Chapter Seven

The next day, Libby headed down the same track she'd ran on her first morning, determined to discover where she'd got lost. For fifteen minutes, she pounded along the track, regretting the four glasses of wine, but smiling at her daft little dabble with witchcraft.

Or was it daft? She'd barely finished the luck spell before Zoe had come home, buzzing with excitement. Greg had taken her to dinner and although he did nothing more than kiss her cheek, Zoe said the sexual tension over dinner had been more palpable than the calories in her sticky toffee pudding. Maybe Maggie's love spell on the house did work.

All she needed was a man to desire.

Up ahead, the roofs of several houses and barns came into view and Libby slowed. That had to be Gosthwaite Mills, the hamlet to the north-west of the village. She shouldn't be here. How had she missed the bridleway that went off to the north-east, taking her to the common? And where the hell did this track go?

She had to be the biggest failure in the world. She couldn't even navigate the bridleways around the village. She slumped against a dry-stone wall, struggling not to cry. Obviously, the Good Luck spell hadn't worked.

But with impeccable timing, a small dog came bounding towards her, a blur of black, brown and white fur. Libby's frustration evaporated as the Spaniel-cross scampered around her, its tail wagging furiously.

'Dylan, heel!' shouted a male voice ahead of her. 'Sorry, but he's harmless.'

Libby crouched down to pet the dog, smiling at the guy jogging towards her, the ridiculously good-looking guy jogging towards her.

'You must be the new girl in the square, one of them anyway,' he said before flashing a huge smile. 'I'm Xander.'

Xander? He was Tallulah's uncle, the fittest bloke ever. Chloe hadn't been exaggerating. Tall, with dark blonde hair, he had the same fabulous brown eyes as Tallulah.

'Libby,' she said, shaking his hand.

'Nice to meet you.' He flashed a friendly smile. 'My wife, Daisy, and I live over there.' He pointed to the house behind her on the left. 'See you around.'

'Actually,' she said, cringing, 'I'm a little lost. I need to get back to the village but I've gone wrong somewhere.'

'It's easy done, believe me. You've missed the shorter track back to the village. It's about half a mile back the way you came. This track goes back to the village too.'

'Thanks.'

He tipped his head to the side. 'Do you run every day?'

'Usually.'

'I'll pick you up at half-six tomorrow and show you around, if you like?'

She hesitated. After already upsetting Jack and Grace's relationship through no fault of her own, she shouldn't get too friendly with a married man, especially one who looked like that. On the other hand, he wasn't acting remotely flirty and she'd be mental to turn down a tour guide.

'Yes, please.'

Libby jogged away, unable to stop smiling. A running buddy, she had a potential new running buddy. Her first piece of good fortune - surely, this was the spell at work. She knew for sure when her second piece arrived a few hours later.

Sandra had gone to some show with Michael the feed merchant and Libby rattled through the morning jobs, singing along to the radio. With the horses turned out and the yard immaculate, she'd just sat down with a cup of tea and an illicit cigarette when her phone rang. She half-expected it to be Sandra, scolding her for smoking on the yard. It wasn't.

'Hello, Olivia? This is Andrea Golding, from Low Wood Farm.'

Two days later, with the sun sitting in a cloudless sky, Libby wandered along Market Street, falling ever more in love with Gosthwaite. The butcher's specialised in locally-reared meat, the baker's offered to slice their freshly made, wholemeal bread and the multi-coloured array of veg outside the grocer's looked like an advert for organic living. It didn't stop there. The cafe overlooked the River Lum, the village hall had a second-hand book sale, complete with honesty box, and the post office sold everything from boiled sweets to Herdwick wool blankets. And more importantly, everyone she passed said, hello. This was why she'd left Manchester. This was the idyllic rural dream.

After four days of working with Sandra Langton-Browne and a morning sanding skirting boards, Libby decided she deserved the afternoon off. A roast chicken sandwich, a punnet of strawberries and a jug of iced-tea would accompany her in the garden as she soaked up the sun and read a fifty pence copy of Chocolat. Or maybe more of the spell book - her top secret, guilty pleasure.

