Country Plot by Cynthia Harrod-Eagles Page B

air and the way the sunlight poured gold-green through the chestnut leaves. The horse-trough seemed to be full of water, which was unusual these days, and suggested a horsey local community. There was a handsome church and a nice-looking pub opposite it, The Crown and Cushion, with colourful hanging baskets and a sign saying ‘Home Cooked Food’ and ‘Garden at Rear’.
    The only problem was that she missed the turning for Holtby House on the first pass. Mrs Everest had sent her instructions but she somehow didn’t see it and found herself trundling out of the village at the other end into open countryside, and had to look for a farm gate to turn round in. She spotted it on the second pass – a narrow lane just past the post office that hardly looked like a real road – but too late to turn into it, so she had to loop round the village green and make a third run. After that it was quite straightforward and in moments she was pulling into a stable yard through big stone gateposts which bore small notices, one of which said HOLTBY HOUSE and the other DELIVERIES ONLY. The coach houses had evidently been turned into garages at some point in the past, but the stables looked intact – though sadly empty – and one side of the square was a small stone cottage, behind which rose the blank wall of the main house, to which it seemed to be attached.
    Jenna turned Florence and parked modestly at the side in front of one of the garages, and climbed out. The air was warm and still and smelled of grass, and somewhere nearby a blackbird was singing. She looked about her and felt a deep contentment stealing over her. She was glad to be here.
    A small sound made her turn, and she saw a woman coming in through a gate in the wall beside the cottage, through which she could see a glimpse of sunny garden.
    â€˜There you are!’ the woman called in a glad voice, as if she had been longing for Jenna to arrive. She was small and spare, dressed in jeans and garden clogs and a T-shirt, and had a Boris Johnson-esque shock of unruly blonde hair. The overall impression was so youthful that Jenna said doubtfully, ‘Mrs Everest?’
    Only when she came close did it become apparent that the blonde hair was shot through with grey and silver and ash and the face was that of a woman of mature years. Even then it was remarkably smooth and unwrinkled, betrayed only by lines around the eyes and mouth; but she smiled with an energetic impishness, and her eyes were bright and intelligent. ‘Bless you for pronouncing it right!’ she said, putting out her hand. ‘But you must call me Kitty if we’re to live together. And I hope I can call you Jenna? What an interesting name, by the way.’
    â€˜I don’t know what my mother was thinking of,’ Jenna said smilingly, shaking the lean, firm paw. ‘All the rest got perfectly plain, simple names. I think she’d run out of inspiration, or patience, or something, by the time I came along.’
    â€˜Five
is
a lot,’ Kitty said gravely. ‘For a human, anyway. Dogs manage things much better. But Jenna’s a pretty name, and it must be nice to be different. There were six Katherines in my year at school. I’d lost touch with your mother before you were born, so you won’t remember me. Harriet was just a babe in arms, and Oliver a toddler, but I knew Michael and Rachel. But why are we standing in the yard talking? You must need a drink after your journey. Was it difficult?’
    â€˜No, it was quite easy, except for missing the turning in the village.’
    Kitty put a hand to her face. ‘You know, I don’t know why I told you to come in that way. I suppose because that’s the way I always come in. You’d have found the front entrance much more easily. Never mind, you’re here now. Let’s grab your bags and take them in and dump them in the hall, and have a drink before anything else. I expect