The Lovebirds

The Lovebirds
Cressida McLaughlin

‘Captivating, uplifting and heartfelt’ Heat Magazine‘A wonderful ray of reading sunshine’ Heidi Swain‘What a beautiful, heartwarming story… the perfect book to lose yourself in’ Zara StoneleyIt’s winter at Meadowsweet nature reserve. Wildlife-lover Abby is busy trying to lure in the crowds, and although her event planning is a little on the whacky side, her creative efforts are helping to keep Meadowsweet afloat. She’s not having quite the same luck, however, in getting to know the elusive village newcomer, disgraced celebrity author Jack. It’s clear that Jack has mysterious reasons for staying out of the limelight, and the village rumour mill is in overdrive.Abby’s passion for the great outdoors is nothing short of infectious and when Jack joins her on a special nature walk, sparks unexpectedly start to fly.The Lovebirds is the third part of a four-part seriesAs their relationship thaws, should Abby be on high alert? Or would a new romance be the most natural thing in the world…The Lovebirds is the second part of a four-part serial.

Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

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First published in Great Britain in ebook format in 2018 by HarperColl‌insPublishers

Copyright © Cressida McLaughlin 2018

Cover design © HarperColl‌insPublishers Ltd 2018.

Cover illustration © Lindsey Spinks / The Artworks

Cressida McLaughlin asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Ebook Edition © March 2018 ISBN: 9780008225810

Version 2018-06-20

Table of Contents

Cover (#ue566a746-f5fb-518d-9ec1-ebb9b0a6ad4f)

Title Page (#u4880e4a0-5749-5030-9646-a3964b8f1635)

Copyright (#u517e7698-0738-5390-96e8-01ed8ad39b6c)

Part Two: The Lovebirds (#u0b1f7740-dbfa-5b3d-8de5-e61f094d9e3c)

Chapter One (#u0e8aa3db-dabb-51f5-99ba-dd727a140db4)

Chapter Two (#u5f350618-e264-588f-876f-45aad7056288)

Chapter Three (#u122af403-3d83-57ab-8625-a193bea50c98)

Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)

Keep Reading… (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 1 (#litres_trial_promo)

Also by Cressida McLaughlin (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)

Part Two (#u89356b35-4fad-5ab7-85d6-5f2fc5dad2e5)

Chapter One (#u89356b35-4fad-5ab7-85d6-5f2fc5dad2e5)

A bittern is a rare, beautiful bird, like a heron, only smaller and with golden-brown plumage. They hide deep among the reeds and are very shy, so when you get the chance to see one, it’s a big deal. A male bittern booms when it’s looking for a girlfriend, and it sounds really strange – a bit like someone trying to play the bassoon for the first time.

— Note from Abby’s notebook.

Abby Field looked out at the courtyard garden, at the row of terracotta pots that had no soil in them and the grey, leaden sky above, and felt her mood darken. She turned away from the unforgiving sight, and back towards the room that, in contrast, was soft and warm, with cream furnishings, walls and carpets, hints of gold from the gilt-framed mirror, the subtle pattern on the cushions and shimmering lampshades.

‘You could get some bird feeders,’ she said, as her mum walked into the room carrying a tray laden with tea things. ‘They would find them.’

‘Oh Abby, I can’t be doing with all that muck – those birds carry diseases, you know. If you’re not careful you can catch something horrible, I hope you wear gloves at that place of yours.’

Caroline Payne, who had reverted to her maiden name after her divorce from Abby’s dad, was much like her living room. She was soft around the edges, her straightened hair expensively dyed platinum, her silky top and fitted trousers muted colours of beige and taupe, cream and dusky pink. Her gold earrings were almost a perfect match for the lampshades.

‘I’m as careful as I need to be,’ Abby said, self-consciously tucking a strand of her own, dark blonde hair behind her ear. ‘And you shouldn’t believe all you read, either. In terms of the world’s most dangerous species, UK birds come low down on the list. And they bring … doesn’t it make you happy, Mum, when you see a robin, or a great tit, or even a sparrow bouncing about on the bushes outside? Sparrows are in decline.’

‘I barely notice them,’ Caroline said dismissively. ‘Now, tell me what’s happening with you. How’s that husky of yours, and is he the only male you’re spending any significant time with?’ She sat back on the sofa, in it for the long haul, and Abby suppressed a sigh.

It was New Year’s Day, and Abby was at her mum’s modern house in Lavenham. Her sister, Tessa, had meant to come with her, bringing her children, Daisy and Willow, whose presence would have distracted Caroline from asking Abby pertinent questions about Meadowsweet Nature Reserve, where she worked as activity coordinator, and the state of her love life, which was currently non-existent. Their absence was down to a sickness bug – not alcohol-induced after a raucous New Year’s Eve party, but one that had started with Neil, Tessa’s husband, and was making its way steadily through the family.

It had meant that Abby was instructed to stay away and had spent New Year’s Eve at home with Raffle, the aforementioned husky, and a night of disaster movies on Film4. Not the best way to spend the last day of the year, perhaps, but certainly not the worst.

‘Raffle’s fine,’ Abby said. ‘And yes, he’s the only male I’m close to.’ She put a hand to her cheek absentmindedly.

There was no way she was going to tell her mum about Jack Westcoat, who had moved into Peacock Cottage, the snug house that stood incongruously on the approach road to Meadowsweet, in September. Initially, he had been a problem to tick off Abby’s to-do list, complaining about visitors disturbing him when Abby’s main target was to increase the number of people who spent time at the reserve.

He was an irritation. He was snobbish and entitled and scowled most of the time, and yet … she rubbed her cheek, the spot where, a few weeks earlier, he had kissed her under the mistletoe. She was behaving like a teenager, but she couldn’t help it. There was something hidden behind his blue eyes and stern, handsome face that intrigued her. She shouldn’t allow herself to get close enough to him to tease it out, but his suggestion that they meet for coffee once the festivities were out of the way hadn’t been far from her thoughts over Christmas.

‘Have a cup of Assam,’ her mother said, pouring from the china teapot. She was doing that motherly thing of watching Abby while also not spilling any tea. Abby didn’t like the look she was giving her.