Rita, already in her fitness gear from running around at the retreat earlier, lay back on one of the Reformer machines as Jilly adjusted a strap with expert flair.

  ‘Now, pop your feet here… and no farting. The acoustics in here are savage.’ Jilly laughed at her own coarseness.

  Rita laughed too. ‘It’s my biggest fear.’

  With Jilly’s help, Rita cautiously put her legs in the straps, flinching as the springs creaked.

  Jilly went into teaching voice. ‘Right. Breathe in… lift your hips… and engage that fanny floor like you’re holding in a secret.’

  Rita burst out laughing but gave it a go. Her limbs trembled almost immediately. ‘Jesus, I can feel muscles I never knew I had.’

  ‘That’s the idea,’ Jilly said with a wink. ‘You’ll be shagging like you’re at a hen party in Benidorm in no time.’

  ‘God, it’s been a long time since I did that.’

  ‘I know you’re still grieving but…’ Jilly raised an eyebrow, ‘sex is incredibly good for you, gets the blood flowing, boosts your mood, and if nothing else burns a good few calories.’

  Rita laughed again. ‘Jilly Cooper. You’re incorrigible.’

  ‘Just like my namesake, well, her characters, at least. I say watch Rivals and start channelling Sarah Stratton… the ultimate man-eater. Now, how are you feeling today? Mrs Munroe tells me your guests have arrived.’

  ‘So, I guess you know their hair colour, what they had for breakfast and possibly what time they are visiting Number Two, my toilet block.’

  ‘Genuis.’ Jilly laughed as Rita continued to lift her hips gently up and down.

  ‘I’m good, actually, thanks for asking. Having a focus has taken my mind off Archie, to be honest. And the missing will.’

  ‘Ah. One of those.’ Jilly released the straps. ‘My next class is not for half an hour. Come and have a coffee with me.’

  Rita followed Jilly over to the fitness balls at the reception desk, and took a seat, perching carefully as Jilly handed her a cup of coffee.

  ‘Sit tall, hold that pelvis. Wherever you are, just do it. You will thank me in the future, I promise you.’ Jilly took a sip from her own mug.

  Rita balanced awkwardly.

  ‘Can I just say, Rita, that what you say to me is what you say to me. I never gossip. Living with a con for the whole of my married life, it was more than my life was worth.’ She sighed deeply.

  Rita took a drink of her coffee. ‘I respect that and it’s kind of why I wanted to mention the will, I guess.’

  ‘Do you think there’s some kind of foul play then?’ Jilly asked matter-of-factly.

  ‘I don’t know but it does seem a bit dodgy, don’t you think?’ Rita’s brow furrowed.

  ‘Tell me more about Archie. What happened that night? If you don’t mind, babe.’

  Rita’s knees wobbled, and not just from the workout. ‘It wasn’t the cliff’ – Rita took a noisy breath – ‘or the car – that’s what everyone says to make it sound dramatic. Grace Kelly romantic almost. But it wasn’t. Not really.’

  Jilly elegantly crossed her legs. ‘Go on.’

  ‘He had a blowout,’ Rita said quietly. ‘Lost control. The car went over. That’s what the coroner said. But everyone hears sports car, cliff and thinks he did a Thelma and Louise, like your husband. Sorry, sorry. That was insensitive of me.’

  Jilly’s expression didn’t change, but her hand reached out, resting lightly on Rita’s leg. ‘People are twats.’

  Rita gave a dry laugh. ‘It was a terrible day. We’d rowed about garlic bread earlier that evening. Can you believe that? He wanted it with lasagne; I told him he would have go the big Tesco himself and get it as I couldn’t be bothered to make it. I had a French stick. I should have made some myself.’

  ‘Oh, Rita. That’s just life. We all argue.’

  ‘I know, I know, but we don’t all lose our husbands after a row, do we?’ Rita felt her anxiety rising. ‘Anyway, after dinner he went out to check on the cows as usual and when he came back he was properly angry about something. He grabbed the keys to his new convertible. Said driving with the roof off along the cliff path would sort him out, clear his head.’ Rita made a funny little squeaking noise.

  They sat in silence for a moment. Then Rita blurted, ‘His last words to me were, “Next time, I will take you.” In fact, as he was going out the door, he made a point of coming back and kissing my forehead and said it: “Next time, I will take you.”’

