News
A Secret Escape
CHAPTER ONE
Milly
Why had she said yes?
Milly sat in her car outside the railway station, although it seemed generous to call it that, given that it was in the middle of nowhere and consisted of nothing more than a single platform and a shelter. There was no ticket office. No buzz of waiting people. Just one train an hour.
It was the last place on earth you’d expect to encounter a movie star, which was presumably why Nicole had chosen it.
Milly understood the need for discretion and privacy, but still, this felt like overkill.
There was one other car parked along the narrow country road, but other than that there were no signs of life and she sat in the darkness, trying not to be spooked as she waited for the last train of the day. She’d opened the car windows, but even at this late hour it was stifling and there was no sign of the weather breaking. Back in March when it had rained every day, Milly had dreamed of sunshine, but June had brought with it sunshine and a smothering heat that made her dream of rain.
The makeup she’d so carefully applied before leaving had already melted away, but she didn’t bother renewing it because what was the point? It was dark and there was no one to see her anyway. It didn’t matter how she looked. But when you were meeting someone who many considered to be one of the most beautiful women in the world, it was hard to resist the urge to make an effort.
Not that anyone noticed her when Nicole was around. They never had.
She sighed and checked the time.
Maybe Nicole had changed her mind. Please let her have changed her mind.
She’d heard nothing since that single phone call the night before. Was she wasting her time sitting here? She thought about her child, safely asleep in her grandmother’s house. Milly hated asking her mother for help, and this time she hadn’t even been able to explain why she needed Zoe to do an impromptu sleepover because Nicole had sworn her to secrecy. Zoe herself had protested that at thirteen she was able to stay on her own, but after all the upheaval in their lives Milly wasn’t ready to consider that. Zoe was the most important thing in her life. What if there was a fire? An intruder? Having lost so much, Milly was clinging tightly to what she had left. Also she had a niggling feeling that something wasn’t quite right with Zoe, but whenever she asked she was given the I’m fine response. Milly had cycled through the obvious things: Was it school? The divorce? Moving to a new home? Whatever it was, Zoe clearly didn’t want to worry her with it, which simply increased Milly’s anxiety levels.
She needed to spend more time alone with her daughter, but when you were a single working mother, time was a scarce resource.
And now she had Nicole to deal with. Friendships were supposed to make you feel better, not worse. At what point did you say enough?
She felt guilty because her mother had assumed Milly was finally going on a date and hadn’t been able to hide her delight. “Good,” she’d said. “It’s been eighteen months since Richard walked out, and the divorce has been final for six months. I’m pleased you’ve finally moved on.”
Moved on?
Milly hadn’t moved on. If she’d admitted that the last thing she wanted was another romantic entanglement when she was still tied up in knots about the last one, she would have caused her mother even more worry, and she didn’t want to do that. She kept those thoughts to herself, but the effort required to pretend she was coping well was exhausting.
All she really wanted now was to be the best mother possible to Zoe, but she was pretty sure she was failing at that too. She’d read so many books and articles on how to make divorce easier on kids the advice swirled around in her head. She was trying hard to put everything into practice. She’d been careful not to say a bad word about Richard in front of Zoe (although she used plenty of bad words when she was alone in the shower), and she tried to keep everything around them as normal as possible. She forced herself to get up in the morning and smile and pretend to be fine when she really wasn’t fine at all and would gladly have spent the whole day in bed. She told herself that she was modeling coping strategies for her child, and that was what mattered, wasn’t it? It didn’t matter that inside her head she was a mess.
Between lying to her mother, putting on a brave face for her child and forcing herself to be polite to Richard even when he was being frustratingly unreasonable and uncaring and nothing like the man she’d married, she’d forgotten what it felt like to actually express her true feelings.
There had been a time when the prospect of Nicole coming to stay would have lifted her mood, because if there was one person in the world she could be honest with, it was Nicole. But not anymore.
What was she doing here when the last thing she needed was more emotional stress? She didn’t know if she was a fool or if this was the very definition of friendship: showing up no matter what.
Promises made when you were fifteen didn’t seem to make as much sense when you were thirty-five. They certainly hadn’t meant anything to Nicole.
Hurt and tired, she reached for her phone and sent a message.
Are you on the train?
A flash of headlights caught her attention and she froze in her seat as another car approached. It drove past without stopping, and she let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She wasn’t built for subterfuge.
When Nicole had called her asking for help, she should have said no.
She was particularly frustrated with herself because she’d recently done an online course on assertiveness, thanks to a twenty-minute wait at the hairdresser, where she’d foolishly fallen into the trap of doing one of those magazine questionnaires.
If you answer yes to more than three questions, you may have a problem with being assertive.
Milly had answered yes to all ten questions and had decided right then and there that she needed to do something about it. Her tendency to say yes was the reason she felt pressured all the time. It was the reason she lay awake at night, stressed and hyperventilating with her to-do list racing around her brain. Her inability to be assertive was the reason she never felt able to call out Richard’s unreasonable behavior. (He’d already humiliated and divorced her, so really what more could he do?) She didn’t know if the way he behaved was a hallmark of ex-husbands generally, but she knew she wasn’t handling it well. It had to stop. She had to change.
She was too busy to take a class in person, largely because of her inability to say no, so she’d enrolled for an online course and for two weeks had spent an hour every evening exploring ways to be more assertive. She’d learned about boundaries, about the importance of standing up for her rights and respecting other people’s, she’d filled out worksheets where she’d tried out different ways of saying no. Assertive, but not aggressive. Use the I word, not you. When you do (fill in particular behavioral aberration here)…I feel (describe, without swearing, how it makes you feel)…
She’d passed with top marks and thought that maybe this would be a new beginning. And then her phone had rung.
The name that flashed up was Sister.
Milly had stared at it for so long it had stopped ringing. But it had immediately started again, and this time she’d answered it, even though part of her didn’t want to.
It wasn’t her sister, of course. She didn’t have a sister, but when Nicole’s career had taken off, she’d insisted that Milly store her number under a different name. It had felt exciting at the time. Clandestine. It had made her feel special, because all of a sudden everyone wanted a piece of Nicole, and Milly had her number in her phone.
They’d been in their early twenties, but even at that tender age their lives couldn’t have been more different. Milly was married to Richard and had just discovered she was pregnant. She spent her days helping her mother run the family business, a small but exclusive resort of lakeside cabins nestled close to the water in the beautiful Lake District.
Nicole, on the other hand, had dropped out of college to pursue acting seriously, and by the age of twenty-one had achieved global fame after starring in a movie about a teenager who traveled back in time to save the planet from destruction. It had broken all box office records. Milly had seen the film and agreed with the critics that Nicole had been captivating in the role, but that wasn’t the point where she’d recognized just how talented her friend was. That moment had come a few months later, when Nicole had all but floated onto the stage to accept the most coveted award in acting wearing a custom-made gown that somehow managed to make her look both innocent and alluring. Her speech had been heartfelt and moving, and many of the people in the audience had cried.
Milly had cried too, and that was when she’d realized that her friend wasn’t just going to be big, she was going to be huge. Because the speech was all lies, and Milly knew it was lies. She was, quite possibly, one of only two people who knew it was lies, the other being Nicole’s mother who was unlikely to be watching.
But still Nicole had made her believe every word.
Nicole had called her afterward.
“Did you hear my speech?”
“Yes, I heard your speech.”
“You know the truth. People would pay you to tell my story.”
Milly had rolled her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“You have no idea how far people will go to get information on me and tear me down.”
“You’re sounding paranoid.”
But Nicole had said the same thing a few days later when Milly had met her in her suite in a London hotel where she was staying for a premiere of her latest movie.
She’d been escorted to the room by unsmiling security guards with earpieces and overdeveloped muscles, and she’d sat stiffly on one of the white sofas in the ridiculously opulent suite, feeling out of place and desperate to find common ground with her old friend.
She remembered ten-year-old Nicole saying One day I’m going to be famous, and here she was—famous.
And fame had changed everything.
“Seriously, Milly, you can’t have my name in your phone anymore. Someone might see it. We need to agree on a different name.” Nicole had been wired, nervous, talking too quickly, sipping a glass of wine even though it was three in the afternoon. Her hair fell in dark silky waves down her back, and those famous green eyes, eyes that made you lose your power of speech as one smitten critic had put it, were huge in her pale face. In real life she seemed thinner than ever, and Milly, almost eight months pregnant by then, had felt like a baby elephant next to her.
She’d shifted slightly, trying to get more comfortable which was almost impossible with a baby stuck under your ribs. “Who is going to see it? And what are they going to do? Mug me and steal my phone? I live in the middle of nowhere, Nic. I’m surrounded by trees and mountains. When I open my windows I hear nothing.” That wasn’t quite true. She frequently slept with the windows open, and she lay in the darkness and listened to the plaintive call of the birds and the occasional hoot of an owl, thinking how much she liked her quiet, predictable life. Unlike Nicole, she’d never had a desire to be famous, and nothing about her friend’s life had given her reason to revise her opinion. “My home isn’t exactly Paparazzi Central.”
Nicole had looked at her with a mix of envy and pity, as if she was wondering how anyone as unworldly as Milly made it through the day.
“Indulge me.” She’d put down her wineglass and taken the phone from her friend. Her slim fingers had flown over the keys. “There. Fixed.”
Milly had stared at it. “Sister?”
“Why not? It’s what we are. It’s the way I feel about you. The way I’ll always feel about you.” Nicole had hugged her then, and Milly had hugged her back, and for that brief moment their old connection had flickered to life. This was the Nicole she’d grown up with, not the new glamorous Nicole who couldn’t walk down a street without being recognized. Still, she hadn’t been able to shake the uneasy feeling that their relationship was about to change in a big way, and it made her sad because nothing was more important to her than their friendship.
“You’re going to forget about me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Nicole had said exactly what Milly had hoped she’d say. “You’re my best friend. You’ll always be my best friend, and when we’re both old, you’re going to come and spend winters with me in California and we’ll sit on the deck and watch the sunsets and talk about that time I drank half a bottle of vodka and dyed your hair purple. You were so upset you threw my favorite bag in the lake.”
Milly knew those weren’t the moments she’d remember when she looked back on their friendship. She’d be thinking of all the times Nicole had walked into a room first because Milly had been too shy to enter on her own. She’d remember the patience Nicole had shown when teaching Milly how to project confidence even when she was quaking inside. She’d think about the nights Nicole had stayed over at her place after Milly’s dad had walked out. The hours they’d lain awake talking about the future and what they both wanted.
And despite Milly’s fears, their friendship had endured. There were frequent phone calls and messages where Nicole would send photos of herself being transformed by hair and makeup into an assassin, an FBI agent, an art thief, a superhero.
Milly had sent back photos of Zoe. Zoe at six months. Zoe taking her first steps. Zoe’s first day at school. She’d sent photos of the four new luxury cabins they’d built by the lake and then felt embarrassed because Nicole owned properties around the world and Milly’s cabins, modest by comparison, were probably of little interest to her.
But despite their very different lives, they’d been in regular contact until eighteen months ago when Nicole had suddenly ghosted her.
Thinking about that brought her back to the present.
Milly checked the time again. The place felt so dead it was hard to believe a train was due to arrive any minute. But even if it did, there was no guarantee that her friend would be on it. Maybe Nicole was going to ghost her again. Maybe she wasn’t going to show up, and Milly would drive back home alone feeling more of a fool than she already did.
And if Nicole did happen to arrive, what was Milly going to say?
Why have you ignored me for the past eighteen months?
Where were you when I needed you?
It had happened right after Milly, Richard and Zoe had visited her in LA. Milly assumed there was a connection and had spent hours going over the holiday in her mind but couldn’t identify a reason. Initially she hadn’t worried because she knew how busy Nicole was, but a few weeks later when Milly had left a message telling her that Richard was having an affair and divorcing her and there was still no response, she’d started to worry. More than worry. Her friend’s silence had hurt. It had been a bitter blow, coming so soon after Richard’s betrayal.
The one person she’d always thought she could depend on, her safety net in life, had let her down.
Milly still couldn’t believe Nicole had ignored something so life-shattering. When had they ever not supported each other? Some long-term friendships continued out of habit, but theirs was real. Theirs was rare and special. Until it wasn’t.
Nicole’s silence hurt more than it should have because not only had Milly been dumped by her husband but it seemed she’d been dumped by her best friend too, and in some ways that felt worse. It had been the lowest moment of her life. So bad that she tried not to think about it because she’d dragged herself back from the edge and didn’t want to risk staring into the blackness again.
She’d survived, mostly thanks to the support of her mother and grandmother, but it had changed things. There was no more believing that Nicole would be there for her in a crisis. No more pretending that the word Sister in her phone was anything more than a way of disguising Nicole’s identity.
Even now, so many months later, that reality hurt.
“Maybe it’s me.” She spoke aloud, as she sometimes did when she was alone in the car. It was the one time she felt able to speak her mind. “Maybe I’m just the kind of person people leave.”
First her father, then Richard and then Nicole.
She’d assumed that was the end of it, and then the night before Nicole had finally called.
The call should have woken Milly up, but she had been lying awake stewing about Richard, having conversations in her head that she knew she’d never have in real life despite the assertiveness course because she was determined to keep things civil for her daughter.
She’d answered partly because it was Nicole and Milly had never not answered a call from Nicole, and partly because a small hurt part of her hoped that maybe Nicole was finally getting in touch to apologize or at least explain.
But there had been no apology or explanation, just a plea.
I need your help.
Nothing for eighteen months, not a squeak, and now she was expecting Milly to help.
During the conversation, admittedly short, not once had she asked how Milly was doing. She hadn’t mentioned Richard’s affair or the divorce or acknowledged how hard it must be for Milly to be going through exactly what her mother had gone through. She proffered neither explanation nor apology for not being there for Milly. It was all about her.
I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. Please, Milly. I’m desperate.
Desperate? What did desperate look like when your life was pretty much perfect? Just how desperate could you be when you were rich, beautiful and the toast of the movie-going public?
Nicole didn’t know the meaning of the word, but Milly did, although she worked hard not to show it. She’d been determined not to put that extra pressure on Zoe.
She was just about holding it together, which was another reason she should have said no to Nicole. She should have put into practice everything she’d learned from her assertiveness course. She should have said No, sorry, I’m struggling enough with my own life as you’d know if you read your emails or, better still (as she’d been taught that it wasn’t necessary to give lengthy explanations), Sorry, I can’t help.
But she hadn’t said any of those things. She’d said yes.
Yes, she’d pick her up. Yes, she’d drive at night to lessen the chances of being seen. Yes, Nicole could stay with Milly. Yes, she’d find a way to hide her.
Which was why she was now, against her better judgment, sitting in the middle of nowhere waiting for a train that was late and a friend she wasn’t sure she wanted to see.
The assertiveness course clearly hadn’t worked. If she was more assertive, she’d demand a refund.
A sound cut through her thoughts, and she saw the train approaching. Finally.
She felt a slight stirring of dread. The fabric of their friendship had been stretched by their diversifying paths and was now torn in so many places it was barely holding together. Their relationship hadn’t just changed, it was unrecognizable.
Usually the only emotion she felt before seeing Nicole was excitement, but tonight her stomach churned with an uncomfortable mix of hurt and resentment.
Where had Nicole been when Milly had needed her?
She was upset and a little bit angry but, most of all, deeply disappointed that their friendship had fallen short of what she’d believed it to be. Never before had she felt the need to protect herself in the friendship, but she did now. And it made her feel lonely.
Not lonely for company, because she had plenty of that, but lonely for that one person she could say anything to in the knowledge she’d be understood and not judged. Someone who knew what she was feeling without Milly having to spell it out.
