Annie blinked. ‘So, what do you do?’

  Jilly piped up. ‘I’ve gone the opposite way. I laugh in their faces if they ask me that and delete. It’s called self-respect, darling. You’re allowed to want the picnic, not just the crumbs, you know.’

  Annie sat up and gave a sheepish shrug. ‘I always go for the young ones, too. Late twenties, floppy hair, confused about their career but confident in bed. Which is great at the time, but… not for the future, I realise that.’

  Rita gave a little laugh. ‘For what it’s worth, from someone who is so far removed from it all, you don’t need a boy who’s still working out who he is, Annie. You need a gentleman. Someone who’s been there, done that, and still opens doors for you. Someone who knows the value of peace and kindness.’

  Annie let out a breath, her lip wobbling again. ‘God. That sounds… normal… and nice.’

  Jilly stood up. ‘It’s called being treated properly. And don’t let anyone convince you that asking for that makes you high maintenance. Right, stand up and stretch, and then we’re done.’

  ‘Yes! Even just suggest a coffee without asking what bra size I am.’ Annie stood up and tutted. ‘I’ve been so foolish.’ Annie’s eyes filled with tears. Rita eased herself off the machine, copied Jilly’s stretch and then squeezed her shoulder.

  ‘You don’t owe anyone a performance in exchange for their respect. That’s one thing my Archie was, respectful.’ Rita was thoughtful.

  Annie was kind. ‘I’m so sorry for your loss, Rita.’

  Rita offered a small smile, brave but bruised. ‘We get up, and we go again.’

  She glanced over at Jilly, who met her eyes with quiet understanding.

  Annie was on a roll now. ‘I guess I just thought… maybe if I were less picky, or less intense, I know I can be bold and mouthy but underneath that’s not completely me.’

  ‘No,’ Rita cut in. ‘Don’t shrink yourself for someone who can’t even send a proper message, never mind handle your heart.’

  Jilly starting tidying papers on the reception desk and sighed. ‘Yes. Ask more. Want more. Be more annoying if that’s what it takes. Because the ones who get scared off by that? They were never going to show up when it mattered, anyway. My old ma used to say, “Wait until they are banging your door down and then you’ll know. The rest of ’em, they just ain’t that into you.”’

  Annie reached for her purse. ‘You should charge more than you do for all this added therapy.’

  Jilly cackled. ‘Great idea! It’s thirty quid if you well up, thirty-five for a jaw-dropping revelation and forty for a full-on sob.’

  THIRTY-FIVE

  The next morning Rita was washing up her breakfast things furiously in the kitchen sink, her bashing and crashing disturbing Henry enough for him to retreat to the Den. On the kitchen table behind her lay a cream envelope, its contents strewn where she had thrown them down in frustration.

  Zenya appeared in the doorway, her cheeks pink from a morning trek to Seahaven Cove with Teo and the group.

  ‘Morning, how’s it going?’ She grabbed herself an apple from the fruit bowl and took a huge bite.

  Without a word, Rita turned around, wiped her hands on a tea towel, and pointed to the table.

  Zenya put her apple down on the envelope, then picked up a letter, typed on stiff white paper, headed in bold with CRIPPS & HAVERING SOLICITORS.

  ‘He’s trying to force me out, Zen. Out of my home. Archie’s not been gone a year, and my own son is circling like a greedy vulture waiting for pickings.’

  ‘Shit, Rita. I’m so sorry.’

  Rita sat down, eyes brimming.

  Zenya lifted the letter, reading aloud with a frown.

  ‘Re: Estate of the late Mr Archibald Jory (Deceased)

  ‘Dear Mrs Jory,

  ‘We write on behalf of our client, Mr Thomas Jory, a beneficiary under the rules of intestacy in the estate of the late Mr Archibald Jory.

  ‘It has come to our attention that the primary asset of the deceased’s estate, namely Seahaven Farm, has not been valued or listed for sale. We are instructed to request that you undertake an independent valuation within fourteen days of this letter, with a view to initiating a sale, so that all legal beneficiaries may receive their rightful share.

  ‘We must remind you of your duty as a representative of the estate to act in the best interests of all beneficiaries and to avoid any appearance of self-dealing or undue delay.

