by Kate Hewitt
Alice shrugged as she took a sip of coffee. “It was what it was.”
Still…Emily couldn’t imagine it, even as she sort of could. At least she’d always had her mum—and her dad as well, in the background. “Does the manor feel like a proper home?” she asked.
“It’s starting to. And I hope it can be a home away from home for a lot of foster kids, perhaps the only one they’ll have.”
Emily nodded slowly. “The charitable foundation makes a bit more sense now.”
“I’m surprised Henry didn’t tell you about my background,” Alice remarked. “Although actually I’m not. I think he feels it’s private, or that I’m embarrassed about it or something, but I’m really not.”
“You shouldn’t be,” Emily returned. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“No.” Alice looked thoughtful. “Although children have a habit of blaming themselves, I suppose. But I made a deal with myself a long time ago that I wouldn’t become bitter or hardened by how I grew up. I’m determined always to see the best in people, and I think I do. Mostly.”
Which was probably why she was so determined to be friendly with her, Emily realised. It both humbled and exasperated her. She really didn’t do friends. Didn’t know how. And yet Alice was going to keep trying—of that she could be sure.
“I’ve put the feelers out for an evening out this weekend,” Alice said. “I think everyone’s up for it, if you’re free on Friday?”
“Oh…” Unfortunately Emily couldn’t think of a single credible excuse, and yet the thought of going out with a bunch of strangers who all knew each other made her want to back away, palms up. “I’m not sure…”
“No one is at all scary,” Alice assured her. “Except perhaps Harriet, but she doesn’t mean to be. She’s just one of those take-charge sort of people. And Ava is absolutely gorgeous and knows it, but you just get used to it. Ellie is sweet, and so is Olivia…”
They all sounded positively terrifying. Emily’s stomach clenched with nerves and she reached for her coffee. “Mmm,” she said, because she couldn’t think of any other response.
“It’ll be fun,” Alice said firmly.
The cat rose elegantly from the chair and gave a languorous stretch before jumping neatly down and stalking across the kitchen floor. It was a beautiful animal, a soft, deep grey with eyes the colour of smoke.
“Oh!” The exclamation erupted from Emily as the cat jumped up onto her lap in one sinuous movement, turned around twice, and then settled down to sleep.
“She clearly likes you,” Alice said, amused, before she leaned forward, concerned. “You’re all right with cats? You’re not allergic?”
Was she all right with cats? The answer was not really. She wasn’t an animal person, and the thought of the cat’s fur and dander and what have you getting all over her made her feel itchy inside, even without a cat actually on her lap.
“Um, well, I haven’t actually had much to do with animals,” Emily managed. She tried to nudge the cat off her but the feline wasn’t having it. Her claws dug into Emily’s Marc Jacobs skirt and she let out a purr that sounded like a car motor.
“Andromeda, down,” Alice said not nearly sternly enough, and the cat merely blinked at her.
“Andromeda?”
“Henry named her. He’s got a thing about Greek mythology.” Alice shrugged apologetically. “Give her a shove if you really don’t like having her there.”
She didn’t, and yet at the same time Emily couldn’t deny there was something weirdly pleasing about the living warmth of the creature on her lap, the purr that thrummed through her so Emily could feel it in her bones. And yet the fur…and the dander…and the germs…
She gave Andromeda a little shove, as half-hearted as Alice’s command, and predictably the cat didn’t move.
“You’re stuck here,” Alice said, sounding pleased. “While I’ve got you, why don’t we talk about the fundraiser? I had a few ideas…”
“All right, then,” Emily said, doing her best to inject an enthusiastic note into her voice. She could hardly believe she was stuck in a kitchen with a cat and a woman who seemed intent on being her friend. It was so strange, so utterly unlikely, and yet…
It was just the tiniest bit nice. Amazingly. As long as Alice didn’t ask her any personal questions, and they kept it about work, and the cat didn’t do something disgusting.
“I’ve got some notes here.” Alice took a stack of papers from the Welsh dresser and brought them to the table. “We’ve been thinking of a village fete sort of atmosphere, very friendly and open, perfect for a family day out.”
