The Summer House of Happiness

by Daisy James

  The tempting aroma of toast filled the kitchen and, more to please her father than to sustain her energy levels, she spread a slice with butter and jam and polished it off with false relish, giving her father a bright smile. She stuffed her stilettos into her shoulder-bag, slipped on her ballet flats for the journey, gathered her mac and was ready to go when the taxi arrived to take her to the station.

  ‘Oh, that’ll be the post. I’ll get it.’

  Jeff strolled to the front door, groaning slightly as he bent down to collect the envelopes from the doormat. The sharp blast of a car horn sounded from outside as he squinted more closely at the front of one of the letters.

  ‘Taxi’s here!’

  ‘Thanks, Dad. Well, wish me luck. I’ll call you when it’s all over to let you know how I got on. If you finish at the bank before me, leave me a voicemail, won’t you? Please?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Jeff, a little distractedly.

  ‘Everything okay?’ Gabbie glanced at the brown envelope in her father’s hand. ‘Who’s the letter from?’

  ‘Oh, just another electricity bill, I think.’

  ‘Ergh,’ sighed Gabbie. She rolled her eyes before leaning forward to kiss her father’s cheek. ‘I love you, Dad. You’ll be awesome at the meeting today, I just know it. Everything is going to be fine, you’ll see.’

  ‘I know, I know.’

  Gabbie jumped into the passenger seat of the taxi and waved cheerily to her father, not wanting him to witness the anxiety that was gnawing at the edges of her confidence. From the minute the first ivory tendrils of dawn had pushed their way through her bedroom curtains that morning, butterflies had been having a disco in her stomach and she felt lightheaded and nauseous. She wound down the window to let in some air and to continue waving, but her father was no longer looking in her direction. He had withdrawn the letter from the envelope, his glasses perched high on his forehead, his nose wrinkled in concentration as he scanned the contents.

  Gabbie craned her head over her shoulder, watching his expression change, his jaw gape, and if she had been any closer she would have seen the colour drain from his face as he realised what the words swimming on the paper in front of him meant.

  The journey up to London was long and tiring, but Gabbie forced herself to concentrate on what lay ahead. She had been so excited about meeting Rupert Carrington in person when she had called Marianne the previous afternoon for tips on which part of her CV she should concentrate on and any updates she needed to know about from the field of fragrance research and development that she had missed while she’d been away. She was also looking forward to the tour of the company’s headquarters and acquainting herself with the commercial side of branding and product development.

  A brief whoosh of exhilaration rushed through her veins as she contemplated her return to corporate life, but it didn’t last long. She couldn’t put her father’s imminent meeting at the bank out of her mind, and a new worry had now edged its way into her colliding thoughts – the look on her father’s face when he had opened that envelope.

  She had tried to call him from the taxi but there had been no answer. She had made a second attempt when she arrived at the train station and again on the train. She’d left a voicemail each time asking him to call her, but either he had left very early for his meeting or was avoiding speaking to her. If it was the latter, then why?

  She toyed with the idea of calling Max to ask him to find Jeff and put him on the phone, but she didn’t want another confrontation before she went into the most important meeting of her career so far. She’d fleetingly wondered if the letter had been from his GP, but she had enough experience to know that those kinds of letters definitely did not come in brown envelopes. Well, she would find out soon enough when she got home that night, so she pushed the puzzle into the far crevices of her mind when the train pulled into Paddington.

  As she trotted along the pavement towards Carrington Cosmetics’ head office in Knightsbridge, Gabbie inhaled a deep breath, scrunching up her nose as she received a lungful of diesel fumes and fried chicken mingled with something else altogether less pleasant. The late-morning traffic was a lot worse than she had expected and her feet were already screaming their objection to the onslaught as she zig-zagged her way through a stream of oncoming pedestrians, every single one of them intent on mowing her down if she didn’t sidestep them.