Libby hadn't mentioned the box of Wicca goodies in case Zoe threw it away like the rest of Maggie's belongings. And she certainly hadn't mentioned performing the Good Luck spell. In the cold light of day, Libby knew there was no such thing as magic but when she lay in bed at night, she couldn't deny her life had significantly improved.

Xander had been good as his word and for the last two mornings, he'd shown her new running routes, threatening to take her up to Lum Crag on Sunday. Libby looked up, frowning at the rocky outcrop to the north of the village. Even on a sunny day, it looked dark, menacing and a long way up, but if Xander thought it was worth it, she'd go. She didn't fancy him, no matter what Zoe's psychoanalysis diagnosed, but a serious case of hero-worship was definitely building.

Better still, Sandra hadn't set foot on the yard since Wednesday morning so work had even become bearable. Libby whistled as she passed the church, swinging her shopping bag and reading the opening pages of her book. Three days off lay before her, and the forecast said the sun would shine on every one of them. Now, all she needed was for the good luck to spread to the interview at Low Wood Farm in the morning.

Back in the square, she spotted a police car parked outside Maggie's cottage. Oh god, had something awful happened? The downside of living so far away from her parents was that bad news would always be delivered by police officers with their hats off. Approaching with trepidation, she relaxed a little seeing the car was empty. They couldn't be here for her.

'Libby!' Sheila waved from her doorstep. 'Lovely day, isn't it? Have you met my eldest, Andy?'

And from the house stepped the missing police officer. Libby tried not to smile. About thirty, with dark hair, his short-sleeved white shirt and black stab vest tripled his cute factor. Ah, a man in uniform. Shame he didn't have the hat on. Libby crossed the lawn to the rickety wooden fence between her garden and Sheila's.

'After he left the Met, Andy became our local officer.' Sheila gazed up at him with maternal adoration. 'Works ever so hard, keeping us safe.'

Andy laughed, cringing under his mother's praise. 'Lay off, Mum.'

'Nice to meet you,' Libby said, as they shook hands. A little shorter than she preferred, but definitely on the cute side.

'I've been telling Andy all about you, Libby.' Sheila's smile turned coy. 'How you're new to the area, and wouldn't it be nice if you had someone to show you around?'

Libby stared in horror at her neighbour. 'I, er...'

'Mum, for crying out loud-'

'Oh, is that the phone?' Sheila ducked inside, but not before she gave Libby a conspiratorial wink.

'Sorry,' Andy looked up to the sky, again laughing. 'She can't help herself.'

Libby smiled back, wishing she wasn't wearing a paint-stripper covered dungaree dress. At least her nail polish wasn't chipped and her hair should look passably sexy escaping its plait.

'How are you finding the village?' he asked.

'It's lovely. Especially on a day like this. Do you live here too?'

He nodded. 'A cottage down from the Post Office. Handy, for the Black Bull, but it does mean Lynda knows everything I do.'

Libby laughed. 'Yes, she grilled me for twenty minutes this morning. I only went in to buy the paper.'

'Sounds about right. You know, if you did fancy a drink,' he said, glancing at his feet, 'I'm not working next weekend.'

'That'd be nice.' Her blushing hit an all-time high.

'We could grab something to eat, Black Bull, maybe.' He took his police issue notepad out of a pocket in his vest and wrote down a number. 'Should I pick you up at half-seven? I mean, if you want.'

God, he was polite. Sheila did a good job bringing this one up. 'That'd be lovely. Thanks.'

He handed her the note. 'In case something comes up, or you change your mind.'

She failed to restrain her ridiculous grin as he blushed slightly. 'I'll be here.'

'Friday then.' He nodded to Sheila's door. 'Better give Mum the good news.'

She watched his very nice arse go back into the house before she allowed herself a silent scream of delight. She had a date. She had a date with a fit policeman. God, she couldn't wait to tell Zoe.

'Oh, so trying to run off with my husband isn't enough for you. You have to pull the local copper too.' A woman with white blonde curls stood by the garden gate, arms folded and scowl growing.