  ‘Should no satisfactory action be taken, our client reserves the right to pursue legal remedies to ensure a fair distribution of the estate.’

  She set it down gently, then looked Rita dead in the eye.

  ‘I’m no expert here, but I think it’s a scare tactic, Rita. Nothing more. You owned this jointly with Archie, right?’

  Rita nodded.

  ‘I’ve got an idea. How about you talk to Michael. He’ll know the score and it’ll be free and a quick response, at least.’

  ‘Oh, Zenya, I don’t know what I’d do without you.’

  ‘I’m like a walking emergency kit, me,’ Zenya quipped as she headed to the door.

  Once alone, Rita sat at the kitchen table, the solicitor’s letter trembling in her hands like a living thing, sharp, cold and accusing. This wasn’t just paper and ink. It was Thom’s voice turned to ice, a final verdict that slammed down between them, driving a cruel wedge where love once lived.

  Her chest felt like it was being crushed, the weight far heavier than anger or frustration. It was grief. Confusion. Betrayal. A knot twisting deep inside, squeezing tighter with every heartbeat.

  Why? Why would Thom do this? Her boy, her baby, whose dreams she’d cradled like fragile glass. And now, instead of a call, a conversation, he’d sent the lawyers. Like she was a stranger.

  Her heart was broken, not just because he’d taken this step, but because it felt like a signal she’d missed. Had she failed to hear him? To reach him as a mother? Was this letter a desperate plea for years of feeling unloved?

  She couldn’t bear the thought. Thom had never been as open with his feelings as Sennen, but she’d always held them both close, equally, fiercely.

  And yet, beneath the wreckage of hurt and confusion, a stubborn pulse of love still beat strongly. He was her only son and she couldn’t find it in her heart to shut the door on him. Not yet. She needed to understand what storm had driven him to this bitter shore.

  Slowly, trembling, she folded the letter, a quiet defiance blooming inside her. Because love, she finally knew, wasn’t just about holding tight when everything was calm. Sometimes, it was about holding on when the very ground beneath you threatened to crumble.

  Michael sat under the Singing Tree, on the bench that bore Archie’s name, collar turned up against the sea breeze, the Hardy poetry book resting on his knee. He was looking out aimlessly to where the sky met the sea.

  Rita approached quietly, clutching the solicitor’s letter in her hand. She had debated interrupting one of her guest’s moments of peace, but the weight in her chest had grown heavier by the hour. She needed answers.

  ‘Mind if I join you?’

  ‘Of course not.’ He tapped the bench beside him.

  She hesitated, then held up the letter. ‘I wouldn’t normally bother a guest, and you can tell me to bugger off, but… I just wondered if you could have a quick look at something for me. Not now, but soon…’

  ‘It’ll cost you.’ He smiled and took the letter, reading it slowly.

  After a few seconds he said, ‘Firstly, I’m so sorry for your loss.’

  ‘Thank you. It’s been a few months now, so…’

  He looked up, his expression kind. ‘So what? You’ve covered it well, my dear. And kudos to you for running this retreat so superbly.’

  Rita felt a small warmth inside.

  ‘Do you mind if I ask?’ Michael said, folding the letter carefully. ‘Is the farmhouse in your name now?’

  ‘It was always in both our names, but I haven’t changed it to mine alone yet. I thought maybe that happened automatically.’

  Michael shook his head. ‘Then this letter is nonsense. Empty posturing.’

  Rita let out a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding.

  ‘I thought so. But it rattled me. Thom, that’s my son, he’s always been hungry for more. Even as a kid. Wanted the biggest slice of cake, had the loudest voice at the table.’

  Michael handed back the letter. ‘He may rattle, but he can’t bite, not legally. The house is yours. And unless there are significant assets solely in your husband’s name, there may be nothing left for him to claim once the bills are paid. Is there a will?’

  Rita swallowed. ‘That’s the worst part, Michael. The solicitor who was supposed to be holding the will… they’ve lost it. We can’t find it anywhere.’

  Michael’s face darkened. ‘Lost it? That’s not just careless, that’s ridiculous. It’s actually breaking the law. A will can’t just disappear like that without serious consequences. You need to get to the bottom of this immediately.’