“Yes…”
“And Henry in particular is keen for all the local businesses to take part, providing the catering, entertainment, et cetera.”
“Are there enough local businesses for that?”
“I think so. There are the two pubs—The Drowned Sailor and The Three Pennies—I’m sure they’ll both provide drinks. And then there’s Olivia’s bakery, and the new deli, and Harriet said a mum from the school does clowning and magic tricks for parties. There’s a vintage clothing store and a pet store that can set up booths, along with the toy shop that’s just opened and the garden centre—it’s closer to Burford, but still—will most likely do a plant stall.”
“Sounds like you’ve got it all planned,” Emily said, and Alice hastened to reassure her.
“Oh no, not at all. We haven’t asked anyone officially, and we’ll have to draw up contracts and the literature explaining it all, and I’m sure there are other things you can think of.” She gave Emily an encouraging look.
“I’m not sure how,” Emily said slowly. “I mean…I’ll do all the admin, of course, but as you know I’m not from around here. I don’t know the people or the businesses or even where Burford is, never mind a garden centre near it. Surely someone more local would be better at organising something like this?” She was starting to wonder why on earth Henry had put her in charge, or even why he’d wanted her here at all. He could have easily hired someone from Wychwood, a mum from the school looking for a job, or someone who at least was connected to the community. She wasn’t, and she hadn’t been planning on becoming so. Not at all.
“Oh, but you’ll learn,” Alice assured her, and Emily’s heart couldn’t help but sink a bit. “People really are so friendly. One night at the pub, or at a ceilidh at the village hall, and you’ll know everyone.”
A ceilidh? “Yes, but even so…” Emily found she couldn’t finish that sentence because Alice was already shaking her head.
“Don’t worry, Emily. You’ll see. You’ll be part of Wychwood-on-Lea in no time.”
Emily knew Alice meant the words to be a comfort, but they were far from it. She didn’t want to be part of a close-knit community filled with people who would get all up in her business, not that she even had that much, keeping her life private was an instinct she’d had too long to shed now. She couldn’t let people in. She didn’t know how. And that was a reminder that she really had to ring her mum. She gave Andromeda a good shove and with a disgruntled look the cat leapt off her lap, leaving a snag in her skirt.
“Thank you for the coffee,” Emily said as she rose from her chair. “But I really should be getting back to work.”
“Oh yes, of course. But you’re welcome anytime. Maybe we could make it part of your schedule?”
Alice looked so hopeful, and in any case Emily realised she wouldn’t really mind a coffee break every morning. “That would be nice,” she said. “Thank you.”
Back in the office, Emily breathed in the smell of cleaning spray as she stared down at her cat-hair-dusted skirt in dismay. She’d nip back to the cottage to change, she decided, and ring her mum from there. It wasn’t as if anyone was keeping tabs on her, and she didn’t think she could bear spending the afternoon covered in cat hair. She’d ventured enough out of her comfort zone for one day.
She walked quickly back to Willoughby Close; the air had developed a chill and woolly grey cl
ouds were obscuring the fragile blue of this morning, reminding the world that it wasn’t quite spring yet.
Back in her bedroom, Emily changed into another navy skirt and silk blouse, putting her cat-hair-covered clothes into a basin to soak. What had she been thinking, having that animal on her lap? So unlike her, even if it had felt a little nice at the time, a living comfort that she’d been lacking for…oh, she didn’t even want to think about how long for.
Standing by the kitchen sink, she gazed out at the gathering clouds and rang Fiona, who thankfully answered.
“Fiona, Emily here. May I speak to Naomi, please?”
“You do like to keep tabs on your mum, don’t you?” Fiona said with a rather sour laugh. Emily closed her eyes.
“Is she there, please?”
“Oh, fine, hold on.” The phone clattered onto a table, making Emily wince and hold her mobile away from her ear. At least her mother was in the flat. That was something. It seemed an age but was probably around five minutes before Emily heard her mother’s rather breathless voice.
