Home and Heart

By Chris Quinton

It's December in the Cotswolds, deep in the heart of England, and Ben Elliot of Home-Safe House & Pet Sitting is looking after Mrs Bonney’s home and two dogs while the elderly lady is away for two months recovering from an operation. When her black-sheep grandson, Adam Prescott, turns up on the doorstep, Ben has to take in the stray human as well. Adam, hurting and betrayed by family, boyfriend and Fate, needs to have his faith in others restored, and Ben decides he is the one to do it.

Having gone through an acrimonious split with his lover, Adam has no home, no money, no job and nowhere to go, except his grandmother's house. The son of an abusive, violent father, there's a lot of anger and resentment in him, demons he must exorcise. When he learns an unpleasant truth about his father, Ben helps him come to terms with it, and to find a new direction for his life - together, Ben hopes. But then Adam's ex-boyfriend shows up, offering him the world on a platter if only Adam will come back to him.

Christmas may not be a time of celebration for Ben.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chris Quinton
• Release date: Feb 13, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005879310

Chris Quinton

Chris Quinton  Chris started creating stories not long after she mastered joined-up writing, somewhat to the bemusement of her parents and her English teachers. But she received plenty of encouragement. Her dad gave her an already old Everest typewriter when she was ten, and it was probably the best gift she'd ever received – until the inventions of the home-computer and the worldwide web. Chris's reading and writing interests range from historical, mystery, and paranormal, to science-fiction and fantasy, writing mostly in the male/male genre. She also writes the occasional male/female novel in the name of Chris Power. She refuses to be pigeon-holed and intends to uphold the long and honourable tradition of the Eccentric Brit to the best of her ability. In her spare time [hah!] she reads, or listens to audio books while quilting or knitting. Over the years she has been a stable lad [briefly] in a local racing stable and stud, a part-time and unpaid amateur archaeologist, a civilian clerk at her local police station and a 15th century re-enactor. She lives in a small and ancient city not far from Stonehenge in the south-west of the United Kingdom, and shares her usually chaotic home with an extended family, three dogs, a Frilled Dragon [lizard], sundry goldfish and tropicals

Book preview

Home and Heart

by

Chris Quinton

Copyright Chris Quinton 2011 - 2021

Cover Design - Meredith Russell

With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the Author Chris Quinton.

Piracy is Theft

The royalties from the sale of my books helps to support my family and pay essential bills. If you like this story, please spread the word and tell others about it, but please don’t share it.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

Contents

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

About the Author

Bibliography

Dedication

To the Usual Suspects - thank you for your support, nags, kicks in the arse,

copious amounts of tea, beer, wine, and encouragement.

You make writing even more of a pleasure.

Chapter One

You are not a hippie, are you? demanded the frail old lady.

No, Ben Elliot assured her, putting one hand back to the nape of his neck to make sure his ponytail was safely under control. Not at all.

Hm. I can see you are not, Mrs Bonney continued as if he hadn’t spoken. Too clean. A bit untidy, though.

Her grey gaze as piercing as a tungsten steel needle, raked him from head to feet and back again. Ben, who considered his best jeans and green Home-Safe Pet & House Sitting fleece and polo shirt to be pretty damned smart, just offered her a placating smile. Tiny as she was compared to his athletic six feet, Mrs Miriam Bonney could have stepped right out of the pages of Agatha Christie’s Miss Marple books. She sat enthroned in an overstuffed armchair and fitted the author’s written descriptions to an absolute T, something most of the TV and film reincarnations did not.

A wood fire burned cheerfully, its flames glowing on the pale yellow stone of the living room’s huge fireplace. Polished wooden wainscoting and creamy-plastered walls, black ceiling beams and door-frames completed the timeless, homelike atmosphere of the old stone house nestling on the edge of Burford, a small but ancient town in the heart of the Cotswolds.

Home-Safe’s policy, Mrs Bonney, he said, still smiling. Company shirt, and trousers or jeans. We’re always prepared for hard and sometimes messy work.

Hah! Her snort of amusement startled him. You will get plenty of both with Bracken. Never knew such a dog for getting himself in a state. Well, I suppose you better meet them. But if they do not like you, young man, Home-Safe can send someone else.

Yes, Mrs Bonney. There wasn’t much else he could say.

They are in the conservatory, she said, groping for the two walking sticks propped at the side of her chair. With a barely concealed wince, she stood and hobbled slowly across the spacious room to a door. He followed on her heels, wondering if he should have offered her his arm.