Was that Daisy? Libby's mouth gaped open. Oh god, no.

But Daisy laughed, her face breaking into a huge smile as she held out her hand. 'I'm teasing. I'm Daisy, Xander's wife.'

Libby smiled, relieved and shook the proffered hand.

'Sorry, I couldn't resist. Xand told me about the Jack and Grace nightmare. I wouldn't worry about it. She barely speaks to me either. I tick approve of PC Andy by the way. Cute boy in uniform, you can't go wrong with that.' Then as blatantly as Tallulah had, Daisy looked Libby up and down, taking in the bangles, the purple streaks, the aubergine nails. 'But OMG, you're not what I was expecting. I thought you'd be all sporty because of the running, but you look like... one of those Bratz dolls.'

Libby laughed. 'Um... thank you?'

'Xander thinks you're ace. You've been upgraded to Wilde.'

'Yes, I'd noticed.' That morning he'd called her nothing else. 'You know I wouldn't-'

Daisy waved her protestations away. 'Of course and I know my husband. So he said you weren't working today. I'm meeting my friend, Clara, for lunch. Join us? We'll go as we are.'

Daisy, in a denim mini-skirt, faded black t-shirt and silver Havaiana flip flops, was hardly an example of sartorial style, but Libby glanced down at her own clothes and shook her head.

Daisy waved her towards the house. 'Okay, but don't you dare dress up.'

Fifteen minutes later, Libby walked through the huge glass entrance doors of the Bobbin Mill. A dishy, dark-haired guy in an immaculate pale blue shirt and dark trousers wandered to meet them - from his rich brown eyes, he had to be Tallulah's dad, the guy she had an interview with in the morning. To her amazement, he looked Libby over with a smile playing at the corners of his mouth and she didn't know if she should be offended or flutter her eyelashes. Thank god she'd changed into Zoe's purple dress.

Finally, he turned to Daisy, frowning at her feet. 'You're lowering the tone of the place.'

Daisy kissed his cheek. 'We're young, blonde and sexy. We make the place look cool. Rob, this is Libby. Libby, this is my fabulous brother-in-law, Robbie.'

Under his very direct eye contact, Libby used every gram of self-control not to blush as they shook hands. Okay, he had the tall and good-looking boxes firmly ticked, but this guy had something else and it wasn't just dark hair. He had to be, absolutely had to be, the hottest bloke she'd ever met and the way he was looking at her suggested he was single. God, he had rough, sexily rough hands for a restaurateur. Working at his yard could be the best distraction in the world. But how odd that he hadn't mentioned her interview. Should she?

'Is Clara here?' Daisy asked.

'At the table down by the willow tree. She's brought the thug with her. Seriously, flip flops, Daze?' Shaking his head, he led them to the bar where Daisy ordered wine and dragged Libby to look at the photos on the walls.

'Look, this is me, enormously pregnant at the grand opening.' Daisy stabbed a finger at a photo of herself with a neat bump hiding under her black mini-dress. 'The Golding brothers, how hot? Xander's better looking in a conventional way but Robbie...' Daisy glanced back to him before lowering her voice. 'Clara calls him the sexiest man in town.'

Libby, unable to resist, turned to peek at him. As he gathered up a bottle of white and two glasses, he still watched her. He even smiled. Working at his yard could be the best distraction in the world.

'And this is Robbie's family.' Daisy pointed to a photo of a model-like woman with a glossy dark bob, and three understandably pretty girls. 'His wife, Vanessa, and their fabulous daughters, Tallulah, Matilda and Pandora.'

Libby stifled her despairing sigh. Just another bloke who forgot he had a wife when she wasn't in the room. And what would he be like when his wife was on tour with a string quartet? Desperate not to risk another eye meet with Mr Golding before her interview, she turned her attention to her surroundings.

'Awesome place,' Libby said, peering at the before and after shots of the Mill.

