This Other Eden (Skimmerdale Book 1)

  This Other Eden

  Sharon Booth

  Originally published in Great Britain in 2016 by FABRIAN BOOKS.

  Published in Great Britain in 2018 by:

  GREEN GINGER PUBLISHING

  Yorkshire, England

  Copyright © 2016 Sharon Booth

  The moral rights of the author have been asserted. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations, places and events other than those clearly in the public domain, are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover design by Berni Stevens.

  www.bernistevensdesign.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publishers.

  About the Author

  Sharon Booth writes heartwarming love stories set in beautiful Yorkshire.

  She wrote her first book when she was ten. It was about a boarding school that specialised in ballet and, given that she’d never been to boarding school and hadn’t a clue about ballet, it’s probably a good thing that no copy of this masterpiece survives.

  She has written pocket novels and a short story for The People’s Friend, and several of her “Fabrian Books’Feel-Good Novels” have been published in large print format by Ulverscroft as part of their Linford Romance Library. Her short story, The Other Side of Christmas, was included in the Winter Tales anthology — a collection of seasonal stories by popular writers, in aid of The Cystic Fibrosis Trust and The Teenage Cancer Trust.

  Sharon lives in East Yorkshire, with her husband and their dog. She is one tenth of The Write Romantics, and a member of the Romantic Novelists’ Association and the Alliance of Independent Authors.

  She has a love/hate relationship with chocolate, adores Cary Grant films, is a devoted Whovian, and admits to being prone to all-consuming crushes on fictional heroes. If forced to choose her favourite fictional hero, though, she would probably say Paddington Bear.

  Find out more about Sharon by visiting her website:

  www.sharonboothwriter.com

  Also available by Sharon Booth

  Kearton Bay Series

  There Must Be an Angel

  A Kiss from a Rose

  Once Upon a Long Ago

  Moorland Heroes Series

  Resisting Mr Rochester

  Saving Mr Scrooge

  Fabrian Books' Feel-Good Novels

  Baxter's Christmas Wish

  New Doctor at Chestnut House – Bramblewick 1

  Christmas at the Country Practice – Bramblewick 2

  Fresh Starts at Folly Farm – Bramblewick 3

  For Steve

  "Love you Most"

  Chapter One

  'Don't look now, but that couple over there appear to have a stalker,' Eden said, glaring at Fiona when she immediately turned to peer at the pair in question. 'What part of don't look now didn't you get? Talk about making it obvious.'

  'Are you for real?' Fiona tutted in disgust and began wiping down the bar, scrubbing at an obstinate beer stain with a cloth that had definitely seen better days. 'Are you seriously telling me you don't know who those two are?'

  Eden frowned as she tried to stare at the couple without actually looking at them, which wasn't easy. 'I think he looks vaguely familiar,' she admitted eventually.

  'Vaguely familiar? Honestly, how old are you? That's Troy Troughton.'

  'Troy ...?'

  'Troughton! The lead singer of Tuna Sandwich.'

  'Who the hell are Tuna Sandwich?'

  Fiona stopped cleaning and gaped at her. 'You really don't know, do you? Tuna Sandwich are the hottest band in Britain, right now. And that fella over there is the hottest member of the hottest band in Britain.'

  'He is?' Frowning, Eden peered over at a youth with a very average appearance, who looked as if he should still be in school. 'Crikey. You learn something new every day.'

  'Yeah, I don't get it, either. He's been in all the papers lately. He's just got engaged to Trixie Much. I expect you don't know who she is, either.'

  'Well …' Eden scrutinised Troy's companion, who seemed to be hanging onto his every word, 'I should think she's about twenty years old, pretty, with long blonde hair and a simpering expression on her painted doll face.'

  'You'd be very wrong, then.' Fiona grinned. 'Trixie is the dark and sultry lead singer of Verity. That girl over there is not his new fiancée.'

  'But they've been whispering sweet nothings into each other's ears all evening. And they've kissed!'

