Simon stared. “Really?”
Taylor nodded. “We’d just be keeping him safe. But there have been a couple of instances of… wandering.”
Jake’s heart sank. It was hard to think about their father, somehow getting out of the house and wandering down the country lanes at night. “If you think it will help,” he said at last.
“And I’ve taken the TV out of his bedroom.” Taylor appeared miserable. “He wasn’t happy about that, and he really had a go at me, but I had to. When he was restless during the night, he used to put on the TV, and that didn’t help at all. Far too much stimulation meant he couldn’t get back to sleep. And he hates it when I make him get up in the morning, but the doc said to keep him to a regular routine if we want him to get more restful sleep.” He glanced toward the door. “Strictly speaking, he shouldn’t be napping now. The idea is to plan trips and exercise in the morning or early afternoon, because the activity should help him sleep.”
“And how are you sleeping?” Jake hadn’t missed the dark circles under Taylor’s eyes. In a burst of clarity, he guessed at their cause. “You’re writing at night, aren’t you?”
Taylor stiffened for a moment, then he sagged into his chair, his shoulders slumped.
It was all the answer Jake required. He shook his head. “Right, now listen to me. You may be taking care of Dad, but you need to take care of yourself too. And what you’re locked into right now is a vicious circle. You’re writing when you should be getting plenty of rest. And you need that rest to be bright-eyed, bushy-tailed and full of energy to deal with Dad during the day. You need to consider your own mental and physical state. If you’re exhausted, you’re only going to get stressed, and Dad will pick up on that, sure as eggs is eggs. And then you wonder why he’s agitated or confused?”
Taylor glared at him. “Are you saying it’s my fault he’s in this state?”
Jake let out a patient sigh. “No, because even the doctors don’t know why Alzheimer patients have sleep issues. I’m merely pointing out a possible cause. But it’s common sense, surely. You must take care of you first if you’re going to be there for him. You know I’m right.”
Taylor said nothing for a minute, his gaze flicking from Jake to Simon, then back to Jake. Finally he nodded. “Yeah. As for the writing, I had an idea for a new book, and I just wanted to strike while the iron was hot, if you get my meaning.”
Simon nodded eagerly. “We both do. If there’s one thing we all have in common, it’s that damn creative gene. I’m the same when I’m composing and it’s really flowing. I’m guessing it’s the same for Jake too. But you have to promise us something.”
“What?” In that instance, Jake saw a glimpse of his little brother, the one who’d come to them for advice.
“If you can’t cope, you say something. You tell us. You don’t keep it to yourself out of pride, out of some misguided notion that we’ll think less of you. You got that?”
Taylor nodded slowly. “Okay, I promise.”
Simon held up Taylor’s unopened bottle. “And the way I see it, you need a beer right now.”
Taylor gazed at it, then gave a single nod. “You’re right, I do.”
Simon chuckled and got up to find the bottle opener. He opened the drawer and then peered over his shoulder at Jake. “And now you can tell us how things went with Jane’s niece. Because don’t think we haven’t noticed the fact that you haven’t said a word about it, and the funeral was two days ago.” He handed Taylor the bottle.
“Nothing to tell,” Jake replied shortly, before taking a mouthful of beer.
Taylor paused, the bottle almost at his lips. “But… you went to the Vale to speak to her, right? We took Dad home and you went to speak to her.”
“Twice, actually.”
“So what did she say? Did she like the idea?”
“Seeing as I never got past introducing myself, and mentioning Jane, I can’t answer that question.”
“Oh wow.” Taylor expelled a long breath. “Now what?”
“Now I keep looking for land at a price I can afford, and carry on with the jobs still on the calendar. But there’s not a lot on the books for the new year.” He tried not to think about the difference that land would make to his business, but damn, it was difficult. And all because Emily Darrow was a cold-hearted—
He stopped himself short. He had no right to think such things of her. After all, she’d just lost Jane too, and while Jake, his family, and all the other villagers who knew Jane might be grieving, it had to be hurting Emily more. It didn’t matter that the woman he’d met a few days ago bore no resemblance to the woman of whom Jane—and Clare—had spoken so highly.
As far as Jake could see, the only similarity between Emily and her aunt had been in the looks department. He’d seen photos of Jane at the house, and she’d always been a beautiful woman. Emily had that same beauty.
Pity it seemed to be only skin deep.
“Are you just going to leave things there?” Taylor asked him, his eyes gleaming. “Or are you going to keep trying?”
Jake laughed. His brothers really did know him. “If Miss Emily Darrow thinks I’ve given up, she’s in for a shock. Us Matthews boys aren’t put off so easily.”