Someone very clever had taken a three hundred year-old barn, modernised it with cutting edge architecture then stolen the soft furnishings from an interior designer's home. The effect was as über -crisp as it was cosy. Exposed beams and bare stone work, clean-lined, chunky oak tables and simple glass vases - she'd seen those in many restaurants, but in addition to the hundreds of family photos, random pastels of unnaturally coloured sheep hung on the walls along with, in one corner, a framed series of children's finger paintings. Hardly the décor she'd expected for a restaurant rumoured to be inching towards its first Michelin star, but crikey, it worked.

'Thank you.' Daisy curtsied. 'Xander might get all the plaudits for knocking together the divine food, but I take full credit for making the venue look fabulous.'

'And neither of them care that it's me who makes sure it turns a profit.' Robbie tipped his head. 'Come on, outside before any of the paying guests see you.'

They headed into the garden where several rustic oak tables were dotted around the lawn. Daisy waved to a blonde woman pushing a buggy at the other end of the garden.

'I hear you're working for Sandra,' Robbie said, smiling down at Libby.

'Silly old cow,' Daisy mumbled.

Libby nodded, trying not to giggle, or pay too much attention to Robbie's spicy aftershave. 'It's quite alarming how much everyone seems to know about me.'

'It's a village.' He held out her chair.

'And what the villagers aren't sure of,' Daisy added, sinking into her own chair, 'they make up. Have you always worked with horses?'

Libby shook her head. 'But I've ridden since I was a kid.'

'I have a yard, show-jumpers mostly,' Robbie said, handing them menus. 'If you ever want to go riding with Daze, there's usually something handy.'

Libby forced a grateful smile. He didn't know she had an interview. How did he not know? Olivia. She'd told Andrea her given name, not Libby. But then who the hell was Andrea? Not his wife.

He poured the wine, flashing Libby another blush-inducing smile. 'Lucy will be out to take your order.'

Libby sipped her wine, determined not to watch his very nice arse walk away. 'Is he always like that?'

'There are two things you should know about Robbie,' Daisy said, smiling. 'One, as you've already noticed, he's a dreadful flirt, but two, he's utterly faithful to Van. I adore him for it. It gives me hope that Xander will be too. Oh, and three, he'll steal your cigarettes without shame. He used to pinch about ten a day off me when we were doing this place.'

Although a single, or at least divorced dad of one would've been a more appealing distraction, Libby cheered at the prospect of a little, harmless stable yard flirting.

'And four,' said the blonde woman, parking the buggy in the shade of the tree, 'he's the sexiest man in town. Officially. Christ, I love it when he looks you over like he's about to bend you over the sofa whether you like it or not.'

Daisy laughed. 'Clara's chair of the Robbie Fan Club, but she wouldn't. She's married to Scott, one of Robbie's oldest friends. Libby, this is Clara, aka Miss Knightmare, the world's sexiest primary school teacher. Sleepyhead over there is Will. Clara, this is Libby.'

Libby smiled warily at the toddler, grateful he was fast asleep, before turning to Clara. Crikey, standing next to Daisy was intimidating enough. She certainly didn't look like someone who'd had a baby six months ago, more like a page three girl - skinny in all the right places but with decent, real boobs and a tiny waist that flared to a perfect bum, all in a dinky, five foot two package. And Clara? Libby couldn't help but glance down at her own non-existent cleavage. If only.

'I'm sure you must hear this all the time-'

'Scarlet Johansson?' Clara nodded. 'Not a bad lookey-likey to have. What did you do before you came here?'

'I worked for a wedding planner.'

'Interesting career choice,' Daisy said.

'Well, I have a Performing Arts degree and believe me, you need bloody good acting skills to reassure some brides they're doing the right thing.'

'Performing Arts?' Clara asked.

'Singing and dancing mostly. I do a mean Lady Gaga impression.'

'Clara did a summer as a pole dancer at Pacha, Ibiza.'

'Podium not pole.' Clara through an olive at Daisy. 'Best pulling season ever. Did you ever perform professionally?'

'A couple of pop videos.'

'Oooh, which ones?' Daisy asked, leaning her elbows on the table.