  Fiona giggled at her obvious outrage. 'You are funny, Eden. And naive. You obviously don't recognise her, either. That's Honey Carmichael. You know, the spoilt little princess daughter of Cain Carmichael? And if you tell me you've never heard of him, I'm going to rub this disgusting cloth in your face.'

  'Of course I've heard of Cain Carmichael.'

  Hadn't she just! He was a seventies rock legend, and she'd grown up listening to his albums, which her father had insisted on playing at full volume every time they went out in the car — much to her mum's disgust, since she was more of an Abba girl.

  Cain Carmichael lived in a village about twenty miles away from Lowminster, and Gavin, landlord of the town's worst pub, The Red Lion, where Eden and Fiona worked, lived in hope that, one day, his pub would be honoured with a visit from the man himself. So far, though, Cain had avoided the place — not surprisingly, given the grubby state of it — but it appeared his daughter wasn't so choosy.

  So, that was the only child of the seventies superstar and his beautiful ex-wife, Freya Barrows? Had she been his second wife or his third? Eden couldn't remember. She knew they were divorced and had been for many years. Cain had vowed never to marry again, after Freya won a very bitter court case and walked away with a fortune. He never had, too, but it didn't stop him from having a string of relationships, some with women who didn't seem much older than Honey herself. Eden could almost feel sorry for her but, seeing her fawning all over the newly-engaged, fickle-hearted singer, her sympathy was draining away fast.

  'Well, then,' said Fiona, 'is there any wonder they've got a stalker? The papers will be all over this, and if they've got photos, well, that's Troy's engagement over. Trixie doesn't take any crap, I'll give her that.'

  'Oh, he's got photos all right.'

  They watched as the stalker lifted his mobile phone and took another shot. He’d sat some distance from the lovesick couple, so it was no wonder they hadn't noticed him. Although, with his sunglasses perched on his nose and a flat cap on his head, he wasn't exactly blending in.

  'That picture will be in the tabloids tomorrow,' said Fiona, with some satisfaction. 'Trixie will hit the roof, Troy's manager will wipe the floor with him, and I shouldn't think Cain Carmichael will be too thrilled that his little princess is finally making headlines of her own, either.' She glanced around. 'Where's Gavin?'

  Gavin was nowhere to be seen, which was unusual. He normally kept his beady eye on them all evening. He liked to find fault with everything they did, and they'd lost count of the number of times they'd been threatened with the sack. He prided himself on running a tight ship, although obviously, he was happy to let it slacken off immeasurably when it came to cleanliness and hygiene, in spite of Eden's best efforts. It was frustrating how, after just one or two days off, the kitchen would revert back to its former grubby state and Eden would have to start scrubbing and mopping and disinfecting before she could even begin to cook. How The Red Lio
n hadn't been closed down was a complete mystery to everyone who knew Gavin. He liked to inform people his bar was bang on trend, being a homage to shabby chic, but it was actually just shabby. Eden often thought the sooner she found another job, the better. Cooking in that kitchen was a thoroughly depressing experience.

  'No idea,' Eden said, in answer to Fiona’s question. 'He'll be absolutely livid that he's missed out on seeing his hero's daughter right here in his pub.' The thought cheered her up no end.

  They watched as Troy stood up and headed to the toilets. Once alone, Honey sat back and closed her eyes.

  Immediately, the stalker took more photos.

  'Why is he photographing her? Shouldn't his real target be Troy?' asked Eden.

  Fiona shrugged. 'He's probably going to do a hatchet job on her. Maybe going for the angle of the heartless other woman who's destroyed the engagement of our latest celebrity couple. Reckon Honey's going to cop for the lot. Bet he's a fan of Trixie. Serves her right, I suppose.'

  'She's just a kid,' Eden murmured, her feelings towards the girl softening as she watched her reaching into her handbag and pulling out a vanity mirror.

