Page 10 of Beyond Her Manner

“Yes, of course,” Gillian said, looking down as she stepped out of her path.

Viola pulled her mobile from her pocket, dialling a number as she strode across the front lawn. The call was answered immediately.

“Hey, I’ve arrived,” she said.

“And is it full of savages as you feared?” The sarcastic voice of her agent, Caroline, came back.

“One at least,” Viola replied. She looked behind her to see the woman still standing there, staring in her direction.What isher problem?!Their eyes met briefly before Gillian turned and strode away. “I’d barely touched down when I was set upon.”

She fell silent as she looked up at the house, the sound of Douglas lifting off behind her echoing off its walls.

“Are you still there?”

“Yes, I — ” she said breathlessly, thinking about how this moment should have played out had things not changed so drastically. She pulled the box a little closer, her grip tightening as she tried to push away the thoughts of her mum’s ashes within.

“Hey, Viola. Take a deep breath.”

Viola inhaled, noticing how clean the air felt as it filled her lungs. “I didn’t expect to be here alone, you know.”

“I know, and yet, here you are, and you can handle it. Take some time, kick back, relax, and rest that beautiful voice of yours.”

Viola inhaled again. “Mmm, I’ll try. I’m not sure how much relaxing I’ll be doing. Work starts tomorrow.”

“Yes, and you hired a project manager for a reason.”

“I did,” Viola sighed.

“Let them get on with it. Read a book; write one if you need to. Get friendly with the savages if you must, though not too friendly. I’ll have your car delivered tomorrow; you can take in some country air. Do some healing, and then we’ll get you back to it.”

“Okay.”

“Keep checking in, won’t you?” Caroline asked. “I’ll need to hear from you regularly to make sure the savages haven’t killed you in some ancient village ritual.”

Viola snorted. “I wouldn’t put it past them if they are anything like the one I just met.”

There was no going back now, Viola realised as she hung up. She rounded the house and opened the front door — or, rather,she only just managed to open it with all the post blocking it. She hadn’t been expecting any post yet except junk mail, and this didn’t look like junk mail. Setting her luggage down, she picked up the letters, noticing some envelopes were addressed to Gillian Carmichael. Some of the postmarks were weeks old.

Speak of the devil… the postman was walking down the drive. She sifted through the rest, realising they were all for Gillian.

The postman approached her as he ferreted in his bag. “You the new owner?”

“Yes, Viola Berkley.”

He looked up and handed her a letter. “As I live and breathe,” he said with a smile. “My wife is a huge fan of yours; she’ll never believe I’m delivering your post. We even came to one of your concerts last year.”

“Thank you. Now these aren’t mine,” Viola said, trying to change the subject back to the matter in hand, literally. Checking the addressee on the additional letter he’d just given her, she added, “And neither is this one.”

“No, they would be Mrs Carmichael’s. She’s too important to redirect her post like the rest of us mere mortals,” he said, adjusting his postbag on his shoulder. “Or too poor,” he muttered.

“Well, I don’t want them,” Viola said, waving them at him to encourage him to take them.

“I am duty bound to only deliver as per the address as I told her.”

“Does she still live in the village?”

The postman chuckled. “Oh yeah, she never left.” He pointed to the lodge at the end of the drive. “You’re neighbours.”

Viola’s face soured.