The train slowed down and stopped, and Milly peered into the dimly lit station, but there were only two people visible. One was a man in his fifties, who immediately strode toward the parked car that Milly had noticed earlier, and the other was a woman of significantly advanced years wearing a coat that had seen better days and a hat that concealed most of her white hair. She was dragging a small suitcase and stooping badly, so bent over she was struggling to walk even with the help of a walking stick.
There was no sign of Nicole, which was confusing because it had been Nicole who had insisted Milly be poised for a quick getaway.
A quick getaway. Was that even possible in a small family hatchback? Milly hadn’t been in the mood for drama. We’re not in a movie now, Nicole.
And Nicole’s response to her. You have no idea what my life is like.
Milly couldn’t argue with that.
She had no idea what it was like to be one of the most in-demand actors of her generation, commanding millions for each movie. And as if acting talent and looks (voted Most Beautiful Woman two years running) wasn’t enough, Nicole’s last blockbuster had required her to sing, and she’d stunned the world with her voice.
Milly sighed.
The last thing you should do when your life was a total mess was to spend time with someone whose life was perfect.
She glanced at the train again. Still no Nicole, and no sign of anyone else leaving the train. Maybe she was hiding in a dark corner, waiting for these other people to leave before emerging. Or maybe she’d changed her mind.
The old woman teetered slightly, almost losing her balance, and Milly shot out of the car, concern for the woman’s safety overriding her promise to keep a low profile.
“Can I help you?” She put a hand on the woman’s arm. “It’s very late. Is someone meeting you?”
The woman lifted her head and looked directly at Milly and Milly stared into those unmistakable eyes and thought I really am a fool.
“You have to be kidding me. N—”
“Shh. Not until we’re in the car.”
Milly would have been impressed if she hadn’t been so frustrated. Part of that frustration was directed at herself for being so easily duped. “We’re in the middle of nowhere, and there is no one around.”
“They’re always around.” Nicole slid her arm into Milly’s and adopted her stoop again. “Help me into the car.”
“Help you?”
How long was this charade supposed to continue?
But she wanted to get out of here as much as Nicole, so she dutifully put her arm around her friend and felt a flicker of shock as she registered how thin she was.
She guided her to the passenger side of the car, hoping no one was watching because she was pretty confident her acting abilities would fool no one.
Nicole handed her the walking stick and Milly tucked it into the back of the car along with the suitcase.
She took another quick glance around the station. “There is no one here.” She slid into the driver’s seat and closed the door. “You’re going to bake inside that coat. Why the heavy disguise? Have you robbed a bank in real life or something? If I’m harboring a criminal, I’d like to know.”
Nicole’s eyes were closed. “I just need a short window of time when no one knows where I am. Can we talk about it later? I’m really not—” her voice shook a little “—I’m not feeling too good. And I’m freezing. I need the coat.”
Freezing?
There was so much Milly had planned to say, but there was something about Nicole’s fragility that sucked all the heat out of her emotions. But then she remembered her assertiveness course.
Her feelings mattered too. This wasn’t only about Nicole.
“There is no one around, Nicole. This place is empty. We are the last people here. And before I drive anywhere, I want to know what this is all about. Why the sudden phone call and why the urgency?”
“You seriously don’t know?”
“If I knew, I wouldn’t be asking.”
“Oh, Milly.” Nicole gave a choked laugh and opened her eyes. “You haven’t changed one bit, and I’m so happy about that.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Since Richard had walked out taking most of her confidence with him, she felt as if every part of her had changed. She could barely remember the person she used to be, but Nicole didn’t know that because she hadn’t asked.
She felt a pang of loss as she remembered how their friendship used to be. There had been no barriers between them, but now there was a barrier so big she couldn’t see past it.
Nicole turned her head to look at her. “When we were young you always refused to read scandalous stories about celebrities. You thought it was distasteful that someone was making a career out of exploiting a person’s misfortune, and you didn’t want to be part of it. You were always kind, even to people you didn’t know.”
Was that how she’d ended up where she was, with everyone taking advantage of her?
“These days it’s less about my principles and more about the fact I don’t have a moment in the day to draw breath, let alone read gossip. I have a life, Nicole!” A life she was holding together by her fingernails. And suddenly the heat flared to life again. Maybe Nicole was hurting, but she was hurting too. “I don’t have time to read much at all. I wish I did, but between raising my child alone and worrying what all this is doing to her, dealing with my selfish ex-husband, running a business at a time when everyone is watching what they’re spending and wondering if life is going to be this tough forever, there’s not a lot of spare time left for lounging around reading about people whose lives quite frankly seem pretty good from where I’m standing.” She stopped, mortified. Why had she said all that? She’d blurted out far more than she’d intended. She’d told herself that she was going to be polite and give nothing of herself. She was going to show Nicole that this friendship didn’t matter to her any more than it did to Nicole. That she’d moved on, just as Nicole had.
But that wasn’t what she’d done. She’d had Nicole in her car for all of two minutes and already she’d been more honest with her than with anyone else in her life. She’d intended to be reserved and indifferent, and instead she’d shown that she was hurt. So much for protecting herself. So much for holding part of herself back. She might as well have ripped off a bandage and said Look at these raw wounds. Because that was how she felt. Like a giant wound. Any protective coating she might have had once had been eroded by Richard and now by Nicole. Love provided insulation from the cuts and bruises of life, and so did trust. Milly had lost both. She was a tortoise without its shell. A hedgehog with no spines.
She sat there, miserably embarrassed, and then Nicole reached out and touched her arm.
“I’ve missed you.”
Milly felt something soften inside her, but she forced herself to ignore it. “Sure. You missed me so much you didn’t get in touch for eighteen months.”
She was so surprised to hear those words coming out of her mouth that she almost turned around to check there was no one else in the car.
Maybe the assertiveness course hadn’t been such a waste of money after all.
Nicole removed her hand from Milly’s arm. “Don’t be angry. I know there are things we need to talk about, but the whole world is angry with me right now. I couldn’t stand it if you were too.”
“Why would the whole world be angry with you?”
“Perhaps angry is the wrong word. I should have said the whole world hates me.” Nicole’s voice shook a little. “I am currently the most hated woman on the planet.”
She’d forgotten how all-or-nothing Nicole was. People either adored her or hated her. She was either devastated or ecstatic. There was nothing in between. No middle ground. To be friends with Nicole meant strapping in for a ride on a roller-coaster with its steep ups and downs. She couldn’t handle it. “Please, for once, can we leave the drama at the door?”
“For you it’s drama, but for me it’s my life.”
Milly clamped her jaws shut to stop herself from saying something she might regret. “Nicole—”
“I want you to know that what they’re saying isn’t true. Well, some of it is—but not the way they’ve told it. It’s all twisted.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “I’m not sure which is worse—having people make up lies about you, or knowing that people believe those lies without question.”
Milly was starting to wish she’d taken the time to do an internet search. She’d had a really bad night and hadn’t had a moment to herself all day. Both her body and brain were tired, and she didn’t have the energy for this. “What lies? What do people believe?”
There was a pause. “According to the press, I’ve broken up the happiest marriage in Hollywood. I’m a home-wrecker. The Other Woman.”
Milly went cold. She thought of Richard. There’s someone else… “You—what?”
“Go to any news site and you can read all about it. Two truths and a lie. Or is it two lies and a truth? I can’t remember. And it doesn’t really matter because no one is interested in the truth anyway. The people who write all that stuff about me just want clicks, and the people who read it want proof that my amazing-looking life isn’t so amazing. Celebrity downfall is a great cure for envy, didn’t you know? Yes she’s rich, but is she really happy? Well, no, she isn’t.” Nicole slurred her words slightly, and Milly felt a growing wave of nausea.
I’m a home-wrecker.
Why did it have to be that? Nicole had a colorful dating history, with a reputation for falling for her costars, but to the best of Milly’s knowledge she’d never been involved with anyone who was married. For Milly the topic was something of a trigger given recent circumstances. She had to force herself to remember that this wasn’t about her.
“You are overthinking this, Nicole. Most people are too busy handling their own problems and making it through each day to worry about what is happening to you.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. When people have problems they look around them for someone who has it worse so that they feel better about their own lives. They think Well, at least I’m not her. My problems are a source of entertainment. Remember when we used to play three wishes?”
And just like that she was right back in her childhood, curled up on her bed watching Nicole paint her nails.
If you could have three wishes, what would you wish for?
Milly frowned. “We haven’t played that game for at least two decades.”
“If I had one wish it would be to put the clock back and start again.” Nicole’s gaze was fixed on Milly’s face. “How about you?”
One wish.
“I don’t know. I don’t waste time wishing for things anymore.”
“Why not?” Nicole spoke softly. “Wishing tells you what you really want.”
“Or else it just shows you what you don’t have, and dwelling on that isn’t helpful.” Milly fastened her seat belt and started the engine. “We need to go. I have to be up early. My life doesn’t go on hold just because you’re here. How long are you planning to stay?”
“I don’t know.” Nicole’s voice shook again. “Maybe forever.”
Forever?
That was a joke, surely? Milly glanced quickly at her friend, but Nicole’s eyes were closed again, and there was no hint of a smile on her face.
Forever.
Milly tightened her grip on the wheel. If she had to wish for one thing it would be patience.
The Christmas Cottage
CHAPTER ONE
It began as a casual conversation and Imogen wasn’t quite sure at what point things had started to go so wrong. It wasn’t her fault. At least, not all her fault. She’d wanted to be friendly, that was all. To form a bond with her colleagues. That wasn’t a crime, was it? It was almost a requirement of open plan offices. They created an atmosphere of familiarity. Sitting side by side and across from the people you worked with encouraged confidences, and chat, and allowed for the gradual absorption of tiny granules of information that you didn’t even realise you’d overheard. It was intimacy by osmosis.
‘Hey, Imogen,’ Anya glanced at her across the desk. She was a make-up addict and spent at least half an hour of every day extolling the virtues of her latest find. Today her eyelids glittered like an ornament on a Christmas tree. ‘Did you see the email from the boss? She’s planning a ‘bring your dog to work day’ the week before Christmas.’
‘I saw the email.’ Her day had gone downhill from there. Bonding with her colleagues was important, but she liked to keep her work life and her home life separate. ‘Did you get the costings for those venues, Anya? I have to send that proposal to Rosalind to check before it goes to the client at lunchtime.’
Pets, clothes, make up, diets, travel, food, movies, books, bad dates and irritating clients. That covered the bulk of the conversation that bounced around the office.
‘Just waiting on the last two. Isn’t it a brilliant idea? Every dog wears a festive outfit and Rosalind picks the winner. All for charity. It will be so much fun. I’m wondering whether I can persuade my little Cocoa to wear antlers. Generally he hates having his head touched, so maybe not. But we get to dress up too. I bought a new sparkly highlighter on Saturday. Perfect for Christmas. There was a discount if you bought two, so I got one for you too.’ She passed it across the desk and Imogen felt a lump in her throat.
‘That’s for me? Why?’
‘Just because.’ Anya shrugged and grinned. ‘Call it a thank you for helping me out of that sticky client situation last week. Also, you have great cheekbones and it will look good on you.’
Imogen was touched. She remembered her first day at the company when Anya had presented her with a frosted cup cake and a pen that glowed in the dark. You’re going to be working late so you’ll need this.
It was hard to believe she’d almost been here for a year. She’d started her new job a few days before Christmas and had barely got started before the office had closed for the festive break.
‘I love it, thank you.’ She checked the time and felt a flash of panic. She didn’t miss deadlines. Not ever. And this one was too close for comfort. She wanted to call and get the costings herself, but she was Anya’s manager and was supposed to be helping her develop so she needed to stop doing things herself. The restraint almost killed her. It was so much easier and safer to do it herself. At least then she knew it would be done on time, with no mistakes. ‘Will you chase those venues urgently? Those are the last numbers I need to finish this.’
‘Sure, I’ll do it now. I saw a lipstick that would look great on you, Imogen. Maybe we could go shopping together one lunchtime. And if you’re looking for doggy outfits, I saw a cute red Santa coat on the internet that would look great on a golden retriever. Or do you already have something in mind?’ Anya was more interested in the idea of everyone bringing their dogs to work than she was in doing actual work. ‘You will be bringing Midas, won’t you?’
Realising there was no chance of getting those costings until she finished the dog conversation, Imogen glanced at the photograph on her desk.
Huge brown eyes gazed back at her, and her heart tightened.
Bring your dog to work day.
She touched the photo with the tips of her fingers. ‘I’m not sure if I’ll be able to bring him.’ She definitely wouldn’t be bringing him, but she still had to work out how best to present that fact to her colleagues without alienating them. And then she had a brainwave. ‘He’s not been well. The vet has kept him for a few nights.’
‘What? No! Midas is ill? And you didn’t tell us?’ Anya put her pen down and looked at Janie. ‘Janie, did you know Midas was ill?’
Janie glanced at them, her ponytail swinging across her back. She was a fitness fanatic and used the gym for an hour every morning when everyone else was still asleep. Occasionally she paced up and down the office just to get her step count up.
‘Midas is ill?’ Janie rejected a client phone call and focused on Imogen. ‘That’s awful. What happened? Was it the dog walker’s fault? Did she let him eat something he shouldn’t have eaten?’
‘No, nothing like that.’ Maybe illness hadn’t been the best way to go. She should have played along and then found a reason for Midas to be absent on the day. He stepped on something and he has to rest his paw. ‘It’s not important. Look, if you could get the last of those costings that would be great, because I need to finish this document and the deadline is –‘
‘Of course it’s important! This is your dog we’re talking about. What is more important than that? The client can wait.’
‘The client can’t wait,’ Imogen said. ‘We’re in a competitive business. There are new events companies springing up every day. It’s important that we exceed expectations.’
‘We will. We’ll do a great job on the event itself, we always do, particularly with you in charge. But this is just a proposal. No one is going to die if it’s a few hours late. You can pause for two minutes, Imogen,’ Anya said. ‘You worked over the weekend supervising those events, and you didn’t take a day off Monday. You work too hard.’
Too hard? There was no such thing as too hard.
She loved her job. Her job was everything. And she was good at it. She was a natural multitasker and handled twice as many accounts as everyone else. She did whatever it took to win business and keep the client, and she did that through experience, attention to detail, creativity and sheer hard work. She was good at what she did. And that wasn’t only her opinion. In her previous company she’d moved up to the lofty heights of management so quickly a jealous colleague had left an oxygen mask on her desk.
But now she had a team of six to manage, and occasionally she wished she could just do all the work herself rather than delegate. Anya, in particular, seemed to feel no particular sense of urgency about anything. She was generous and kind, but also maddeningly slow to complete tasks. She told everyone that work life balance was essential to her, but Imogen rarely saw her focus on the work part of that equation.
It was like trying to run a race with six weights attached to her waist.
She was going to have to speak to Anya. There was no avoiding it. She needed to have a ‘conversation’ about commitment and goals. Managing Anya would take her away from doing actual client work, which meant she’d be working longer hours.
Work/life balance? There was no balance for Imogen, but she didn’t mind. This was her choice.
‘The deadline is lunchtime, Anya. We can do this!’
‘Relax Imogen. You’re going to get white hair and wrinkles before your time. You have so much energy you make me want to lie down. It will get done. It always does.’ Anya dismissed the deadline and Imogen felt her stress levels ratchet up another notch.
It did get done, but only because she invariably ended up doing it herself. She really liked Anya, which made it even harder. ‘Anya –‘
‘I know. You’re stressed. And I understand why.’
‘You do?’ Hearing that came as a relief. Maybe Anya was more aware of work pressures than she’d thought.
