Sunset over the Cherry Orchard
Copyright © 2018 Jo Thomas
The right of Jo Thomas to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.
First published as an ebook by
Headline Publishing Group in 2018
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library
Ebook conversion by Avon DataSet Ltd, Bidford-on-Avon, Warwickshire
Cover illustration © Lucy Davey. Title lettering © Kate Forrester
eISBN: 978 1 4722 4596 0
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
About the Author
Also by Jo Thomas
Praise for Jo Thomas
Dedication
Letter to Readers
Acknowledgements
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Chapter Thirty-six
Chapter Thirty-seven
Chapter Thirty-eight
Chapter Thirty-nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-one
Chapter Forty-two
Chapter Forty-three
Chapter Forty-four
Chapter Forty-five
Chapter Forty-six
Chapter Forty-seven
Chapter Forty-eight
Chapter Forty-nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-one
Chapter Fifty-two
Chapter Fifty-three
Chapter Fifty-four
Bonus Material
About the Author
Jo Thomas worked for many years as a reporter and producer, first for BBC Radio 5, before moving on to Radio 2’s The Steve Wright Show. In 2013 Jo won the RNA Katie Fforde Bursary. Her debut novel, The Oyster Catcher, was a runaway bestseller in ebook and was awarded the 2014 RNA Joan Hessayon Award and the 2014 Festival of Romance Best Ebook Award. Her follow-up novels, The Olive Branch, Late Summer in the Vineyard and The Honey Farm on the Hill are also highly acclaimed. Jo lives in the Vale of Glamorgan with her husband and three children.
You can keep in touch with Jo through her website at www.jothomasauthor.com, or via @Jo_Thomas01 on Twitter and JoThomasAuthor on Facebook.
By Jo Thomas
The Oyster Catcher
The Olive Branch
Late Summer in the Vineyard
The Honey Farm on the Hill
Sunset over the Cherry Orchard
Digital Novellas
The Chestnut Tree
The Red Sky at Night
Notes from the Northern Lights
Praise for Jo Thomas
Readers can’t resist Jo Thomas’s feel-good fiction:
‘Romantic and funny’ Sun
‘Sheer romcom brilliance’ Heat
‘This book is scrumptious! I couldn’t stop reading’ Katie Fforde
‘Irresistibly romantic and utterly gorgeous’ Miranda Dickinson
‘A perfect pearl of a story. I loved it’ Milly Johnson
‘Well worth a read’ Carole Matthews
‘Jo’s trademark warmth and wit sing from the page . . . I adored it!’ Cathy Bramley
‘Perfect escapism’ Marie Claire
‘Sunny and funny’ Veronica Henry
‘Perfect summer read’ Liz Fenwick
‘An utterly charming read full of rustic romance and adventure’ Woman magazine
‘Perfect for those who dream of a new life in the sun!’ My Weekly
‘A heart-warming tale’ Ali McNamara
For my daughter Mali.
Your journey is just beginning . . . enjoy!
Love you always x
Hello all,
Come on in. My name is Jo Thomas. If you’ve read my other books, you know you’re in for a story about food and love, with a splash of sun, a dollop of fun stirred in and a cast of characters I hope you’ll fall in love with. If you’re new to my world, you’re very welcome. I hope you’re here to stay!
I was once at one of my favourite restaurants in Puglia, Southern Italy, where I wrote my second book The Olive Branch. The owner brought around a bottle of limoncello, a wonderful Italian lemon liqueur, at the end of the meal with glasses for us all. As he pulled up a chair, he asked what kind of books I wrote. He didn’t speak any English and I didn’t speak much Italian, but I explained that my books were about food and love, because I have always felt that the two are intertwined. He told me that for him, life was all about the food that he and his family grew on the land, cooked in the kitchen and served on the table. He held out his arm to the olive grove surrounding us, gestured to the forno in the kitchen, where the burning wood was glowing orange and merrily pumping smoke out of the chimney, and slapped his hand down on the scrubbed, wooden table, la tavola. ‘For the ones we love,’ he told me as he held his hand to his chest over his heart. And this is exactly the kind of book I like to write: about the food we grow to cook and put on the table for the ones we love. So, pull up a chair at my table.
