Heart in the Right Home

by Lisa Hill

  Heart in the Right Home

  By

  Lisa Hill

  Manatee Books

  First published in 2019.

  This book is primarily a work of fiction. Other names, characters, businesses, organisations, places and events are the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Manatee Books

  Copyright © 2019 Lisa Hill

  All rights reserved.

  Paperback ISBN: 978-1-912347-30-8

  Kindle ISBN: 978-1-912347-31-5

  Cover design by Aimee Coveney of Bookollective

  Images used under licence from Shutterstock.com

  For my mother, Marcia, who after many attempts has finally ‘Dunroamin’ and firmly has her heart in the right home.

  Chapter One

  ‘Okay?’ Lottie asked, aware it was the hundredth time she’d asked Jude the exact same question this morning.

  Jude drew a deep breath and nodded, looking like a rabbit in the headlights. A very beautiful, Disney-princess-type, bunny in the headlights.

  ‘Are we going in yet, Mummy?’ Emily asked, swishing her chiffon bridesmaid dress like she was wearing a hula-hoop, scattering the petals from her basket everywhere. The petals she was meant to be scattering down the aisle. ‘Oops.’

  ‘Emily!’ Jude hissed.

  Lottie raised her hands in the air. ‘Don’t panic!’ she said, reaching down to pick up the rose petals, which was difficult in a slinky Jessica-Rabbit-style bridesmaid dress with a split half-way up her thigh. She breathed in as much as possible, fearing the zip in the back would give way any second. She’d lost over a stone for this momentous occasion and still the dress, with its built-in bodice, felt like it was permanently deflating her lungs.

  The inner door to the chapel creaked open. Lottie looked up, mid-bend, feeling more like Bambi on ice than demure Matron of Honour.

  ‘I won’t ask,’ Jack, Lottie’s father, said, turning his attention to Jude. ‘Alright there Jude?’ he said, in that soft, Somerset burr of his.

  ‘Bit nervous,’ Jude whispered.

  ‘But ready?’

  ‘Yes,’ Jude nodded vigorously.

  ‘Good. You look beautiful by the way. I’ll let the organist know and then I’ll be back to walk you down.’ He winked and disappeared.

  ‘I notice he didn’t say anything about how I looked,’ Lottie snorted, standing back up, all petals now gathered back into Emily’s basket.

  Jude rolled her eyes. ‘Am I not allowed one day in the limelight?’

  ‘This wedding has turned you into a total bridezilla.’

  Jude glared and went to lob her bouquet at Lottie before bursting out laughing.

  ‘Nerves gone now?’

  ‘You are a pain in the backside sometimes, Lottie Hardwicke.’

  ‘Haven’t I been the perfect Matron of Honour?’

  ‘Only because it involves interfering.’

  ‘I prefer the term organising.’

  Beyond the chapel doors at Clunderton Hall, Mendelssohn’s Wedding March started flowing through the organ pipes.

  ‘Oooh, this is it!’ Lottie said, squeezing Jude’s arm.

  ‘Can I hold your hand, Mummy?’ Jacob asked, quietly.

  Jude bent down. ‘Do you remember, sweetie, that we said you would hold Emily’s hand and Evie’s Grampy Jack would walk me down the aisle?

  ‘Okay?’ Jack asked, reappearing again and closing the Chapel door behind him.

  Jacob’s bottom lip came jutting out and those big cow eyes of his started to well. Lottie could envisage this unfolding into a messy, six-year-old meltdown. She could see the creeping blush spreading up Jude’s chest towards her neck and knew she had to act fast.

  ‘Well, Grampy Jack won’t mind being demoted, will you?’

  Jack looked at Jude for affirmation.

  Jude exhaled. ‘Ever since I met Lottie, you’ve always been like a dad to me.’

  Jack took Jude’s hand and squeezed it. ‘And do you know, you’ve been like a little, surrogate daughter to me? But I’ve given one daughter away and, really, when you think about it, you are Jacob’s to give away to Tom, aren’t you?’