“Em? Darling? You know you don’t need to worry about me. I really wish you wouldn’t.”
“I just wanted to check in, Mum. You remember I moved out to the Cotswolds this past weekend?”
“Did you?” Her mother sounded indifferently vague, which wasn’t really a surprise. “It’s meant to be very pretty out there.”
“It is. You know you’re welcome to stay anytime—”
“Oh, I don’t know.”
“Seriously, Mum.” Life was both easier and harder with her mother in residence, but regardless Emily would always make the offer. She loved her mother, even if that love was tangled and complicated and sometimes didn’t feel like love at all. “I’ve got a spare bedroom, and all the things you left from last time,” she persisted, because some part of her had to. “It’s so pretty. You can see a river from the bedroom window.”
“Mmmm.”
Emily couldn’t tell if her mother was really listening. “I’m on the edge of a little village. There are loads of walks you could take.” At least she supposed there were.
“I don’t know if I’m really a village kind of person. But I’m glad you like it, darling.”
Emily took a careful breath. “Fiona had said something about you not taking your pills.”
“Oh, Emily.” There was no disguising her mother’s disappointment. “Really, you are not my doctor.”
“I know, but—”
“I’m fine. You need to be able to trust me, that I know when I need them and when I don’t. I’m not going to be irresponsible.”
That was up for debate. “But you know the point of them is that you take them consistently—”
“Really, Emily, I don’t want to talk about this with you. I’m a grown woman, taking control of my own life, and I refuse to let you keep me from doing that. I will take my medication as and when I need it, and I am the person to decide that, thank you very much.” And on that rather vehement note, her mother slammed down the receiver, making Emily wince again.
So her mother was off her medication, or at least not taking it consistently. She let out a slow breath as outside a bird trilled—a sweet, fluting sound. All right, fine, so her mum wasn’t taking her meds. That didn’t have to be the end of the world. After all, Naomi hadn’t taken medication of any kind all through Emily’s childhood, and she’d been…well, perhaps best not to think about those days.
Emily pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes. She knew there wasn’t much she could do. And maybe it wouldn’t be as bad as all that—after all, her mother’s doctors had said, over the years, that coming off medication could sometimes be a good thing. Adjusting dosages, learning to live without it, all that advice. And yet the risk felt too enormous, too frightening. But as her mother had said, it really wasn’t her choice to make.
Briefly she considered calling her father, but she knew he’d give her his usual patter. Your mother has to make her own choices. I know it’s hard.
As if.
But there was no point in feeling bitter about that; Geoff David had made his choices too, including a second wife and family. Emily saw him once a year, if that.
She took another breath and let it out slowly, and then she reached for her coat. She needed to get back to work. Work, the usual antidote to feeling sad or stressed or heaven help her, lonely. Except the jury was out on whether her work in Wychwood-on-Lea was going to have the same soothing effect work had had back in London.
Emily had just turned onto the drive from the lane that led to Willoughby Close when Henry’s forest-green Jaguar pulled in from the main road. He slowed, rolling down the window.
“Hop in, and I’ll give you a lift up to the manor.”
“Thank you,” Emily said, and slipped into the passenger side. Henry was wearing one of his three-piece suits, which was comforting, and his Jag was reassuringly spotless.
“How’s your first day going?” he asked as he started up the drive once more.
“All right, I think. The office is mostly cleaned.”
“Already?” Henry gave her a laughingly admiring look. “You’re a force of nature.”
“I just heaped things in the hall really,” Emily replied. “Alice said someone named Jace would deal with it?”
“Ah yes, Jace.” Something flickered across Henry’s face and then was gone. “He’s the caretaker for Willoughby Manor. Married to Ava.”
“Yes, Alice mentioned Ava. I can’t keep track of all the names.”
“Nor can I, really, but I’m sure you’ll manage. Your brain is like a computer. Better than AI. You certainly managed to keep track of my schedule back in London.”
“Yes,” Emily murmured. “Although this feels different.”
