The Reluctant Baker (The Greek Village Collection Book 10) by Sara Alexi Page B

don’t know, philosophy, whatever, and I wonder if I have isolated myself too much.’
    Ellie shifts uncomfortably.
    ‘But when the morning comes, the sun shines through the window, the goats bleat, and I cannot wait for the day.’
    Ellie smiles at the conclusion but weighs up what Sarah has said. It is bound to be the small things that are missed. What would she miss? It is hard to think of anything, sitting under this olive tree in the warmth. Home is isolating, anyway. The whole thing with the press has left a shadow that she seems to walk under, scared to do too much, scared to say too much, scared to get to know people in case they recognise her from the tabloids. She wouldn’t miss any of that.
    ‘I’m not sure there is much I would miss.’
    ‘You might be surprised.’
     
    Little Lotherton comes to Ellie’s mind, where she and Marcus have moved to. It must be one of the smallest villages in Yorkshire. In fact, it’s barely a village, with just a single track lane. It only exists there because there used to be running water. Halfway up on the left is a nineteenth century mill that once spun wool, its power coming from the stream at the back that is now diverted to a thirsty pig farm. The mill’s cobbled courtyard, where wagons pulled by horses would have once pulled up to deliver fleeces to spin and to collect the fabrics to take into Bradford to sell, is now used by a farmer to park his tractors and ploughing machines. The mill is where he stores his hay.
    The mill’s presence gave rise to the squat stone-built, slate-roofed weaver’s cottages with their rows of tall, solid, mullioned windows upstairs to let in enough light for the weavers to do their work. With those days long gone, they are of little value now, the village being so far from civilisation. The place attracts people looking for cheap rent and a place to hide away from the pace of city life.
    Little Lotherton is so small, it is not serviced by a train and is not on a bus route. The nearest public transport goes as far as the larger village across the valley that is known locally, and no doubt with some irony, as Greater Lotherton, or, even more colloquially, as The Town.
    Greater Lotherton is just off the main road in to Bradford, The City. The main street in Greater Lotherton, after dipping to the bottom of the valley where the railway runs, then climbs the other side, heading directly for the moors. A good ten minute stretch of the legs up this road is required to reach Little Lotherton’s cobbled lane.
    Both villages are somewhat lost in time, and there is little Ellie can imagine she would miss if she were never to return again. Besides, no matter where she is in England, the fact remains that she was, however briefly, in the National papers.
    ‘There was a spot of bother back in my home town last year and there was all sorts of rubbish talked about me. People who didn’t know me judging me, that sort of thing. It would be great to get away from all of that.’
    ‘That sounds very uncomfortable,’ Sarah says. ‘I think with regard that sort of behaviour, people are the same the world over.’
    ‘So when does your man come back?’ Ellie asks, consciously changing the subject.
    ‘Any day. He is just looking for a ticket he can afford.’ Her excitement is apparent. ‘Right, I’d better get this lot back. I don’t normally graze them at this time, when it’s so hot, but with the official opening of the hotel tonight, I won’t get any time off later.’
    Ellie stands before Sarah does.
    ‘I’d best get back too. What time do they serve lunch until?’ Ellie asks.
    Sarah looks at her watch. ‘You’ve time if you go through here.’ She points behind her. ‘Just follow where the olives end and the orange trees start, and it takes you right to the hotel. It will also save you from burning if you stay in their shade.’ She looks at Ellie’s shoulders.’ You need to get some cream on.’
    Ellie takes her leave into the olive