Birds of a Feather Read online

  ‘It’s looking particularly beautiful today,’ Jack said, turning to face her. ‘It probably knows it’s your birthday.’

  Abby nodded. ‘I went around the reserve a couple of days ago shouting about it, so everyone knew they needed to pull out all the stops.’

  ‘That sounds like something you’d do.’

  ‘It does?’

  ‘Definitely. I heard you telling Raffle all about your plans for Swallowtail’s grounds when you came back from your walk yesterday.’ He raised an eyebrow, and Abby flushed. ‘I had the window open, and you were out there for a while, chatting away.’

  ‘There was a red admiral. I was watching it, and I hadn’t realized …’ She tailed off, remembering that she’d been chuntering to her husky about how she had got a taste for al fresco lovemaking after her and Jack’s reunion at Swallowtail House, when they had taken longer than expected to make it back to champagne and chips at Peacock Cottage, and how she hoped those rambling, secluded gardens would provide more opportunities while the weather was good. ‘Oh.’

  His lips were twitching and it wasn’t long before his face broke out into a full, unhindered smile, something that, she had noticed, he did a lot more easily now. ‘I think it’s an excellent idea,’ he said softly, dropping his head so that his words reverberated in her ear. ‘I think Swallowtail House as a whole has a lot of potential. Though of course, it’s crawling with builders at the moment, so we’ll have to time it carefully.’

  Abby shivered happily, suddenly reminded of the evening in Peacock Cottage when Octavia, Rosa and Jonny were looking for the badger, and Jack had found out that his notes to Abby were often read by more than just her. She remembered the hope and the tension, the rush of feelings as he’d kissed her, and her uncertainties of that night. She wondered, with Jack here beside her, his fingers laced through hers, how she had ever had a second of hesitation about him, let alone months.

  ‘I’m glad you think expanding our horizons is a good idea,’ she said, and felt him stiffen slightly. ‘What is it?’

  ‘When you say expanding our horizons …’ He gave her a quick smile. ‘Leo’s been approached by a crime writing festival in Madrid. The Hidden Field has been published in Spain, and they’d like me to be one of the panellists. It’s in a couple of weeks’ time, but I was wondering if Penelope might let you have a few days off so you could come with me? It would only be a long weekend, but I know how much work you have to do here.’

  Abby’s heart leapt at the thought of a long weekend with him, of being able to explore a new city together. ‘I do have annual leave written into my contract,’ she said. ‘And the last time I took any was for the Page Turner gala.’

  He nodded, neither of them needing to remind the other of the significance of that night. ‘So … you might be able to come?’

  ‘I would love to come. But are you sure you want me there?’

  ‘There’ll be a one-hour talk, some networking with the organizers and other writers, but other than that we’ll have the time to ourselves. Suddenly, all these promotional events are looking more appealing.’ He kissed her, his lips tasting of chocolate.

  Abby laughed. ‘You love them really.’

  ‘I do. But I’ll enjoy them even more if you’re there.’

  ‘We’ll have to ask Octavia to look after Raffle, but I doubt she’ll mind. She’ll do anything you ever ask, now that you’re supporting the library.’

  ‘Libraries are an invaluable resource, and Octavia’s one of the most dedicated people I’ve met. I have to be involved now that I’m a resident of Meadowgreen.’

  ‘Resident of Meadowgreen, eh?’ Abby said. ‘I like the sound of that. I still can’t quite believe it. That you’re here, with me, permanently.’

  Jack’s eyes searched hers. ‘Believe it, Abby. I’m here to stay. You’re well and truly stuck with me. I’ve got your present at Peacock Cottage – I wanted to save it until this evening. But there’s something I’d like to show you at Swallowtail, as soon as this is over.’

  Abby looked over at her friends and family. Stephan was pouring out glasses of his homemade lemonade, Evan was showing Willow and Daisy a meadow brown butterfly that had landed on one of the picnic tables, and Jonny and Leo were laughing about something as they each took a second slice of cake. She wondered how she had got so lucky, what she had done to deserve such a brilliant group of people in her life, and then realized she didn’t need to search for an explanation. They were here, and that was all that mattered.

