Edward strolled toward the gate of his countryside cottage in the outskirts of Winchester, arm in arm with a woman his neighbour had never seen.
“Edward, hello!” called out Margaret Williams, peering over the fence. “And who’s this with you?”
“Afternoon, Margaret!” Edward grinned. “Thought I’d settle down. Brought my future missus, Eleanor.”
Eleanor worked tirelessly in the garden, and Edward kept pace, never far from her side. One day, while he was away in the city, Margaret leaned over the fence with a sly grin.
“Care for a cuppa, neighbour?”
“I’d love one,” Eleanor nodded.
She spent a good hour at Margaret’s before slipping back home just as Edward returned.
“Why so pensive?” he asked.
Eleanor only smiled. She already knew the truth.
“Edward, who’s this then?” Margaret’s curiosity was plain as she studied the visitor.
Edward, guiding the lady with a hand, squinted.
“Always on duty, Margaret? Getting married. This is Ellie, my future wife. The cottage is big—needs a proper hand to manage.”
“Eleanor, is it?” Margaret nodded approvingly. “Lovely name. Edward’s quite the catch—handy with his hands, keeps everything in order. Staying for good, or just the summer?”
“Don’t distract us,” Edward waved her off, swinging the gate open for Eleanor.
“Ellie, pop round for tea!” Margaret called after them, chuckling.
“Odd woman,” Eleanor murmured, stepping inside. “What did she mean by ‘just the summer’?”
“Don’t mind her,” Edward dismissed. “Folks here hire summer help, that’s all. Bit simple-minded. Best not chat with the locals—Margaret’s the worst gossip.”
The cottage gleamed, only a light winter’s dust lingering. Eleanor admired the tidy curtains, embroidered table linens, and lace doilies.
“Edward, did you do all this yourself?” She pointed to the neat touches, the delicate needlework.
In the kitchen, linen towels hung with fine embroidered edges.
“Don’t be daft,” Edward snorted. “Before you, women tried their luck. I’m a good catch—single, decent-looking. But I was waiting for you. And here you are!”
Eleanor blushed. Edward was handsome—strong, salt-and-pepper hair, a roguish glint in his eye. And with a flat *and* a cottage.
They’d met at a farmer’s market in Winchester. Edward was browsing raspberry saplings; Eleanor needed dill seeds for her windowsill.
“Take three packets, love—I’ll knock off a bit,” urged the vendor.
“What would I do with so much?” she laughed. “It’s just me.”
“My garden patch could use some tending,” Edward winked from beside her. “Fancy teaming up?”
“And what would your wife say?” Eleanor teased, eyeing him. Stylish, older—but charming.
“Widowed,” he sighed. “But you’ve warmed my heart.”
That was how it began. A week later, Edward confessed:
“Ellie, you’re so easy to be with. Don’t want to say goodbye. Heading to the cottage for the summer. Fancy joining me? We’ll commute together—it’s not far.”
Eleanor agreed.
“Why not? Grown kids only call when they need money. No husband, not even a cat. Maybe it’s fate?”
At the cottage, they quickly grew close. Edward’s talk of marriage thrilled Eleanor—and amused Margaret.
All summer, Eleanor worked the land—neat rows of vegetables, tomatoes ripening in the greenhouse, not a weed in sight. Edward dug, carried water, chopped wood. To outsiders, they seemed a happy couple.
Then, while Edward was in the city, Margaret called Eleanor over.
“Tea? Or does Edward forbid it?”
“Why would he?” Eleanor frowned. “I’ll come.”
She returned deep in thought.
“What’s on your mind?” Edward asked.
“Just thinking how cruel loss is,” she said, meeting his gaze. “One moment someone’s here—the next, gone.”
“Don’t dwell,” Edward brushed it off. “If it’s about my late wife, that was ages ago. Now I’ve got you. Don’t know what I’d do without you.” He hugged her, winking.
Weeks passed, the harvest thrived—cucumbers, carrots, berries, tomatoes. But Edward’s mood soured. He nitpicked, stopped mentioning marriage.
“Why’s the greenhouse open?” he grumbled one morning.
“Edward, it’s warm tonight—the plants need air!”
“You’re lecturing *me*?” he snapped. “Like you’ve farmed all your life! Bar that windowsill dill, you’ve seen nothing!”
“That’s unfair,” she said stiffly. “I grew up with a garden. Fine—I won’t lift a finger.”
“Alright, alright,” he relented. “But ask me first. Can you make jam? Berries won’t pick themselves.”
Eleanor nodded, thinking, *Here we go.* While she stirred jam, Edward was sweet as honey. But once jars lined the pantry, the jabs returned. Eleanor began planning how to take her share before he left her with nothing.
“Edward, what’s going on?” she demanded.
He opened his mouth to snipe—but his phone rang. His face shifted—shock, then dread.
“What’s wrong?”
“They’re draining my accounts!” he muttered, scanning alerts. “The bank’s calling—need to reset my PIN.”
“Edward, it’s a scam!” she warned. “Don’t give the code—you’ll lose everything!”
“Since when are you the expert?” he sneered.
“I’m serious—hang up!”
“Mind your business!” he barked. “Go pick tomatoes.”
She stepped away, shaking her head as he dictated the code. A minute later, a cry came from the house:
“Bloody thieves!”
Edward sat red-faced, panting.
“You knew!” he roared. “You’re in on it! They’ve cleaned me out—I was saving for a car!”
“I warned you,” she said coolly. “But you thought me foolish.”
“It’s worse! They took out a loan!” he groaned. “How will I repay it?”
“How much?”
He named a sum—manageable for Eleanor, but she wouldn’t hand it over freely. Remembering Margaret’s words, she had her plan.
“I’ll cover the loan,” she said evenly. “But you’ll sell me the cottage for the amount.”
“Madness! It’s worth triple!”
“Good luck then,” she shrugged. “By the time you find a buyer, interest will pile up—bank’ll take the house *and* your flat.”
She was bluffing, but Margaret’s warning had changed everything: *”You’re decent, love. But Edward’s never marrying. He lures women here each summer, promises weddings, works them ragged, then picks fights and boots them out. Teach him a lesson—it’s time.”*
“So? Selling or am I leaving?” Eleanor repeated, hefting a basket of veg.
“At least bump the price!” he pleaded.
“Best of luck.” She turned.
“Fine! Done!” he spat.
In town, the solicitor handled the papers swiftly. At the bank, Eleanor transferred the funds, settling the debt. Back at the cottage, she packed Edward’s things, leaving a basket of produce and a jar of jam on the porch— “*for old times’ sake*.” The locks were changed before he could return.
“Ellie, tea?” Margaret called, spotting the new bolts.
“Better you join me!” Eleanor smiled. “Housewarming’s in order. I’m the lady of the house now.”