This time we’re in Spain. I loved visiting Spain to research this book. It was spring when I visited with two other authors, Katie Fforde and AJ Pearce. On our second or third day there, everything suddenly burst into life, with all the colour, noise and vitality we think of when we imagine a Spanish fiesta. The sky was the most amazing cobalt blue the whole week we were there. The vines on the hillside all around us had sprung into life. What we thought were dead stumps when we arrived, suddenly had leaves unfurling. The many garden birds in the trees and shrubs courted each other loudly, flapping, flirting and arguing. The wisteria over the terrace blossomed and there were bees like bomber planes noisily flying from on
e bloom to another. Along the winding road to our villa, wild flowers all of a sudden splashed their colours, a riot of reds, purples and yellows. In the air was the lovely scent of the yellow broom shrub that covered the hillside we were on. The countryside around us looked like a flamenco dancer’s dress, bright, flamboyant and breathtakingly beautiful. The perfect setting for my novel! I do hope you enjoy this trip to my Spanish table set amongst the glorious cherry orchards there.
Con amor,
Jo
xx
Acknowledgements
Thank you, firstly, to Katie Fforde and Caroline Sanderson for sharing their love of flamenco with me. And thank you for introducing me to your fabulous flamenco teacher, Vicki Clifford. We had a wonderful and inspiring evening of flamenco dance in Stroud. Thank you, Vicki, for letting me join in a class the following day. I loved it! Even if I did stamp on my own toe! Any mistakes about flamenco here are entirely my own! But I urge any of you, if you want a fantastic form of exercise, no matter what your age or shape, to find a flamenco class near you. It will make you feel fabulous!
I couldn’t have written this book without a cherry expert. Thank you, Emily Livesey, fruit manager from Lower Hope Cherries in Hereford, for answering all my questions and letting me pick your brains. Once again, any cherry-growing errors in this book will be of my own making. But I hope it makes you go out and buy wonderful, dark, fat cherries in cherry season!
Thank you to James Villa Holidays for the beautiful villa in Cómpeta, Andalucía. It was utterly and blissfully peaceful there. The words certainly flowed at Casa Nobleza! The views were amazing and the pool, just heaven. It was the perfect place to soak up the atmosphere and find the inspiration for the Spanish hilltop town in Sunset over the Cherry Orchard.
A thank you, too, to my lovely hairdresser Xan from Xan’s hair studio for the horse talk and inspiring the lovely stallion in this book. Oh, and for my pink streak! I love it!
And, finally, thank you to my lovely editor Christina Demosthenous. Thank you for continuing the journey with me. Good luck and lots of love as you continue on a journey of your own now! The bravest decisions are often the best ones!
Jo
x
Prologue
‘So, let me check I’ve got that right.’ I read the order back to the customer, who is dressed in a straw trilby, floral shorts and wraparound shades, despite it being mid-February. The airport is busy, noisy and positively buzzing with excitement, despite the rain coming down in stair rods against the big tinted windows, sliding down them like huge tears, almost masking the big white planes taxiing up and down the tarmac outside. But no one in the bustling terminal seems to be worried by the weather. Everyone is positively demob-happy, like the last day of school, as they prepare to jet off to some Mediterranean sunshine or some proper winter snow on sunny slopes where adventures await them.
Some people love the winter. But not me, despite my name being Beti Winter. I love the smiles that summer brings. The hope of what’s to come. I love the feel of sunshine on my face, warming my skin. I look around at the excited, beaming faces of holidaymakers who will, in a few hours’ time, be lying on beaches, catching sunny rays and feeling invigorated by it. Then I sigh. The sort of sigh that comes from deep inside. So deep you didn’t even know a sigh could come from there.
‘It’s a triple cheeseburger with bacon and extra cheese, but hold the onions and no gherkins?’
‘And extra bacon. No lettuce. Who puts salad in a burger anyway?’ says the young man, late twenties, rummaging in his money belt under his flopping beer belly. ‘Couldn’t hold my pint, could you?’ He holds out a tall glass of lager.
I glance up at the departures board clock. Only just eight o’clock in the morning. This is what constitutes ‘getting into the holiday mood’, I have discovered since working here. I take the pint as he struggles to retrieve his money.
‘Come on, Tez! They’ve put up our gate!’ calls one of the lads standing behind him. The whole group are dressed in similar shorts, hats and sunglasses, and are all wearing T-shirts emblazoned with Al’s Big Birthday Bender on the front, and Al’s 30th on the back. ‘Come on!’ they call, jostling like boisterous bulldog pups.
‘Got to get some soakage in!’ Tez banters back, finally digging out his bank card for contactless payment as I hand him back his glass.
‘Birthday bash, is it?’ I nod at the T-shirt.
‘Yes. We do it every year on our annual bonuses. Top computer programming sales team around!’ He raises his voice and his pint to his mates, who cheer raucously.
‘Extra bacon, extra cheese, no onion, no gherkin and definitely no lettuce.’ I smile as I hand over his order.
‘Cheers, love!’ He takes the burger, abandons the pint on a nearby table and greedily starts eating as his mates drag him towards the departure gate.