  ‘Soon,’ she said, squeezing Jack’s hand, and they went back to join the party.

  Epilogue

  Swallowtail House no longer smelled musty, but of paint and plaster, the fumes of renovation that got inside Abby’s nose and made her sneeze. And it wasn’t quiet, either, with repetitive banging noises coming from the kitchen, which Jack had chosen as the first room to update. They had talked about how it would be the main focus of the house, with its space and the light from the large windows, Jack’s eyes bright with excitement at all the possibilities.

  It was no longer the mysterious, dilapidated place that Abby had gazed at from a distance, wondering at Penelope’s reasons for holding onto it for all those years. Now the secrets were uncovered, and the house was getting its own chance at a fresh life.

  Jack led her up the stairs. They had collected Raffle on the way and he followed placidly behind, happy to be inside out of the heat.

  Jack stopped on the landing and put his hands on her shoulders. ‘Close your eyes,’ he said, and then, when she did, he kissed her forehead, took her hands and led her forwards. They walked a few steps, his pace slow and careful, guiding her gently over the floorboards. ‘Now. Open them.’

  She did, and her gaze immediately landed on the startling new object in the otherwise empty room. They were in the master bedroom, the one that, on their visit all those months ago, they had stood in, looking out towards the reserve and the village. Now, instead of the lovebirds Jack had discovered, hanging down from the window, catching the light of the bold, summer sun, there was a swallowtail butterfly. It was glass, the detail of its black patterning – so like stained-glass anyway – picked out in lead, the red dots of colour at the base of its yellow wings glowing like rubies.

  ‘It’s from the same craftsman as Penelope’s lovebirds,’ he said. ‘When I gave them back to her, she told me where they came from, and I was curious. I wanted to see if this woman, Phyllis Drum, was still around, still making things all these years later, so I looked her up, and that’s when I found the swallowtail. I’ll have to take you one day, her workshop is a treasure trove.’

  ‘You gave the lovebirds back to Penelope?’ Abby felt a swell of tenderness for Jack, for his sensitivity towards her boss who, even though she was warming to them all, her revelations breaking down barriers between them that could never be rebuilt, was still not the most emotionally open person. ‘What did she say?’

  ‘I knew that you were right, that they must have meant a lot to her, and that, despite the pain of losing Al, despite leaving them behind, she would never have wanted us to get rid of them. She was shocked, I think, when I handed them to her, and I didn’t want to push the issue. Leo was there, so I left her in his capable hands, but she did tell me where she’d got them. She bought them as a present for Al who, after all, had inspired her love of nature.’

  Abby turned back to the butterfly hanging in the window, casting patterns of yellow and red light over the bare, dusty boards. ‘It’s beautiful, Jack. I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘I just thought that, when this room is finished, when we’re in here – I don’t know.’ He ran a hand over his jaw. ‘I wanted to show you how much you’ve inspired me, how much you’ve changed my life. I wouldn’t be here, surrounded by all this, with a future I can truly look forward to, if it wasn’t for you. God,’ he said, ‘for someone who spends their life wrestling words into place, I’m finding this very difficult.’

  ‘Finding what difficult?
’

  ‘Telling you how much I love you, conveying the strength of my feelings.’

  ‘You could write it down,’ she said, knowing that he didn’t need to do a thing, because she could see it in his face.

  ‘I could,’ he agreed. ‘We seem to be rather good at letters. And if I did that, if I wrote everything down on a piece of paper, for you to read at your own leisure—’

  ‘Then I’d reply, of course. Though I’m not sure it would be a very long reply.’ She tilted her head up, pressing herself against him as she found his lips with hers, kissing him slowly, luxuriously.

  ‘Why wouldn’t it be very long?’ he murmured. ‘Because you don’t feel the same?’

