Page 13 of The Village Inn of Secret Dream

Perhaps it was the dark clothes that she always wore that made her seem paler, he thought. But even they didn’t disguise the curve of her body, nor her long legs, despite her flat ballerina pumps.

She was actually a very pretty woman, who would easily tempt men to want to kiss her, he found himself thinking. And yet, the only kiss he and Belle had ever shared had shocked him to his very core.

Emotional after his dad’s funeral, he had taken himself off for a walk to think over the day alone. He had bumped into Belle and they had sat together on one of the benches next to the river for a long time. They were so used to each other, so close, that the silence as he stared out at the river deep in thought had been comfortable.

And then he had finally let the tears come. He had held off all day for his family but, as always, with Belle he could be himself. She had put her arms around him and held him close whilst he sobbed. Finally, when there were no more tears to shed, she had brushed the hair away from his forehead before looking up at him with a soft smile.

But neither of them had broken the look and, in that moment, it felt as if there could be something so much more between them. So when she had leaned forward to kiss him gently, he had found himself responding before finally coming to his senses.

After all, this was Belle! The woman he had always thought of as his little sister was suddenly in his arms and feeling so right. But he couldn’t think of her that way. Wouldn’t allow himself to. It wasn’t fair on her.

Because didn’t she realise what he was like after all those women he had dated over the years? He took after his father, that much he had discovered.

And he wouldn’t hurt her when she had already been through so much.

But despite keeping away for the past few years, he felt better for seeing her that evening. Their back-and-forth banter felt natural and he was relieved that everything felt like normal since the last time they had spoken.

It was all his fault, of course. He should have contacted her somehow before, but he never knew what to say. Which was ridiculous because it was Belle. His oldest friend.

But perhaps they would be okay after all.

He glanced over as she walked back to the bar, smiling at him, and he automatically found himself wondering what it would be like to kiss her again.

He shook his head out of his reverie with a shudder that ran through his whole body. The jet lag was obviously far worse than he had thought.

Belle would be staying put in Cranbridge, having always stated a desire never to leave the village. He, on the other hand, was most definitely leaving as soon as he could.

And that would be the end of it. Whatever it was that he was feeling, he told himself.

Because he had to move on despite Cranbridge being his home.

When the family had moved there, he had been ten years old. Back then, it had been a child’s dream with a river to play in, trees to climb and fields to explore. It had felt like a wonderland after his early years in urban London.

Even the shop had felt exciting, with its till to play with and a whole backroom of stock to rummage through.

In later years, it had been a place of comfort to catch up with his family and spend time with his dad.

But just before the funeral, he had found the letter amongst his father’s possessions as they had begun to clear away some of his things. Then everything had changed. And all he had wanted to do was to get away. To run away.

Because the truth was that nothing had been real, after all. The whole happy family, happy life was all lies.

And it was the lies, the deceit that he couldn’t bear. That was why he had kept away. And why he had never wanted to return.

Because, one day, the truth was all going to come tumbling out and then where would it leave his family?

6

Belle stood outside the front door of The Black Swan and gave a satisfied smile to herself as she looked around her home village.

The previous day’s drizzle had disappeared and left behind a glorious September day. Everything had that faded look about it as the summer came to an end.

She looked back at the inn and sighed, her happiness dissolving a little. The Black Swan was also faded, but not in a good way.

Uncle Mick still hadn’t bothered to order the missing letters of The B ack S an, which had long since fallen off from the sign. The white paint on the outside wall was now a mottled grey and brown and the black paint on the window frames was flaking off. The whole place had an air of collapse about it and looked every inch of its four hundred years old. No wonder they couldn’t tempt any new customers through the front door.

She had tried unsuccessfully to persuade her uncle and aunt to spend a bit of money on the outside, to spruce it up a bit. Especially now that The Cranbridge Stores was doing so well.

She glanced over to the shop, the first in the parade of four shops along Riverside Lane that ended at the old watermill.