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CHAPTER ONE

OCTAVIA DENISON FED the last newsletter through the final letter box in the row of cottages and, with a sigh of relief, re hot ride back to the Vicarage

There were times, and this was one of them, when she wished the Reverend Lloyd Denison would ee to his parishioners instead

‘After all,’ as Patrick had coe must have a computer these days’

But her father preferred the personal touch, and when Tavy ca for a chat over a cup of tea because her niece ay on holiday, and who certainly had no computer or even a mobile phone, she supposed wryly that Dad had a point

All the sae on an old boneshaker

For once, late May had produced a mini-heatith cloudless skies and teed to coincide with Greenbrook School’s half-term holiday

Nice for the kids, thought Tavy as she pedalled but, for her, it would be business as usual tomorrow

Her e, paid her what she considered was the appropriate rate for a young and unqualified school secretary, but she expected, according to the local saying, ‘her cake for her ha’penny’

But at the time the job had seeht in the encircling darkness of the stunned grief she shared with her father at her mother’s sudden death from a totally unsuspected heart condition

He’d protested, of course, when she’d announced she was giving up her university course to come home and keep house for hirets, and set herself to rebuilding both their lives, cautiously tackling the parish tasks that her ood hu’s vocabulary, ‘assistant’ was another word for ‘dogsbody’