“It’s a bit more hands-on,” Henry agreed easily. “You’ll have to get out and rub elbows with people, but that won’t be a problem, will it?”
Emily glanced at her boss, noting the rather steely tone she remembered well from his former days. Yet when he met her gaze, he smiled at her. She had no idea what message he was trying to send, although she realised she was afraid she could guess.
“I have a list in my briefcase of all the independent businesses in Wychwood, and their owners,” Henry said. “Starting tomorrow, I’d like you to pop into each one and say hello. Introduce yourself, and the foundation.”
“I was thinking of writing emails…” Emily began, only to have Henry shake his head quite firmly.
“We need the friendly touch, the familiar face.”
“But I’m not actually familiar—”
“You will be,” he assured her in that same steely tone, and Emily wondered if Henry was doing this on purpose. Had he decided she needed to be pushed out her little feathered nest? Surely not. In their four years of working together, he’d never asked her a single personal question. He couldn’t start caring about her now.
“Tomorrow,” Henry stated, and Emily knew it wasn’t something she could say no to.
“Aye, aye, Captain,” she answered with a mock salute, and Henry smiled.
Chapter Four
“May I have a word?”
Owen Jones looked up from the till receipts he’d been going through on top of the bar to see a woman he’d never clapped eyes on before cautiously inching her way into the pub on a pair of steel-grey stilettos, her pert nose wrinkled in wary distaste.
She was dressed like a city barrister, in a black pencil skirt and grey silk blouse, both items highlighting a figure that was blow-away-in-the-breeze slender, and yet, Owen couldn’t help but notice, still in possession of a few rather nice curves.
Her hair, a deep, glossy chestnut, was pulled back into an elegant chignon, with only a few wisps framing a delicate, heart-shaped face. In short, she was a stunner, and Owen, who had always enjoyed looking upon a lovely lady, noticed—just as he noticed the slight curl of her lip as she met his gaze.
“You can have several, if you like,” he to
ld her cheerfully. “How about a whole dozen? That’s twelve right there, I’ve just said.” He grinned, enjoying the startled look on her face. She was prissy, this one, and judging from the way her gaze moved around the decidedly shabby pub, a bit of a snob, but neither took away from her beauty.
“Are you the manager here?”
“Manager, bartender, owner,” Owen replied as he spread his arms to encompass the dim interior of The Drowned Sailor, with its crowded tables, rickety stools, and an air of well-worn, well-loved shabbiness. “Come on in.” She took another step into the pub, closing the door behind her, and Owen planted his elbows on the bar in front of him. “What can I do for you?”
Her gaze darted around the pub before resting resolutely on him. “I think, perhaps, it’s what I can do for you.” She gave a very small smile, which Owen answered with a grin. Posh, this one, with a voice like the queen, yet skittish too. Clearly she was slumming it here.
“Is that so?” he said, raising his eyebrows. “I’m all ears.”
“Very well, then.” She came closer, taking an expensive-looking bag of navy leather off one shoulder, embossed with a gold label Owen vaguely recognised from the gentry of the village. Expensive, like the rest of her. “I represent Henry Trent, the Earl of Stokeley and the CEO of Willoughby Holidays Charitable Foundation—”
“You represent?” Owen cocked his head. “Are you his solicitor?” Was Henry starting to swing his weight around? He’d been earl for over a year, after all. Maybe he wanted to put his mark on the village as well as the manor.
A faint blush touched her cheeks with pink, making her look even lovelier. “No, I’m his executive assistant.”
“Ah.” He folded his arms across his chest as the woman minced her way towards the bar. “What’s he wanting, then?” He kept his voice friendly as he always did, but he couldn’t keep a faint, instinctive tension from banding his temples.
Owen didn’t know Henry Trent, because the great man had never deigned to talk to the likes of him, but he’d seen him buzzing through the village in his Jag, or cutting a ribbon at the summer fete, larking around as lord of the manor. None of it particularly impressed him, although he played along, as everyone else did, because they enjoyed the fact that the new earl and his lovely little wife had settled at Willoughby Manor instead of using it as a holiday home.