  Jilly was welling up herself now. ‘Shit, that’s shit.’

  ‘It’s not shit, it’s beautiful.’ Rita suddenly stood up, clanking her mug on the reception desk as she did so. ‘I’ve only just remembered him saying and doing that. He wasn’t angry at me, Jilly. He wasn’t angry at me at all. Or he wouldn’t have said or done that, would he?’ She slowed her voice right down. ‘Thank you. Thank you so much. I always thought it was maybe my fault, that I caused him to be in such a mood and…’

  ‘He had a blowout, Rita,’ Jilly said softly. ‘There was nothing you could have done. And sometimes, we only hear what we want to hear and remember what we want to remember. Our brains are clever things.’

  Jilly stood up and grabbed a cloth to rub down the Reformer machine they had just been using.

  ‘You know what I miss the most?’ Rita mused. ‘The way he made his own tea. Clanking around, with his big hands, opening the tea caddy, smashing the kettle down. Two sugars, strong, then mine, squeezing out the bag with a weird kind of gentleness. Stirring it gently as if it really mattered.’

  ‘I get that. My Dave was a sod, but he could make a cracking brew. He may have had fingers in many bad pies, but he used to warm the mugs with hot water first, like he was prepping them for royalty.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Rita nodded, smiling through wet eyes. ‘It’s the little things, isn’t it?’

  ‘It’s always the little things.’ Jilly noticed one of the women booked onto her next class walking up the hill. ‘Right. That’s enough trauma for one day. You did well, girl. On all counts.’

  Rita grabbed her bag. ‘Do I owe you anything?’

  ‘Widows’ rate.’ Jilly winked. ‘Which is the same as mates’ rates, i.e. friendship costs nothing and you only wiggled around for a few minutes!’

  ‘Aw. Thank you again. For everything.’

  ‘Ah, you’re all right, girl.’

  Rita turned around when she got to the door. ‘So, are you OK to create some discount leaflets, then?’

  ‘Sure, I’ll mail them to you. And Rita, have a think about it. Enemies, lovers, long-lost family… wills have a knack for stirring up a right old hornets’ nest and bringing the worms crawling right out of the woodwork.’

  TWENTY-SIX

  Rita arrived home to find Henry the labrador stretched out to double his size on the courtyard, eyes closed tight, sunning himself. He barked his approval at her return.

  ‘Come on, boy, let’s make some tea.’ She looked across to the barn. It was Zenya’s gong and breathwork class this morning for those who fancied it. Craning to catch any signs of life from the retreat, all she heard was the soft, gossipy chattering of the chickens.

  A few days into the retreat and she’d noticed Paul and Emily taking the bus down to the harbour together. Zenya had already struck up a routine and had instructed those who wanted her to provide lunch or dinner should text her once they’d decided on their plans for the day. Which was not only good for her but also for Rita, so as not to waste either food or money. Paul liked to help Rita lay the table or sit and chat over a cup of tea in breaks between sessions. He had also taken great delight in telling her that he had signed up to a surfing course – something he’d always wanted to do but never had the time or the guts to do until now.

  Paul wasn’t the only one enjoying himself; Emily had told her that she was in love with the window seat at Sail Away. If Jude hadn’t been gay, Rita was certain the pair of them would be a match made in heaven. But when had the path of true love ever been that straightforward? And who was she to judge what might work? She’d been only twenty when she met Archie, with just two previous lovers, if you could even call them that. The first had been a blurry encounter after Kelly, ever the cheerleader of bad ideas, had encouraged her to go back to her then-boyfriend’s flat with his mate ‘just for a laugh’. Rita still wasn’t entirely sure who she’d ended up with, her only recollection, Malibu, lava lamps, a futon, and an awkward trip to the chemist for cystitis medicine two days later. The second was a two-year relationship with Danny Barlow, whom she met at sixth form college and her first proper love, which ended so traumatically she’d declared over Sunday roast that she’d never recover and was destined to be a tragic singleton for the rest of her life. Her kind, long-suffering parents had assured her that time would heal everything. Two years later, she met Archie and they’d been right.

  God, she missed them all. Far more than the chickens missed Nigel, that was for certain.

