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Today's word prompt is Flower and I've shifted to another WIP. My heroine takes off on Christmas day in an attempt to outrun the festivities. She has no destination in mind and ends up calling at a fully book B&B for directions to the nearest petrol station.
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The gravelled surface of the driveway glowed golden and silver. A welcoming contrast to more of the high dark, stark hedging she’d driven past for the last ten miles. The drive curved round to her right before the hedge ended and revealed a large colonnaded house. It reminded her more of an ancestral home than a commonal-garden B&B. Pity it was fully booked.
The charm of the place called to her.
She pulled the car to a stop in front of the stone steps and cut the engine and looked about her. A large sweep of lawn ended in another high hedge. No doubt edging the road she’d just left.
The sunshine reflected off the grey stonework, and glistening windows twinkled like diamonds. Whoever ran the place loved it. Even from where she still sat behind the steering wheel and peered up at the building an aura of warmth and love reached out to her.
To the right of the house trees, enough of them to describe them as a small wood ran way beyond the back of the building. Was it all part of the property, or did it run out into what she assumed would be more of the fields she’d glimpsed in the gaps and opening in the hedges? She picked up her bag and slid out from behind the wheel and looked behind her. The drive narrowed again from the semi-circle in front of the house, and rhododendrons already showing the promise of a full head of flowers next spring bowed to the lane that separated them. Too dark for her liking.
If she had a place like this she’d cut such large bushes back and create a sense of space. Not that the place needed it. It looked massive, and the grounds promised to be much the same. Did it have the proverbial fishing lake at the back of the property, or perhaps somewhere beyond the trees. Did the farmland she’d been passing belong to this place? How the other half lived. She’d have liked to spend at least one night here. Pity about the full booking. But she still needed to know how far until she found a petrol station that would be open today, so she slipped the strap of her bag onto her shoulder, pushed the wisp of hair the breeze had blown into her face back behind her ear and headed for the massive wood panelled door.
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