  Rita nodded, feeling the knot tighten in her chest.

  ‘So, does that mean Thom might have a case?’ she asked quietly.

  ‘Potentially,’ Michael said slowly, with a grimace. ‘If he feels he’s been unfairly treated, he could make a claim against the estate, or even against you, depending on the assets. The law allows children to challenge a will, but it’s not automatic. He’d have to prove his case. But with the will missing, things get more complicated.’

  ‘Even if the house is in my name?’

  ‘Correct. Ownership is important, but courts look at the entire estate’s fairness. He might still try.’

  Rita stood up. ‘There has to be a solution. And I’m so sorry for disturbing your peace, Michael. You came here to escape the world, and I’ve dragged you into mine.’ She smiled weakly. ‘But you’ve helped me so much.’

  Michael smiled back. ‘That’s what I’m realising it’s all about. It’s not The Michael Stone Show. This place is magical, really is. And Hardy was a great writer. Someone I might never have discovered without you.’

  He raised his arm dramatically. ‘And I quote: “Happiness was but the occasional episode in a general drama of pain.”’

  Rita smiled. ‘Look at you, getting all literary.’

  She tucked the letter back in the envelope. ‘Yes, we have to cling to the good bits. I’m slowly learning that too.’

  At that moment, Annie appeared in a vibrant red kaftan, her hair wrapped in a flowery turban.

  ‘Ooh, whose good bits have I permission to cling on to?’ She winked at Michael, who flushed slightly. He laughed and shook his head at her vivaciousness.

  He stood. ‘This too shall pass, dear Rita. And if you need anything else whilst I’m here, please ask. But what you need to do, pronto, is find that blessed will and hold that irresponsible solicitor accountable.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Rita swallowed hard and fingered the recent tree note in her pocket. Maybe it was time to start looking.

  THIRTY-SIX

  Rita was strolling back down the High Meadow towards the farmhouse when her mobile rang. Delighted that it was Sennen, she answered immediately.

  ‘Darling, are you OK?’ Always conscious not to be the needy mother, she just stopped herself from saying that she missed her checking in on her so often now.

  ‘Just so busy, but the money is flying in so that’s very nice. Weddings by Sennen will be going international at this rate.’ The young woman laughed.

  ‘I’m so pleased, darling, and you sound happy?’

  ‘I am, Mum, don’t worry about me. I’ve had a couple of dates with one of the photographers I use. So, Alex who? He can do one. Are you OK? How’s it all going?’

  ‘It’s all going well. A fun group and they all seem to be enjoying it. I’ve had a couple of confirmed bookings for next month too. I’ve decided to run shorter retreats. A month is bit intensive, to be honest.’

  ‘I did think that, but I know you needed the money, so I let it lie. Thom told me he’d popped in.’

  Rita’s voice flattened. ‘Yes, yes he did.’

  ‘You don’t sound very enthused.’

  ‘He wants me to sell the farm, Sen, and I don’t want to.’

  ‘That again – don’t listen to him. You know what he’s like.’

  ‘Shit!’ Rita suddenly exclaimed as she looked down towards the house.

  ‘What is it, Mum?’

  ‘Sorry, darling, but talk of the devil, that brother of yours has just pulled into the courtyard.’

  ‘Oh. Oh yes, he’s on his way back from his work thing, I think.’

  ‘Sen, has he ever mentioned anything about your father’s will to you?’

  ‘No, why?’

  ‘It’s nothing… I’d better go. Love you, darling. Talk when you can and when you get a bit of a break come down and let me wait on you.’

  ‘What, like last time?’ Sennen laughed. ‘When you were so hungover I had to cook breakfast, and your best mate killed Nigel.’

  ‘Be gone with you.’ Rita was laughing now too.

  ‘Twice in one week and it’s not even my birthday.’ Rita tried to keep her voice level as she handed over a steaming mug of coffee to her only son.

  ‘I felt I couldn’t travel home without popping in.’

  ‘Event go well?’ Realising that big talk would be distressing for her, Rita continued with the small until she was ready to take the plunge.

