A Writer’s RETREAT
Ralph Bradly was possibly the grumpiest man Kate had ever met. He barely spoke, and when he did, he barked each word.
Kate followed him up the muddy path to the cottage. For some reason he’d insisted on coming with her to the holiday let rather than just giving her the keys.
‘It’s beautiful!’ she said, catching up with him at the front door, dragging her suitcase behind her. ‘Just what I need. Nice and remote.’
There was actually a second cottage, made from the same grey stone, just a few metres away from her temporary home. But apart from that, all she could see were fields and a steep hill, covered in thick woodland, rising behind the houses. ‘I’m going to write a novel while I’m here,’ she said as Ralph turned the key in the lock. He replied with an unimpressed grunt.
‘A romance.’ Kate wished she could just stop talking, but she found Ralph’s near silence uncomfortable.
‘You can give us a call if you have any problems,’ he said, pushing