The door opened onto a wide Victorian-style sun-room, all glass and white wood. It was surprisingly warm, and jasmine scented the slightly humid air, a small corner of summer set apart from the dank winter outside. Foliage and flowering plants flourished everywhere, crowding around a small oasis. In it, comfortable chairs and a couch sat around a long, low table. Two large dogs started towards them.

Stay, Mrs Bonney ordered. Sit. The golden retriever immediately planted his backside on the tiled floor, his tail wagging enthusiastically. The chocolate brown curly-coated retriever eyed Ben with cool reserve, sitting slowly enough to suggest it was her decision rather than obedience to her owner’s command. Bracken and Teazle, Mrs Bonney said. Her ladyship is the one you will have to convince. Bracken is utterly uncritical.

They’re beautiful dogs, Ben said, genuinely appreciative. How old are they?

Bracken is six, Teazle is eight. They are walked for an hour every morning. My usual walker slipped on the ice and broke her wrist and ankle, poor girl, or I would not need to call in a stranger. She glared as if blaming him and Ben revised Miss Marple to Granny Weatherwax. Teazle, to me. The brown dog rose to her feet and strolled with leisurely, almost feline, grace to stand in front of her.

Mrs Bonney, Home-Safe has the highest reputation, he said earnestly, and all our staff are security-checked by the police.

I know that, boy, or I would never have contacted your employer! Now, introduce yourself.

Hey, Teazle, Ben said quietly, not meeting the dog’s eyes but focussing on her left ear. He held out his hand, letting her sniff his knuckles. Her tail began to wag and he scratched the back of her head, sinking his fingers into the thick, surprisingly soft corkscrew curls of her ruff. Her jaw dropped open a little, just enough to show the small incisors in front.

Good. Mrs Bonney smiled. She likes you. Call Bracken to you. He obeyed, and the Goldie threw himself eagerly at Ben’s feet, rolling on his back for a belly-rub. He is such a trollop, she said indulgently. Now, Marge Compton comes in twice a week to dust and tidy, but everything else in the house is up to you—including looking after the conservatory plants. Come back tomorrow at ten o’clock prepared to start. Marge will give you the grand tour and show you your room. I will give you the dogs’ routine, and a map of the footpaths where they are walked. Two pairs of ears pricked up. They obviously recognised the word. You will be needed in the day only, until I go in to the hospital.

Understood, Mrs Bonney. If your usual walker is hurt, would you like me to take them out now? he offered. I’ll be happy to do it.

Thank you, but it is not necessary, she replied, her eyes warming to a definite twinkle. I go into hospital for the operation on Monday, so they and I have a few days to be absolutely certain you’ll suit, Mr Elliot.

Please, call me Ben, he said quickly.

I will do no such thing. The paperwork gave your name as Benedict, a perfectly respectable name and not one to be shortened. There are some house rules you will be expected to follow, of course. There will be no overnight visitors, Benedict. And if you invite in a female friend, bedrooms are off-limit. Do I make myself clear?

Absolutely, he said solemnly, deciding she needn’t know dates with girls weren’t at all his preference. Home-Safe has strict rules covering—um—

Shenanigans, she finished for him, nodding. After I have had the hip-replacement surgery, I will be transferred to Fountain Court. It is a private convalescent home. While I am there, I will expect regular visits from you to report on the dogs. You will be able to bring one of them with you, Bracken by choice. Teazle can be standoffish with strangers, but he is always happy for anyone to make a fuss of him and Fountain Court allow people-friendly animals.

Whistling cheerfully, Ben drove the Home-Safe green Land Rover 4x4 back towards Cheltenham. The Bonney contract was an unusually long one—ten weeks—and would bring in a nice profit for the company plus a bonus for him personally. Admittedly, he wouldn’t be spending much of Christmas and the New Year with his family and friends, but he should be able to manage part of Christmas Day itself, and the extra cash would go a long way to making up for everything else.

Ben’s route to the office would take him through his home-village of Charlton Kings, now a suburb on the edge of Cheltenham. He rented the flat above Elliot’s Groceries, the small general store owned and run by his Uncle Bob, and the thought of hot tomato soup in the comfort of his living room proved an irresistible draw. Ben turned into the side road opposite the Beaufort Arms pub, and turned again into his usual off-road parking slot beside the shop at the end of the terrace, right next to the black iron staircase leading up to his front door.

As he let himself in, Ben took out his mobile phone and hit the office number on speed dial. The call was answered within seconds, Julie’s cheery voice giving her standard greeting; "Home-Safe Pet