fight for the meadow
and the market she loves. But whom can she trust? She’s pretty
sure her friends Sacha and Vivian are on her side, but her sensible
boyfriend Simon, an estate agent, is less encouraging. And then
there’s Jake, the infuriating yet attractive stranger who
kissed her under the mistletoe. Maybe she’s been a celibate
widow for a little too long …
Chapter One
Nel's arm was beginning to ache. The mistletoe, heaped about her
feet, was selling well. She'd already run out of the bunches she
had tied together with red ribbon and was now selling the larger
Stately-Home-size boughs, which had been too thick to separate into
smaller sprigs. It was one of these, held above her head in an encouraging
way, that was proving a strain.
 She
was just about to replace it for a smaller sample of her wares when
a man came towards her. She'd been faintly aware of him standing
at the next stall, considering mulled wine syrup and the little
bunches of dried flowers and herbs known to their creator as tussie-mussies.
She had time to take in that he was tall, wore a navy blue overcoat
and looked Cityish, when he put his hand on the mistletoe she was
holding and kissed her.
She couldn't quite believe it was happening. People don't kiss
strangers on the lips in full view of half the world; or, at least,
they didn't kiss Nel. It was over in a moment, and yet the feel
of his cool, firm lips on hers sent a strange feeling shooting down
from the under-wiring of her bra to her knees. It made her catch
her breath and she felt as if she had flu – all swimmy in
the head.
It was amazing how many people spotted that kiss. Nel didn't usually
sell things at the market – she didn't have time, she was
always rushing around organising it. But this time, she was pinned
down by her wares and at that moment it seemed every stallholder
and every shopper had their eyes turned in her direction. She tried
to pretend she wasn't blushing, took the coins he offered, handed
him the bunch, and watched him walk away, relieved he didn't engage
her in conversation or anything.
Her daughter skittered over, eyes sparkling. ‘Oo-er,’
she said in a way that Nel felt made everyone stare at her even
more. ‘Mum! Who was he? A bit tasty!’
 Nel
brushed a hand over her face, apparently getting the hair out of
her eyes, but actually giving herself a moment to pull herself together.
‘He was just buying mistletoe, Fleur. Now, how are you doing?
Are you ready to take over for me here yet? I've been here since
seven this morning and I have to speak to loads of people.’
Was she still bright red, she wondered?
Fortunately Fleur had stopped looking at her mother and was searching
her tight trousers and pale blue fleece for her mobile. ‘I
know, I know. In a min. I've just got to text Anna about something.
We're supposed to be going out tonight.’
Fleur, eighteen, blonde and lovely, eventually unearthed a phone
hardly bigger than a credit card and tapped away. Why someone who
found writing the shortest essay such a Herculean task should prefer
texting to phoning, Nel didn't understand. That was probably (her
daughter had told her) because Nel though you had to spell everything
out: she dind't know the shorthand and hadn't heard of predictive
text. Fleur's kindly if unintelligible explanation had been delivered
to Nel when she was attempting to remonstrate with Fleur about the
size of the mobile phone bill. As often happended with Nel and her
children, the roles got reversed and they ended up telling her things
they felt she should know, and no parental remonstrance had gone
on at all.
Lavender, who appropriately sold wheat bags and lavender-filled
products, ‘out of self-defence, because of my name’,
didn't leave her stall, but she waved and winked approvingly.
Sacha, who produced beauty creams and potions in a very small way
and sold them in blue glass jars, gave her a thumbs-up sign.
The trouble with knowing everybody, Nel thought, was that it made
you vulnerable to people keeping an eye on you. When she had first
moved here, as a young and distraught widow, she had been glad of
the concern and care of the small town, but it did have its down
side. She could see Reg on his fruit and veg stall giving her a
saucy look, too. Living in a small community was indeed a bit like
living in a goldfish bowl, and Nel occasionally felt she was the
only goldfish.
Cover Illustration: Mary Claire Smith; Calligraphy:
Stephen Raw
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