A Taste of Home Heidi Swain (book recommendations for teens txt) 📖

the lines around his eyes crinkled in such a way that suggested he spent more time laughing than frowning and I found I was rather pleased about that. I broke eye contact first and looked away wondering if his libido had taken a hit like mine had.

‘Does your mum know you’re here?’ he asked, clearing his throat.

I shook my head.

‘What made you come now?’ he carried on, determined to get more out of me before I left. ‘No offence, but you’ve taken your time.’

I kept my lips tightly pressed together.

‘Are you sure you’re going to be okay?’

‘I’ll be fine,’ I said, dashing for the door. ‘It was nice to meet you, Eliot. Thank you for looking after my grandfather.’

Once I was back on the road, I sent up a silent apology to Mum. I was certain that she had written her letter with the best of intentions, with a view to making amends for all the years of holding back, but it was too late to try and squeeze myself into a shape that would fit Fenview Farm. Life there had moved on, her dad had the chance for the fresh start he obviously needed, and there was no way I was going to risk screwing it up for him. I was going to catch a plane back to Italy and my roots were staying put in Puglia.

Chapter 4

I had only walked about half a mile when I heard a car on the road behind me. My ears had been straining to hear the throaty rumble of the Ducati, but it hadn’t come. For some strange reason, part of me had wanted Eliot to come after me, even though I knew my grandfather was in no fit state to be left alone.

I also knew that even though nothing could come of it, I had felt an almost magnetic pull towards Eliot, and the look he’d given me before I left made me think he’d felt it too. I didn’t usually hanker for romantic gestures or grand ‘at first sight’ moments, but truth be told, I wouldn’t have minded Eliot roaring up and sweeping me off my feet!

It was pure fantasy of course, because given his closeness to my grandfather, any sort of contact between us would have made keeping me a secret impossible, and besides, I was grieving and my life was in turmoil. A whirlwind romance should have been the last thing on my mind, shouldn’t it? That said, I could have easily succumbed to a bit of nurturing, although I wasn’t entirely sure that’s where my thoughts about Eliot had been heading.

Feeling wrung out after the emotion of the morning and throwing caution to the wind, I stuck out my thumb. Hitchhiking was hardly the safest option, but thanks to the last dregs of adrenaline still coursing through my system, I knew I had just about enough physical strength in me to fight off even the most persistent assailant, should I need to.

Even so, it was still a heart-stopping moment when the car drove past and then bumped up on to the verge, effectively blocking my path.

The driver, a woman, leant across the seats and opened the passenger door.

‘Hey!’ she shouted. ‘Are you Felicity Brown?’

So much for staying incognito. I wondered if it was Vicky or Eliot who had gone blabbing. I hoped it was Vicky. I’d felt pretty certain Eliot would manage to keep me to himself even if he hadn’t been able to commit to forgetting he’d seen me.

‘Can you give me a lift into Wynbridge?’ I asked, ignoring the question and peering into the car to find a woman with wild, curly greying hair and a tentative smile. She looked to be about Mum’s age.

‘Later perhaps,’ she said, her smile slipping a little as her eyes met mine, ‘but for now I’d like you to come back to the farm with me.’

‘What? The farm back along the drove?’ I asked, feigning ignorance.

‘Yes.’

‘Why on earth would I want to do that?’

‘Because you are Felicity Brown, aren’t you?’

She was like a dog with a bone and I didn’t know how to shake her off. If I carried on walking, she’d doubtless follow me all the way to Wynbridge.

‘Yes,’ I sighed. ‘I am, but I’m not going back to the farm.’

‘Please,’ she pleaded.

‘Who even are you?’ I asked, letting my rucksack slip off my shoulders.

I was sure it felt heavier than when I’d left Italy.

‘I’m Eliot’s mum.’

I hung my head and let out a long breath.

‘He just rang to ask me to take some stuff to the farm and mentioned that you’d turned up.’

I nodded.

‘He went nuts when I said I was going to come and find you.’

That was probably because mentioning me had just slipped out and given the bout of blabbermouth I’d experienced at the farm, I could hardly hold it against him.

‘And why would my turning up be of such interest to you?’ I asked.

‘Because I’m an old friend of your mum’s.’ The woman explained, her voice catching. ‘My name’s Louise Randall. Your mum wrote to me a couple of months ago and told me all about you. I hadn’t heard from her in almost thirty years. She said you might turn up.’

She knew then. She knew what had happened to Mum.

‘Right,’ I said, swallowing down the lump which had lodged itself in my throat again. ‘I see.’

In Italy, no one had mentioned another letter, but someone must have sent it on Mum’s behalf. I didn’t think it could have been Alessandro, Marco or Nonna, because they would have said about it when I read them mine. Perhaps Mum had coerced one of the nurses who came to visit into helping, or the doctor perhaps. I wondered if any more revelatory letters were waiting to be revealed.

‘Come on,’ Louise encouraged. ‘Come back to the farm and we’ll have a proper chat.’

‘But what about my grandfather?’

‘Don’t worry,’ she said, unable to keep the wobble out of her voice. ‘William doesn’t know anything. Not