  She sat down at the kitchen table, opened her laptop and, taking a slow sip of tea, first updated her resort spreadsheet by reducing the book costs. She squinted slightly to make out some of the figures clearly, and groaned. Kelly had said that she’d had to get her reading glasses at forty-five. Rita, thinking that wearing glasses was the first unmistakable sign of creeping decrepitude, had decided she would wait until she couldn’t read the headline on a newspaper on a service station forecourt.

  She also worked out a plan to pay off her existing credit cards in a way that minimised interest while still leaving enough spare cash to upgrade one of the outbuildings into a decent toilet and shower space, hopefully before the end of the year.

  Although running month-long retreats had seemed easier in terms of fewer check-ins and yurt turnarounds, she figured that shorter retreats were ultimately more lucrative, plus she would allow herself a few days’ grace between them. She updated her social media to reflect the new offering.

  Work done, her thoughts drifted to the worries that work had kept at bay. She hadn’t had time to search for the will again and certainly wasn’t going to ask Hilda anything about it, not when she was being so cruel about Jago’s intentions. Even Sennen had been slightly secretive on the phone the other day and if it was Thom who she had seen earlier, what was he doing chatting to Jago?

  As to Jilly’s comment about enemies, lovers and family, she wished her brain would block this too. The thought of Archie having had an affair when he was with her was too much for her to bear. No, that was a ludicrous thought; she would have known. They had loved each other deeply. Yes, there were enemies in the Jenken camp, but she didn’t know the whys or wherefores and as for family, theirs was small. Hilda’s siblings had passed now, and with Rita being an only child, it was just herself, Thomas, Sennen and Hilda who currently carried the Jory name. Again, Hilda would have been the first to tell her if there was any kind of family scandal, wouldn’t she?

  Just as the pressure in her head started to subside, a sudden, thunderous roar created another. She looked out on the courtyard to see a sleek silver Porsche screech up, with dust swirling like a storm behind it.

  Thomas Jory jumped out, his usual cocky grin flickering with something unreadable. His likeness to Archie caused a lump to form in her throat. Walking outside, she gulped then forced a smile to her lips.

  ‘Hi, darling, what a lovely surprise!’

  Thom’s hair was cropped quite short, showing off his striking blue eyes – eyes that had never been short of admirers. He stood a solid six feet and two inches tall and with his broad shoulders could easily pass as a rugby player. He shared the same auburn hair as his sister, and to this day, Rita hadn’t quite worked out where it had come from as Archie was dark and she was light brown, albeit with a slight red tinge in a certain light.

  He was smartly dressed in a crisp navy blazer over a tailored white shirt, paired with dark jeans. There was an effortless charm about him. It was no wonder he was doing so well in IT sales, Rita thought. He had not only the gift of the gab but also a sharp mind that could read a room in seconds, knowing exactly when to listen and when to close the deal. He approached his mother with a weak smile.

  ‘Hi, Mum, I’ve got a conference in St Austell with work, combined with a team-building event – surfing, rock climbing, kayaking, et cetera, I think it is. Thankfully, before the kids break up or traffic would have been hell. So, I couldn’t not come and see my old ma, now could I?’

  ‘Less of the “old”, thanks.’ Rita felt a yearning to hug her one and only son, but Thom had never been that twin. Only when he had wanted something.

  ‘I was just about to make a late lunch. Come on in; I’ll fix something for us.’

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Beneath the dappled shade of the orchard trees, Rita and Thom sat down opposite each other on the picnic bench, tucking into the crusty sourdough rolls filled with grilled Mediterranean vegetables and mozzarella that Zenya had left in the fridge, neatly wrapped in cling film and marked with an ‘R’ – a small gesture that never failed to make Rita smile. It had been a long time since she had felt truly looked after by anyone.

  Dessert was a bowl of fresh strawberries from the retreat garden, topped with a generous dollop of clotted cream. Rita had opened a bottle of fizzy water and Thomas had nicked one of Teo’s zero-alcohol Estrella Galicia beers from the fridge, which Rita made a mental note to replace.

  As they ate, Thom’s gaze flicked down and he noticed something odd. ‘Mum… your necklace. The one Dad gave you?’

  ‘I looked for it.’ She faltered. ‘But… nothing. It’s gone.’

  Thom frowned. ‘I thought for a moment you’d decided to stop wearing it.’

