by Daisy James
‘Hello? I’m Gabriella Andrews. My father had a meeting with your small business manager, Freya Williams, this afternoon, and I wonder whether I could have a few minutes of her time, please, as there have been a number of new developments.’
‘Do you have an appointment?’
‘No, but it’s really important I speak to her…’
‘I’m sorry, I actually think she’s left for the day.’
‘But I need to tell her I’ve secured a new position.’ She brandished the envelope containing her offer letter. ‘There’ll be an influx of cash into our business account very shortly, so if Miss Williams could just give us a short extension on the overdraft to cover a couple of outstanding invoices, I’m sure…’
‘I’m sorry, you’ll need to discuss this with her. I can make you an appointment? Let me see, what about three weeks from today?’
‘No, I need to…’
‘It’s okay, Karen, I’ll see Miss Andrews.’
Gabbie glanced at the smartly dressed woman wearing a badge that identified her as Freya Williams and could have kissed her. Thankfully she managed to restrain herself, followed in her fragrant wake into a soulless glass office, and launched into her carefully researched submission, adding the details of her newly acquired employment. Freya listened politely to every word before delivering the lethal blow.
‘I’m sorry, Miss Andrews. As I told your father earlier, even with the recent injection of cash from your new business venture – is it the Summerhouse of Happiness? – we are unable to extend a loan of thirty thousand pounds to Andrews Autos at this time.
‘Thirty thousand pounds? No, no, it’s twenty thousand. Only twenty thousand!’
‘I can assure you the figure is correct. I’ll be happy to review my decision in six months’ time, but until then I’m afraid there’s nothing more I can do.’
‘But we can’t wait for six months. Did Dad tell you about the court proceedings?’
‘He was very candid, to his credit, but we have to make our decisions on purely financial grounds. Your father’s business has been steadily losing money for the last year and it would be remiss of us to provide him with a loan he couldn’t pay back, wouldn’t you agree?’
Gabbie opened her mouth to deny it, to cajole, to plead, but she saw from the look in Freya’s eyes that she would be wasting her breath. It was over. She had to accept it and find a way to support her father, and Max and Wil, through what would be an extremely difficult time. The only tiny pinprick of light at the end of the tunnel of darkness was that, if the garage was going to close, there would be no need for her to take the job at Carrington’s, no need for her to move to Paris, and she could press ahead with her plans for her perfume and aromatherapy business in the hope she could make enough money to pay the bills.
If she had been asked later about the journey home to Oakley, she wouldn’t have been able to recall anything about it except the confusion and panic that tumbled through her mind. What were they going to do? How soon did they need to start the process of dismantling the business? What would the reactions of the residents be? And why had her father asked for twenty thousand more than he needed? It didn’t make sense.
When she walked into the house, the hallway was cold and dark and a surge of exhaustion washed over her. Clearly her father was still out at The Pear Tree, drowning his sorrows with Mike, and once again she felt a surge of gratitude for his loyal friend. She dashed up the stairs and stripped off her interview outfit, choosing a Kermit-green knitted tunic and a pair of black leggings, and immediately feeling more comfortable.
On her way back down to the kitchen, she poked her head round the door of her father’s bedroom, experiencing a sharp stab of surprise when she saw he hadn’t changed the décor since her mother had passed away – still the pastel-pink Laura Ashley blooms on the walls and matching soft furnishings. She made a mental note to suggest a trip to the shops for a tin of paint and a set of more masculine bed linen.
As she moved away, her eye snagged on an envelope on the bed. She stared at it for a moment, almost as if she expected it to spontaneously combust or grow horns. It was the envelope that had caused her father such consternation that morning when he’d opened it. She picked it up, returned to the kitchen, and set the kettle to boil. With a mug of coffee in her hands she sat at the table, building up the courage to read what was inside.
She sighed – there was no point in prevaricating. When she pulled out the document it was even worse than she had thought. Her throat tightened and she struggled to catch her breath. Those four letters of the alphabet that instilled fear into many people in the business community jumped from the page immediately.
HMRC.
She scanned the contents quickly and a long, ragged groan escaped from her lips. No wonder her father’s face had blanched when he had seen the letter – it was an outstanding tax demand for over twenty thousand pounds. Now she understood why he’d asked the bank for a larger loan. This was no doubt the reason, too, why he’d been avoiding her calls – he hadn’t wanted to tell her about the letter because it would have affected her performance at the interview with Rupert Carrington. The glimmer of hope she had harboured in the recesses of her mind that they could still save the garage was finally extinguished.
As tears dripped down her cheeks, Gabbie felt as if a dagger had been thrust into her heart and she could do nothing to prevent a huge sob from escaping its confines as she mourned the catalogue of losses she had endured since her mother had been diagnosed with breast cancer over two years ago.
Chapter Twenty-Four
She must have nodded off because she woke with a start to hear the house phone ringing. She dragged her hair from her face and made her way to the console table in the hall.
‘Hello? Dad?’
‘Gabbie. It’s Max. Where are you?’
‘At home. Why?’