  As Thom took a sip of coffee and sat back in his chair she felt a pang go right through her heart. Not just because he was the spit of her Archie but because she couldn’t believe the way he was treating her right now.

  Here was the boy/man she had nurtured and cherished through endless nappies, two schools, braces, exam nerves and first love heartache. The boy/man whose bad dreams she had kissed away and who she’d sat up all night with in A&E when he had broken his leg playing rugby. Where had this person in front of her come from? She definitely hadn’t brought him up to be this kind of unfeeling monster.

  Thom ran his hands through his short hair. ‘I take it you got the letter.’ Rita remained silent. Thom sighed. ‘Look, I’m not trying to be the bad guy here, Mum. But the farm needs to be valued. It’s only fair. You can’t just hold on to it like it’s not part of Dad’s estate. You know how this works.’

  Rita was curt. ‘Yes, I do, actually. I’ve had a bit of legal advice. Proper legal advice.’

  Thom hesitated. ‘Who from?’

  ‘One of my guests.’ She extended the truth slightly. ‘He’s spent thirty years sorting out messes like this.’

  Thom’s jaw shifted. She could almost hear the gears turning, recalculating his position.

  He spat back without thought. ‘Well, that’s… fine, but he… he wasn’t Dad’s solicitor.’

  ‘No, but he understands the law. And here’s the truth, Thom. The farm was in both our names as joint tenants. That means when your dad died, it passed to me automatically. It’s mine now. Not part of the estate. End of story.’

  ‘I know that. But what about the rest of it? You can’t just ignore…’

  ‘There’s nothing else to ignore. The savings are gone, spent on funeral costs, keeping this place afloat and the ridiculous financial mess your father left me in.’

  ‘What about the money from the sale of the cows and the tractor?’

  ‘Thom… it’s gone. I have the house and now the money coming in from the retreat. That’s it. Please don’t do this to me.’ She coughed to push back her rising emotion.

  ‘So, you’re saying there’s nothing, nada, not one penny left for me and Sennen?’

  At the mention of her daughter’s name, Rita felt a surge of fear that Sennen may be involved too. She hadn’t given anything away when they had just spoken. No, surely that wasn’t the case, for that would destroy her totally. ‘Not from the estate, Thom. No.’

  He stared at her, stunned, not by the answer, but by the fact she’d dared give it so directly.

  ‘But Mum, you haven’t even seen Dad’s will. This isn’t fair.’ Thom’s handsome face suddenly turned ugly.

  ‘It’s not about fair.’ Rita’s voice softened. ‘You sent a solicitor’s letter thinking it would scare me. It did. But I’ve spent too long keeping this place going with or without your father… so to be pushed out of it now, well, it ain’t happening, sunshine.’

  A long silence.

  ‘You could still sell,’ Thom muttered. ‘Like I said before, live somewhere smaller. Easier. You’re not getting any younger, Mum. You’d have no money worries then, be set for life. You could split what was over with me and Sen and then everything would be sorted.’

  Rita stood slowly. ‘I may not be getting younger, but I am getting stronger by the day, yes.’

  Thom suddenly looked awkward. And then out it came with a whoosh. ‘What if the will says something different?’

  A red mist came over Rita, the same steaming fury she had felt towards Jago days previously.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Rita felt the temperature in the room suddenly lower, her voice coming out in a low growl. ‘Thom, is there something you know that I don’t? Are you broke? Are you worried that you’re not going to be left with any money? Don’t worry, I’m not intending to remarry any time soon. What is it? What is wrong with you?’

  Her tall, handsome boy stood up and with what Rita thought looked like tears in his eyes reached for his car keys. ‘Maybe there was more to Dad than any of us knew, that’s all.’

  Rita frowned. ‘Thom? You can’t say that and not expand on it. You know where the will is, don’t you? This is what this is all about. It has to be.’

  He didn’t answer.

  Rita was now shouting. ‘Thom, have you seen your father’s will?’

  Thom cracked. ‘NO! NO, I fucking haven’t, but one of us needs to.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’ Rita screeched as Thom headed for the door.

  Again, no answer, instead, he just huffed, and walked out, leaving the door as wide open as the crack that had just split straight through the centre of Rita’s heart.