  Honey examined her mouth, pulling back her top lip with obvious anxiety, and Eden realised she must be worried some of the salad leaves she'd picked at earlier had stuck in her teeth. Maybe she was only human, after all, although Eden had wondered at first. She'd ignored all the dishes on the main course menu and ordered a side salad and mineral water, while Troy had tucked into Hunter's Chicken. It had thoroughly annoyed Eden, who took great pride in her culinary skills. Even so, it didn't seem fair that a lowlife reporter was watching her every move and preparing to tear her to shreds in the tabloids.

  Troy returned, and, after murmuring something to him, Honey stood up and made her way to the ladies.

  'Where are you going?' Fiona demanded, when Eden headed out from behind the bar.

  'Won't be a moment,' she whispered, and followed Honey into the toilets.

  She found the young woman picking at a bit of watercress in her teeth with one of her beautifully manicured nails, and when their eyes met in the reflection of the mirror, Honey flushed slightly and began to rummage in her bag.

  Eden took a step closer. 'Honey?'

  She raised an eyebrow. 'What? I don't do autographs, sorry.'

  Autographs? Why the hell would she want Honey's autograph? Honey hadn't done anything special. Unless she counted having a secret relationship with an engaged man, obviously.

  'I don't want an autograph. I just came to warn you that a man has been watching you for ages, and he's been taking photographs of you on his mobile phone.'

  'Has he?' Her eyebrows shot up as glee sparked in her eyes.

  Eden had a feeling she hadn't grasped the implications of her situation. 'You need to get out of here. You do realise this will probably be in all the papers tomorrow?'

  'Gosh.' She leaned against the basin, her gaze dreamy, like she was visualising glamorous photos of herself being admired and talked about on programmes like Lorraine.

  Time for a reality check. 'Honey, Troy is engaged. His manager isn't going to be happy if he gets caught with his pants down, so to speak, and Trixie will be furious. This will really damage his career. And you'll be branded a scarlet woman. Trixie's so popular, you'll be torn apart in the press. You know they always blame the other woman. Do you really want that?'

  'Shit!' She drummed her fingers on the sink and considered the matter. 'What do I do?'

  'I'm not sure there's much you can do, to be honest. Maybe you should go home and ask your dad's advice. He may know someone who can work on some damage limitation.' God knows, Cain Carmichael must have experience of heading off damaging stories in the press, she thought.

  'What about Troy?'

  'Oh, bugger Troy,' Eden said.

  As far as she was concerned, it was his own fault. Jumped up little tosser. Honey wasn't much more than a kid, for God's sake.

  She opened the toilet door and scanned the room for the reporter, jumping when she spotted him hovering just to the side of her. She shut the door and turned back to Honey. 'He's outside,' she said. 'Wait there.'

  She headed back into the bar and walked over to Troy. He looked terrified when she sat opposite him, but Eden had no time for introductions.

  'See that bloke with the sunglasses and the flat cap, over by the ladies' toilets? Yeah, the one who's pretending to be looking at the crappy picture on the wall. He's been taking photographs of you and Honey all evening, and now he's lurking outside the toilets waiting for her to come out. I reckon he's going to start firing questions at her.'

  Troy's skin turned grey. Almost as grey as the tea towels in the kitchen of The Red Lion, but not quite. 'Christ! I've had it. I thought we'd be safe here. No one ever comes to this dump.'

  Eden bristled for a moment then mentally shrugged. He was right, after all. 'Yes, well, you thought wrong. You need to go, and so does Honey.'

  'If Trixie finds out, she'll have my balls for Christmas tree decorations.'

  'Hmm, yes, well, I was thinking you could —'

  She gaped when Troy jumped up from his seat and ran to the door. He'd torn out of the pub before Eden could even begin to suggest he speak to the reporter, offer some sort of bribe, or a deal. She had no idea how those things worked, but the man had been taking photos for a good while and would already have a story, so damage limitation seemed to her to be the only option left. Unfortunately, Troy didn't seem to share her opinion. For him, obviously, it was all about escaping and making the most of his testicles while he still owned a pair.