‘Have fun!’ I say. Despite wishing I was the one heading for a holiday, I can’t help but smile as they bundle him off. I can just imagine the hot sun that will greet them when they land; the clear blue sky, the sparkling sea and the soft sand . . .
‘Two kids’ meals, with matching toys, please.’ A harassed-looking Mum snaps my thoughts back to the here and now. She has two small children using her legs as a maypole, and is trying to keep them and the collection of bags around her feet close, like she’s herding cats.
I quickly process her order and hand it over on a tray. ‘I’ll put in a couple of spare toys, just in case you’ve got those ones,’ I tell her, ignoring the glares from my boss, Stacey, who’s slightly younger than me, but with an extra star on her lapel reflecting her years of service.
‘It’s one toy per meal,’ she whispers fiercely at me. ‘No exceptions.’
‘Of course, Stacey.’ I nod, smile and chuck in the extra toys anyway, hoping it will bring the woman a bit of respite on her journey. Travelling with kids is exhausting. Not that I know first-hand. I don’t have children, and at thirty-two I’m doubting that will ever happen for me now. But I’ve seen the families rolling up, stressed at the start of their holidays, every day since I started here three years ago. I only took the job while I waited for something more suitable to come along. But that seems to be the story of my life so far.
A roar swells above us and another plane takes off. I know the schedule practically off by heart. I look at the clock, counting the minutes until my break.
‘A plain burger, with fries and water,’ says a smartly dressed businessman, putting down his case, unplugging his earphones and reaching inside his jacket pocket for his wallet.
‘Enjoy your trip,’ I tell him as I hand over the paper bag.
‘Thanks.’ He smiles back. ‘I’ll try.’ He puts his earphones back in and turns to leave. I sigh that deep sigh again as I watch him go, longing to escape this place for somewhere hot and sunny.
‘You don’t need to engage everyone in conversation,’ says Stacey. ‘It’s fast food, not some bar in Benidorm. It’s not our job to make sure everyone has a brilliant time.’
Frankly, I’d rather be working in a bar in Benidorm, I think as Stacey turns her attention to her clipboard. ‘Oh, and you can take your break . . .’ she looks at her watch, ‘now.’
I rip off my hat, apron and name tag, grab my handbag and head out of the door at the back of the kitchen and into the crowded concourse. Everyone around me is carrying big bags or pulling cases on wheels. People are wearing bright colours, sparkling flip-flops and straw hats, and looking up at the departures board, eager to depart. There’s a crackle of anticipation in the air. Then a cheer goes up as the next gate is announced. Like a swarm of bees, they all move noisily in the same direction.
It looks like everyone’s heading somewhere on this school half-term break. Everyone except me. I’ll be going back to the flat after my shift finishes, and the closest thing I’ll get to foreign climes is wondering which takeaway menu to order off. The
same as most nights these days. But it wasn’t always like this. I look at the happy, eager faces around me. Will and I were like that with each other once. I’m just not sure when it changed. When he stopped noticing me.
I take the stairs at speed, down to the shops, and dive into the nearest newsagent’s for a sandwich meal deal. I can’t help but wander past the shelves of magazines, the glossy covers selling me all sorts of stories of hopes and dreams. I’d give anything for life to be different right now. For something to give it a much-needed injection of excitement. My eyes automatically scan the wedding magazines. But I’ve got them all already. I’ve got the engagement ring, even if it was just my nan’s thin wedding band, the thick file of plans and the veil too. Just missing the crucial ingredient. A date.
I let my eyes wander to the top shelf. Should I try and be a bit more like the babe on the front cover? Is that what I need to do? Just for a moment, I wonder if I could recreate that pose. No, I’ve bought enough new underwear I tell myself, thinking of my credit-card bill. My eyes wander to the parenting magazines. But I know we’re definitely not ready for that. In fact, I’m not sure it will ever happen for us now, especially as we practically live separate lives. I can’t remember the last time Will came to bed before I’ve fallen asleep – we barely even cuddle these days.
As I scan the shelves, I’m drawn to an image of blue skies, wisps of white cloud, and toffee-coloured stone buildings spilling down a mountainside to the glorious beach and the sea beyond. A magazine about living abroad, a life in the sun, selling the dream. I pick it up as another plane roars into the sky overhead.
‘This isn’t a library, you know. You’ll have to buy that now,’ the sales assistant calls over.
‘What?’
‘There’s nothing worse than buying a brand-new magazine that someone’s already read in the shop,’ he answers tartly, pushing his glasses up his nose. And actually, if he wasn’t so sniffy, I’d probably agree with him!
I look at the price on the cover in horror. But even that can’t put me off buying it. Just looking at the photo gives me the lift I need.