‘Of course. How can you be so calm when your lovely Midas is ill? I can’t believe you’ve been keeping this to yourself. I’d be totally freaking out.’
Midas?
‘I-‘
‘What does the vet say? When will they let him out? You must be worried sick. It’s okay to be honest. We’re a team. We’re here to support each other. You’re allowed to be human, Imogen. We can cover for you if needed. We can do your work.’
Imogen blinked. Anya didn’t seem able to do her own work, let alone anyone else’s but this probably wasn’t the time to point that out.
‘Well I-‘
‘Anya’s right,’ Janie said. ‘You don’t have to hold it in. I mean, this is Midas. He’s your baby.’ She reached across the picked up the photo Imogen kept on her desk. ‘Look at that face. Poor boy. I’m sure Rosalind would give you time off if you explained. She was amazing when Buster had that lump on his leg. I suppose because she’s a dog lover herself. She gets it.’
‘That’s why I love this place,’ Anya said. ‘Everyone is so human. The last place I worked no one talked about anything personal. It was like working with a bunch of robots. Nightmare.’
A place where no one talked about anything personal? Imogen was starting to wonder if that might be preferable. She loved her colleagues, but she would have loved them even more if they’d had the same focus on work as she did.
But there was no denying that her colleagues were good people, even if most of the time they seemed to fit work round their personal life.
Janie looked close to tears as she held the photo of Midas and Imogen reached across and gently removed it from her fingers.
‘I’d rather not talk about it.’ She placed the photograph back on her desk, next to the one of her family. In her last job they’d had a hot desk system, and no one had been allowed to display a single personal item. RPQ Events was a very different place.
There were plants, and a fish tank, and people were encouraged to personalise their work stations. Anya’s computer was framed by fairy lights, and no one seemed to mind.
Glancing around her on her first day, Imogen had seen everything from fluffy mascots to family photos. She’d stared at her stark, empty desk and decided she needed to do something about it.
Come on Imogen, show us your family, Janie had said cheerfully and Anya had nodded agreement. Do you have any pets? We’re all animal lovers here. Even Danny, although he’ll tell you he bought the rabbits for his daughters. Don’t believe him for a moment.
She’d never had a personal photo on her desk before, but here the absence of it drew attention so she’d done the same. She’d appreciated how welcoming they were and wanted to be part of the team so she’d carefully selected one photo of Midas, and one family photo taken at Christmas. Everyone was huddled together, laughing for the camera as they struggled not to lose their footing in the snow. Imogen loved that photo. Everyone looked so happy.
‘We’re here for you, Imogen,’ Janie reached across and rubbed Imogen’s shoulder in a show of solidarity. ‘You’re so brave and strong. You’ve been coming in every day and working hard and none of us even guessed! It must be awful not having your furry friend there to greet you when you get home. I’m sure you miss him horribly. We had no idea you were going through this. You seem so normal. Honestly, you’re amazing, although I’m sure it helps having such a close family.’
Imogen started to panic. She found personal conversations like this really unsettling. Any moment now they’d be suggesting grief counselling. She needed to shut this down before it went any further.
‘I do miss him, but he’s in good hands and I’m sure he’ll soon be home. If you could get those costs, I’d be able to send this through to the client by lunchtime.’
‘Working on it now. What’s wrong with him?’
‘What’s wrong with who?’
‘Midas.’ Anya’s eyes were wide with sympathy. ‘Nothing serious, I hope. I don’t know how you can concentrate on work when he’s ill.’
‘They’re not sure what’s wrong,’ Imogen said. ‘They’re running tests.’
This was the problem with working in an open plan office. People wanted detail.
Much of her time was spent out and about with clients at their offices, visiting venues or supervising events, but eventually she had to return to her desk and that meant being cocooned with her colleagues. And it wasn’t that she didn’t like them because she did. She liked them a great deal, but there was a fine line between fitting in and being welded together. If someone wanted to talk, then she was always willing to listen but sometimes the level of information became too much (close physical proximity didn’t seem to be the moderating influence it should have been).
Take Janie for example. Because Janie never bothered to leave her desk when taking a personal call, Imogen knew that she lived with her mother, had one sister who was married, and that she was currently dating two different men so that she had backup in the event that one of them ghosted her (Janie’s father had walked out when she was ten, leaving her with a perpetual mistrust of the opposite sex).
Then there was Peter. Peter was head of tech, and he sat to her left. He’d been with the company for six months, yet despite this relatively short acquaintance she knew he had an appointment with his doctor on Friday to talk about a part of his body Imogen tried never to picture in a colleague. She knew his girlfriend wanted them to move in together and she knew Pete had no intention of doing that because she’d heard him on the phone to his landlord renewing his rental for another year.
And there was Danny, another account manager, who spent a large part of the day arranging gym sessions and after work drinks so that he could arrive home after his wife had put their four year old twins to bed. Yes, he had rabbits, but judging from the conversation he’d never contributed to their care. That was his wife’s responsibility (and his wife seemed to have a great number of responsibilities).
Imogen filed all the things she heard into a compartment in her brain labelled things I wish I didn’t know and tried to forget about them. The thing she found less easy to handle was the fact that they wanted to know about her, too.
She was a private person and given the choice she would have revealed nothing about her personal life, but she wanted to fit in. She wanted people to like her. So she did what everyone else did and put photos on her desk. She chatted. And the chat requirement was about to escalate because they were heading into the worst month of the year for team bonding activities.
December.
Imogen knew that the ‘bring your dog to work’ day would just be the start of many Christmas celebrations. There would be the office Christmas lunch, the Secret Santa, the charity quiz night (which one of the following is not one of Santa’s reindeer?). The list was endless and, although her colleagues knew a few things about her, the one thing they didn’t know was that she dreaded Christmas. Last year had been easy because she’d only joined a few days before, but this year promised to be more of a trial.
‘At least you’ll have time off with him over Christmas.’ Janie flashed her a smile, ‘only thirty-six sleeps to go. We’re spending Christmas with my sister this year. I can’t wait. She has a bigger house and a bigger TV. How about you, Imogen? Please tell me you are taking time off. The office closed for a week last year but still you sent emails on Christmas Day. I mean, who does that?’
‘I’d just joined the company. I was keen.’ That wasn’t really the reason, but it worked well enough as an excuse. ‘I didn’t expect you to look at them. But with the office closed and clients enjoying the holidays it seemed like the perfect time to catch up. I wanted to be able to hit the ground running in January.’
‘But it was your holiday too. Why weren’t you just hanging out with your family?’
‘I was.’ Imogen moved the photo of Midas next to the one of her family. ‘But there were a few hours in the day when everyone was either watching a movie, or sleeping off too much food, so I opened my laptop.’ And she didn’t want to think about it. She really didn’t.
‘You’re obsessed,’ Anya said. ‘Don’t take your laptop this year, then you won’t be tempted. It was a bit startling to turn on my computer on January 2nd and find fifty-six emails from you waiting in my inbox.’
‘I like to end the year with everything tidy,’ Imogen said. ‘I still spent plenty of time with family, don’t worry.’
Janie sat back and shook her head. ‘I don’t know how you do it all. You hardly ever come out with us after work because you’re either babysitting your niece and nephew or you’re visiting your grandmother. You have a dog. You do everything for everyone, and still handle an inhuman workload. And you’re never take time off. How many holiday days are you carrying forward into next year?’
‘Er – I don’t know. Most of them I think.’
‘Exactly! Would you slow down? You make the rest of us feel inadequate.’
‘You’re all great,’ Imogen said. ‘We’re a brilliant team.’
‘We are, but if you’re not careful you’re going to burn out. You’ve been working every weekend, so you deserve a good break. Your family home looks like a dreamy place to spend Christmas. That gorgeous big house. All that countryside. Midas must love it. Are you excited?’
Christmas, Christmas, Christmas.
As far as her colleagues were concerned, it was never too soon to talk about Christmas. It made her want to scream.
This year the conversation had started in July (July! What was wrong with people?) when Anya had indulged in a Christmas movie marathon over the weekend and proceeded to talk about it for several weeks after.
In October Janie had returned from a trip to the supermarket to buy a salad and pointed out that the shelves were already lined with Christmas decorations and Christmas chocolate. She’d placed her plastic looking salad on her desk, along with a garishly wrapped chocolate Santa.
‘I normally avoid chocolate, but Christmas is the exception,’ she’d told them happily as she’d stripped the Santa of its red foil and bitten off the head. ‘How about you, Imogen?’
Imogen had focused on her computer screen and hope they’d lose interest.
‘I refuse to think about Christmas in October. It’s too soon.’ It was okay to say that wasn’t it? Plenty of people refused to think about Christmas in October.
A month later, when someone had asked her about plans for the office Christmas party, she’d said the same thing.
‘I refuse to talk about Christmas in November. It’s too soon.’
But in a week’s time it would be December and Imogen would have run out of viable excuses. Decorations glittered in shop windows. Christmas music boomed relentless cheer over loudspeakers.
She could no longer avoid the topic.
She’d have this one conversation and hopefully that would be it for a while.
‘I’ll be going home, yes. It will be chaos as usual. You know how it is. Big noisy family gathering. Tree too big for the room. Log fire. Uncle George singing out of tune. I’ll be spending most of my time trying to stop the nieces and nephews squeezing the presents and making sure my mother isn’t burning the turkey.’ That was enough information to keep them happy, surely? ‘We really need that costing, Anya.’
‘I’m on it. Oh and I forgot to tell you that Dorothy Rutherford called for you earlier. You were on the phone to that tech guy from the lighting company.’
Imogen felt her breathing quicken. ‘You forgot – Anya, this is important. Dorothy Rutherford is our biggest client. When she calls, I stop what I’m doing and take her call. If I’m on with another client, then I call her right back when I’m done.’
‘She was fine about it. She loves you. We all know you’re the reason she gave us the business. She wanted to carry on working with you when you left your last place. You can do no wrong. Also, you’re the only one of us who genuinely loves her alcohol-free wine.’
‘I don’t mind it,’ Janie protested, ‘it’s a refreshing drink. But it’s not – you know – alcohol. It doesn’t give me the buzz I need on a Friday night. I know those bubbles aren’t going to give me the headache I need the morning after.’
‘Just Friday?’ Anya grinned. ‘What about the other nights of the week?’
‘Those too. It’s the first thing I do when I get home. My Mum and I open a bottle and share it. That’s why I go to the gym every morning. I’d have more willpower if I lived on my own. You’re so lucky to be able to afford your own place, Imogen.’
Imogen waited for a break in the conversation. ‘What did Dorothy want?’
‘She wanted to talk to you about the proposal you sent. Sounds as if she wants to go ahead with everything you suggested. She was impressed. She asked for a bespoke and original concept and you gave her one. The outdoor festival, complete with a stage and tents and the works. Like a rock concert. She thinks it’s a perfect way to showcase their products to customers. And she loved the idea of the drone display. This will be a huge piece of business, Imogen. Congratulations. You turned a virtually impossible brief into reality. We should celebrate –‘ she grinned at Janie, ‘fancy a glass of non-alcoholic wine?’
‘No thanks. I’d rather have a double espresso. I’ll say this though, I love their packaging. Those bottles are classy. They look like champagne.’
‘And their sales are rocketing so someone is loving it.’
Anya rested her chin on her palm. ‘I wonder if it’s because the marketing is so clever. She has tapped into the whole healthy living trend. Pictures of her estate in the Cotswolds with its vineyard, lots of cool people toasting each other with glasses of Spearcante. I look at the ads and I want to be there, even if there is no alcohol on offer. I wonder how she came up with that name?’
‘I think spearca is from an Old English word meaning spark,’ Imogen said and they both stared at her.
‘How do you know these things?’
‘Dorothy is my client. It’s my job to know as much about her as possible. She hasn’t always been in business. Originally, she read English Literature at Oxford. And then she did Medieval studies, which included Old English and Old Norse. I think she also studied Anglo Saxon prose and poetry. I guess etymology was part of that.’
Anya frowned. ‘Isn’t that insects?’
Janie rolled her eyes. ‘That’s entomology.’
‘Oh, right.’
‘Etymology is the study of the origin of words,’ Imogen said. ‘Anyway, she told me that’s how she came up with the name.’
Right now, she didn’t care about the origins of the name. The only thing Imogen cared about was that Dorothy had been kept waiting. Dorothy wasn’t only their biggest client, but she was Imogen’s favourite client. She was smart, interesting, and surprisingly easy to work with. She embraced Imogen’s ideas and rarely reined her in. She was in her early sixties and several decades earlier had switched careers to run her family’s vineyard in the Cotswolds. After a few years she’d decided to experiment extracting the alcohol from the wine. She’d been producing no alcohol wine long before it had become something of a cultural movement, but lately the business had taken off.
Imogen had worked with her for several years and found her enthusiastic, encouraging and supportive. She never whined and complained, which was more than could be said for most of their clients.
‘I’ll call her now.’
‘No point. She said she’d be tied up for the next couple of hours but she’d call you from the car on her way home.’
Imogen managed to hide her frustration. She tried never to miss a client call, and if she did miss it she called them right back.
But if Dorothy was in a meeting, then it would have to be later and she would have to try not to stress about it.
And in the meantime…
‘Anya, if you could get those costings now it would mean I could finish this document,’ she had a sudden brainwave, ‘and then I’ll be able to make the call about Midas.’
‘Of course! Anything for Midas.’
‘Great. Thanks.’ As she’d hoped, the mention of Midas galvanised her colleague into action and ten minutes later Imogen had all the costings incorporated into the document.
Relieved, she sent it through to Rosalind for final approval and sat back in her chair.
Done. Finally. Maybe she should try using Midas as a motivator more often.
Not that she wanted to be a killjoy. She wanted her colleagues to like her. She wanted to be one of them, and if that required a little personal sacrifice on her part then fine.
Soon the Christmas tree would arrive in the foyer and she’d admire it along with everyone else. Mistletoe would be hung in strategic places, even though office romance was banned (and, as Janie had once pointed out after several glasses of wine that most definitely had retained all its alcohol content, the number of kissable people in their office was depressingly limited).
And there would be the ‘bring your dog to work’ day.
Midas.
She sighed and glanced at the photo on her desk. The photographer had captured the exact moment his tail had been suspended in mid wag.
He really was a gorgeous dog.
It was just a pity he wasn’t hers.
Also a pity that her Christmas wasn’t going to be a big, noisy family affair.
She loved the family photo she’d placed on her desk, but they weren’t her family.
She’d described someone else’s Christmas, not hers.
There was no big house in the country. There would be no oversized tree or a log fire. Uncle George wouldn’t be singing out of tune because she didn’t have an uncle called George, or any other uncle. She wasn’t going to have to stop her nieces and nephews squeezing the presents, because she didn’t have nieces or nephews. There would be games of charades, and no burnt turkey because her mother had never cooked a turkey in her life.
But right now that wasn’t her biggest problem. Her biggest problem was ‘bring your dog to work’ day.
Everyone was expecting to meet Midas, but there was no Midas.
Imogen didn’t have a dog. Imogen didn’t have a loving family.
Imogen had no one.
The personal life she’d created for herself was entirely fake.
The Summer Swap is out now!
My brand new summer novel THE SUMMER SWAP is out now in the UK, and is already available in North America and Canada.
If you feel like an uplifting read full of drama, romance and friendship in a beautiful beach setting, grab a copy today! You’ll find it in Tesco, Asda, Sainsbury’s, Morrisons, Waitrose, WHSmith, The Works and some branches of Waterstones (and they can order). And of course online!
Click here to read the first chapter free, and for order links The Summer Swap
Happy reading!