‘None you’d have heard of,’ Libby said, waving a dismissive hand – a practised gesture to distract people from her tell. ‘So, Xander said you’ve been married before, Daisy. How have you been married twice already? You’re like what, twenty-six?’

Daisy smiled as Lucy arrived to take their orders, but tapped her foot, impatient to tell her tale. Libby had yet to meet anyone who wasn’t.

‘Twenty-seven, but thanks. My first husband died in a car crash. Xander came along when I was still a mess, knocked me off my feet and we just clicked. You know?’

Libby lit a cigarette, wishing she could answer with honesty. She almost had it with Paolo. ‘What about you, Clara? Love at first sight?’

Daisy laughed and Clara raised her hand in defeat.

'No, I was the queen of the deluded idiots. Took me five years to realise Scott was the one for me. We'd been on-off since I was twenty, but I wouldn't let it be anything more than that. My dad was a complete controlling bastard, knocked hell out of my mum and I refused to let anyone boss me around. But Scott... He's like this big, clever, teddy bear. He'd kill me for saying that. Rob might have the looks and Scott's got a broken nose and carrying a few stone too many, but...' Clara laughed. 'He's my superhero. He sorts everything out, for everybody.'

'What does he do?' Libby rested her hand on her chin, loving how Clara had gone misty-eyed.

'Immoral corporate lawyer. He earns the big bucks.' Clara's smile grew. 'But you know what? He gave up the really big bucks and left London because this is where I was. Superhero.'

I need a superhero.

'Did you leave a hot boyfriend behind in Manchester?' Clara asked.

Libby shook her head, toying with her lighter.

'Why not? You're too pretty not to have one.' Clara's eyebrows raised, her eyes glinting. 'OMG, you're not a lesbian are you?'

Libby grinned. 'No, but Tallulah told me you two were when you moved here.'

'I deserved that.' Clara grinned.

'Hey, but she's got a date next Friday,' Daisy said.

Clara's eyes lit up. 'Who with?'

'PC Andy,' Daisy said, shaking her hair back. 'I'm wildly jealous. His uniform's way sexier than Xander's silly chef's hat.'

'What's Andy like?' Libby asked, her cheeks turning another three shades of red.

'Impossible to resist,' Clara said, smiling wistfully up at the cloudless sky. 'He'll get you back to his place and have you in bed by ten, and I don't mean tucked up with a mug of cocoa. I think I caved after one drink, not that that was unusual for me, but he nearly persuaded Daisy and she was pregnant at the time. He's a fantastic shag, totally left-field.'

Libby laughed to stop her blushes. 'He can try all he likes with me, but I don't do shagging on a first date, let alone one night stands.'

'I so don't have your morals,' Clara said without a hint of remorse.

'Me neither,' Daisy added, equally remorseless. 'How are the renovations going?'

'Not great.'

'It'll be worth it when it's finished.'

'Sadly, I won't get to appreciate it. Zoe plans to sell up and move on.'

Daisy shook her head. 'Never happen. Once you move here, it's impossible to leave. Maggie reckoned there was some mystical energy focussed on the square. More like it's a bloody nice place to live.'

'Did you know her, Maggie?'

Daisy shrugged. 'Clara knew her better.'

'My mum bought her dance studio about ten years ago. They'd been friends since-'

'Excuse me?' Libby shook her head, certain she'd misheard Clara. 'Her dance studio?'

'The ballet studio in Haverton.'

'Maggie taught ballet?' Why hadn't Zoe ever mentioned this tiny detail?

'Oh God, the old cow was hideous. She used to teach me. Actually, Zoe and I used to go to class together. Didn't she go to the Royal Ballet School? I hated it, ballet. Street dancing was my thing, which Maggie ridiculed. All she'd do is look down her nose, muttering about in her day at the Royal Ballet-'

'Maggie taught at the Royal Ballet?' Libby asked.

Clara shook her head. 'No, Maggie was a ballerina, a regular Darcey Bussell until the car crash. It can't be nice to smash your pelvis, but you'd think that woman's life had ended the way she talked. She used to say Gosthwaite's where ballerinas come to die. My mum says...'