  Lottie watched Jude’s eyes well with tears. ‘Look, as much as I hate to break-up this heart-warming moment, Mendelssohn’s March is going to end any second; we all need to quick-march it down that aisle. Not to mention, poor Tom is probably having kittens at the altar!’

  Jude scowled, tears diminished, thankfully not affecting her perfectly applied wedding make-up. ‘If I’m Bridezilla, you’re the King Kong of Matrons of Honour.’

  ‘Okay,’ Lottie said, pushing the doors wide open. She’d let that quip slide seeing it was Jude’s wedding day. ‘Off you go, Dad,’ she said, pushing her hand into the small of Jack’s back. He briskly moved down the edge of the aisle and slipped in to his seat next to Pamela.

  ‘Ready?’ Lottie asked.

  ‘Ready.’ Jude beamed.

  Jack winked at Tom, who was looking almost ashen at the altar. Tom broke into a grin and some of his colour started to return. Squeezing in next to Pamela Hardwicke, Jack gave her hand a squeeze and the congregation rose to watch Emily scattering her petals, followed by Lottie with Jude and Jacob proceeding gracefully behind, down the red, carpeted aisle towards the altar.

  Pamela gasped. ‘Oh, doesn’t Lottie look striking in that dress?’

  Jack turned to look down at Pamela. She looked beautiful herself, dressed in a pale pink shift dress with cream bolero jacket, matching kitten heels and hairpiece, all set off by a fuchsia pink clutch bag.

  ‘Not like you to be so complimentary of Lottie,’ he whispered.

  Pamela took his hand and squeezed it. ‘I’ve turned over a new leaf since I’ve been with you.’ She smiled up at him, then catching a glimpse of Jude gliding past in her silk and lace ivory wedding dress added, ‘ohhh, look at Jude! She looks stunning. But, then, with the money Tom’s probably forked out for this wedding, I’m not surprised she looks so demure, it’s probably Chanel or Dior; something wildly expensive.’

  ‘What was that about turning over a new leaf?’ Jack winked.

  ‘Please be seated,’ said Reverend Eckersley to the congregation.

  ‘I’ve always dreamed of a proper wedding,’ Pamela whispered, as they took their seats on the pew.

  ‘Well, I can’t say it would be as lavish, but we could give it a go, couldn’t we?’

  Pamela’s head whipped around, her beautiful, electric blue eyes searching his. ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘Aye, we could get wed,’ he whispered, as Reverend Eckersley began talking, rendering Pamela silent, whilst her mouth opened and closed like an apoplectic puffer fish.

  Rebecca Cavendish leant against the large sash window in Hardwickes’ Harrogate office and let out a long sigh. The early May sunshine warmed her face as she watched the passers-by enjoying their strolls in and out of the town along West Park, all drawn out by the spring weather, completely disinterested in buying a house.

  It went one of two ways on a bank holiday weekend. Either house-hunters came out in their droves, with streams of waiting buyers coming through the door, or it was a day, like today, where everyone was far too interested on working on their tan after a long, harsh, winter.

  Rebecca sighed again, pulled herself away from the window and turned to face the empty office. The great, big, cream ‘H’ for Hardwickes, was shining
like a beacon from its navy-walled backdrop above the disused fireplace and Rebecca’s stomach lurched. It was seven months now since her affair with Edward Hardwicke had abruptly ended. There had been no contact since. She reported into James, now. Edward’s son and Drew’s brother.

  It was so depressing.

  Talking of James, he was on her tail for April’s sales figures and there was no time like the present, when the office was so quiet. Rich, one of the negotiators, was out on viewings and Rachel - Lottie’s replacement on Saturdays since Lottie and Drew had both left Hardwickes to open their rival estate agents, HG1- had asked for the weekend off, leaving Rebecca on office cover. She quickly checked no-one was about to come up the steps to the offices before nipping upstairs to the kitchen to make a coffee. Despite the bitter winter, April’s figures had been good, thanks to Easter being late this year. She wouldn’t have any fears of remonstration from Edward via James.