Love
Sarah
xx
The Summer Swap
CHAPTER ONE
Lily
Running away from her life wasn’t something she was proud of, but with a view this good it was hard to regret the decision.
Lily tightened her grip on the handlebars and pedaled harder. Here on the northern tip of Cape Cod while the rest of humankind were still sleepy and had barely reached for the coffeepot, the place was hers alone.
All around her were sand dunes and the ocean stretching as far as she could see. She cycled the same route every day, and every day was different. Today the sky was a deep kingfisher blue, but she’d seen burnt orange, flame red and smoky silver.
It was a place favored by migratory birds and tourists, and generally she preferred the first to the second. The day before, she’d seen a blue heron and two snowy egrets. As far as she was concerned the fewer humans the better, but she owed her current job to the influx of summer people, so she wasn’t complaining.
She breathed deeply, letting the salt air fill her lungs and her mind. She felt free here on this windblown, sunbaked strip of seashore. For the first time in months, she felt better. Stronger. As if she might survive after all. The pressure had eased. She no longer woke at two in the morning drenched in sweat and panic, trapped in her life and hating every moment.
She felt something close to happiness, and then her phone buzzed and the feeling left her in a rush.
She pedaled faster, trying to outrun its insistent demand. She didn’t have to look to identify the caller. It was ten in the morning exactly. Only one person called her routinely at that time.
Dammit.
Guilt and an unshakable sense of duty made her squeeze the brakes and she pulled over, breathless, and dug out her phone. If she didn’t take the call now, she’d be taking it later and the thought of it looming in her future would darken the skies of an otherwise cloudless day. This was the price she had to pay for running away. You could run, but with today’s technology you couldn’t really hide.
“Lily, honey? It’s Mom.”
She closed her eyes briefly.
She’d been expecting this call, ever since she’d declined their invitation to come home and “talk things over.” As if talking it over yet again would change the outcome.
Every time she saw her mother’s name pop up on her phone screen her stomach churned. Guilt sank its fangs into all the soft, vulnerable parts of her. Her parents had made huge sacrifices for her, and she’d as good as slapped them in the face. And she hadn’t even given them a reason. At least, not one they could understand.
They deserved better.
“I’m on my way to work, Mom. I can’t be late.” Never had dirty pots and pans and other people’s laundry seemed more appealing. She’d rather deal with that any day than talk to her mother. Every conversation dragged her backward and left her so twisted with guilt she lost all confidence in her chosen path. “Is everything all right?”
“No. We’re worried about you, Lily.” Her mother’s tone was shaky. “We don’t understand what’s going on. Why won’t you tell us?”
Lily tightened her grip on the phone. “Nothing is going on. And you don’t need to worry.” She repeated the same words she’d said hundreds of times, even though they never seemed to settle.
“Can you blame us for worrying? We have a bright, brilliant daughter who has chosen to throw away the life she worked hard for. And with no reason.”
No reason? As if it had been a whim. As if she’d woken up one morning and decided to waste all those years of hard work just for a laugh.
“I’m fine. This is what I want.”
It wasn’t that her parents weren’t wonderful people, but communicating with them was impossible.
“Are you eating? Have you put on some weight? You were skin and bone when you left here.”
“I’m eating. I’m sleeping. I’m good. How are you and Dad?”
“We miss you, obviously. Come home, Lily. We can cook for you, and spoil you and look after you.”
Anxiety settled on her like a cloak, blocking out sunshine and her hopes for the day.
She knew what going home would mean. She loved her parents, but they’d hover over her with frowning concerned faces until she’d end up worrying more about them than herself. And then she’d do things she didn’t want to do, just to please them.
And it wasn’t as if she hadn’t tried staying at home. She’d done that in the beginning (mostly because her options were limited) and the pressure of pretending to be okay had been exhausting.
“I’m happy, Mom. I just need some space. It’s beautiful here. You know I always loved the ocean.”
“I know. I remember when you were six years old, and we couldn’t drag you away from the sandcastle you’d built.” There was a pause. “Honey, Dad made some calls. He thinks it’s not too late for you to go back to medical school if you want to.”
Lily’s heart started to pound. The sweat of anxiety threatened to become a full-blown panic attack. Her chest tightened. Her hands shook so badly the phone almost slipped from her fingers.
Interference, even well-meaning interference, should be designated a crime.
“I don’t want to. I know you and Dad are disappointed—”
“It’s not about us, it’s about you. We tried so hard to give you all the opportunities we didn’t have.”
Lily stared at the ocean and tried to find her inner calm, but it had fled the moment the phone had rung.
They’d made huge sacrifices for her, and she’d thrown it in their faces. She felt terrible. But staying would have made her feel worse.
“This is difficult for me, too, Mom.” The lump in her throat made it difficult to speak. “I know I’m hurting you and I hate it, but this is where I want to be. I can’t be a doctor. I want to be an artist.”
“You say that, but you’re cleaning houses.”
“To earn money while I try to find a way to do something I love.” While she tried to loosen the knots of stress in her body and untangle the mess in her head. “There’s nothing wrong with cleaning houses. I like it. And it’s a respectable way to make a living. You did it.”
“Because I didn’t have the opportunities you had.”
Lily felt guilt overwhelm her.
Her mother sighed. “Do you need money? We still have some savings.”
And she knew just how hard it would have been for her parents to pull that together after everything they’d already spent on her. She’d vowed never to take another cent from them.
“I don’t need money but thank you.” She didn’t want to think about the dire state of her bank account. She was determined to manage on her own now, no matter what.
“Lily—” her mother’s voice was gentle “—your father would kill me for asking because I know I’m not supposed to ask, but did something happen, honey? Did someone hurt you? Your dad and I always thought you’d make a wonderful doctor. You’re such a kind, caring person.”
“Nothing like that.” Lily’s throat burned. She badly wanted this conversation to end. “Could we talk about something else?”
“Of course. Let me think…not much has happened here. Your father has been busy in the garden.” Her mother spoke in a cheery I’m changing the subject to a safe topic voice. “The hydrangeas are beginning to bloom. They’re going to be stunning. I made the most delicious orange cake last week. No wheat. You know your father. Ground almonds instead of flour.”
“Sounds yummy.” She imagined them at home together and felt a pang. Despite everything, she missed them. Part of her just wanted to run home and be looked after but she knew that feeling would dissipate the moment she walked through the door. Within minutes the bands of pressure would tighten, and she’d be gasping for breath.
“I’m sure there was something I wanted to tell you.” Her mother paused. “What was it? Oh, I remember—I bumped into Kristen Buckingham last week. She’s always so charming and friendly. So normal.”
The last person Lily wanted to think about now was anyone with the name Buckingham.
“Why wouldn’t she be friendly and normal, Mom?” Lily knew how self-conscious her mother was around her friends and she hated it. It reminded her of being back at school and feeling like an imposter.
Her parents had scrimped and saved and worked multiple jobs in order to send her to the best school. They’d believed she’d have a great education and make influential friends. She would absorb their greater advantages by osmosis. It would be her ticket to a better life. They imagined her living her life in a bubble of success, mixing with people whose parents owned mansions and yachts and jets. People whose fridges were loaded with food and never had to worry about making it stretch to the end of the week. People who had drivers, and housekeepers, and staff who cleared the snow from their yard.
And she had met people like that, but most of the time Lily had felt like a stray dog that had somehow wriggled its way into a litter of pedigrees. She’d been afraid to reveal anything about her background, because she knew it was different from theirs. She’d masked her true self because she’d known that she didn’t fit. Despite her attempts to blend, she’d been badly bullied. To make things worse she’d also felt crushed by the pressure of work and parental expectation. To fail would have been to let them down, these people she loved so much and who loved her back. They’d half killed themselves to give her the opportunity. She couldn’t let herself fail.
Panic had hovered close to the surface the whole time, threatening to suffocate her. The only thing that had driven her from her bed in the mornings was the knowledge of her parents’ sacrifice and their pride in her. She hadn’t felt able to tell them how unhappy she was, or that locking herself in a cubicle while having a panic attack didn’t feel like success to her.
She’d been thoroughly miserable until the day Hannah Buckingham had rescued her from a bully who was trying to remove her ponytail with a pair of scissors. After that, everything changed.
Hannah was the granddaughter of the famous artist Cameron Lapthorne. She was a champion of the underdog. She had a fierce urge to protect anything threatened. She wanted to save the whales, and Sumatran tigers, and Antarctica. Lily was added to the list, and they’d become best friends from that moment. Hannah had said Lily was the sister she’d never had. Hannah hadn’t cared about the differences between their household incomes. Hannah hadn’t cared that Lily didn’t have her own bathroom, or a housekeeper to keep her room tidy, or tutors to make sure her grades were the best they could possibly be. Hannah had found Lily interesting. Hannah had wanted to know everything about Lily. She’d wanted to access her every thought. For the first time in her life, Lily had been able to be herself.
They’d been inseparable. Protected by Hannah, the bullying had stopped and Lily had flourished. With Hannah as her friend, her confidence had grown. She’d no longer felt like a misfit.
They’d gone to the same college where they’d both studied biological sciences and then they’d applied to the same medical school. When her acceptance letter arrived, Lily’s parents had cried. They’d been so proud and thrilled. It was the happiest day of their lives.
Lily had been happy and relieved that she’d achieved their goals. That she was everything her parents wanted her to be. That she hadn’t let them down. For a brief moment she’d believed that maybe she could do this.
But medical school had turned out to be a thousand times worse than school. She was surrounded by people who were brilliant, ambitious and competitive.
When the pressure started to crush her brain again, she tried to ignore it. She was going to be fine. She’d survived this far. There were many different branches of medicine. She’d find one that suited her.
It didn’t help that Hannah had no doubts at all. She’d known from the start that she wanted to be a surgeon like her father, Theo. Hannah wanted to save lives. She wanted to make a difference.
On the few occasions she’d met him, Lily had found Theo to be terrifying or maybe it was more accurate to say that she found his reputation terrifying.
Hannah’s mother, Kristen, was equally intimidating. She was an art expert, a whirlwind of brisk efficiency with a life so busy it was a wonder she fitted in time to breathe.
And then there was Hannah’s older brother, Todd, who was smart, handsome and kind, and the object of lust among all Hannah’s friends. Lily was no exception. Teenage Lily had fantasized about Todd. Twenty-three-year-old Lily had kissed Todd in a dark corner during a school reunion.
Lily was in love with Todd, but now Todd was dating Amelie.
Lily had trained herself not to think about Todd.
“I just mean that Kristen is very important, Lily, that’s all,” her mother said. “But she always takes the time to talk to me when I see her.”
“She’s just a person, Mom. A person like the rest of us.”
“Well, not really like the rest of us,” her mother said. “Her father was Cameron Lapthorne. I don’t pretend to know anything about art, but even I know his name.”
Hannah had taken her to the Lapthorne Estate once. It had been the best day of Lily’s life. She’d gazed at the paintings hungrily, studying every brushstroke, in awe of the skill and envious of anyone who could build a life as an artist. Hannah had given her a book of her grandfather’s work, and it had become Lily’s most treasured possession. She’d thumbed the pages, studied the pictures and slept with it under her pillow.
Ever since she was old enough to hold a paintbrush, Lily had loved art. She’d painted everything in sight. When she’d run out of paper, she’d painted on the walls. She’d painted her school bag and her running shoes. She’d said to her parents I want to be an artist, and for a while they’d looked worried. They’d told her no one made money that way and that she was smart enough to be a doctor or a lawyer. Lily knew how much they wanted that for her, and she knew how much they’d sacrificed. She couldn’t bring herself to disappoint them. And so she had dutifully gone to medical school, underestimating the toll it would take on her.
“Lily? Are you still there?”
Lily tugged herself back into the present. “Yes. So how was Kristen?”
“Busy as ever. She was in the middle of organizing a big event at the Lapthorne Estate. Celebrating her mother’s birthday and her grandfather, the artist. It’s happening today, I think. Todd will be there with his fiancée—I forget her name. Amelie, that’s right. And Hannah will be there of course. Kristen invited us, and you, which was generous of her.”
Fiancée?
Lily started to shake. “Todd is engaged?”
“Yes. A bit of a whirlwind according to Kristen. They’d only been dating for a few months, and she thought it was casual. Had no idea it was serious and then suddenly they announce that they’re getting married. I’m sure that wedding will be quite an event. Kristen said it was yet another thing for her to organize, although I don’t understand why the responsibility would fall on her. She’s such an impressive woman.”
Lily wasn’t thinking about Kristen. Lily was thinking about Todd.
She imagined Todd in the gardens of Lapthorne Manor with a glass of champagne in his hand, and Amelie gazing up at him with that flirtatious look that fused men’s brains and made them do stupid things, a large diamond glinting on her finger.
Amelie had been the most popular girl in the school. She’d had the highest marks, the fastest time on the running track and the biggest smile. Amelie was the girl most likely to succeed. She was also the girl who had tried to cut off Lily’s ponytail with a pair of scissors. And now she was marrying Todd. Kind, funny, clever Todd.
Todd had broken Lily’s heart, and he didn’t even know it.
Her palms felt sweaty as she tried to focus on the call. “Are you going to the party?”
“No, of course not. Your father wouldn’t know what to say and I wouldn’t know what to wear. They’re your friends really, not ours. Kristen mentioned that Hannah is enjoying her clinical rotation, but you probably know that as she’s your best friend.”
Lily didn’t know that. Lily and Hannah hadn’t spoken since that terrible fight on the night Lily had packed her bags and left medical school for good.
Every time Lily thought of Hannah she wanted to cry. They’d sworn that nothing and no one would ever come between them, and they’d truly believed that.
They’d been wrong.
“I must go, Mom. I’ll be late for work, and I don’t want to let people down.” She winced as she said it, because she was all too aware that she’d let her parents down. “Don’t worry. I’m happy. I like my life.”
“We don’t want you to waste your talents, honey, that’s all. You’re capable of so much. You could be curing cancer—”
Curing cancer? No pressure, then.
“I hated medical school.” The words spilled out of her. “It wasn’t for me.” And the pressure of trying to keep up had almost broken her. She didn’t expect them to understand. They believed that if you were smart enough to be a doctor, why wouldn’t you be one? And she couldn’t figure out how to make her parents proud, but still live the life she wanted to live. “I want to be an artist, Mom. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. You know that.”
“I know, but where’s the future in that? Your dad and I just don’t want you to struggle financially as we did. Life can be hard, Lily.”
Lily closed her eyes. She knew that. She knew how hard life could be.
“I’m managing fine. And I’m going to pay you and Dad back.”
“That’s not necessary, honey. We love you and remember there’s a home and a welcome here whenever you need it.”
Lily’s throat felt full. It would be easier to disappoint them if they weren’t so decent. If she didn’t love them so much. “Thanks. Give my love to Dad.”
She ended the call, wondering why big life decisions had to feel so difficult and wondering why, when there were so many people her mother could have bumped into, she’d had to bump into Kristen Buckingham.
Her little bubble of happiness had been punctured.
Todd was engaged. He was going to marry Amelie, and no doubt they’d have two perfect children and a dog and live a long and happy life with not a single bump in the road.
But she wasn’t going to think about that now. And she wasn’t going to think about Hannah. Twice in the last few months she’d almost texted her. Once she’d even typed out a message, but then she’d deleted it. Hannah had been furiously angry with her, and Lily had been angry with Hannah. They’d both been hurt, and Lily had no idea how to move past that hurt. Given that she hadn’t heard from Hannah, presumably she didn’t know, either.
The friendship that they’d believed could never be damaged, had been damaged. Broken. Amelie might as well have taken her scissors to it.