  ‘No, not that,’ she said. ‘I think you know by now that I do. My letter would be short because it would only need one word to let you know that, after all your hours of heartfelt thinking, tearing your hair out and trying to conjure up exactly what you wanted to say to me, I felt the same. I’d let you do all the hard work – you are the wordsmith, after all.’ She smiled at him, inhaling as his gaze trailed from her eyes, to her lips, to her throat, as if identifying all the places he needed to kiss her next.

  ‘So, what would it say then, this letter?’ His words were whispers on her cheeks, tickling her hot skin.

  ‘It would say ditto,’ Abby said quietly, and she kissed him again, beneath the glare of the sun, the yellow and ruby-red glow of the glass swallowtail, and the watchful, patient eyes of Raffle. She was in the house that, from the moment she had moved to Meadowgreen, she had gazed upon with intrigue and longing, and she was in the arms of the man that she loved, a man that she would learn and grow and laugh with, who brought drama and passion into her life, and a sense of belonging like nothing she had ever felt before.

  Abby Field was off the reserve again – and this time, she knew exactly how it had happened.

  About the Author

  Cressy was born in South East London surrounded by books and with a cat named after Lawrence of Arabia. She studied English at the University of East Anglia and now lives in Norwich with her husband David. When she isn’t writing, Cressy spends her spare time reading, returning to London or exploring the beautiful Norfolk coastline.

  If you’d like to find out more about Cressy, visit her on Twitter and on Facebook. She’d love to hear from you!

  /CressidaMc‌LaughlinAuthor

  @CressMcLaughlin

  https://cressidamclaughlin.com

  Read on for an exclusive interview with the author Cressida Mclaughlin

  Where did the idea come from for The House of Birds and Butterflies?

  I love visiting local nature reserves, and I noticed that at several of the places we go to regularly there is a long, winding approach road to the car park, and a random cottage nestled in the trees, almost hidden away, that seems to have nothing to do with the reserve itself.

  They look cosy and slightly mysterious, and I’ve often wondered who lives in them, and how they feel about cars and walkers traipsing past continuously. The seed was sown of having a heroine who works on a nature reserve, and who is desperate to encourage more visitors, but whose new neighbour – in the nearby, secluded cottage – is less than delighted with all the traffic. I’ve wanted to write a book set on a nature reserve for a long time, and this seemed like the perfect hook.

  Are you a nature lover yourself?

  Yes! I don’t claim to be an expert twitcher – we often have to ask fellow bird-watchers what it is they’re looking at – but I love going to the local nature reserves and exploring the wildlife, or watching the birds on the feeders outside our kitchen window. We’re lucky in Norfolk that there are so many different habitats, so much wonderful wildlife to see, and we even have a sparrowhawk who sometimes finds her dinner in our garden, which is grizzly but spectacular to watch.

  Tell us about the location for the book, is it inspired by a real place?

  Meadowsweet Nature Reserve is an amalgamation of several places – Strumpshaw Fen and Titchwell Marsh Nature Reserve in Norfolk, and Minsmere in Suffolk. They’re such interesting places, and not just because of the wildlife and habitats. They attract so many different types of people, and the staff and volunteers are obviously so passionate about nature – they’re like their own little communities. The other inspiration for Meadowsweet is Sevenoaks Wildlife Reserve, which is the first reserve my parents took me to when I was small, and where my love of nature stemmed from. I remember seeing my first kingfisher there, and being amazed that there was this huge, beautiful green space not that far from our suburban London house. It felt really magical.

  What do you like about publishing your books as serials?

  I’m a huge fan of a box set, and serials are the publishing equivalent. I love it when readers get to the end of one part and are desperate to read the next – then I know I’ve done the story justice. I get five beautiful covers, and five publication days for each novel, which is brilliant. It also means that the book stays in readers’ minds, and even if they’re waiting for the paperback it’s been on their radar for a while, popping up on social media for months beforehand.

  From a writing point of view, it’s really useful to think of the book as four separate stories, as it makes me work hard to get enough content and action in each one, but also makes the chunks seem more manageable while I’m writing it.

  Does it pose any challenges?