  Edward. She sighed again as she filled up the coffee filter. She truly had been in love with him. Okay, so he was married and that was wrong but when Jack had cottoned on and confronted her and Edward, it was because he was in love with Pamela! Now Pamela and Jack were living together, Edward had hot-footed it back down south to live with James apparently, and he hadn’t even given a reason why they couldn’t carry on their relationship. Drew didn’t work for Hardwickes anymore, so why couldn’t her and Edward have moved in together? Tears welled in her eyes again as she switched the machine on to percolate. The problem with affairs was they tainted everything. She was lucky to still have a job but working for Hardwickes meant a constant, painful, reminder of Edward. Plus, everywhere she went, there were HG1’s boards; she frequently bumped into Lottie and Drew on viewings. The flat reminded her of Edward everywhere she turned; some of his suits were still hanging in her wardrobe. The staff all knew about the affair and it had been hard holding her head up high. She was thick-skinned, but still it hurt. And to top it all Lottie had let slip that Tom Thorpe and Jude, were getting married today.

  ‘Pah!’ Rebecca said out loud as the percolator stopped glugging. ‘Even a girl nearly ten years younger than me is getting married for the second time today and she has two kids! I’ve got no baggage, my ovaries are on the brink of retiring, and here I am; no man and holding on to my career by the skin of my teeth!’ She was practically shouting as she took the glass filter jug and poured her coffee into a cup.

  ‘Exactly how old are you, these days?’

  ‘Arrggh!’ Rebecca spilled the jug of hot coffee over the kitchen work surface. She turned clutching her chest with her free hand to see James Hardwicke, as dashingly handsome as ever, standing in the doorway.

  He grinned, looking effortlessly suave in his crisp, pale-blue, Ralph Lauren shirt, sleeves folded back to reveal his tanned forearms, expensive looking jeans, faded at the knees, and a pair of aviator sunglasses resting on his thick, clean-cut, conker brown hair.

  Knowing he had heard everything she’d just said, Rebecca’s stare hardened. ‘It’s rude to ask a lady her age.’

  James looked behind him and back again. ‘What lady?’ he said, winking before giving that cheeky grin he had always had, inherited from his father.

  ‘I was going to offer you a coffee, but if you’re going to be rude, I’ll just take mine and get on with those sales figures you wanted.’ She busied herself adding a spoonful of sugar to her coffee, conscious of him watching her every move. She pushed past him and stopped on the landing before descending the stairs. ‘Do you know what James, I always knew you liked a joke but that was a low move, even for you.’ And with that she turned on her heel and marched down the stairs, silently fuming, guilt ridden at where her actions with Edward had left her.

  Chapter Two

  James Hardwicke watched Rebecca’s pert little bottom wiggle down the stairs in her perfectly fitting pencil skirt, her dark ponytail swishing angrily in time. He inwardly sighed at the thought that this was going to be more of an uphill struggle than he had initially thought. Grabbing a mug of the freshly brewed coffee, much appreciated after the gruelling three-and-a-half hour drive up north on a Bank Holiday weekend, he slowly took the stairs back down to face the dragon in its lair.

  He walked through the archway of the old Georgian building into the sales room and watched Rebecca, now wearing her glasses, looking most officious and even more attractive – if that was possible – studiously tapping away at her keyboard.

  She didn’t look up.

  James drew out a chair opposite Rebecca’s desk and plonked himself and his mug down. He watched her fingers pause over the keyboard as her gaze fell on the coffee, which had sploshed over the rim and onto her desk, before she returned to typing.