  She heaved a sigh of relief as she walked into the marble-encased lobby of the Carrington building where peace and calm prevailed, as well as a delicate fragrance of ripe peaches and pomegranate. She was directed to a bank of golden elevators and told to exit at the fifth floor where she was met by an immaculately tailored receptionist who offered her coffee and guided her to a red-velvet bucket chair to wait for the eponymous owner.

  When she saw Rupert Carrington striding towards her, his palm outstretched, she thought immediately how right Jasmine had been in her generous assessment of his attractive features. With a luxurious mane of chin-length dark-brown curls, and the suspicion of jawline stubble, the head of Carrington Cosmetics exuded an aura of charm that instantly drew her towards him.

  ‘You must be Gabriella Andrews? Rupert Carrington. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.’ Rupert gripped her hand in a firm handshake and beckoned her to follow him down the carpeted hallway to his corner office overlooking Harrods. ‘Marianne has nothing but praise for your talents and told me what a loss you’ve been to House of Gasnier, but as I said on the phone, I hope that will be Carrington’s gain.’

  Instead of taking a seat behind his impressive smoked-glass-and-chrome desk, Rupert indicated the leather Chesterfield sofa next to the floor-to-ceiling window and sat down next to her. Gabbie knew she should have been fighting a barrage of nerves, but strangely, she relaxed. Rupert’s brown eyes were friendly, similar to those of her Italian grandmother’s pet spaniel when he wanted Gabbie to sneak him one of his mistress’s homemade biscuits.

  ‘I’ve taken the opportunity to study your qualifications and Marianne has filled me in on your recent training, so what I’d like to hear from you are your ideas for the men’s cologne we’re hoping to launch next autumn and where you see the brand developing into the future.’

  Gabbie had prepared for just such a question and launched into a detailed explanation of her ideas, answering several searching questions that Rupert posed along the way. He pressed her on technical areas, checked a couple of facts on her CV, and as her excitement about the company grew, so did her confidence. By the end of the hour, she was desperately hoping the next stage of her life would be with Carrington Cosmetics.

  ‘Okay, Gabriella, I think we’ve covered everything. Is there anything you want to know about the business before I leave you in the capable hands of my assistant so I can catch my flight?’

  ‘I think you’ve covered everything on my list already. When do you think I’ll hear if I’ve been successful?’

  Rupert’s eyes twinkled as he gave a perfect Hollywood smile.

  ‘As I already have glowing references from your former employer – whom I trust implicitly in matters of business – and you’ve just demonstrated an in-depth knowledge of the industry, not to mention possessing the creative flair we’ve been searching for, I’m delighted to tell you that, if you’re interested in becoming part of the Carrington family, the job is yours!’

  ‘Oh, gosh, yes, thank you. Thank you. That’s amazing. Gosh.’

  ‘With the expertise you gained in Grasse, I’m certain Carrington’s will create the most amazing men’s eau de cologne to add to our other products. When do you think you’ll be able to start?’

  ‘I can start as soon as you like.’

  ‘Fabulous. Shall we say the end of November then? That’ll give you just over a month to look for somewhere to rent. The company has a list of places that might suit your needs. Personally, I recommend the eighth arrondissement, but of course, the choice is yours.’

  Rupert Carrington stood up and held out his palm. �
��Welcome on board, Miss Andrews.’

  ‘Oh, erm, yes, thanks. Sorry, did you say eighth arrondissement?’

  ‘Yes? Is there a problem?’

  ‘I thought, well, I thought the position was here in London?’

  ‘No, it’s in Paris. That’s where our research and development lab is located. I know you speak French and Italian fluently, and that you’ve lived in Provence for the last two years, so I assumed Paris wouldn’t be an issue for you. You’ll love it, I’m sure. I’m actually quite jealous.’

  Rupert laughed as he led her back to the reception area and asked the receptionist to buzz for his assistant to show Gabbie around the building.

  ‘I’m sorry, I really must dash. My pilot doesn’t like to be kept waiting. We’ll get together again when I’m back from Hong Kong.’