But that was in the past now.
Hannah was living in the city, and Lily was here on the Cape, and even though she’d brought all her emotions with her it was still preferable to being in the smothering atmosphere of her parents’ home. And at least it had been her decision to come here. For the first time ever, she was living the life that was her choice.
She just wished it felt easier.
Eyes stinging, she dropped the phone back into her bag and pedaled hard. The call had cost her ten minutes, but if she moved fast she’d still get the work done.
The breeze blew into her face and dried the dampness of tears. One day she’d make it up to her parents. She’d find a way to make them proud, even though she wouldn’t be curing cancer.
She turned into the driveway of a large mansion and cycled up to the house, her sudden stop creating a small shower of gravel. Grabbing her backpack, she sprinted to the front door and waved to Mike, the gardener, who was hauling trays of plants from the back of his truck.
This particular house was a prime beachfront property and was booked solid throughout the summer months. It slept fourteen, and the last fourteen to occupy it had clearly had a good time if the state of the kitchen was anything to go by.
The company she worked for catered to the luxury end of the market and it always surprised Lily that those people seemed never to have mastered the basic art of clearing up after themselves.
She scooped up empty pizza boxes, removed a discarded lobster shell from one of the kitchen chairs (she could be curing cancer, but instead she was clearing up lobster shells) and cleared half a dozen empty champagne bottles into the recycling. She wiped, she spritzed, she mopped, she polished, and once she’d restored the kitchen to its usual pristine state and reassured herself that there was no lasting damage, she headed toward the bedrooms.
By the time she’d finished it was midafternoon.
She took a large drink of water from the bottle she kept in her backpack and retrieved her bike.
“I’m all done.” She pushed her bike across to Mike, who was hunkered down over a flower bed.
Mike had worked for an investment bank until he’d suffered a serious case of burnout. Now he worked as a gardener, and said it was the best decision he’d made. It helped, of course, that he’d made himself a tidy sum of money before changing direction.
He straightened, stepped over a clump of petunias and walked over to her. “Where are you off to next?”
“Dune Cottage.”
“That place is a mystery.” He pulled his hat down to keep the sun from his face. “Have you ever seen anyone staying there?”
“Never. Easiest cleaning job I do all week. A bit of light dusting. Clean the windows, sweep the deck. Freshen the bed linen occasionally. Report anything that needs repairing.”
“Who do you think owns it?”
Lily shrugged. “I’m guessing some billionaire from Manhattan who can afford to keep it empty.”
“Isn’t it a bit small for a billionaire?”
“Maybe he’s a small, single billionaire.”
Mike grinned. “A single billionaire. Does such a thing exist? Money is a powerful aphrodisiac.”
“Not to everyone.” In her experience, money didn’t always bring out the best in people. “I have to go. See you tomorrow, Mike.” She climbed onto her bike and pedaled down the drive and onto the cycle track that led to a remote part of the outer cape. The trail took her over sandy dunes and past salt marshes, and then finally the cottage appeared, nestled among the dunes, separated from the ocean by soft sand and whispering seagrass. Its white clapboard walls and shingle roof had been weathered by the elements, but still the building stood firm. It had become as much a part of the landscape as the shifting sands that surrounded it.
Whoever owned it was the luckiest person in the world, Lily thought. And the most foolish, because who would own a place like this and not use it? It was a criminal waste.
She and the people she worked with occasionally played guessing games. It was owned by a rock star who had ten mansions and never quite got around to using this one. It was an FBI safe house. The owner was dead and buried under the deck (as she spent a lot of time alone there, that wasn’t Lily’s preferred theory).
Whoever it was had made sure that they couldn’t be identified. The management fees were paid by an obscure, faceless company. No one could remember when the cottage had last been inhabited. It was as if it had been forgotten, abandoned, except not entirely abandoned because it was maintained as if the owner might be coming home any day. And Lily was responsible for keeping it that way.
It was, in her opinion, the perfect job and if she was ahead of her workload she occasionally sneaked an hour or more to paint because the light and the views in this particular stretch of the Cape were spectacular.
She leaned her bike against the wall where it would be protected from the elements, hoisted her backpack onto her shoulders and headed up the wooden steps to the deck that wrapped itself snugly around the cottage.
If Lily had been asked to name her dream house, this would have been the one. Not for her, the mansions that were dotted along the coast from Provincetown to Hyannis. She didn’t want marble, or hot tubs, a games room, gym or a cinema room.
She wanted this. The ever-changing light. The views. The feeling that you were living on the edge of the world. When she was here, her misery lifted. Her energy returned and she wanted to grab her sketchbook and record the view so that the memories would stay with her forever.
She delved into her pocket for the keys and opened the front door. Every time she stepped over the threshold, she fell in love all over again. She didn’t care that the place was weathered and worn. To her, that was part of its character. This placed had been lived in and loved. It had history.
She tugged off her shoes and left the door open to allow the air and sunshine to fill the place.
The interior was simple, every item carefully chosen to complement the ocean setting. The sofa was shabby, upholstered in a blue fabric that had faded over time and had once matched the armchairs facing it. There were hints of nautical everywhere. The coffee table was made from timber salvaged from a shipwreck, no doubt a casualty of the dangerous waters and shifting sandbars. It was stacked with books and sometimes Lily curled up in the evening and read while listening to the sounds of the sea floating through the open windows.
The living room opened onto a wide veranda, which Lily was continually sweeping. At the back of the cottage there was a studio, north facing, with large windows that flooded the room with light.
Upstairs was a master bedroom with glorious views across the dunes, a large second bedroom and a third bedroom built into the eaves.
Lily headed upstairs, ducked her head to avoid banging it on the sloping roof and dropped her backpack in the smallest bedroom. She felt a stab of guilt and had to stop herself from glancing over her shoulder to check no one was watching her.
Just one night, she’d told herself the first time she’d stayed here. And then one night had become two, and two had turned into a week and she was still here two months later. At first she’d felt so guilty she hadn’t even slept on the bed. She’d unrolled her sleeping bag and slept on the sofa in the living room and woken when the morning light had shimmered across the room. She’d used the shower in the smaller of the two bathrooms and told herself that occasionally running the shower and flushing the toilets were an important part of her caretaking responsibility.
She hadn’t always lived here. Over the winter she’d shared a room with two other girls in a house in the town, but then the tourist season had taken off and every bed was needed for visitors. Lily’s funds didn’t stretch far enough to cover the cost of a new rental.
That was what she told herself, but the truth was she couldn’t bear to leave this beautiful place. Sometimes she felt as if the cottage needed her as much as she needed the cottage. And who was ever going to know? No one came out this far once the sun had set, and she’d already decided that if someone found her here during the day she would simply say that she was cleaning the place. That was her job after all.
Gradually the cottage had embraced her and made her feel at home. She’d graduated from the slightly lumpy sofa to the smallest bedroom in the eaves (the master bedroom was taking it too far) and now her sleeping bag was stretched on top of the bed and she even kept a few toiletries in the shower room.
Over time she’d started to think of the cottage as hers. She cared for it as lovingly as a family member. She couldn’t do anything about the peeling paint or the slightly tired furnishings, but she could make sure it was clean and always looked its best. Sometimes she even talked to the cottage as she was shaking out cushions and dusting down surfaces.
Why does no one come and stay in you? What sort of people are they that they’d leave you alone like this?
Whenever she was asked where she was living she gave a vague response, leading people to believe that she was couch surfing until she found somewhere permanent. The truth was, she’d stopped looking. Partly because her days were full, but mostly because she couldn’t bring herself to leave and saw no reason to do so as the place was empty.
She loved being alone here. It meant that she could be herself, and not have to pretend to be something she wasn’t. She loved the fact that in the evenings she could sit on the deck and watch the setting sun throw streaks of red over the sky and water. If she couldn’t sleep, she could switch on the light and read without anyone asking her if she was okay. She could eat, or not eat, knowing that no one was policing her food intake. She could feel what she wanted to feel without the added pressure of knowing she was worrying someone.
She didn’t have to pretend to be fine.
Because she wasn’t fine. She hurt, inside and out, and until she stopped hurting she didn’t want to be anywhere but here. She couldn’t think of a better place to be wounded.
The cottage nurtured her, tempting her to sit on its sunny deck, or venture into the cozy kitchen to make herself a sandwich or a mug of creamy hot chocolate. With its old wooden cabinets and butcher-block countertops, the kitchen had a warm, welcoming feel that was a contrast to the sleek, modern kitchens that graced most of the homes she cleaned.
But the biggest comfort for Lily were the paintings. The walls were crowded with them. Sketches, oils and pastels—she’d studied them all closely, examining every brushstroke and every line because they were all extraordinary. And she couldn’t believe that paintings of this quality were hanging on the wall of an almost abandoned beach cottage, because they weren’t prints of the sort that were sold by the thousands in various shops along the Cape, or the work of an amateur. She was sure—or as sure as she could be—that at least some of them were the work of Cameron Lapthorne. His initials were in the corner. CL. And she recognized his style.
The best, in her opinion, was the large watercolor hanging in the living room. She’d stared at that painting for hours, seduced by the subtle blend of colors, intrigued by the figure of the woman standing on the sand, staring out to sea. Who was she and what was she thinking? Was she simply admiring the view, or was she planning on plunging into the freezing waters and ending her misery?
Every time she looked at the painting it seemed different. The shadows. The soft flush of light across the ocean. It was as changeable as the scenery that had been its inspiration. Looking at it made her chest ache and her throat close. It wasn’t just a painting; it was a story. It made her feel. Whoever that woman was, Lily felt an affinity with her.
And if she was right that it was an original then this painting alone was worth millions. But she didn’t care about its monetary worth. For her its value was in its beauty. Being able to gaze for hours at that painting was a privilege. It was like having a private view of the Mona Lisa, or Monet’s Water Lilies.
She suspected Mike was wrong when he assumed the cottage wasn’t owned by someone with pots of money. Maybe not a billionaire, but whoever it was had enough money not to care that they were leaving valuable art unattended.
Or perhaps it wasn’t an original.
She’d studied Cameron Lapthorne’s work in depth but had never seen any mention of this painting, and it differed from his usual style.
She tore her gaze away from it now and headed for the studio where she kept her paints and canvases carefully hidden in one of the cupboards.
She’d skipped lunch, but she didn’t want to waste a moment of the light by preparing a meal for herself and, anyway, the conversation with her mother had chased away her appetite. Instead of eating, she reached for her pad and her oil pastels and headed toward the deck.
She wanted to paint. And even if nothing she produced ever came close to capturing the magical light of the Cape in the way Cameron Lapthorne had when he was alive, she would keep trying.
Food could wait. And so could finding alternative accommodation.
There was no urgency. After all, it wasn’t as if anyone was using the place.
The Christmas Book Club is a #1 Sunday Times Bestseller!
THE CHRISTMAS BOOK CLUB has hit the Number 1 slot on The Sunday Times paperback chart!
It’s a first for me, and thanks to all my brilliant readers who rushed out to buy the book the moment it came out last week. I couldn’t be more excited! If you haven’t tried the book yet you’ll find it in all the usual supermarkets, WHSmith, some branches of Waterstones, and don’t forget that your local bookstore can always order for you. And of course with Christmas approaching, books make a perfect Christmas gift (particularly this one because the cover is so sparkly and pretty!).
This book is also available in the US, Canada and Australia where the title is The Book Club Hotel (but it’s the same book as THE CHRISTMAS BOOK LUB). Click here to read the first chapter free, and for order links The Christmas Book Club
Happy reading!
Love
Sarah
xx
THE CHRISTMAS BOOK CLUB is out in the UK now!
My brand new festive book, THE CHRISTMAS BOOK CLUB, is now available in the UK! As you all know, I LOVE writing Christmas books and this one was no exception, possibly because it contains all my favourite things – friendship, family, books and of course, romance! I hope this book will be just what you need this winter, giving you an excuse to curl up and spoil yourself with an uplifting story. I always think that reading isn’t a treat, it’s a necessity!
Whether you read it right away or save it for Christmas, I hope it will give you a few hours of pleasure.
This book is already available to readers in the US and Canada and the title is The Book Club Hotel. Click here to read the first chapter free, and for order links The Christmas Book Club
Happy reading!
Love
Sarah
xx
The Christmas Book Club
CHAPTER ONE
Hattie
“Maple Sugar Inn, how may I help you?” Hattie answered the phone with a smile on her face because she’d discovered that it was impossible to sound defeated, moody or close to tears when you were smiling, and currently she was all those things.
“I’ve been planning a trip to Vermont in winter for years and then I spotted pictures of your inn on social media,” a woman gushed, “and it looks so cozy and welcoming. The type of place you can’t help but relax.”
It’s an illusion, Hattie thought. There was no relaxation to be had here; not for her, at any rate. Her head throbbed and her eyes pricked following another night without sleep. The head housekeeper was threatening to walk out and the executive chef had been late two nights running and she was worried tonight might be the third, which would be a disaster because they were fully booked. Chef Tucker had earned their restaurant that coveted star, and his confit of duck had been known to induce moans of ecstasy from diners, but there were days when Hattie would have traded that star for a chef with a more even temperament. His temper was so hot she sometimes wondered why he bothered switching on the grill. He could have yelled at the duck and it would have been thoroughly singed in the flames of his anger. He was being disrespectful and taking advantage of her. Hattie knew that, and she also knew she should probably fire him but Brent had chosen him, and firing him would have severed another thread from the past. Also, conflict drained her energy and right now she didn’t have enough of that to go around. It was simpler to placate him.
“I’m glad you’re impressed,” she said to the woman on the phone. “Can I make a reservation for you?”
“I hope so, but I’m very particular about the room. Can I tell you what I need?”
“Of course.” Bracing herself for a long and unachievable wish list, Hattie resisted the temptation to smack her forehead onto the desk. Instead, she reached for a pad of paper and pen that was always handy. “Go ahead.”
How bad could it be? A woman the week before had wanted to know if she could bring her pet rat with her on vacation—answer: no!—and a man the week before that had demanded that she turn down the sound of the river that ran outside his bedroom window because it was keeping him awake.
She went above and beyond in her attempts to satisfy the whims of guests but there were limits.
“I’d like the room to have a mountain view,” the woman said. “And a real fire would be a nice extra.”
“All our rooms have real fires,” Hattie said, “and the rooms at the back have wonderful views of the mountains. The ones at the front face the river.”
She relaxed slightly. So far, so straightforward.
“Mountains for me. Also, I’m particular about bedding. After all, we spend a third of our lives asleep so it’s important, don’t you agree?”
Hattie felt a twinge of envy. She definitely didn’t spend a third of her life asleep. With having a young child, owning an inn and grieving the loss of her husband, she barely slept at all. She dreamed of sleep but sadly, usually when she was awake.
“Bedding is important.” She said what was expected of her, which was what she’d been doing since the police had knocked on her door two years earlier to tell her that her beloved Brent had been killed instantly in a freak accident. A brick had fallen from a building as he’d been walking past on his way to the bank and struck him on the head.
It was mortifying to remember that her initial reaction had been to laugh—she’d been convinced it was a joke, because normal people didn’t get killed by random bricks falling from buildings, did they?—but then she’d realized they weren’t laughing and it probably wasn’t because they didn’t have a sense of humor.
She’d asked them if they were sure he was dead, and then had to apologize for questioning them because of course they were sure. How often did the police follow we’re sorry to have to tell you…with oops, we made a mistake.
After they’d repeated the bad news, she’d thanked them politely. Then she’d made them a cup of tea because she was a) half British and b) very much in shock.