  He had had a crush on Rebecca Cavendish ever since Drew had brought her back from university one weekend, near-on twenty years ago. Drew and Rebecca’s friendship was borne out of her passion for property. Even then she had been career driven, desperate to meet the family who owned a national chain of estate agents. James, being two years older than Drew, had completed uni and had taken his first job in Hardwickes, as Branch Manager of their Cirencester office, still living with their parents in Oxford. James’ breath had almost caught in the back of his throat when the tall, toned and tanned nineteen-year-old Rebecca had walked through the kitchen door, her bare midriff showing between a tied-at-the-waist pink shirt and immaculately white jeans. But James was pretty sure Drew had had some sort of crush on Rebecca and had therefore just admired her from afar. By the time Drew and Rebecca finished uni and both came to work for Hardwickes, James had been with Sam. Or was it Libby? He couldn’t really remember. The longest stretch he’d ever done in any relationship was about four years and his and Rebecca’s timing was always, well, a bit off. Quite frequently she’d just met someone when he was breaking up with someone or vice versa. Plus, they were both career driven, so work always came first, which was most probably why they had so many failed relationships between them. Then he’d gone to work up north and by some cruel twist of fate, when he’d asked to be posted back south, to be nearer to her, Drew took over the running the northern branches and asked Rebecca to come and manage the Harrogate office. It had felt like being taking out by the scrum half on the rugby pitch. And so, he’d started up another doomed relationship in Oxford and Rebecca had…

  Well, without putting it mildly, she’d shagged his dad.

  ‘Are you going to sit there staring at me all day? You could always make yourself useful and do some phoning out for me.’ She appraised him over the rim of her spectacles, looking smoulderingly furious.

  ‘Thirty-nine.’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘You’re thirty-nine, I remember now, it was silly to forget really, seeing you’re the same age as Drew.’

  Rebecca exhaled and returned to her monitor.

  ‘I’m forty-one now. Neither of us is getting any younger.’

  ‘Thank you, Sherlock, I’m well aware that I am thundering towards a big birthday without you reminding me.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, pulling the lead out of the back of her monitor to get her attention.

  ‘What did you do that for?’ Her Windsor, cut-glass accent, sounded as frightfully posh as it ever had.

  ‘So I can speak to you. I’m sorry, it was insensitive to suggest you are anything but a lady, Rebecca Cavendish.’

  There was a whisper of a smile on the corner of her lips. She dropped her gaze. ‘I’ve only got myself to blame.’

  ‘Dad?’

  Rebecca nodded. ‘How is he?’ she asked, her brow furrowing as she continued to look down at her keyboard.

  ‘Oh, you know, as cantankerous and dictator-like as ever. That’s why I’m here actually. As soon as the opportunity arose, I grabbed it with both hands.’

  She looked up. ‘You’re taking over as Regional Director?’

  ‘I will be, but all you Branch Managers are doing so well, we could cope without a Regional Director. You know Dad, he’s always got iro
ns in more than one fire.’

  ‘Oh?’ That piqued her interest.

  ‘Yes, he’s acquired some land.’

  ‘Really?’ She finally detached herself from the keyboard and rested her elbows on the desk.

  ‘Yes, in Clunderton actually, which is where I’m off to next.’

  Rebecca frowned. ‘So, why did you call in here then?’

  ‘To ask you out to dinner tonight.’

  ‘Oh, that’s very kind of you, but…’ she trailed off, recoiling back into her chair.

  ‘Come on, live a little! I’m staying in a hotel on The Stray; it doesn’t need to be anything formal. I notice there’s a new Italian opened at the bottom of Parliament Street.’

  ‘I’ve already got plans,’ she said, drumming her perfectly manicured nails on the desk.

  Utter bollocks. Although there was little point in arguing with her, not if he wanted to finally win her over. He would just have to hope it wasn’t plans with another man.

  ‘New chap?’

  ‘Pah!’ She tilted her head back and laughed. ‘No thank you, I am done with men!’

  ‘A girlfriend?’ James knew Rebecca had never had many close girlfriends. She was high maintenance, he could admit that. In lots of ways she reminded him of his mother.

  She wrinkled her nose. ‘More of a work thing.’

  ‘Oh, perhaps I should come—’

  ‘So!’ Rebecca deftly interrupted. ‘What’s this land all about?’

  ‘Dad wants to build some houses and a few amenities.’

  ‘That won’t go down well with the busybodies of Clunderton. Or that perfect couple who run the village stores; they won’t welcome any competition.’

  ‘You know Dad, he always knows someone, who knows someone. He’s pretty confident he’ll get permission for around one hundred dwellings and two or three commercial blocks.’

  Rebecca raised her eyebrows. ‘Impressive. Where’s the land?’