Clara twittered on, but Libby stared at the table, only hearing white noise. Maggie had been a ballerina, a broken ballerina. Gosthwaite's where ballerinas come to die. Libby stared at her glass, her heart racing. Don't cry.

'Libby?' Daisy asked, touching her hand. 'Libby, are you okay?'

No, but years of stage performing hadn't been wasted. She flashed a smile. 'Did you know Maggie was a witch?'

Daisy nodded, frowning. 'But are you-'

'Tallulah reckons she was murdered.'

'What?' Daisy's frown vanished as she rested her elbow on the table, her chin in hand.

Clara followed suit. 'Why?'

Libby sipped her wine, fully in control once more, and explained what Tallulah had told her. 'So whodunit?'

Daisy, giggling, topped up their glasses. 'Surely the favourite has to be the one who inherits.'

'Ah, but Zoe didn't know she was first in line to the throne until after Maggie died.'

'Her parents?' Clara suggested.

Libby shook her head. 'As suburban as they come. What about a jealous love interest? I know about Stan. Do you know him?'

'Of course, but he wasn't not the only one.'

As Clara sat back, it was Libby's turn to lean forwards, eager for the nugget of gossip. 'Who?'

'Maggie had an affair with Peter, Sheila's husband-'

'But Sheila said he ran off with the woman from the butcher's.'

'Maggie shagged Peter before that, about six years ago.' Clara's eyes lit up, eager to pass on her knowledge. 'Not that Sheila knows of course.'

'How on earth-'

'Primary school kids are gloriously indiscreet,' Daisy explained, 'and Clara's the worst gossip, second only to her mum.'

'And Grace maybe.' Clara grinned. 'But what if Sheila found out?'

Libby laughed, adoring how different her life had become over the last two days: hot date, job interview, running buddy, new friends.

'What did you do after university?' Clara asked.

Libby, startled at the sudden topic change, knocked her napkin off the table. 'The usual, I suppose. Going for everything and settling for any role I could get.' She ducked down to retrieve her napkin and composure. 'Hey, I inherited something from Maggie. Her spell book.'

Clara dropped her frustrated pout. 'OMG, is it full of love potions and curses?'

While they dined on crab and langoustine ravioli, but only after swearing Daisy and Clara to secrecy, Libby regaled them with a glossed over account of the spell she'd performed and the others she'd like to try.

Not something she'd planned to share, but at least it stopped Clara asking questions.

*

Zoe wiggled her fingers, smiling a sincere farewell to the other female staff. That's right, bye bye. In seconds, she shut down her PC and checked her make-up. Fresh-faced and dewy, not quite the look she wanted. Carefully she applied a precise layer of scarlet Chanel lipstick and undid her top two buttons, turning professional business woman into a wanton sex goddess.

She'd already ensured Greg couldn't miss a glimpse of her stocking tops when he showed her the website content management system earlier. The stiffening bulge in his trousers said it all. Putty in her hands.

She wandered to Greg's office, still bitter than he had one and she had to share with the other women. Sexism was rife in Young & Carr, something she planned to address if she ever met the owner, Jonathon Carr.

She knocked, but not waiting for his answer, opened the door and leant against the frame. In a practised move, she crossed one arm under her chest, accentuating her cleavage. Greg had barely kept his eyes off it all afternoon.

'I'm off,' she said.

'Oh.' He leant back in his chair, placing his hands behind his head. 'Out with the girls?'

She shrugged. 'They invited me, but...'

'There's a wine bar overlooking the river. We could grab a drink.' His eyes slowly moved downwards, hovering over her tits.

Bait taken. Zoe slowly walked over to him, perching on his desk. 'We could grab a drink. That's one idea.'

Greg's lips parted and his trousers sparked into life again. 'What's the other idea?'

Zoe leaned forwards, taking hold of his tie and pulling him towards her. He barely suppressed his groan as her scarlet lips covered his.

Married men were always easy targets.