When they’d drunk their tea and eaten two of her homemade cinnamon cookies, she’d shown them out as if they were treasured guests who had honored her with their presence, and not people who had just shattered her world in one short conversation.
She’d stared at the closed door for a full five minutes after they’d left while she’d tried to process it. In a matter of minutes her life had utterly changed, the future she’d planned with Brent stolen, her hopes crushed.
Even though two years had passed, there were still days when it felt unreal. Days when she still expected Brent to walk through the door with that bouncing stride of his, full of excitement because he’d had one of his brilliant ideas that he couldn’t wait to share with her.
I think we should get married…
I think we should start a family…
I think we should buy that historic inn we saw on our trip to Vermont…
They’d met in England during their final year of college and from the first moment she’d been swept away on the tide of Brent’s enthusiasm. After graduating, they’d both taken jobs in London but then two things had happened. Brent’s grandmother had died, leaving him a generous sum of money, and they’d taken a trip to Vermont. They’d fallen in love with the place, and now here she was, a widow at the age of twenty-eight, raising their five-year-old child and managing the historic inn. Alone. Since she’d lost Brent she’d tried to keep everything going the way he’d wanted it, but that wasn’t proving easy. She worried that she wasn’t able to do this on her own. She worried that she was going to lose the inn. Most of all she worried that she wasn’t going to be enough for their daughter. Now Brent was gone she had to be two people—how could she be two people when most days she didn’t even feel whole?
She realized that while she’d been indulging in a moment of maudlin self-pity, the woman on the phone was still talking. “I’m sorry, could you say that again?”
“I’d like the bedsheets to be linen because I do struggle with overheating.”
“We have linen bedding, so that won’t be a problem.”
“And pink.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’d like the linen to be pink. I find I sleep better. White is too glaring and drab colors depress me.”
Pink.
“I’ll make a note.” She grabbed a notepad and scribbled Help followed by four exclamation marks. She might have written something ruder, but her daughter was a remarkably good reader and was given to demonstrating that skill wherever and whenever she could, so Hattie had learned to be mindful of what she wrote and left lying around. “Did you have a particular date in mind?”
“Christmas. It’s the best time, isn’t it?”
Not for me, Hattie thought, as she checked the room occupancy. The first Christmas after Brent had died had been hideous, and last year hadn’t been much better. She’d wanted to burrow under the covers until it was all over, but instead, she’d been expected to inject festive joy into other people’s lives. And now it was the end of November again and Christmas was just weeks away.
Still, providing she didn’t lose any more staff, she’d no doubt find a way to muddle through. She’d survived it twice, and she’d survive it a third time.
“You’re in luck. We do still have a few rooms available, including one double facing the mountains. Would you like me to reserve that for you?”
“Is it a corner room? I do like more than one window.”
“It’s not a corner room, and there is only one window in this particular room, but it has wonderful views and a covered balcony.”
“There’s no way of getting a second window?”
“Sadly not.” What was she supposed to do? Knock a hole through the wall? “But I can send you a video of the room before you make your choice if that would help.”
By the time she’d taken the woman’s email address, put a hold on the room for twenty-four hours and answered the rest of her questions, half an hour had passed.
When the woman finally ended the call, Hattie sighed. Christmas promised to be a nightmare. She made a note under the reservation. Pink sheets. Linen.
How would Brent handle it? It was a question she asked herself a million times a day and she allowed herself to glance at one of the two photographs she kept on the desk. This one was of Brent swinging their daughter high in the air. Both were laughing. Sometimes, she’d discovered, remembering the best of times sustained you through the worst.
She was about to search the internet for pink linen sheets when someone cleared their throat in an exaggerated fashion.
She looked up to find Stephanie, the head housekeeper, glowering at her.
Stephanie had been another of Brent’s appointments. Almost all the staff had been Brent’s choice. Before Brent had recruited her, Stephanie had been head housekeeper at a renowned hotel in Boston. Her credentials are impeccable, he’d said after he’d interviewed Stephanie, and she’s ferociously organized and capable.
Hattie had agreed with the ferocious part. She’d pointed out that Stephanie’s manner had bordered on rude and that she might be difficult to manage, but Brent had dismissed her concerns and assured her that he’d be handling the staff so it wouldn’t be her problem. Except that now she was handling it, and it was her problem. Everything was her problem.
“Do you have a sore throat, Stephanie?” She knew she shouldn’t have said it, but she was ground down by the woman’s relentlessly negative attitude. Dealing with her was energy sapping. Stephanie had respected Brent—there had been moments when Hattie had wondered whether she’d been feeling something more than respect—and responded to his unbridled enthusiasm for everything, but clearly found Hattie’s more gentle nature nothing but an irritation.
“I have bigger problems than a sore throat. That stupid girl somehow gathered up a red item with the bed linen when she was dealing with The River Room.”
Hattie pretended to be clueless. “I’m not sure who you mean.”
“Chloe.” Stephanie’s mouth was a tight line. “She’s a disaster. I have lost count of the number of times I have warned her to shake out the linen to make sure guests haven’t left anything in the bed. I warned you not to hire her and I have no idea why you did. And now this has happened.”
Hattie had hired Chloe because she was friendly and enthusiastic, which she believed to be important qualities. An establishment like the Maple Sugar Inn survived on its reputation, and that was only as strong as its staff. Chloe made people feel nurtured and important. Stephanie was more like a Doberman guarding a compound.
“Chloe is warm and helpful and the guests love her. I’m sure she won’t do it again.”
“Brent would never have hired her.”
Hattie felt as if she’d been kicked in the stomach. “Brent isn’t here.”
Stephanie had the grace to flush. “I do realize the last few years have been hard for you, Harriet, and you’re not a natural manager, but you have to be firm with staff. You’re the innkeeper. You’re the one in charge now. Your problem is that you’re too nice. A good manager should be able to fire someone.”
Hattie had no intention of firing Chloe. She was one of the few members of staff who didn’t bring tension into the room with her.
“This is her first job,” Hattie said. “She’s learning. Mistakes happen.”
“This is supposed to be a quality establishment. Quality establishments don’t tolerate mistakes.”
The whole venture was a mistake, Hattie thought wearily. What were you thinking, Brent? “I’ll talk to her. Where is she?”
“In the laundry room, crying. I just hope she’s not blowing her nose in the sheets.”
Maybe they could cry together, Hattie thought as she made her way through the welcoming reception area and past the open door of the library. She gave the well-stocked bookshelves a longing look, wishing she had time to snuggle down in an armchair in front of the flickering log fire and escape for a while. The library was her favorite room and nothing pleased her more than seeing someone curled up on one of the sofas with a book.
Occasionally, she envied her guests, who were pampered and cared for, their every need anticipated, their every wish granted. Her guests did seem happy and most of them booked again, so maybe she wasn’t doing such a bad job as an innkeeper even if she was a terrible people manager. Was she a terrible people manager? Or was it just that she wasn’t good at managing terrible people?
She headed downstairs and found Chloe exactly where Stephanie had said—in the laundry room.
Her eyes were red and she scrubbed her face with her hand when she saw Hattie.
“I’m sorry,” Chloe muttered. “She told me I had to change the bed in four minutes, so I was going for speed. I messed up, I know I did, but Mrs. Bowman frowns so much that she makes me nervous and flustered and then I make mistakes.”
Hattie wondered if she should confess that Stephanie Bowman had the same effect on her.
“Don’t worry about it.” She patted the girl on the shoulder. “Everything is fine.”
“No, it isn’t. The bedding is ruined.” Chloe’s face was scarlet. “It’s supposed to be snow-white, and now it’s pink. And not pale pink, but pink. I’m going to try washing it again, but I think the color is stuck fast. It will have to be thrown away.”
“It really doesn’t—” Hattie let her hand drop. “Wait a moment. Did you say pink?”
“Yes. It was a hat. I think it was part of Mr. Graham’s Santa suit. He hired it, and it obviously wasn’t colorfast.” She frowned. “And it’s weird, because I could have sworn I’d packed the whole suit away for them, including the hat. I was very careful, but somehow the hat was mixed up with the laundry so I guess not.”
Hattie blinked. “Santa suit?”
“Mr. and Mrs. Graham from Ohio. They spent two nights in the Cider Suite. He told me that Mrs. Graham’s fantasy was to spend a night with Santa, so he hired a suit to surprise her.”
“It’s November.”
“I don’t think he cared about that. He also bought a festive-themed sex toy, but I didn’t ask for details. I thought it might ruin Christmas for me.”
“Indeed.” Hattie was so fascinated she momentarily forgot how tired she was. “How do you know all this?”
“People talk to me,” Chloe said, “which can sometimes be a little alarming, to be honest, but it does lead to interesting revelations.”
“And pink sheets.” Hattie grabbed a box of tissues from the shelf in the laundry room and handed her one. “Stop crying, Chloe. You might just have done me a favor.”
Chloe took the tissue and blew her nose. “I have?”
“Yes. There are guests who would apparently love to sleep in pink sheets. They’re soothing, didn’t you know?”
“No—” The girl looked dazed. “I didn’t know.”
“Well, now you do. Put the pink sheets to one side. Do not throw them away.” Hattie hurried back to the reception desk where Stephanie was tapping her foot.
Hattie took a deep breath and smiled, hoping to reduce the tension and soften her mood. “All sorted.”
Stephanie paused the foot tapping but didn’t look remotely softened. “You fired her?”
“No, I didn’t fire her. It was a mistake.” Or was it something else entirely? Something Chloe had said niggled in the back of her brain. “Odd, really, because she seemed convinced that she’d packed the red hat away with the rest of the Santa suit Mr. Graham brought with him. She couldn’t figure out how it got mixed up with the rest of the laundry.”
Stephanie’s expression didn’t flicker. “Probably because she’s careless. You’re far too lenient. Brent would have fired her.”
There was no way Brent would have fired Chloe, but he would have found a way to manage Stephanie.
She had a feeling that Stephanie wanted her to fail.
“We’re a team,” Hattie said, “and our job is to support one another.” Fortunately for her, Gwen and Ellen Bishop, two sisters in their eighties who had been regular guests since the inn had opened, chose that moment to wander into reception. Hattie had never been so relieved to see anyone. “Excuse me, Stephanie. I need to attend to our guests.”
She hurried across to the Bishop sisters and greeted them as if they were a lifeboat in stormy seas. “How was your breakfast?”
“Delicious as usual.” Gwen beamed. “The maple syrup is the best we’ve tasted anywhere. Everything here is just perfect as it always is, and it’s all down to you, dearest Hattie.”
If only everyone were so good-natured and easily pleased.
“We’ll give you a bottle to take home, Miss Bishop. I’ll arrange it right now.”
“I’ve told you so many times to call me Gwen, honey.” Gwen patted Hattie’s arm gently. “You’re looking tired. You’re not sleeping?”
“I’m fine,” Hattie lied and Gwen gave her a compassionate look.
“Keep going,” the older woman said softly. “One day at a time, one step at a time. That’s what I used to tell myself when I lost my Bill.”
“I used to tell you that, too,” Ellen said and Gwen nodded.
“You did tell me that. Daily. I wanted to tip my breakfast on your head.”
“It’s what sisters are for.”
Hattie felt a pang of envy. It would have been nice to have a sister, but her mother had died a week after Hattie was born, and her dad had never married again. She and her father had been close and she still felt the loss, never more so than when Brent had been killed. I need you, Dad.
She especially missed him at Christmas. Her dad had always made Christmas special.
“The problem,” Gwen said, “is that people are sympathetic at the beginning, and then they think it’s time for you to move on. They don’t realize that grief never leaves you.”
Hattie nodded. Usually, she saved her tears for when she was alone in the shower or walking the dog, but Gwen’s kindness had loosened the bonds of her restraint and for a moment she was afraid she might howl on the spot. Emotion gathered in her throat and bumped against her self-control.
“That’s true. I still miss my dad,” she confessed, “and he died seven years ago.”
Gwen reached out and squeezed her arm. “The people we love never leave us, not really.”
People said that, but it wasn’t true, was it? Brent had definitely left her. And he’d left her with a ton of problems to handle.
“The weather is looking good for our trip home.” Ellen briskly changed the subject. “But before we leave, we have a little something for that treasure of yours.”
“Delphine,” her sister said as if Hattie had numerous treasures to choose from.
“We’d love to say goodbye to her.”
She pulled herself together.
“She’s reading a book in my office, with Rufus. I’ll find her.” Rufus, their four-year-old Labrador, had been one of Brent’s better ideas. As well as proving himself to be a dedicated and reliable babysitter, he was also a source of unconditional love and affection. Hattie had shed so many tears into his sleek golden coat over the past two years that he barely ever needed a bath.
“Delphi?” Hattie popped her head round the office door and saw her daughter lying on her stomach, carefully turning the pages of her book while Rufus lay next to her protectively. He lifted his head, ever watchful, and thumped his tail on the floor. Delphi looked up, too.
Her face brightened. “Did you know that a T. rex had sixty teeth?”
“I did not know that. You are always teaching me something.”
“Did dinosaurs go to the dentist?”
“No, they didn’t go to the dentist.” She had no idea where Delphi got her obsession with dinosaurs but it made for non-stop entertainment.
Hattie’s heart suddenly felt full. The child was her whole world.
She was lucky and she needed to remember that.
It seemed like only yesterday she’d discovered she was pregnant. Her daughter was growing up so quickly it was scary. “You can tell me more about the dinosaurs later, but right now the Miss Bishops would like to say goodbye to you.”
“They’re leaving? No! I don’t want them to go.” Delphi scrambled to her feet, her skirt sticking to her tights. “I hate it when people leave.”
Hattie felt her chest ache. “Me, too. But they’ll be back in a month. They’re coming for Christmas, remember?” Providing life didn’t have a nasty shock in store for them, like a brick falling from a building onto their heads just as they were walking past.
She had to stop thinking like that.
She was turning into a catastrophist, and she didn’t want her daughter going through life afraid of everything, anticipating disaster at every turn.
Delphi sprinted out of the office and hugged the Miss Bishops tightly.
“Don’t go. I want you to stay forever.”
“Things move on, honey. That’s life.” Gwen stroked Delphi’s hair gently, and Ellen’s eyes grew misty.
“Dear child. We’ll be back soon and in the meantime, we have something for you. A gift.”
The sisters took it in turns to hug Delphi and then gave her a prettily wrapped package.
“A gift?” Delphi’s eyes widened and she took the package carefully. “But it’s not Christmas yet.”
“This isn’t a Christmas gift,” Ellen said. “In fact, it’s hardly a gift at all. It’s a book, and my sister and I think of a book as a necessity rather than a luxury.”
“What’s a necess-ary?” Delphi stumbled over the word.
“A necessity is something you need,” Gwen said, “like food or water.”
“Sometimes Rufus thinks books are food.” Delphi fiddled with the ribbon. “Can I open it?” She looked at her mother for permission and Hattie smiled.
“How very kind. Yes, you can. And what do you say to the Miss Bishops?”
“Thank you.” Delphi tugged at the ribbon and tore the paper. “Thank you, thank you.”
“I know you love books, dear,” Gwen said and Ellen nodded.
“Books can take you to a different world.”
A different world would be nice, Hattie thought. She’d like to be in a world that still had Brent in it, and also her dad. And with luck, her alternate world wouldn’t include Stephanie or Chef Tucker or anyone who used shouting as their primary form of communication.
She helped the Bishop sisters with their luggage and when she returned to reception the phone was ringing again.
She was about to reach for it when Stephanie stepped in front of her.
“This issue is not resolved. Either Chloe goes, or I go.”
Hattie resisted the temptation to say Go! Right now. She couldn’t afford to lose anyone, and besides, firing Stephanie would make her feel disloyal to Brent. She was trying to hold together what he’d started, not let it unravel.