  There was only one thing for it. Eden rushed over to Fiona. 'Distract him.'

  'Distract him. How?'

  'How should I know? I need to get Honey out of here, and I can't think of any other way to —'

  'Leave it to me,' Gavin barked, marching past them.

  Eden hadn't even noticed him come in. To be fair, she hadn't noticed him go out, either.

  He strode over to the reporter and tapped him on the shoulder. 'Right, sunshine, what do you think you're up to, hanging round the ladies' toilets?'

  Eden and Fiona exchanged a glance before following their boss.

  The reporter gulped. For a hardened tabloid journalist, he was a bit of a wimp. Eden could see him trembling from where she stood. 'I can assure you, I'm not hanging round the ladies' toilets.'

  'Oh, no? So, what does that sign say?' He indicated the door, the only thing protecting Honey from the media shark — although the way he was opening and closing his mouth soundlessly, he was acting more like a goldfish than a shark, in Eden's opinion. 'Well?'

  'Er, it says ladies' toilets.'

  'Exactly. And are you, or are you not, standing right beside them?'

  'Yes, but — I was just admiring this painting.'

  They all turned and stared at the painting on the wall. It was a cheap print of a view of Lowminster, painted by a local artist and sold to Gavin at a car boot sale for less than a tenner. Van Gogh it wasn't.

  'Wanna take your sunglasses off and have a proper look?' asked Gavin.

  The journalist tentatively hitched up his sunglasses, perching them on the top of his head, and peered at the painting. A look of horror crossed his face as he evidently realised how awful it actually was, and he gulped.

  Gavin folded his arms. 'Wanna try again?'

  'I, er, I think I should leave.'

  'I think you should, too,' said Gavin.

  The man began to move away, and Eden took her opportunity. She stepped in his path and held out her hand, glaring at him. 'Not 'til you've shown me the photos on that mobile phone.'

  'What? Certainly not. It's private.'

  'He's been snapping away all night,' she told Gavin. 'We can't let him leave with all those pictures.'

  'Hand it over,' said Gavin.

  'You can't make me. I'll call the police,' said the intrepid reporter.

  'Do what you like, mate. Invasion of privacy, that'
s what it is. I won't have my guests harassed in my own pub. Now, if you want to call the police, feel free. I shall tell them all about your perverted behaviour, hanging around the ladies' toilets and leering at the women as they go in. Disgusting. You wanna get yourself some counselling.'

  'Now, look here!'

  Gavin whipped the phone from his hand and began scrolling through the photographs. The reporter was almost crying as he protested his innocence and begged Gavin to leave at least some of the pictures intact.

  While they argued, Eden pushed open the door of the toilets and beckoned Honey out. Fiona took the chance to tell the journalist what she thought of men like him, distracting him beautifully while her colleague led Honey into the kitchen and out through the back door. They ran through the car park and onto the main street.

  'Gosh, that was exciting,' Honey said. 'Can you slow down a bit? These heels are killing me.'

  'We need to get you home before he leaves the pub. I'll get you a taxi. Have you got any money on you?'

  'No, but it doesn't matter. Once they know where I live, they let me off with everything,' she said confidently. Obviously, she'd tried it before.

  'If you say so. I've left my bag in the pub. Have you got a mobile on you?'

  She gave Eden a withering look. 'Of course I have. By the way, what about Troy? Is he still in there?'

  Eden hesitated, but Honey deserved to know. 'I'm sorry. He did a bunk as soon as he knew what was going on.'

  She held her breath, hoping there wouldn't be any tears, but Honey merely rolled her eyes and scrambled in her bag for her phone. 'Might have known he'd leg it and leave me in the shit. Utter knobhead. What that Trixie Much sees in him, I'll never know. Well, I can hazard a guess. It must be money, because it sure as hell isn't the size of his dick, I can tell you that much.'

  Eden's mouth fell open in shock. How old was this girl? She looked like a Disney princess, but she was obviously more experienced than she'd given her credit for.