  ‘Thank you. And I hope you have a good trip,’ Gabbie said meekly as she watched him march into the elevator and disappear from sight.

  She slumped back into the bucket chair, trying to make sense of what had happened. She knew what a fabulous position she had just secured and how lucky she was, but Paris? Did she want to live in France again?

  Then her thoughts swerved in the other direction. What was she hesitating for? There was no way she could turn it down if she wanted a regular income. She resolved to ask Rupert’s assistant if she could have something in writing that she could take straight to the bank that afternoon if she needed to.

  ‘If you come this way, Miss Andrews, I’ll give you the grand tour.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Every person she was introduced to gushed about the company, telling her how wonderful it was to work for Rupert and congratulating her on her new job. Bar none, they were envious that she would be working at their Paris office; one girl even offered to swap with her and Gabbie was sure she wasn’t joking. Nevertheless, she wasn’t as excited as she had expected and had to gather all her energy to present an outward façade of interest and enthusiasm.

  After an hour of smiling until her cheeks ached, she collected the envelope containing her job offer, shoved it into her handbag unopened, and stumbled out into the pollution-filled streets to make her way to the nearest tube station. She had no desire to spend the rest of her time in the capital mooching around the shops or hanging out in a trendy coffee house as Clara had suggested. All she wanted to do was get back home and find out what had happened at the bank.

  Once again, Gabbie tried to contact her father, but unsurprisingly the call went to voicemail. It was one o’clock and she knew he would still be in the meeting – hopefully smiling confidently as he handed over the shipshape accounts and outlined his proposal for the repayment of the short-term loan he needed to keep the business afloat. She really wished she could interrupt the meeting with her good news – being able to contribute towards the repayment of the loan might just sway the decision.

  But would it? The rent in Paris would be exorbitant, coupled with transport costs, not to mention the regular trips back to Devon to keep a close eye on the Andrews Autos accounts. And there was something else, too. Although Carrington’s would be an amazing place to work, the initial fire that had burned in her chest during the interview had waned, because again, she would be distanced from her customers, just as she had been at House of Gasnier. Had she really just taken a huge step backwards?

  As she checked the departure board for the next train down to Devon, an image of Max floated across her mind, anger at what he saw as her betrayal festering in his eyes. What would he have to say when she informed him that, actually, she was relocating to Paris? And why did she care so much about what Max thought? Once the garage was back on track things would be no different to how they had been in August when she had been working in Grasse and he had been happily restoring his uncle’s E-Type Jaguar.

  But she knew exactly why she cared – without realising it, she had fallen in love with Max Fitzgerald and the thought shocked her to the core. She was heartbroken that only a week ago she had been thinking about the possibility of them becoming more than just friends – soulmates even.

  Max understood her; he seemed to know what she was thinking before she did. They even loved the same things: classic cars, oily engines, swimming in the lake under a starry sky. For the first time in a long time, she had dared to open her heart to someone and all her predictions had come true. Why hadn’t she stuck to her mantra of three-date relationships?

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Gabbie bought a copy of Vogue and a bottle of sparkling water from the newsstand and found a seat in the waiting room. The air smelled of stale sandwiches and dust, but it was warmer than the platform, where a cold autumnal breeze lashed her hair around her cheeks.

  She tried to read an article on this season’s winter coats, but it was no use, she couldn’t concentrate. She couldn’t wait any longer. She had to know what had happened at the bank. If her father wouldn’t answer her calls, she knew Max would, even if purely for another opportunity to harangue her for her rubbish decision-making skills. As she waited for him to answer, she thought of Wil and wondered how he was managing to hold the fort single-handedly that day.

  ‘Max?’

  ‘Hello, Gabbie.’

  ‘Is Dad with you?’

  ‘No, sorry, he’s not.’

  ‘Do you know where he is? I’ve been trying to call him all day and I’m worried about him. Do you know if there’s been any news about what happened at the bank?’