The phone was still ringing, and her insides tightened with stress. If she moved to answer it, Stephanie would think she wasn’t taking her seriously.
“I hope you know how much I value you, Stephanie.” Her palms itched to pick up the phone. “You’re an important part of the Maple Sugar Inn family.” She shuddered. The thought of Stephanie as family was a step too far.
“Then something needs to change or I’m going to have a meltdown.” With that warning, Stephanie stalked away and Hattie stared after her.
I’m going to have a meltdown, too.
She turned to answer the phone but Delphi reached it first. “Maple Sugar Inn, Delphine Maisy Coleman speaking,” she spoke carefully, enunciating every word. “How may I help you?”
She glanced guiltily at her mother. She knew she wasn’t supposed to answer the phone but that didn’t stop her doing it.
“Mrs. Peterson!” A smile spread across her face. “I’ve got books! New books.”
Hattie listened as Delphi told their neighbor about her latest gift, stumbling over the words in her excitement.
“Mommy can’t talk now because she’s having a meltdown.”
Hattie winced. Had she actually said those words aloud? She needed to be more careful, particularly in front of Delphi, who was like a sponge, soaking up everything around her. Everything she overheard was stored away and then repeated at the worst possible moment.
She held out her hand for the phone and Delphi handed it over, slid off the chair and headed back to the office, where Rufus was waiting patiently, his head on his paws.
“Hello, Lynda. How are you?”
“I’m fine, honey, but how are you? We haven’t seen you for a while. Delphi said you were having a meltdown.”
“She misheard. It’s a new dessert we’re trying in the restaurant.” Hattie improvised wildly. “It’s a chocolate pudding filled with melted chocolate. We’re calling it a meltdown.”
“Sounds delicious. I can’t wait to try it. I know I say this all the time, but Delphi is a delight. You’re a wonderful mother, Hattie, and you’re coping so well. Brent would be proud.”
Would he?
Was she coping? She was surviving, but was that the same thing?
She knew she was lucky to have neighbors like the Petersons. They owned the farm adjacent to the inn and supplied produce to the kitchens, and also the Christmas trees that Hattie used to decorate for the holidays. What had started as a business relationship had turned into a deep friendship.
Lynda had once mentioned how much she would have loved to have a daughter, and Hattie had been tempted to reply, Adopt me, I’m available.
“Hattie?” Lynda’s voice was gentle. “Are you doing okay, honey?”
“Yes. Absolutely. Brilliant.”
“Because if you need help, you know we’re here. Noah can be over there in a flash if there’s something that needs fixing.”
Noah.
She grew tense and her heart pumped a little harder. “He doesn’t need to come over. Everything is good.”
Noah was the Petersons’ son, and he worked the farm with his father.
He’d been a good friend to Hattie, until a few weeks earlier when she’d ruined everything. It had been the night of the Halloween party that the Petersons held every year on their farm for the local community. The children dressed up, there were ghost hunts and spooky experiences and plenty of sugar-loaded treats.
And there was Noah.
She closed her eyes. She’d promised herself she wasn’t going to think about it again. It was just a kiss; that was all. She’d been having a really bad day, feeling lost and lonely and a little afraid of the future and he’d been there, broad shouldered and solid, kind and yes—she was going to admit it—sexy. She was a widow—she hated that word so much—and Noah was single, so there really wasn’t an issue except that now she felt embarrassed, and horribly awkward and not at all sure what she’d say when she saw him again.
Worst of all she felt guilty. She’d loved Brent. She still loved Brent. She’d always love Brent. But she’d kissed Noah, and that single, earthshattering, mind-blowing kiss had been the best thing that had happened to her in the past two years, and also the most confusing.
“Don’t send Noah. Nothing needs fixing, Lynda.” Except her. She definitely needed fixing. Why had she kissed Noah? She could blame the dark or being spooked by the ghost noises the kids made in the forest, or the glass of “witches’ brew” that had turned out to be a great deal more potent than she’d imagined and guaranteed to knock the most hardened witch right off her broomstick. But mostly she blamed herself. “Are you calling for a reason?”
“Yes. Noah wanted to know if you’ve decided on your Christmas tree order for this year. He’ll want to reserve the best for you.”
The fact that he hadn’t called himself told her he regretted their encounter as much as she did.
“I need to have a think, Lynda, but I’ll email Noah soon.”
“Email?” Lynda sounded mildly bemused. “You could just tell him in person, honey.”
She could, but that would mean actually looking him in the eye and she wasn’t ready for that. She was pretty sure he wasn’t, either. She knew little about his relationship history. He’d lived in Boston after he graduated and had worked for a digital marketing company. Seeing how comfortable he was working outdoors, she struggled to imagine him in a glass-fronted office staring at a screen, but apparently that was what he’d done until his father had crashed one of the tractors and narrowly escaped with his life. Noah had returned home and he’d worked the farm with his parents ever since, spending any free time he had converting one of the barns into a home for himself.
“He’s busy, and I’m busy and I could call obviously, but email might be easier.” Also less awkward for both of them.
Lynda paused. “Whatever is best for you, of course. When you decide, just let us know. And you and Delphi should come up here that first weekend in December like you did last year. We’ll be doing sled rides and snowshoeing. The two of you could help me make some of the wreaths and garlands and then you can head out into the forest with Noah and pick a special tree for your own living room. I’d love to see you, and it would be fun for Delphi. Remember when she used to call Noah ‘the Christmas tree man’?”
“I do. She still thinks of him that way.” Maybe she could somehow arrange for Delphi and Noah to choose a tree together and she could help Lynda in the kitchen.
“The Maple Sugar Inn is always a picture at Christmas. I know it’s a busy time, so you’re to promise me you’ll reach out if you need anything.”
“I will.” Hattie was touched by Lynda’s kindness. “Thank you.”
“It has been tough for you, I know. Life has pulled the rug out from under your feet, that’s for sure, but there’s some comfort in knowing that you’re living your dream.”
No, Hattie thought, she wasn’t living her dream. She was living Brent’s dream, and it wasn’t the same thing. But she couldn’t possibly tell anyone that. This place had meant everything to Brent, and all of their savings had gone into making it what it was today. In the beginning she’d had a few ideas of her own, but Brent hadn’t thought they would work so they’d followed his plan. She was the caretaker of his dreams and the pressure was crushing.
What if she messed it all up? She loved the guests and enjoyed making their stay special but managing the staff was killing her.
Perhaps that was why she’d kissed Noah. For a brief time she’d wanted to throw off the weight of life and feel young, and light and lost in the moment instead of weighed down by responsibility and anxiety for the future.
She was twenty-eight, and most of the time she felt a hundred.
Having assured Lynda again that she absolutely did not need help, she ended the call and felt Delphi’s arms wrap around her legs.
“Mommy, are you sad?”
Hattie pulled herself together. “I’m not sad. This isn’t my sad face. It’s my thoughtful face.”
“Are you thinking about Christmas? I think about Christmas a lot.”
“Yes, I was absolutely thinking about Christmas.” Not Noah, or the seductive pressure of his mouth, or that fleeting moment when she’d felt that maybe, just maybe, life might be good again one day if she could just hold on. “Can’t wait.”
“Can we get a tree tomorrow?” Delphi gazed up at her hopefully and she stroked her daughter’s hair, feeling those soft curls tickle her palm.
“Not yet, honey. We have to wait until the first week of December, otherwise the tree will be—” She paused. Dead wasn’t her favorite word right now “—tired. It will be tired by the time Christmas Day comes.”
And the tree wasn’t the only one who would be tired.
As the Bishop sisters would say—that’s life.
She needed a miracle, but those were thin on the ground so she was willing to settle for a chef who didn’t have anger-management issues, a housekeeper who didn’t have a permanent sense of humor failure, and friendly guests.
CHAPTER TWO
Erica
Was she really going to do this? It broke all her rules. It was everything she avoided.
Maybe turning forty had blown something in her brain.
Erica lay on her stomach on the bed, feeling as if she was about to step over a cliff edge. Her laptop screen displayed an image of a picture book-perfect inn, surrounded by snow and bathed in a holiday glow. Lights shone from the windows. It was described by reviewers as magical and romantic. Erica didn’t believe in magic, and she wasn’t romantic. She stared at it and felt her heart start to pound. Doubts burrowed into her brain and nudged at her resolve. Once she did it, that was it. There was no changing her mind. No rowing back on the decision.
Muttering under her breath, she stood up and paced to the window of her hotel room. Beyond the windows the city was alive with activity. People walked quickly, heads down, wrapped up against the bitter cold. In the square below people seemed to be setting up some sort of market.
She leaned her head against the glass.
What was wrong with her? She was a decisive person, and she’d made this decision the same way she made all her decisions, by considering pros and cons. There was no logical reason to feel stressed. And yet, here she was, stressed.
On impulse, she reached for her phone.
If she was doing this, then she needed her friends there.
Feeling shaky and a little unsteady, she tried Claudia first but it went straight to voice mail, which worried her a little. Claudia’s ten-year relationship had imploded six months earlier and she’d been having a difficult time. Erica called her frequently to check on her, and usually she picked up right away.
But not today.
She tried calling again, and this time considered leaving a message, but decided against it. What would she say? Hey, it’s Erica and I need you to stop me doing something I’m going to regret. Claudia had enough problems of her own.
She called Anna instead.
Her friend answered almost immediately.
“Erica! I didn’t expect to hear from you today. I thought you were traveling.” There was a clatter in the background. “How does it feel to be forty? Is it any different? I’m not sure whether I should be dreading the day or not. Will I need a therapist? I can’t wait to get together so I can celebrate with you.”
Erica waited until her friend paused to take a breath. “Forty feels no different from thirty-nine.” That wasn’t quite true, but she didn’t intend to dwell on it. “Thanks for your birthday message. Your singing is still awful, by the way. Took me right back to college and having to use earphones whenever you took a shower.”
“Pete would sympathize with you, but I love singing so I’m not going to stop for anyone. So what’s wrong? Tell me.”
“Why would anything be wrong?”
“Because you don’t normally call me at breakfast time,” Anna said. “You’re usually in a meeting.”
“I’m in Berlin. It’s lunchtime.”
“Berlin? I’m envious. Are you visiting the Christmas markets?”
Erica glanced back toward the window, wondering if that was what was happening in the square below. “Of course I’m not visiting the Christmas markets. This is me you’re talking to. I’m working. There’s a conference. Also, it’s November.”
“Christmas markets are often open in November. You could sneak out, surely.”
How could two people who were so different be such good friends?
“I could sneak out, but why would I?”
“To enjoy yourself? To get in the Christmas mood? Any of those things ringing bells? No, I guess not. Never mind. Claudia and I have long since given up trying to fill you with festive joy. So if you’re not calling to make me jealous with talk of gingerbread and handmade crafts, why are you calling?”
“I’m calling because I’ve found the perfect place.” She sat back down on the bed and stared at her laptop screen. It wasn’t a lie. It was the perfect place.
“Perfect place for what?” Anna’s voice was suddenly muffled. “Hold on—”
Erica winced as a loud crash came down her headphones. “What’s that noise? Do you have intruders in the house?”
“Do my kids count as intruders?” Anna sounded distracted, as if Erica’s call was just one of ten things she was doing simultaneously. “If so, then yes—wait a second, Erica, you’ve called at crazy hour.”
Was there a moment in Anna’s household that wasn’t crazy hour? It seemed to Erica that whenever she called, her friend was neck deep in something. Supporting with homework, supervising music practice, washing sports kits, cooking dinners, making packed lunches. Her friend was basically a one-woman room service.
She heard laughter down the phone and then Anna’s voice, slightly distant.
That’s brilliant. So funny, Meg. I love it. But just because you’re a talented artist doesn’t mean you’re allowed to leave your bowl on top of the dishwasher! I know your father does it. That doesn’t mean you have permission to do it. Now go—I’m catching up with Erica.
Conversations with Anna were always the same—noisy and disjointed, punctuated by a background of family activity and interruptions. Part of her found it frustrating—how did Anna stand it?—but another part of her was grateful for moments like this because they made her feel better about her life decisions. Not that she often questioned herself, but occasionally she did. To be in Anna’s house was to be engulfed by warmth, wrapped and supported by those closely intertwined threads of family love. It made Erica feel unsettled. It made her question decisions she didn’t want to question. It made her wonder if she’d made all the wrong choices.
But she knew she hadn’t. Everyone thought that having a family was the best thing. But was it, really? Would she want what Anna had?
No, she would not. Yes, there were occasions when she envied her friend her warm, stable family and at other times—and this was one of them—she was grateful for her independent, uninterrupted single life where her only real responsibility was to herself.
She felt a pleasurable rush of anticipation as she contemplated the afternoon and evening ahead. After this call she’d do the work she needed to do, then she’d be heading to the hotel spa for an indulgent massage before dining alone at the table with the best view in the restaurant.
She didn’t have to cook her own meal—someone would do it for her. She didn’t have to launder clothes—the hotel would do that, and return them perfectly pressed. She didn’t have to worry about loading the dishwasher. And as for being alone—well, alone didn’t worry her. She’d been alone for most of her life. She knew that some people pitied her, and their sympathy made her smile because they had no idea just how good alone could feel.
In her case it was a choice, not a curse. Right now, listening to her friend trying to extract herself from domestic demands, it felt like the best possible choice.
In her life she was her number-one priority and for that she had no intention of apologizing.
“Are you still there?” Anna was breathless. “Sorry about that.”
“Bad time?” She said it lightly. “Shall I call back?”
“No! It’s been ages since we talked. I really want to catch up. But Meg just drew this brilliant cartoon—I’ll send it to you. Oh, wait a minute—Meg, don’t forget your art project!”
Erica sighed. She probably had time to check over her presentation while she waited. Or maybe even write a novel. And why was Anna reminding Meg not to forget her art project?
She knew nothing about raising children, but she did know that encouraging dependence helped no one. Her mother had never reminded her about anything. If Erica forgot something then she was expected to take the consequences, and if those consequences were harsh then it would serve as a reminder not to forget next time.
Erica’s father had walked out on them when she was born, apparently after seeing Erica for the first time—she tried not to take it personally. He’d left Erica’s mother with heartache, a baby and a bundle of stress and anxiety. Although she had no memory of him, Erica had, over the years, witnessed the impact of his behavior. She’d watched her mother struggle, and understood and admired her determination to never again rely on anyone.
She also understood that her mother’s experience had impacted on the way she’d raised Erica. She’d insisted that Erica do everything herself, from homework to tying her shoelaces. If she fell over, then she had to figure out a way to get up again. Her mother refused to pick her up. If she failed an exam, then her mother told her to work harder. If Erica had a problem, then it was up to her to find a solution. Her mother never solved anything for her.
And it seemed like a good upbringing to Erica. After all, she’d turned out just fine, hadn’t she? Thanks to a powerful work ethic, she was financially independent. She didn’t have to clear up after anyone, or share the controls of her wickedly indulgent media system. There were no fights about laundry or homework. No putting herself last as women with children so often did. She didn’t expect anyone to do anything for her. And she didn’t need a man to make her life complete. She’d seen her mother work herself to the point of burnout to compensate for her father’s deficiencies. She’d played the role of both parents, thus proving to Erica that men were like candy. Fine as an occasional treat, but not necessary for survival.
Thinking how right her life was made her wonder why she was about to do something that felt so wrong.
“Anna?”
“I’m still here! Don’t hang up.” Anna’s voice was barely audible above the sound of running water and multiple conversations. “Do not feed that to the dog or our next trip will be to the vet! Wait a moment. I’m going to lock myself in Pete’s study.”
