**Shadows of Doubt on the Country Horizon**
Emily sat in her cosy cottage on the outskirts of Winchester, flipping through an old notebook in search of her neighbour Lucy’s number. Finally finding the digits, she dialled. “Lucy, hello, love!” Emily began warmly. “It’s Em, from the holiday village. Wanted to ask—how do you grow such lovely radishes? Yours are always so plump, and mine just won’t take.” “Nothing to it,” Lucy replied, a hint of weariness in her voice. “Soak the seeds a day or two, then plant. I’ll be down next week to start. Still in London for now.” “London?!” Emily gasped, her voice trembling with shock. “Then who’s your William brought down to the cottage?” Lucy went silent, her breath heavy. Without a word, she hung up, called a cab, and raced to the country. Stepping inside, she froze at the sight before her.
Lucy was beside herself with rage. Her face burned, eyes flashing. Had her husband William—supposedly at work—seen her now, he wouldn’t recognise the gentle wife who’d straightened his tie and kissed his cheek that morning. But William noticed nothing. He was in high spirits, anticipating Friday evening: Lucy’s famous shepherd’s pie, fresh-picked runner beans, and a chilled bottle of ale—tomorrow was Saturday, after all. He had no idea what storm was brewing over his head.
It all began with Emily’s call. A retired widow, Emily lived in a spacious flat with her daughter, son-in-law, and grandchildren. But come spring, she moved to the cottage, staying until autumn. Family visited weekends for barbecues, leaving her alone weekdays, glued to the telly. So any hint of village gossip sparked her curiosity.
That morning, around ten, Emily stepped onto her porch, scanning the lane when she spotted the neighbour’s gate swing open. A car rolled in—she didn’t know makes, but she was sure it was William’s. Yet instead of parking out front, it vanished behind thick blackberry bushes. “Clever,” Emily smirked. “Doesn’t want to be seen. What a sly fox, that William!”
A friend’s call distracted her, so she missed the two figures slipping out—a man and a woman Emily instantly dubbed “the mistress.” Back on the porch, she resumed her watch. Half an hour later, her patience paid off: a young woman in a bright green tracksuit emerged, stretching her arms. “You were right—it’s gorgeous here! So peaceful!” Definitely not Lucy—this girl was mid-twenties, slim with long chestnut hair. “Goodness,” Emily muttered. “He’s nearly fifty, and he’s landed a stunner!” At a man’s call, the woman ducked back inside.
Emily didn’t hesitate. Snatching her notebook, she dialled Lucy. “Lucy, hello, dear,” she feigned cheer. “It’s Em. Quick question—how do you get your radishes so crisp?” “Just soak the seeds,” Lucy replied. “I’ll plant next week. Still in town.” “Town?” Emily paused dramatically. “Then who’s William brought down?” Lucy’s voice wavered. “When?” “An hour ago. Hid the car behind the bushes—I only saw the roof.” “Right. Talk later,” Lucy clipped, hanging up.
Her pulse throbbed. Dialling William, she asked, “Love, where are you?” “At the office,” he answered breezily. “Why?” “Just wondering when you’ll be home.” “Earlier today—it’s Friday!” he chimed. Lucy gripped the phone till her knuckles whitened. “We’ll see about that,” she seethed, hailing a cab.
The drive took under an hour—off-season roads were clear. Paying the driver, Lucy marched to the cottage. William’s car gleamed behind the bushes. Her heart pounded. Quietly, she unlocked the door. The kitchen table held a spread: cheese, cold cuts, pickles, and an open box of chocolates. Beside them, a half-finished bottle of bubbly and two glasses. “So this is how he works up an appetite,” she thought bitterly. “Well, he’ll get more than he bargained for!”
She stormed the bedroom—and froze. Two shapes under the duvet. A muffled yelp sounded as she yanked the covers, but they held tight. “Lucy, what the—?!” came a familiar voice. There sat William’s nephew, Daniel, flushed beside a girl Lucy didn’t know. “Aunt Lucy! What—how—?” Daniel stammered. “Cab,” she snapped. “This is *my* cottage. Explain yourself.” “Uncle Will lent me the keys,” he mumbled. “Said you wouldn’t be down till June.” “Wasn’t planning to,” Lucy said icily. “But vigilant neighbours reported trespassers. Fine. Enjoy yourselves. Though I’ve sent the cab off—now how do I get home?”
“I’ll drive you!” Daniel offered. “Sophie can finish supper. Won’t take long.” The girl—Sophie, apparently—nodded eagerly. Lucy waited outside, stewing over her near-disastrous suspicions. Minutes later, they were city-bound. She sat silent, replaying how close she’d come to wrecking trust in William over nothing.
When William returned, supper waited with a smiling wife. He praised the meal between bites as Lucy remarked, “Funny thing—Emily rang today. Claimed you’d brought some girl to the cottage.” “And you said?” he asked, guarded but calm. “I laughed it off,” Lucy smiled. “Told her I’ve a loyal, decent husband.” “Too right,” William nodded. “Emily’s lost the plot. I lent Daniel the keys—he’s got a similar car. She must’ve confused them.” Privately, he thought, “That bloody Emily.”
Later, curled up with a drama, Lucy watched the screen as a wife wept over betrayal. She squeezed William’s hand, thankful the storm had passed without harm. Some doubts, she realised, were shadows cast by nothing at all—best left unexamined before they darken what’s bright and true.
