The Start of Something Wonderful , livre ebook

Boldwood Books - Jessica Redland

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178 pages

English

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The BRAND NEW novel from million-copy bestseller Jessica Redland!

‘A heartwarming story of true friendship, love and romance set in the gorgeous backdrop of the Lakes. A cosy hug of a read that left me feeling warm inside.’ Julie Caplin

Autumn Laine has lost her creative sparkle. After losing her grandad and her job as an illustrator in quick succession, she is at a crossroads in life and needs a break. Spending time with her parents in Paris, even in the artistic community of Montmartre, doesn't appear to be the answer.

So when her penpal, Rosie, invites her to stay in the Lake District, Autumn jumps at the chance to get away from the hustle and bustle of Paris. After all, where better to re-discover her creativity than the place which inspired her heroine, Beatrix Potter?

Arriving at the picturesque lakeside village of Willowdale, Autumn is swept up by the beauty and magic of the stunning landscape. Welcomed into the community with open arms, she slowly starts to feel like herself again as her creative instincts re-ignite.

But when she meets Dane, who has escaped to the Lakes for his own reasons, will Autumn's walls come down to let someone in again after so long? Or will the secrets of her past continue to hold her back?

A new beginning is a daunting prospect, but could it be the start of something wonderful too..?

Join million-copy bestseller Jessica Redland for a brand new series, full of love, friendship and community.

'A heartwarming story set in a beautiful location... Love, friendship and the power of letting go are all covered in this gorgeous, beautifully written story.' Katie Ginger

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Publié par	Boldwood Books
Date de parution	17 juillet 2023
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781801624763
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,2050€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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THE START OF SOMETHING WONDERFUL
ESCAPE TO THE LAKES BOOK 1

JESSICA REDLAND
CONTENTS

Author’s Note

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

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

More From Jessica Redland

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Also by Jessica Redland

Love Notes

About Boldwood Books
To my amazing husband, Mark, who held my hand as he calmly guided me down Blencathra when I was afraid of falling and encouraged me to keep going round Derwent Water when my legs didn’t want to work anymore. All my love, always and forever xx

The Lake District is our happy place and it’s such a privilege to write a series set in this beautiful part of the UK which is loved by so many. I therefore also dedicate the start of the Escape to the Lakes series to those who were born here, live here, work here or who have visited and fallen in love with this wonderful place, just like us xx
AUTHOR’S NOTE

The Willowdale series is set around Derwent Water in the Lake District National Park – an area I know and love from many wonderful holidays since childhood – but I had one burning question. Is it Derwent Water or Derwentwater? As it happens, there’s no definitive agreement, with the versions being used interchangeably. I have chosen to consistently use the two-word spelling of Derwent Water because both Ordnance Survey and the National Trust use this. Neither version is incorrect.
There are also variations in spellings of fells and other places (e.g. Cat Bells and Friar’s Crag), in which case I have also gone with the Ordnance Survey’s spelling.
1