Simon snorted. “And isn’t that the truth?” He grinned at Taylor. “If you look up tenacious in the dictionary, it says ‘See Jake Matthews’.”
“And if she’s as stubborn—I mean, tenacious—as Jake, what then?” Taylor’s grin was as wide as Simon’s.
“Then,” Simon announced, “we bring the popcorn and sit back to enjoy the show.” He glanced toward Jake. “And place bets as to which one of them caves first.”
“My money’s on Jake.” Taylor’s confident expression warmed Jake.
“Unwise.” Simon shook his head slowly. “What if this Emily is really like Jane?” He peered at Taylor. “I mean, would you have bet against Jane Phelps?”
Taylor gave an exaggerated swallow. “What—the same Jane Phelps who caught me trying to take some apples from her tree when I was seventeen, and threatened to take her broom to my backside, even though I was probably twice as tall as she was? And she had to be nearly sixty too! That was one fierce little woman.” He chuckled. “On second thoughts, Jake? I think I’ll leave off the bet, but stick with the popcorn idea.” Taylor gave Simon a sly glance. “This might be fun.”
Jake didn’t think it remotely funny, but then his brothers had always had a weird sense of humor. “Whatever. I’m not about to give up just yet.” Then a thought occurred to him. “Although I might wait and see what happens first. Judging by what Ted told me, it might not be Emily that I have to deal with, but her cousin.”
And with any luck, he’d be less stubborn.
Chapter Eight
Mid-December, 2016
Emily kicked off her shoes and sank into the couch, before reaching for the glass of chilled white wine that she swore she’d heard calling her all the way home. She took a long drink, put her head back and sighed.
Well, that’s that. All done and dusted.
The sale of the business had finally gone through, and she was feeling somewhat deflated. Months of negotiations had finally boiled down to a phone call from her solicitor to say that everything had been signed, sealed and delivered, and that her bank account was now a lot better off. Emily had expected to feel some elation, some emotion, but all she felt was bone tired.
Maybe because it’s nearing the end of December. That meant only one thing in Emily’s mind—the Christmas visit. The annual trek up north to Derbyshire, to stay with her parents in that cold, palatial pile that had been in her mother’s family for at least a couple of centuries. A week of putting up with her sloth of a brother, his socialite wife, and their two trendily named, havoc-wreaking, ill-mannered offspring, Amber and Justin. A week of ignoring barbed conversations revolving around a stream of eligible bachelors.
Emily gazed at the glass in her hand. The way she was feeling right then? It was going to be
a ‘more than two glasses of wine’ night.
Her phone buzzed, and one glance at the screen sent all such thoughts from her head.
“Mr. Tremmond. How are you?”
“I hope I’m not disturbing you? I wanted to leave the call until you were at home.”
Emily drew her legs up and tucked her feet under her. “Then your timing is amazing. I just sat down to relax before fixing some dinner. What can I do for you?”
“I have news that you may find of interest.”
That was enough to have her put down the glass and sit upright. “Oh?”
“Your cousin paid me a visit yesterday afternoon.”
Emily blinked. “What on earth got Phillip to leave his counting house in the middle of the week? Did the world just come to an end, and I didn’t notice? Did the markets all crash?”
Mr. Tremmond laughed. “My dear, considering how little time you spend with him, you really do know Phillip very well. He called me earlier this week and asked if he might visit the house.”
Now that was interesting. “I see.”
“I saw no reason to refuse him, so I agreed to accompany him. He spent an hour there, going through the house room by room. When we were done, he thanked me and left. I must admit, I was intrigued. And then I received a call from him this afternoon. It appears he has changed his mind and will not be contesting the will after all.”
“Now you’re intriguing me too. Did he give any clue as to why the sudden change of heart?” Emily could still recall her own feelings of dismay at the state of the house. Maybe Phillip had seen just how much work and money would be required to make it saleable, and it had put him off. Not that it put Emily off: she always loved a challenge.
“No, but he did make one request, that when the house has gone through probate and is finally your property, he might be allowed to choose something by which to remember Jane.”
Emily had always considered herself a good-natured person, but the first thought to cross her mind was not at all charitable. “Why?” she asked bluntly. “He spent the last God knows how many years avoiding her. And what could he possibly want to remember? Their loving relationship? The happy times they spent together?” She paused to regain her composure. “I’m sorry, but I have a bloody good memory—oh, sorry.”
“Don’t apologize, my dear. I shan’t make you blush by sharing my first thoughts on the subject. Suffice it to say, I told him that I would pass on his request, but that you were not compelled to grant it.”
“So it’s my decision?”
“Of course. Jane left everything to you. And if he really wants something to remember her by, she left him a rather beautiful mirror, you may recall.”