  ‘Yes. I sat outside and waited. Thirty minutes it took. Just thirty short minutes to be told there was no chance of a loan and no hope of rescuing Andrews Autos from folding.’

  ‘Oh God. No. Where is Dad?’

  ‘Gone for a drink to The Pear Tree with Mike. He couldn’t face telling you, Gabbie. He needed to get his own head around the fact he’s lost the garage before he broke the news to you – devastated isn’t the word.’

  ‘Oh no!’

  An explosion of dread ignited in her chest, but Gabbie tried to control her emotions, aware that the other commuters sheltering in the waiting room were staring at her with curiosity. Her heart pounded against her ribcage and she could hear the whoosh of blood pumping through her ears. She was grateful she was sitting down, otherwise she suspected she might have crumpled to the floor.

  Andrews Autos, established in 1952, would be closing its doors to the people of Oakley, and the three people who relied on the garage for their livelihoods would be catapulted into a very difficult job market. Who knew how long it would take Max and Wil to find new positions – and she didn’t even want to think about what her father would do. Despite his extensive knowledge and experience in the trade, at sixty he wouldn’t be at the top of the recruitment list. A curl of nausea tightened its grip and she had to swallow several times before being able to speak.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Max. It’s all my fault. I should have come home from France earlier. I should have kept an eye on the accounts while I was over there. I should have…’

  ‘I take it you got the job?’

  ‘Yes, I did…’

  ‘Is there any chance you’ll be able to raise the funds to help keep the business afloat until we find out why we’re in this mess? I still don’t understand how it happened – we always cover the costs of the parts and labour.’

  ‘Sorry, Max. You have no idea how much I would love to give every penny I earn to do that, but the rents in Paris are…’

  ‘Paris? You’ll be working in Paris?’

  ‘Yes,’ she muttered, feeling the distance between them widen to cavern-like proportions. ‘Can you put Dad on the phone, please, Max?’

  ‘I couldn’t face going for a drink with them, Gabbie. I’m sorry things haven’t worked out for the garage. I really hoped we could…’ She heard Max inhale a long, ragged breath before saying, ‘Never mind. Goodbye, Gabbie.’ And the line went dead.

  She had no idea how long she sat in that waiting room, staring out at the constantly changing image of commuters and touri
sts dragging their wheelie suitcases in their wake, not one of them taking the time to stop and stare at the beauty that surrounded them, attached instead to their phones and laptops.

  She made her way to the platform in a daze, bumped and shoved out of the way because of her slow progress. The noise around her was incessant; a cacophony of trains clattering over rails, the shrill shout of a whistle, the occasional blast of music from a ringtone, conversations conducted at screaming pitch. The rancid stench of a litter bin caused her stomach to lurch and she wrinkled her nose in disgust.

  But all this was par for the course in a big city, she reminded herself. Would it be any different in Paris?

  Eventually, she mustered the energy to climb onboard the next train heading for Devon, selecting a window seat so she could turn her face away from the world and the guy who had plonked his rotund frame into the seat next to her, sending a whiff of BO into the air between them. She needn’t have worried about having to converse with her fellow passenger as he spent the next half hour issuing instructions to someone called Gill, who she assumed was his long-suffering secretary.

  She watched morosely as the high-rise flats gave way to terraced streets, and then fields and farmhouses. She spent the journey working out what she was going to say to her father to provide even a smidgeon of solace after his devastating news, but everything she came up with didn’t even come close to what she felt. When the train pulled into the station at Honiton she experienced an intense feeling of coming home, of being where she belonged, and suddenly she made a decision.

  She removed the still-unopened letter of confirmation Rupert Carrington’s efficient assistant had given her, sprinted out of the station and made her way to the building where her father, and his father before him, had banked for over fifty years. So much for loyalty, she thought. However, she wasn’t going to give up the fight to save Andrews Autos until she had done everything she possibly could.