The glass door to my manager Madeline’s office was wide open, as always. Her elbows were resting on her desk, with her fingers pressed against her temples, as she stared at something on her computer screen. Whatever she was looking at, it wasn’t good, stirring nervous butterflies in my stomach. Could there be restructure news already? We’d been warned there’d be changes in the New Year, but I’d assumed we’d have a couple of weeks to settle back in before any announcements were made. Only one way to find out! I straightened my shoulders, took a calming breath, and knocked on the glass.
Madeline raised her head and her face lit up instantly with a warm smile. ‘Autumn! Happy New Year!’
I slipped into the chair on the other side of her desk. ‘And to you. Have you had a good break?’
Madeline nearly always had a Christmas dinner disaster story to share, usually featuring either a burnt or raw turkey. This year had seemingly been the worst yet after a misunderstanding between her and her husband meant nobody actually collected the turkey from the butcher.
‘The pigs in blankets were coming from the butcher too,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘On a positive note, the roasties were a triumph, thanks to your grandma’s method. Thanks for sharing it.’
I smiled, thinking of Grandma’s amazing roast potatoes – light and fluffy on the inside and crunchy on the outside. Cooking had been one of her two greatest passions – the other being painting – and she’d always been happy to share her recipes and tips. I loved the thought of her legacy living on in recipes passed down through other families.
‘How was your Christmas?’ Madeline tilted her head to one side and looked at me with sad eyes. ‘How’s your granddad?’
‘He’s still with us,’ I said, my voice catching in my throat as the words for now floated round my mind. ‘It was good to see Maman and Papa.’
‘Have they gone back to Paris now?’
‘Yes, they were only here for a week. They always go to the New Year’s Eve show and fireworks on the Champs-Elysées and Granddad was adamant they mustn’t change their plans to be with him. He said he’d refuse to see them if they stayed any longer, so they left on the 30th.’
I’m half English, half French. My parents – Claudette and Darius – met and fell in love when Papa was undertaking a year out in Paris as part of his French and Politics degree. After graduating, he secured a job in the British Embassy in Paris, where he’s worked ever since. Maman’s passion is art and she has an amazing job as a senior curator for Le Musée du Louvre.
I was born in France and completed my primary education there, but my parents wanted me to go to senior school in the UK. I therefore spent school terms from the age of eleven living with Papa’s parents in Sutton – South London or Surrey depending on who you spoke to – and most of the holidays with my parents. I continued my further and higher education in the UK and the original plan had been to return to Paris after I graduated from university, but Grandma passed away at the start of my penultimate term there. I’d found it hard enough worrying about Granddad facing life without his beloved wife when I was only forty-five miles away from him in Brighton, so there was no way I could consider leaving him to return to France. Settling in the UK also meant there was no danger of seeing the man back in France who’d broken my heart, which was definitely a good thing because, if our paths ever did cross, I doubted I’d have the strength to resist him and would likely end up with my heart broken all over again.
‘Paris at New Year must be wonderful,’ Madeline said, a dreamy expression in her eyes. ‘Back to work, though, and I hate to start the New Year with bad news, but the restructuring plans have been confirmed and it’s as we suspected – there will be a headcount reduction.’
My stomach sank. ‘By how much?’
‘Twenty-five per cent,’ she said, with an apologetic shrug. ‘Across all levels.’
‘So we’re both at risk?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
I was a junior illustrator for the UK’s leading designer and manufacturer of greetings cards, Thoughtful Cards, where my specialism was woodland animals. Madeline had been my mentor when I secured the job ten years ago. She’d been promoted to head of department four years later and I… well, I hadn’t changed role in all that time. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to progress, but the past six years had been tough with Granddad getting sick too. Sometimes there were more important things than climbing the career ladder and I was glad I’d spent as much time with Granddad as I could.
‘What happens next?’ I asked.
‘We’re offering voluntary redundancy and early retirement but will have to make compulsory redundancies if there aren’t enough takers. Those who want to stay will be interviewed next week with Ross and me and asked to pitch one design for a brand-new range of greetings cards.’
I slumped back in the chair, shaking my head slowly, my stomach in knots. ‘A new design? I can’t. Not with everything… I just can’t.’
‘Autumn Laine!’ she cried, raising her eyebrows at me. ‘Don’t you dare take yourself out of the game like that!’
‘But—’
‘But nothing! I know the last few years have been tough and I know how hard it is to be creative with cute and cuddly woodland animals when your world is falling apart, but you’re still the most talented illustrator I’ve ever worked with and I know you can pull it out of the bag.’
Madeline was an amazing manager and had been so understanding with me that I’d have loved to reassure her and make her proud, but I couldn’t. My mind was blank.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, her voice softening. ‘It’s not the welcome back I wanted to give you.’
I pushed the chair back. ‘I guess I’d better get back to the drawing board.’ I somehow managed to inject some positivity into my voice, even though I didn’t feel it.
‘I believe in you. You just need to believe in yourself,’ she said, as though reading my mind. ‘Dig deep and I know you’ll get your mojo back.’
I nodded and left the office. Dig deep? Even if I had a pneumatic drill, I wasn’t sure I could dig deep enough to retrieve my lost mojo. I’d been going through the motions over the past year, managing to add to my existing, familiar ranges – the animals I could draw with my eyes closed – but any attempts at creating something new had ended in failure. I had nothing. My creative well was empty. Madeline had gone above and beyond with her patience, but her empathy and belief in me weren’t going to count for anything when I stood in front of her and the Creative Director next week with nothing to show except a blank screen. I shuddered at the thought of it. I couldn’t do that to her or to me. I’d dig as deep as I possibly could and I’d find something. At least if I didn’t retain my job, I’d leave knowing I’d tried.
2

‘It’s freezing out there,’ I said when I arrived at Juniper Gardens after work – the hospice where Granddad had been staying since early November.
‘They’re predicting snow next week,’ the receptionist said, grimacing.
I shuddered at the thought of it and rubbed my cold hands together before picking up the pen and signing the visitors’ register.
Granddad’s room was on the first floor. I knocked softly but there was no answer, so I gently pushed the door open. A small table lamp cast a warm glow across the bed, catching the steady rise and fall of Granddad’s chest as he slept.
The curtains were still open so I slipped my coat off, unwound my scarf, and went over to the window. Granddad liked to watch the birds attracted to various feeders spread around the garden and gaze upon the enormous cherry blossom tree in the middle, but there was nothing to see in the darkness except a few lights in rooms across the quad, so I closed the curtains and settled into the armchair beside his bed.
Granddad’s eye