Erica reflected on the fact that the only way her friend could have an uninterrupted conversation was to lock herself in her husband’s home office.
Anna was nothing like Erica’s mother. Anna was one of those mothers you read about in books. If her kids fell over, not only did she help them up, but she also gave them hugs, kind words and cookies. If they needed help, she offered it willingly. She considered it her job to cushion her family. Erica had no doubt that Anna would fling herself in front of a car if it meant saving one of her children. It was all very nurturing and safe, but it was a world far from Erica’s experience.
“Where’s Pete?”
“Not in his study, fortunately. He’s back in the office three days a week. I miss not having him around, to be honest.” The clattering and banging faded and then a door slammed and Anna sighed. “Peace. Finally. I don’t suppose you want to swap lives?”
Erica tried not to shudder.
“We both know you love your life. So…what’s going on with you?”
“Wow, where to start?” Anna sounded breathless. “It’s been busy here. Pete got a promotion, so that’s good but he’s working longer hours. Meg won an art prize and—get this—she’s started knitting. She says it relaxes her. Expect a new sweater for Christmas. I’ve already told her that I’ll tolerate reindeer, but I’m not wearing a giant grinning Santa. Daniel is doing fine, although he’s been a bit quiet lately. I’m sure something is going on but so far I haven’t been able to persuade him to talk about it. If something is wrong with Meg she just lets it all out, but boys are different. I really encourage him to express his feelings—I don’t want him to be one of those men who just won’t talk—” Anna rambled on for another five minutes and eventually, Erica interrupted.
“What about you? What’s happening in your life?”
“I’ve just been telling you about my life.”
“No. So far, I’ve heard about the kids and Pete. Nothing about you.”
“This is my life. The kids and Pete. And the house, of course. And the dog. Don’t forget the dog. I know, I know, you think I’m boring, but honestly I love it.”
They both laughed and Erica wondered whether if she’d met a man like Pete on her first day in college, her life might have turned out differently. “You’re not boring. And you two are ridiculously cute together, even after all these years.”
Anna herself wasn’t boring, but Erica had to admit that sometimes her life seemed boring. She tried to imagine a day without international travel, the buzz of work, the high she got from securing a deal or being called in to handle a crisis situation when everyone else was floundering.
“Well, thank you, but that’s enough about me—I want to hear about you. I want to know more about your birthday. And what are you doing in Berlin?”
“I’m speaking at a conference on crisis management this afternoon.” Erica glanced at the stack of papers on the table by the window.
Anna gave a moan of envy. “I shouldn’t have asked. You’re no doubt staying in a five-star hotel with room service and an incredible spa.”
Erica thought about the massage awaiting her. “The spa is good.”
“Tell me all about it, but start with your birthday. Please tell me you spent it with a gorgeous man.”
Erica smiled. “I spent the evening with Jack.”
“Sexy Jack the lawyer?” Anna gasped and then laughed. “Tell me! And do not leave out a single detail.”
“Nothing to tell. Jack and I often hook up if we both happen to be in town and have an event to attend. You know that. It’s not serious, and it’s how we both like it.”
“Erica, you’re forty. Hooking up is for twenty-somethings. And you’ve been sleeping together for at least two years. It’s time sexy Jack started leaving a toothbrush at your place.”
It was such a typically Anna response that Erica rolled her eyes. “I’m not sure who would be more horrified by that idea, him or me. And could you stop calling him sexy Jack?”
“Why? I’ve seen his photo. Claudia and I looked him up. He could defend me in court any day. So you’re saying he didn’t stay the night?”
“He stayed until about three in the morning and then took a cab home.” She didn’t confess that he’d suggested staying and that she’d almost agreed. Force of habit and relentless discipline had stopped her, but the impulse had shaken her.
Turning forty had definitely affected her brain. She and Jack had an understanding, and staying overnight and enjoying leisurely breakfasts was an intimacy neither of them wanted. They’d met when she’d needed legal advice for one of her clients, and had enjoyed each other’s company sufficiently that they’d started seeing each other casually. A dinner here. An event there. There was no routine to it and no assumptions of commitment.
“You should invite him to stay. Go away for a weekend or something.”
“Anna, stop.”
“What? I like Jack. Jack is perfect for you.”
“You’ve never met Jack.”
“I feel as if I have. And I love the fact that the two of you have a relationship.”
“We don’t have a relationship. We’re both too busy to nurture a relationship with anyone, which is why if he needs a plus-one for a work event, he calls me. If there’s a play I want to see and I feel like company, I call him. He has a quick brain so occasionally I’ll talk through a work issue with him. That’s it.”
“You’ve missed out the sex part.”
“Yes, we have sex. Great sex. Happy?”
“Very. And so are you, by the sounds of it.” Anna still had the same filthy giggle she’d had when she was eighteen, and Erica couldn’t help smiling. Deep down Anna was the same person she’d always been. Maybe they all were. Age didn’t change that.
“Calm down. Jack and I are strictly casual.”
“Don’t. You’re breaking my heart. You’re forty, Erica.”
“Could you stop slipping that into every sentence?”
“Sorry, it’s just that I want a happy ending for you.”
“This is my happy ending. This is how I want my life to look.”
Anna sighed. “How long are you in Berlin?”
“Two nights.” Erica glanced at her laptop and felt a twinge of guilt. She probably ought to be working. On the other hand, she could give her presentation in her sleep. She’d built up a good team and started to delegate more, giving herself the opportunity to pick and choose how she spent her time.
“I could give a talk on crisis management,” Anna said. “My life is one big crisis, although never of the exciting sort. Yesterday the freezer broke, and the day before that the car died. Anyway, you don’t want to hear about that. You said you’d found the perfect place. For what?”
Erica kept her voice casual. “For our book club meetup in December.”
“Oh.” Anna’s tone changed.
“What? We talked about this. We reserved the date.”
“Provisionally. But that was back in the summer because Claudia was a mess so we couldn’t make our usual week. No one mentioned it again so I thought we’d all agreed it wouldn’t work.”
“Why wouldn’t it work? The basic ingredients are all the same. We are the Hotel Book Club. This is the point where I remind you that I wanted to call it the Luxury Hotel Book Club just so that there could be no confusion about where I wanted to be staying, but the point is all we need is a hotel, a book and the three of us. That’s it.”
“It’s not the book club that’s the problem. It’s the time of year. It feels weird going away so close to Christmas. Christmas is family time. Buying the tree, wrapping the presents, decorating the house. We have a routine. Traditions. Sorry, I know you don’t do any of that. Am I being tactless?”
“Why would that be tactless? You know I’m not sentimental about the holidays.”
“I know, but that date you picked is when we head to the forest to choose our tree. We’ve done it every year since the kids were born. It’s their favorite tradition. I’d hate to disappoint them.”
Erica tried to relate and failed. For her, Christmas was just another day of the week. Growing up, her mother had encouraged her to fly the nest and live her own life as soon as possible. Never once had she suggested they choose a Christmas tree together.
“You just had Thanksgiving together.”
“Christmas is different.”
“Get your tree at the beginning of December. That way you’ll be able to enjoy treading on fallen needles for longer. Your kids can’t be your life, Anna. That puts pressure on them, and on you. And they’re adults now.”
“Ha! You wouldn’t always know that,” Anna said. “Do you have any idea how complicated a teenager can be?”
No, of course she didn’t know. She’d never been in a position where she’d contemplated having children, and she had no regrets about that. Her career was exciting and constantly stimulating. Would she have been prepared to sacrifice that to stay at home and argue about loading a dishwasher and feeding the dog? No way.
“We’re talking about one week, Anna, that’s all. You’ll be back before Christmas, so you’ll have plenty of time to deck the halls or whatever it is you do. Friend time and family time. Best of both worlds.”
“I need to think about it,” Anna said. “It’s my favorite time of year and I really want to feel Christmassy. No offense, but Christmas stuff makes you shudder.”
“I promise not to shudder.” Erica didn’t have much clue what feeling Christmassy involved, but she was willing to do some research and provide whatever was needed to keep her friend happy. Surely you could book these things as extras in a hotel? “And if you want Christmassy, then you’re going to love the place I’ve found. It’s idyllic. Quaint.” Her heart beat a little faster. “Even Santa would drool over it.”
“I don’t believe you. You choose sophisticated boutique hotels that make me want to redecorate my home. You don’t do quaint.”
“This time I have, but fortunately I’ve done it without sacrificing luxury. It’s the perfect compromise for everyone.”
“Mmm.” Anna clearly needed convincing. “What about the book? Have we decided what we’re reading? These days I fall asleep standing up so reading takes me a while. Did you talk to Claudia about doing book club in December?”
“I tried. She’s not picking up. I’ll call her later. She sounded really down when I spoke to her a few days ago so I want to check on her. After everything that has happened this year, a week away somewhere might be just what she needs.”
“You’re right. It’s time to help her get back on her feet,” Anna said. “But much as I love Claudia I do not want to plough my way through another biography of a chef or a politician as our book choice.”
Trying to find a book that appealed to all of them was always a challenge. Anna loved romantic fiction, Erica enjoyed thrillers and true crime, while Claudia preferred nonfiction.
“I was going to suggest the new Catherine Swift. It’s called Her Last Lover.”
“What?” Anna choked with laughter. “I’m officially worried. First, you tell me you’ve found somewhere Christmassy to stay, and now you’re reading romance? Is this what hitting forty has done to you?”
“This isn’t a romance.”
“She’s a romance novelist. I’ve read every single book she has written, most of them more than once. And you said the book is called Her Last Lover. That’s romantic. The last man she ever loves.”
“It’s not romantic. He’s her last lover because she kills him.”
“Oh!” Anna’s shock reverberated down the phone. “Are you sure you have the right author? Catherine Swift?”
“I think she’s writing this one under L.C. Swift or something. But the book is a thriller. The reviews are excellent and the movie is already in production.”
“I didn’t know she’d switched genres,” Anna said. “You’ve just broken my heart. Her last book was brilliant. Made me cry. That ending. Is this one scary? You know I don’t do scary.”
“I haven’t read it yet, but I promise we can keep the lights on if you’re scared. I’ve ordered you both a copy. Arriving tomorrow.”
“Does it have blood on the cover? I hate books that have blood on the cover.”
“No blood. Just a wedding ring and a very sharp-looking knife.” She could almost feel Anna’s shudder. “I’ll cover it in snowflake paper if that helps. Aren’t you a little intrigued as it’s Catherine Swift and she is your favorite author?”
“I don’t know. But I’m a little relieved you haven’t had a personality transplant overnight. I was starting to worry. Now, tell me more about this place you’ve found for us to stay.”
Erica felt something uncurl inside her. “I’ve sent you a link. Check your email.”
There was a pause and a sound of keys being tapped. “Okay, now I’m sure you’ve had a bang on the head,” Anna said. “This is—wow. It looks like something from a fairy tale.”
Fairy tales often had grim endings, Erica thought, and felt another stab of doubt.
“You approve?”
“Yes, although—” there was another pause “—this really doesn’t seem like you.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re a city person,” Anna said. “This place will be all about snowshoeing and cozy nights in front of the fire with hot cocoa. I’m the one who loves fresh air and walks in the country. You’re all about bright lights, cocktails and designer shopping.”
“That’s true, but I do that all the time. This is an escape.”
Escape? Who was she kidding?
“But you don’t usually want to escape. Nothing frustrates you more than being in the middle of nowhere. Remember that summer we booked that hotel in the Catskills? You left a day early.”
She’d forgotten how well Anna knew her.
“There was a crisis.”
“Mmm. I seem to recall that the crisis was that the phone signal was unreliable, which is why we’ve done city breaks ever since. This place you’ve found looks amazing, but it’s not you. What’s going on?”
For a moment she considered telling her friend the truth. All of it, including the real reason she’d chosen this place. But if she told the truth, Anna would ask her lots of probing questions that Erica wasn’t ready to answer.
She wanted to tread cautiously. Anna would dive right in like an out-of-control puppy, creating havoc, and Erica would risk losing control of what happened next. She didn’t want to lose control. Whatever happened, or didn’t happen, she wanted it to be her decision.
“Nothing is going on. I knew the only way to tempt you from your nest at Christmas was to produce the perfect Christmas getaway complete with all the festive trimmings. Instead of the No-Phone-Signal Hotel Book Club, it’s the Christmassy Hotel Book Club. Do you want to come or not?”
“We’ve known each other for twenty years, Erica. I know when you’re keeping secrets.”
“Twenty years? There you go again, reminding me of my age. Pretty soon we’re going to be the Retirement Hotel Book Club.” Her phone beeped with another call and she checked the screen.
Jack.
Her heart jumped. That, she had not expected. Why was he calling her? He knew she was traveling this week.
She had a brief flashback to the night of her birthday, the long, leisurely dinner in a restaurant with jaw-dropping views over Manhattan. The food had been memorable, the wine delicious, but best of all was the company. Jack had made her laugh, and he’d made her feel fabulous. As if being forty was the beginning of a whole new exciting stage of her life. After dinner they’d gone back to her apartment…
She frowned, remembering. The sex had been different. Slower, more intense, more—intimate?
She stared at her phone. If Jack needed her company at an event he would have mentioned it when they were together. Or maybe it was something that had just come up, in which case he could leave a message.
She let the call go to voice mail and turned her attention back to Anna, who was still questioning Erica’s choice. “How did you even find this inn?”
She could imagine her friend’s reaction if she told the truth.
A private investigator.
“I was reading a feature on cozy winter stays.” And now she was beginning to wish she hadn’t suggested it. She could have gone on her own for a weekend to find the answers to the questions that were buzzing in her brain. She didn’t have to involve her friends. “I can find somewhere else if you prefer.”
“Don’t you dare! This place looks perfect,” Anna said. “Special. And we both know Claudia will approve because it has an award-winning restaurant and that’s the only bit that matters to her.”
“Right.”
Deep down had she been hoping her friend would express a preference for somewhere in the city? Or decide that she didn’t want to do this at all? That she would somehow stop Erica making what could turn out to be a huge mistake?
But far from talking her out of it, Anna seemed won over by the place.
“They have three rooms vacant. I just checked. Would they reserve them for a short time while I talk to the family? I want to see if they’re okay with it and I don’t want to lose those rooms in the meantime.”
Erica tried to imagine having to get three people’s permission before doing anything. Total nightmare. Apparently, hitting forty hadn’t changed her that much.
“I can call, but it’s only a couple of weeks away so no guarantee they will hold the rooms.”
“Your powers of persuasion are legendary. Twenty-four hours,” Anna said. “That’s all I need. And anyway, we can’t confirm until you’ve spoken to Claudia.”
“Fine, I’ll call them.”
She felt like Pandora, about to open the box.
If they lost the rooms, then that would be it. Decision made.
But if the rooms were available then this was actually going to happen, and in a few weeks she’d be checking in to the Maple Sugar Inn.
Which might turn out to be the worst idea of her life.
THE BOOK CLUB HOTEL out in the US and Canada today!
Today is the day! My latest novel, THE BOOK CLUB HOTEL, is out in the US and Canada today! Readers in the UK have to wait another month, and the UK title is THE CHRISTMAS BOOK CLUB.
I had so much fun writing this book. It’s a cosy, feel good read about friendship, family, books and of course romance! I hope you’ll love reading it.
Love
Sarah
xx
SUMMER WEDDING is a 99p deal in the UK!
UK readers can snap up Summer Wedding for just 99p at the moment. It’s available from all ebook retailers, including Amazon, Kobo, Apple Books and Google Play so snap it up while the price is low!
Happy reading!
Love
Sarah
xx