  Sometimes I can be editing two different parts at the same time, and that occasionally gets confusing! But I’m getting used to the process, and think that I’ve got into a good rhythm with my lovely editor, and know what to expect. I do get the odd grumble on Amazon from someone who’s had to wait a couple of weeks for the next part, but I take that as a compliment that they’re engaged with the story. I have to wait until next Monday for the next episode of Marcella (goddammit) but that’s part of the fun, and it means I think about it a lot more than if I’d been able to binge the whole series in one go.

  What does your writing day look like?

  I love starting early in the morning – my brain is much more engaged then – so I’ll usually sit at my desk at about 7am and try and get some words down first thing. I don’t edit as I go along, but I do like to read through what I’ve written the day before to get myself immersed in the story again. There are lots of breaks for coffee and biscuits, but I’ll aim to do about 4,000 words every day when I’m writing a first draft. I usually finish about 2 or 3pm, and then catch up on social media, blog posts or reading.

  Do you have a view to inspire you?

  My office window looks out over our back garden. I can often see blue tits and chaffinches in the trees, or watch pigeons or jackdaws strutting about on the kitchen roof. At the moment it’s raining, but there’s a clutch of daffodils beneath our bird table, looking very pretty despite the grey day. I have also made my office as pretty as possible, with a glittery lava lamp, pastel fairy lights, a light box to put messages on and colour changing orb. Anyone would think I was a fan of pretty lights!

  Was there a book that made you want to write?

  A Hopeless Romantic by Harriet Evans. I love that book so much. It’s set between Norfolk and London – my two stomping grounds – and the central characters, Laura and Nick, are brilliant. It’s a messy, real-life fairy-tale, and I remember being so swept up in it, so desperate to be in Laura’s shoes. That was when I decided I needed to write my own book, that I wanted to create messy fairy-tales that made people groan and laugh and swoon in the way I had reading Laura and Nick’s story.

  Do you have a desert island book, or list of books that you’d want?

  This kind of question brings me out in a cold sweat. Choose just a few books? Argh! OK, here goes.

  A Hopeless Romantic by Harriet Evans (obviously).

  Captain Corelli’s Mandolin by Louis De Bernieres.

  The Unfinished Symphony of You and Me by Lucy Robinson

  Helen Fields’ books – Perfect Remains, Perfect Prey, Perfe
ct Death and Perfect Silence. (I haven’t read the fourth yet, but already I know I couldn’t be without it!)

  The entire Karen Swan back catalogue

  The Lore of the Land – a big fat encyclopaedia that is a guide to England’s legends and ghosts, and is completely fascinating.

  Reading device or the real thing?

  I couldn’t be without either! There’s nothing like a beautiful paperback or hardback, the smell of it and the feel of the pages riffling through your fingers. Books are objects to be treasured, and I love that our house is slowly being consumed by bookshelves. But I love my Kindle too. I feel so reassured by having hundreds of books with me wherever I go, and on such a sleek, sexy device. If I get stuck on a train for hours or in a hotel when it’s raining outside, I have a wealth of books to choose from, and the whole Kindle store just a few clicks away. And I love that I can look up words and make notes, put my favourite authors’ books into different folders, get recommendations and log my progress on Goodreads. It’s like having my own personal library in my handbag, and what book lover wouldn’t be deliriously happy with that?

  Read on for an extract of Cressy’s heart-warming novel, The Once in a Blue Moon Guesthouse…

  Chapter 1

  Even with its cloak of December grey, Campion Bay was beautiful. Robin Brennan tucked her gloved hand through her mother’s arm and slowed her pace. The sand was compact beneath their feet, and Robin wanted to take her boots off and feel it against her bare soles, despite the blistering cold.

  She had been back here for three months; back in her childhood town, with its quaint teashops and Skull Island crazy golf course and the sea stretching out alongside them, never the same, today a dark, gunmetal grey with barely a hint of blue. It was the last day of the year, a time to think about starting afresh and promised resolutions, but Robin felt in some respects like she’d gone backwards.