CATHERINE FERGUSON
Saving Miranda Part of the Love…Maybe Eshort Collection: The Serendipitous One
Avon
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins 2015
Copyright © Catherine Ferguson 2015
Catherine Ferguson 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 © February 2015 ISBN: 9780008136086
Version: 2015–01–23
Table of Contents
I’ve got that daft song lodged in my brain.
Always look on the bright side of life!
De-doo. De-doo-de-doo-de-doo.
It honestly couldn’t be less appropriate. Except if you take into account that when he sang it, Eric Idle was nailed to a cross. And I’m stuck up a tree.
So, same scary distance from solid earth.
I desperately need the loo but I can’t cross my legs because I’m balanced on the spindliest branch that will snap if I move an inch.
I’ve been stranded fifteen feet above the ground for what feels like hours. Every time the wind gets up and my perch starts to sway, I go rigid with shock and think: This is it! I’m going to die! I’m so numb with cold, I keep having visions of the latest Damart thermal-wear catalogue. And to top it all, hailstones the size of golf balls have just begun falling out of the sky and chipping at my head.
I risk a quick glance down and my head swims.
Always look on the bright side of—
Shut up, shut up!
Poppy ran off to get help. But how aware are eight-year-olds of the fragility of life? She could so easily have got distracted by a friend on the swings in the park or—
My heart leaps.
A familiar black car is travelling along the road that skirts the village green. It comes to a stop a hundred yards away, almost exactly level with my tree, and relief floods through me.
Thank God!
He gets out and I prepare to yell, ‘Up here! Up here!’ but a second later, the words freeze in my throat.
What I’m looking at makes my heart lurch with disbelief.
I clutch the branch more tightly as a wave of nausea floods through me.
*
One Week Ago
I’m lying in a blissfully deep bubble bath, eating a banana and sipping from a mug of builder’s strength Tetley’s, when the doorbell goes.
Bugger! Who …?
Perhaps I’ll pretend I’m out and just stay here luxuriating for a little while longer …
‘Miranda? Are you in there?’
Rufus! My heart pings.
Rufus is supposed to be in Berkshire, rescuing a pair of historical oak trees. He must have saved them in double quick time and driven back early.
I pull the plug and lurch from the bath so fast, a mini tidal wave follows me out, sloshing water all over the floor. A swift glance in the mirror reveals a slight case of panda eyes (could it pass as the ‘smoky’ look?) and a blonde ponytail all limp from the steamy bath. I rip out the hair tie, fluff out my locks then pull on my robe and abandon the chaos.
I’m closing the bathroom door firmly behind me just as Rufus walks in.
My heart performs its usual triple flip of pleasure.
Rufus Leybourne.
My boyfriend of five months.
Tall and dark. Gorgeous. Sexy. Dynamic.
Plus he’s absolutely brilliant at saving the planet.
‘Hey, gorgeous.’ He gives me that smile that makes my insides turn to melted chocolate and brushes my lips with his. ‘So what have you been up to dressed like that at two in the afternoon?’
‘Oh, nothing much.’ I slip my hands inside his jacket and snuggle against his favourite waistcoat. It’s made from one hundred per cent recycled worsted wool (whatever that is) and it’s a bit scratchy, but I don’t care because it’s imbued with that lovely Rufus smell: a blend of musk and lemon with a hint of something spicy. ‘I just had a shower – an, erm, very quick shower.’
A loud gurgling noise erupts from the next room.
‘A shower, eh?’ Rufus shakes his head in mock despair.
I smile foolishly.
The emptying bath sounds like the agonising death throes of a drowning monster.
I do try. Especially since meeting Rufus. He’s taught me so much about protecting the planet. I know full