  ‘No, darling.’ Rita put her hand on his. ‘I lost it in the goat pen in the spring. My only thought’ – a rueful smile tugged at Rita’s lips despite the frustration – ‘is that one of the goats got hold of it. And if that’s the case, there’s no way I’m looking for it now.’ Rita poured herself a glass of water. ‘So, it’s been months since you’ve rung, or even replied to a message. You’re good? Work all right? Any new girlfriends to mention?’

  ‘I’m fine, Mum, thank you. I’m flying at work, hence the new car, and as for girlfriends, that’s too big a topic over a short lunch. Let’s just say I haven’t found the one yet, but I’m having a lot of fun looking.’ He grinned the same lopsided grin as his father.

  ‘Sennen said she spoke to you the other day?’

  ‘Yes. Not really a newsflash, though, that is, is it? She is my twin sister after all. Shame about her and Alex; he was a good bloke, and you know how needy Sennen can be.’

  Rita shook her head. ‘Shouldn’t you be on her side?’

  Thom reverted to the bolshy teenager she had both loved and struggled with in equal measure. ‘All’s fair in love and war and all that, and I’m just being honest.’

  ‘So, what have you been up to this morning, then?’ Rita pressed.

  ‘Driving here.’ Thom took a drink straight from his beer bottle.

  Rita felt an urge of something she wasn’t quite sure of rising within her. And then it was out. ‘I madly thought I saw you a few hours ago… at Hawthorn Acre… talking to Jago.’

  Thom paused, took another sip of beer, and remained silent.

  ‘Did I?’ Rita reiterated, almost frightened of what she might hear.

  ‘Yes.’ Thom was abrupt. ‘Sorry, yes, Mum. He was herding his sheep up the road; a couple broke free. I had to stop. We had a very brief chat, then I went down to the surf beach, had a swim, got an ice cream from the kiosk, just like I used to.’ He screwed his face up at her. ‘What is this anyway, the Spanish Inquisition?’ Thom laughed, but it was clear that he was not feeling it inside. ‘We just had a brief chat, me and Jago, that’s all. He’s not exactly a friend, is he? I mean, I’m still seething you sold Dad’s cows and tractor to him.’

  ‘Our cows, Thom. And you know I had to.’

  ‘I still can’t believe that Dad left you in debt, Mum. That wasn’t his style.’

  ‘I know it wasn’t, darling.’ Rita sighed deeply. ‘There’s something else I need to ask you.’

  Thom replied before she could finish her sentence. ‘About the will, you mean?’

  Rita was open-mouthed. Thom made a groaning noise. ‘Oops. Don’t say anything to her, please, but Granny Jory told me… well, she asked if I knew anything about it.’

  ‘And do you?’ Rita did her best to keep her voice level.

  ‘No, I don’t. I find it hard to believe that Dad didn’t tell you if there was one. Maybe Granny Jory has just got confused. You know what she’s like.’

  Sharp as a tack was what Granny Jory was like, Rita thought, feeling angry that she had got her son involved. In a back-handed positive way, at least it proved that Hilda didn’t know where the will was either.

  ‘I think you should just forget about it, Mum, and also stop playing at this retreat lark. I mean, you’ve got no experience of running a business, let alone a wellness retreat.’

  Rita felt tears spring to her eyes. ‘I ran this farm like clockwork for years, as well as bringing up you kids, so how dare you say that. And what else am I supposed to do, tell me that, Thomas.’

  ‘It’s not a farm now anymore, is it, really. You’ve got a few old goats and chickens; the crops are long gone. The land is wasted. I think you should sell up. Stop all this nonsense. And as we are being so…’ Thom made inverted commas in the sky, ‘“honest” with each other, that is exactly what I told Sennen I thought you should do the other night on the phone.’

  ‘No, no way. The farm is my home. Our home.’

  ‘It’s huge, Mum; you’re rattling around in it all on your own. It’s ridiculous.’

  ‘I’m not now. Teo has moved into the annexe and Zenya is a true confidante.’

  ‘What, that homeless hippy in the field Sennen told me about.’

  ‘Thomas!’ Rita shouted so loudly, her son actually stopped in his tracks with a look of shock. She clenched her jaw, trying to hold it together. ‘What is this really all about?’