Shameless Self Promotion

Here's a taster of story what I wrote. If you enjoy it...its on Amazon

  You could not get more picture postcard.
  A long drive to a door set in a pillared porch, surrounded by blooming roses laden with full, heavily scented blooms. Warm gravel crunching underfoot. White gloss windows glistening in the sun reflecting the perfectly blue sky. All around the rolling Sussex hills. An idyll. A perfect English setting.
  His hand went automatically to his collar and he ran a finger round inside it to loosen its grip as he stepped between the two pillars of the porch and tugged gently on the polished bell pull. Somewhere deep in the Manor a bell jangled. It was a sound he had heard many times before, and here he was again, under the same circumstance. He stood back a pace.
  The old, gleaming, white panelled door swung open and there stood Mrs Edgerton-Jones, in her usual sensible attire. A black roll-neck, tight in all the appropriate places showing a trim figure without excess, a dash of pearls at the neck and sensible but tight mid-length skirt, good shoes with a low heel. Smart, authoritative and determined to be lacking in glamour, yet still looking better than most and to him, as to most men, very attractive. The expensive hair cut, beautifully coloured ash blonde, and the clothes spoke elegantly of money, as well as of style.
  “Dear Mr Mayweather,” she said. “Do come in.”
  “I'm so sorry dear Mrs Edgerton-Jones to be seeing you once again in such sad circumstances.”
  “Indeed,” She replied “Perhaps next time it will be to talk about something more cheerful than another sad passing.”
  It was no more than their usual exchange.
  “Oh I do hope so,” he said.
  He clasped his hands together as they passed through the white panelled hall, into the private quarters and on into Mrs Edgerton-Jones's sitting room. She indicated a chair and he sat, crossing a leg to reveal a rather scuffed brown brogue. He admired the tea laid before them. A tray, a china pot, china cups, milk in a jug, a cake resting under a glass dome, plates with knives. Something from a time before, now long gone, but elegant, refined and, despite the sad occasions that bought him here, something he always looked forward to, very much.
  She poured tea, sliced cake, offered, and generally hosted a most pleasant half an hour for the Vicar. Lemon drizzle, always a favourite, and a light delicate tea served in fine bone china. What a way to live, and increasingly rare to find. Indeed, he mused, what a very unusual woman Mrs Edgerton-Jones was.
  Yet, despite this being something he had done every few months for more than twelve years, sometimes for charity or church appeals, sometimes for today's sad task and sometimes by simple invitation for no apparent reason, he felt he knew so little of her. She reeked of money; the whole house did, no expense was spared and the Manor was always in perfect order.
  An army of cleaners, maintenance men, decorators and so on, came and went and did their work. The upkeep must have run into thousands each year, but the results were worth every penny, provided you had it, he thought.

That's it - your taster is over. 
To find out what happens click on Amazon link

It's supposed to be FREE until Monday 6th Nov. After that it's just 99p.

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