Teresa Morgan - Meet Me at Wisteria Cottage

Harper Impulse an imprint of

HarperCollinsPublishers

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2017

Copyright © Teresa F. Morgan 2017

Cover design by Cherie Chapman © HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 2017

Cover images © Shutterstock.com

Teresa F. Morgan asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008225346

Ebook Edition © April 2017 ISBN: 9780008225339

Version: 2018-09-24

For my dad, my real life hero

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

Also by Teresa F. Morgan

About This Author

About the Publisher

Maddison Hart threw her bag on the passenger seat, turned the key in the ignition and, checking the pavement was clear, reversed off the driveway. A bad memory reminded her to glance in her wing mirror just in time. She was about to hit her neighbour’s pickup truck on the opposite side of the road – again. She slammed the brakes and cursed. She’d only just had her damn brake light fixed.

‘Bloody idiot,’ she said, screwing up her face.

Why did he park it there, on the road, and not on his driveway? It was big enough!

He always seemed to be parked there when she wanted to reverse off her drive, too! Damn the man.

Her neighbour, wearing only a pair of knee-length khaki shorts, and busy putting some tools into the back of the black pickup, smirked.

Oh, crap, he’d heard her too, with her window partially down. Sod it, he’d been living here three months, and now it was getting annoying. She pressed the button, and lowered her window further. She would not be intimidated by his bare chest and muscles.

‘Mr …’ she glanced at the stickers reading ‘Tudor Landscapes’ along the truck’s side, ‘Mr Tudor,’ she said more assertively, ‘could you not park your truck right there?’

‘It’s Harry.’

‘Okay, Harry ,’ she sniped, ‘could you please not park your truck right there.’ Everything about him, his whole demeanour, infuriated Maddy.

‘Why?’

‘I nearly hit it – again!’

‘What do you mean again ?’ He glanced at the truck, rubbing his hand along the paintwork.

‘I said nearly.’ She lied. Last time she had clonked it, but it had done more damage to her car than his.

‘It’s easy, look in your mirrors as you reverse off your drive, lady.’

Maddy took a deep breath, her teeth clamped together and she dramatically swished her strawberry blonde hair off her shoulders before choosing her next words. ‘It’s awkward whether I look in my mirrors or not.’

‘Drive slower then.’

Maddy refrained from growling with frustration, instead she gripped the steering wheel tighter. The man was obviously too arrogant to listen. ‘It doesn’t matter how fast I go. I’m used to reversing off my drive, hassle free. The people who lived in the house before you never parked on the road. They used their driveway .’

‘Then reverse onto your drive, so you can see what you’re doing when you leave, if it’s so difficult.’

‘It’s not easy to reverse onto my drive either, with your monstrosity of a truck in the road.’ The road was too narrow, as it only led to a handful of houses.

‘Maybe you should own a smaller car if you can’t handle it.’

Deep breath, Maddy. One, two, three … She did not like his smug expression, and wished he wasn’t six feet tall and built like a marine, standing there baring his tanned torso, because she wanted to wipe that smirk off his face. Bastard . She hated smug bastards.

‘Are you implying I can’t drive?’ Her eyes narrowed. She drove an estate car so that her paintings fitted in the back. A smaller vehicle was not suitable – she’d tried it. However much she’d loved her Mini Cooper S in racing green, it had not been practical.

‘I can’t see why it’s so hard, but I’ll tell you what, I’ll stop leaving my truck here when you stop your damn cat from crapping in my front garden.’

‘My cat has a litter tray.’

‘Well, the thing isn’t using it!’ He slammed the remainder of the tools he held into the flatbed, and headed back up to his garage, cursing about cats.

How had this conversation gone from cars to cats? Idiot .

‘You’re such an arsehole!’

‘I’ll take that as a compliment!’ he called over his back, without turning round.

Maddy swore again, and forced the car into gear, crunching it with anger. ‘There is more than one cat in this close, you know!’ she shouted and sped off. Well, tried to. Her wheels spun with her quick release of the clutch and a bit too much throttle. And then her front tyre hit the kerb with the lack of turning space, making a rubber-scraping-concrete sound, angering Maddy further.

She loved her cat. Sookie was very affectionate, and Maddy liked how her little companion purred and greeted her when she got home. Her cat’s love was the only sort she got lately.

And it was enough. All she needed.

Harry was obnoxious and fancied himself. It seemed to her there wasn’t an affectionate bone in his body. If there was, it was probably buried under his bulk of muscle. Too cocksure, the way he flaunted himself – shirtless or with too tight a T-shirt. She hated men like that.

Bastard .

Look what the man did to her. She hadn’t stopped cursing since leaving her house. She felt red with rage, and probably looked it too. She feared it wouldn’t be the last time she’d have heated words with Harry.

Her thoughts whirred, mainly about the old man from across the road dying a few months after she’d moved in, and his elderly wife being put in a home by their children, and selling up. The house had been empty for nearly six months. She’d got into the habit of not really having to concentrate while manoeuvring her car off her own driveway. The old couple opposite had owned a vehicle but it had remained in the garage, the man being too ill to drive it.