Blackberry Picking at Jasmine Cottage
Return to the charming little village of Langtry Meadows and cosy up by the fire with this gorgeous romance that will warm your heart…As the lazy days of summer ebb away and the hedgerows fill with rich, plump blackberries, Lucy Jacobs couldn't be happier. She's feeling more and more at home in the small village of Langtry Meadows and has fallen in love with idyllic Jasmine cottage – not to mention gorgeous vet Charlie.But just as Lucy is thinking about putting down roots like the blackberries that grow in her garden, Charlie's ex returns and threatens to put a thorn in their perfect life…‘All the ingredients for a perfect, summery read…it really captured my heart’ Cressida McLaughlin‘Sprinkled with oodles of charm…I simply adored this book’ Christie Barlow
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HarperImpulse an imprint of
HarperCollâinsPublishers
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London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2017
Copyright © Zara Stoneley 2017
Cover design by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2017
Cover images © Shutterstock.com
Zara Stoneley 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 authorâs imagination. Any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is
entirely coincidental.
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Source ISBN: 9780008241087
Ebook Edition © November 2017 ISBN: 9780008237981
Version 2017-09-05
For Hilda, my nana, who loved animals, people and life.
Table of Contents
Lucy Jacobs stared out of the window, and tried to ignore the little shiver of excitement that had sent a rash of goosebumps down her arms.
Could she do this? Was she brave enough to cut the last tie, change her life for ever?
The words danced about in her head in much the same way as the chickens in the garden were doing.
Yesterday theyâd flounced in indignantly when the first spots of rain had fallen. They hated the damp, and had spent most of the day sulking and shivering, but this morning after poking their sharp little beaks out, and craning their necks, theyâd discovered sunshine. Sheâd had to laugh as theyâd jostled their way out, like a group of pointy-elbowed bargain hunters in the January sales.
Today the good weather had put a skip in their step â they were scratching around in the soil, with an occasional dash across the garden if they suspected one of their group had found something worth fighting over. And the news had brought a secret smile to her lips, she couldnât help it. This could be the start of a massive adventure.
âAre you still there? Miss Jacobs?â
She was still here. And she knew it was time to stop behaving like a hen and to make a decision. If she did this she was shutting a door for good. Moving on. Which was exciting. But scary.
âMiss Jacobs?â The tetchy tones scratched their way over the airwaves.
âYes, sorry.â She tried to concentrate on what the estate agent was saying, and block out all the conflicting thoughts that were bouncing around in her head.
She much preferred talking to the young, jolly Simon Proofit who made everything sound like a good idea, than to Mr Bannister who had never told her his first name, and insisted on calling her Miss Jacobs and making her sound like some old spinster.
It was strange really, Mr Bannister had lived in the village of Langtry Meadows all his life, but his whole manner suggested a brusque, efficient city type. Whereas Simon, who had over an hourâs commute from a suburb of the closest city, always made it seem like working in this tiny village was the best thing that had ever happened to him.
âI suppose you need time to think about it?â The sharp words were followed by a resigned sigh that rolled towards her in large waves of disappointment. Mr Bannister really wasnât the man you wanted to start your weekend with. He was enough to rain on anybodyâs parade, as her gran would have said.
The hen that sheâd not-so-originally nicknamed Squeak darted forward and tried to wrestle a long worm from Bubbleâs beak. They looked like lovers sharing a strand of spaghetti. Bubble flapped with indignation, and Squeak, well squeaked before bustling off in a huff to scratch under the apple tree. She kept cocking her head to one side though, keeping a beady eye on the other hen. Just in case.
Lucy smiled to herself. Whoâd have thought she, Lucy Jacobs, would become an expert on poultry? Well maybe not an expert, but her life had changed beyond recognition in the last twelve months. Sheâd swapped the hustle and bustle of a city centre school, nestled next to the M6 motorway, for a tiny primary school overlooking a village green, and somehow found time to look after a pig, goose, chickens, cat and fat, naughty pony.