‘Stay where you are. I’m on my way over. It’s Jeff. He’s been taken to hospital in an ambulance – they think it’s a heart attack. I’ll collect you and take you straight over there.’
‘Oh God! No! No!’
‘Gabbie. Just stay calm until I get there. I’m five minutes away.’
Panic ricocheted through her body, her breathing became shallow, and prickles of pain jabbed her skin. Stay calm? How could she stay calm? But then, how would she be any help to her father if she was lying in the hospital bed next to him? She grabbed her bag, reached for a denim jacket that had hung on the banister for two years, and waited on the doorstep for Max to arrive to take her to the hospital.
What if she lost her father?
No, she couldn’t bear it! Obviously, she didn’t have to be a doctor to know this had probably been brought on by the stress of that day’s meeting and the realisation that he would almost certainly have to face losing the garage. The responsibility for that would weigh heavily on his conscience. She should have been at his side, not left it to Max or Mike to pick up the pieces, to reassure him that, whatever happened, he still had friends and family who loved him. If she had been with him, would this have happened?
Then another thought curled into the mix. Did this have anything to do with the funny turn he’d had a few weeks ago. Were they linked? He’d played it down as a mere stumble over recklessly placed boxes but had that been a white lie to disguise the real cause of his wobble? Oh God! Was he going to die?
‘Hurry up, Max. Hurry up, Max. Hurry up Max,’ she chanted as she strained her eyes to comb the road leading into the village, hoping to see a pair of approaching headlights, measuring her breathing to remain as calm and composed as she could.
She glanced to her right and her eyes landed on the sign above the workshop doors. Jeff Andrews Autos. It was as familiar to her as the back of her hand. Her father adored his business – all he’d ever known were engines and cars. Her mother had often joked that they were his babies and the garage the nursery, where they were tended with supreme care and attention, like sick children who needed t
o be gently nurtured back to health. What would he do without it? He was only sixty – much too young to retire.
She felt as though the rug had been pulled from under her feet and she was scrambling to regain her equilibrium before the world collapsed around her. But before she could descend any further down the path of desolation, Max screeched to a halt on the forecourt and leaned over to open the passenger door. She leapt in and he swung away immediately.
‘Gabbie, I’m sorry about what I said earlier. None of this is your fault. You’re entitled to live your life however and wherever you want.’
‘It’s okay, Max. Do you mind if we don’t talk about what’s happening with the garage until I see how Dad is? I need to… I just need to…’ She couldn’t continue and burst into hot, wretched tears.
Max reached across to squeeze her hand, taking care to keep his eyes on the road.
‘Jeff’s in the best place, Gabbie. Mike’s with him and I’ll get you there as soon as I can.’
‘What if he…?’
‘Best not to speculate until we know more.’
Gabbie scrabbled in her handbag for a tissue and dabbed her eyes, focusing on calling up her father’s guardian angel and silently pleading for her mercy.
They arrived in the hospital car park and Gabbie almost jumped out while the car was still moving. She left Max to search for a parking space, dashed into the reception and was directed to a waiting area where she spotted Mike standing next to the vending machine looking haggard and grey.
‘Mike! How is he? Can I see him?’
‘Oh, Gabbie darling. Thank God you’re here. They’re waiting for you upstairs. I’ll let the doctors explain the details to you, but it was a definitely a heart attack.’
Gabbie suddenly experienced the strangest sensation – like she was floating outside her body, looking down on the events as they unfolded below her, detached, disinterested almost, from what was happening. A low-level buzzing noise whirred through her brain and there was a faint metallic taste at the back of her throat. It was a couple of seconds before she realised that someone in a blue uniform was standing in front of her, her lips moving, a question in her kind, chestnut-coloured eyes.
‘Miss Andrews? Come this way, please,’ said the well-padded nurse, who then guided her to her father’s bedside where she was able to burst out of the bubble of bafflement.
‘Dad! Dad! How are you feeling?’
‘I’m just fine, Gabbie. Really, it was just a twinge, that’s all.’
She knew he was playing down his symptoms, just as he had before, and this time she was going to make sure she gathered the facts from the medical professionals instead of relying on her father’s edited reports.
‘What do the doctors say?’
‘They’re keeping me in overnight for observation and have prescribed me statins. I might have to have a couple of stents put in, but that’s a pretty straightforward procedure so there’s nothing for you to worry about.’
‘Do they know why it happened?
‘Stress. We… well, we’ve lost the garage, Gabbie. I’m so sorry.’
‘Please, Dad, let’s forget about that for now. Let’s focus on getting you well and back home where you belong. We’ll deal with the issues with the garage later.’
Her father’s face crumpled and she leaned forward to hug him, remaining enveloped in his arms for a long time, savouring every breath he took, every whiff of his familiar cologne.
‘How did the interview go, sweetheart?’
Gabbie thought for a moment. She couldn’t bear to tell him she’d been offered the job, but that it meant returning to France.
‘I’m not sure yet. They said they’d let me know when they’ve made a decision. Rupert Carrington obviously needs to discuss any new appointments with his fellow directors.’
