The House of Birds and Butterflies. Cressida McLaughlin
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loved her, though didn’t always feel in the mood for her outgoing, inquisitive nature. She was equally blessed and cursed living next door to her.
‘That’s so kind of you,’ Abby said. ‘And Rosa will be back in a moment, she’s just nipped over to Peacock Cottage.’
‘Oh yes,’ Octavia said. ‘This new resident. What do you know about him? Is he a personal friend of Penelope’s?’
Abby glanced at the office door before replying. ‘He’s already complained about reserve visitors trampling through his garden. He seems—’
She didn’t get to finish her sentence because Rosa burst through the door, emitted a high-pitched squeak, and gestured to Abby to follow her into the centre’s airy café.
‘Will you be OK here for a bit?’ Abby asked Maureen.
‘Of course, chuck,’ Maureen replied, her glasses chain shaking. ‘Take as long as you need.’
Abby arrived at Rosa’s table in the café to find that Jonny and Octavia were already there. She felt a spark of sympathy for Jack, who was clearly the object of this impromptu huddle, and thought how ironic that the complaint about his invasion of privacy had, in only a day, sent everyone digging deeper.
‘Come on then,’ Stephan said, bringing over a tray of hot drinks and doling them out before sitting down. ‘Tell us all.’
‘OK.’ Rosa took a deep breath, and then jiggled excitedly, her curls bouncing. ‘Oh my God, guys, the man living in Peacock Cottage is Jack Westcoat!’
Abby frowned, trying to dredge the name from her memory, and found she couldn’t. Stephan and Jonny looked as perplexed as she felt.
But Octavia clapped her hands over her mouth, and Abby wondered if she was about to burst into tears. Then, she exploded.
‘Jack Westcoat?’ she screeched. ‘As in, acclaimed thriller writer, puncher of fellow author at recent awards ceremony, once-glowing reputation now in tatters, all-round literary bad boy Jack Westcoat?’
‘That,’ Rosa said, ‘is exactly right. And wow, is he smouldering in real life too.’
Abby’s frown deepened. She had perhaps seen something in one of the café copies of the Daily Mail about some scandal involving two famous authors, but there was nothing concrete to hold onto.
‘This is incredible,’ Octavia was saying, her eyes flitting between them as the cogs worked. ‘Think what he could do to raise the profile of the library.’
‘I’m not sure he wants the publicity,’ Abby said slowly. ‘He seemed quite keen on maintaining his privacy when I met him.’
‘And not after what happened,’ Rosa said. ‘I mean, the story is crazy, like something from a soap opera. But he was polite to me, if not exactly delighted, when I turned up on his doorstep to see how he was getting on. Like you, Abby, I’m not sure what he expects us to do. He’s probably just venting his frustration.’
‘He must have a lot of it if he goes around punching people,’ Stephan said, sipping his coffee.
‘That was just the once,’ Octavia said. ‘Before that, he was one of the country’s up-and-coming author superstars. Granted, he’d put a murky past behind him – university high jinks that got out of hand, apparently, but he’d become a true golden boy by all accounts, until this latest incident. I’ll have to find out what happened now, why the punch got thrown. Goodness me, it’s really him?’
‘I recognized him from the photographs I’d seen in the paper when it happened.’ Rosa hugged her mug to her chest. ‘He must be hiding out here, that would make sense, wouldn’t it? Writing his new book, staying out of the limelight.’
‘I wonder if Penelope knows who she has staying in her house,’ Stephan said. ‘It’s not exactly got the same kudos as Wild Wonders, has it?’
‘But he’s not going to be involved in the reserve, is he?’ Abby pressed. ‘There’s no reason anyone else should know that he’s here.’
‘Do I sense some protectiveness there, my love?’ Octavia asked.
Abby shrugged. After his initial priggish note and their less than friendly encounter, she suddenly felt sorry for their new neighbour. Everyone had areas of their past they’d rather keep quiet about, and it must be worse if everything you did played out under a media spotlight. Stephan clearly thought there was no excuse for him hitting someone, and maybe it was unforgivable and Jack was a world-class dick, but nothing, Abby knew, was ever as simple as it seemed.
‘I just don’t know if we should go spreading it about,’ she said. ‘Especially as he’s so adamant he doesn’t want to be disturbed.’
‘Ah, Abby, you always were the sensible one.’ Octavia patted her hand. ‘Still, no harm in asking, a few months down the line once he’s integrated himself a bit more in village life, if he’d fancy giving a talk at the library. I expect I could rustle up my biggest-ever crowd.’
‘Octavia,’ Stephan said, ‘he punched someone at a very public event, and now he’s taken up residence in a secluded cottage on Penelope’s estate. He’s unlikely to want to advertise his presence by coming to talk to the great and good of Meadowgreen.’
‘In a couple of months, I said. I’m not that much of a dragon.’
Abby sipped her tea. She couldn’t help but think that having Jack Westcoat here, with all the interest and scandal he seemed to have brought with him, was going to complicate things.
She had to focus on bringing visitors to the reserve for all the right reasons, and now not only did the new resident of Peacock Cottage seem averse to other human beings, but he might draw unwanted attention all of his own. Did authors get paparazzi appearing on their doorsteps like actors? The man in the Mercedes had clearly been Jack’s friend – the words she’d overheard were much friendlier than her encounter with him. But was he really that much of a celebrity? If he was, then she couldn’t imagine anyone – the press, regulars, holidaymakers – being interested in the nightingales on the reserve when there was a real-life, disgraced superstar author in their midst. And – Abby thought ruefully as Jonny, who hadn’t said a word the whole time, quietly excused himself – an incredibly attractive, disgraced superstar author to boot.
As the weeks passed, the Indian summer they had been enjoying slipped slowly out of sight, like a shy guest leaving a party, and autumnal weather took over with full force. Abby noticed there was a new vibrancy about the reserve, not necessarily because it was busier, but because there was suddenly a whole lot to talk about. Wild Wonders had been an instant ratings hit according to Stephan, who was watching every episode. Gavin and Marek were also unashamedly regular viewers, and Abby was finding their conversations on the subject more and more juvenile.
‘Did you see what Flick Hunter was wearing last night?’
‘Bit low cut, wasn’t it?’
‘Is anyone complaining, though?’ Marek said thoughtfully, leaning on his rake handle like something out of Lady Chatterley’s Lover.
Penelope even weighed in on the discussions occasionally, much to everyone’s surprise.
‘How are our figures?’ she asked one Friday afternoon, when Abby was rolling her neck, thinking about the weekend and a visit to see Tessa. ‘It seems those television bods may not have sunk us, after all.’
‘Didn’t I say?’ Stephan said, walking over. ‘It’s not the world’s most competitive market, is it, nature? Enough to go around.’
‘There may be enough nature to go around, but are there enough visitors? That’s what we need to determine.’
Abby looked through the figures on the computer. ‘We’re down fractionally on last week, but the weather’s been much greyer over the last few days, which would account for this