And Charlie Thorpe had rattled her before she’d even met him. Perhaps it had been a little unfair to write him off before he’d had the chance to settle into Willowbury, but she trusted her gut, and her gut was telling her that having a new MP wouldn’t make a scrap of difference to her, or, more importantly, to Harry.

But what if she was wrong? What if Charlie was being sincere in his desire to make a positive difference in Willowbury? Or was is possible that Holly was just being distracted by the fact he was rather good-looking, in that classic tall, dark and handsome kind of way.

‘Stop it,’ Holly said.

Arthur looked up from his bowl, where he was making short work of his Whiskas.

‘Not you, gorgeous,’ Holly added hastily.

The cat gave her another look and got back to his food.

Holly sighed as she grabbed the jar of linguine from the back of her kitchen counter and slapped some into her pasta pan. There was no point in continuing to think about Charlie Thorpe. She’d probably never cross paths with him again. After all, she couldn’t remember Hugo Fitzgerald ever bothering to visit her shop when he’d been alive, and he’d been the MP for over twenty years. Why should Charlie be any different? Willowbury and Stavenham was a cushy number, and all he really had to do was show his face a bit and kiss a few babies and he’d be guaranteed the seat until he retired.

A few minutes later, having sautéed the contents of her vegetable drawer and thrown in a few of the herbs she’d gathered fresh from the raised bed in her garden, Holly grated some of the Cheddar Gorge Cheese Company’s finest mature Cheddar over her dinner and settled down on the balcony overlooking her garden, where she’d placed a small bistro table and two chairs: one for her, she’d joked to Rachel when she’d bought it, and one for Arthur. Now she was over thirty, she wondered how much of a joke that actually was, these days. Was she doomed to grow older and more eccentric, until she became the tie-dyed kaftan-wearing, wild-haired stereotype of a Willowbury alternative-health business owner? Just her and Arthur, for ever more?

As if he could read her thoughts, having demolished his own food, Arthur came padding out to the balcony and sprang up onto the other bistro chair, settling down on the cushion to take in the early-evening sun’s rays.