‘Well, if they don’t want you, they’re idiots!’ Jeff declared, rubbing her back and wiping his tears on the sleeve of his hospital gown.
‘Maybe.’
Gabbie’s heart squeezed painfully when she saw her father lean back against the stack of hospital pillows, acute exhaustion scrawled across his features. His recently healthy complexion held a gaunt, grey tinge and a helix of panic began its insidious journey through her stomach as she recalled previous pain-filled times she had spent in the same hospital with her mother. But she refused to allow herself to dwell on her grief; she could not change the past, only the future.
From the corner of her eye she could see the nurse loitering at the door, sending a very disapproving signal that she was preventing her father from getting the rest he so clearly needed.
‘Dad, I’d better let you get some sleep. I love you.’
She kissed him on his forehead, but his eyes had closed and his breathing steadied. She smiled her thanks to the nurse on her way out of the ward and chose to take the stairs down to the entrance to give herself some time to organise her emotions. After what had happened, could she really contemplate a career in Paris? What if… but she refused to go there. So much had happened that day that whatever decision she made would be based on rampaging emotions, not common sense.
When she arrived in the hospital reception area she spotted Max immediately, his face reflecting his anxiety yet still as handsome as ever. Despite the trauma of the last few hours, Gabbie’s stomach gave an involuntary lurch of attraction, mingled with a surge of gratitude for his continued support.
‘How’s Jeff?’
Gabbie managed to maintain a brave smile for all of ten seconds before crumpling into his arms and sobbing until she had no tears left to shed. Max held her close, stroking her hair and muttering soothing words until she was able to rein in her distress and explain to him that her father would need heart surgery.
‘Gabbie, I’m really sorry. I’m here for you, whatever you need.’
‘Thanks, Max.’
‘Come on, let’s get you home.’
Feeling like she was in a dream, or more accurately a nightmare, Gabbie submitted to being steered by Max to the car park and settled into the passenger seat as if she were the patient. In fact, she had to admit that she felt as if she’d been mown down by a bulldozer. As they left the neon lights of the hospital car park behind them and wove through the dark city streets towards the country roads, she allowed herself to relax for the first time that day, although when she glanced at the clock on the dashboard she realised it was actually now Saturday morning – just. Thirty minutes later they were parked up on the garage forecourt.
‘Max, I…’
‘Hang on, Gabbie.’ Max hooked his arm around the steering wheel and turned in his seat to face her, his face serious. ‘I owe you an apology. I’m sorry I took my frustrations over the garage out on you. What’s happened with the finances, the accounts, the bank, none of that was your fault. Hell, you weren’t even in the country when everything started spiralling downwards! I shouldn’t have said the things I did or hung up on you. It was a knee-jerk reaction to the shock of the loan being refused and I apologise unreservedly.’
‘It’s okay, Max. I know how upset you are, how upset we all are about what’s happened…’
Gabbie was about to continue but she saw that Max wasn’t listening to her, his eyes focused on the distant point where the tree-line met the ink-black sky. The corners of his mouth tightened into his cheeks and his knuckles were bleached white from his grip on the wheel. Clearly there was a maelstrom of emotions whipping through his body and she wondered what was going on, especially when he ran his fingers through his hair and she saw he was shaking.
‘Max? Are you okay?’
‘I’m fine. Do you want me to stay with you? I’m happy to take the couch?’
‘Oh, yes, yes, I’d like that, thanks.’
Gabbie had never been so grateful for anyone’s company. She made coffee and took the cafetière into the living room where she curled up in the armchair, staring at the flames in the stove as they danced a jig with abandon. She had intended to tell Max how she
felt about him, but sleep had other ideas and, within a few minutes, ushered her into the arms of Morpheus.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The weekend seemed to flash by like images from a horror film and a heavy block of anxiety fermented in her chest every time she walked into the hospital to visit her father. In fact, he seemed to be coping with his predicament better than she was. When he was told he could go home on Monday morning, she swore he almost skipped along the corridor towards the exit. Her love for him ballooned, but then switched back to fear as she contemplated the fact that she could have lost him.
‘How are you feeling?’
‘Fine, just fine. You know me, I don’t do hospitals. They’re full of sick people! I can’t wait to get back home, back to normality.’
‘I want you to get some rest, Dad!’ chastised Gabbie, a curl of panic sweeping over her as she envisaged her father changing into his overalls and sliding underneath a BMW, or a Saab, or a Volvo. The problem was that he had always hated to sit still, always wanted to be in his garage surrounded by his beloved engines, tinkering with the nuts and bolts, polishing the chrome, oiling the axles.
‘I will, I will. How are you doing, sweetheart? I know all this has been a huge shock for you.’
‘Don’t worry about me, Dad. You just concentrate on getting well. Promise?’
‘Promise.’
Gabbie settled her father on the sofa in the living room, handing him a coffee and the newspaper and a pile of car magazines to browse through. Within minutes there was a knock on the door.
‘Is the patient up to seeing visitors?’ asked Mike, carrying a huge bunch of sunflowers. ‘These are for you, Gabbie. Helen thought you might need something to cheer you up.’