Emily could have sworn Mr. Tremmond was smiling.
“What happens now?”
“The process continues. It could take as little as two more months.”
A thought occurred to her. “Then could I pay the taxes and whatever other costs now?”
“Are you in a position to do so financially?”
“Seeing as the sale of my company went through today, I don’t see why not.” Especially if it meant Jane’s bequests went out faster.
“Excellent. Then might I suggest that when you next have the opportunity to visit Fairdown, you stop by my office? We can sort out all the details then.”
The next opportunity? Emily wasn’t one for acting impulsively, but in that moment, she was weighing up the idea of another weekend in London, versus the option of staying with Fran—if Fran agreed, of course—in Fairdown. And if not, there was always the Gainsborough Bath Spa….
“Mr. Tremmond, would you be available tomorrow?”
There was a pause. “Friday? But don’t you have…” He chuckled. “Forgive me, my dear. I had forgotten you are now a lady of leisure.”
Emily had no intention of remaining so, not if she could help it. The very idea made her shudder. “I think I’ll leave that particular avenue to my mother.” Emily liked the idea of getting to work on the house, selling it at the first opportunity, and then deciding what her next venture would be.
After a well-earned holiday, of course.
“I’ll make a few calls, but I envisage being in Fairdown tomorrow.”
“Then I look forward to seeing you. Have a pleasant evening, my dear.”
“Thanks. You too.” She disconnected the call and took a quick drink of wine. Seconds later she was calling Fran, her heartbeat racing. Gone was the earlier feeling of deflation, replaced by an excitement she couldn’t quite account for. But when her call went unanswered after several rings, Emily realized Fran might not be available.
“Hey. Sorry.”
The breathless quality to Fran’s voice gave her pause. “Is everything all right?”
“Not really. Damon has a rash.”
“Oh God. Well, that’s not good.”
“Yeah. I’m thinking if it’s any worse by the morning, I’ll call the doctor out. He’s had a temperature for a day or two, and yesterday he complained of a headache all day.”
“Then I’ll leave you to it.” There was no way Emily was about to impose on her friend in such circumstances.
“Hey, wait a minute. Why did you call?”
“It doesn’t matter. Go take care of Damon. I’ll call back another day.”
“You will not. Vic’s away on business and this is the first adult conversation I’ve had all day, so keep talking.”
“Well, I was going to ask if you wanted a house guest for the weekend, but—”
“Yes.”
Emily laughed. “And what if Damon is infectious?”
“Okay, good point. Have you had chickenpox?”
“Yes, when I was little.”
“Right. So if it turns out to be that, we’re in luck, if you get my meaning. Though I don’t see how it can be. He’s had his jabs. Besides that, you’re staying in the cottage, and Damon will be tied to his bed if I get my way, the little bugger.”
“Fran, this really isn’t a good—”
“Please. I could do with a friend right now. Vic could be back tomorrow, or it could be the weekend, but he’s been gone for three days already, and I’m tearing my hair out here.” Emily could almost hear her desperation.
That made up her mind. “Okay, I’ll come. I’ll pack a bag tonight and I’ll be there in the morning.”
“Oh, thank you. You’re an angel.” There was a cry in the background. “And that’s my cue. See you tomorrow.” A click and she was gone.
Emily put down the phone and picked up her wine glass. Poor Fran sounded like she had her hands full.
In which case I’ll do what I can to help. Which included fervently hoping that Damon’s rash wasn’t something worse.
Emily pulled her car into Fran’s driveway just as a very handsome man was walking down it. He paused as she stopped the car and switched off the engine, and waited for her to emerge, bag in hand. “Hello, you must be Emily, Jane’s niece.”
Emily was about to ask who he was, when she caught sight of the black bag in his hand. “Ah. You’re the doctor.”
He smiled. “Guilty as charged. I’m James Mitchell. And I actually have you at a disadvantage: Jane talked about you so often that I feel I know you. Plus, Fran did tell me you were on your way.”
“How’s Damon?”
“He has chickenpox. I can’t tell whether he’s miserable because of that, or the fact that he’ll miss all the Christmas events at school. Apparently, he was going to play the Angel Gabriel in the nativity play. That’s a big deal when you’re given one of the main roles and you’re only eight.”
“Aww, the poor lad.”
“It’s not as bad as it sounds. The vast majority of kids who’ve had the vaccine don’t get chickenpox, but for the tiny percentage who do, they generally have a much milder form. Fewer blisters, lower fever, and they get better faster. So Damon might make it back to school in time for the play.”
She glanced toward the house. “Then I’m safe
to visit, seeing as I’ve already had chickenpox?”
Dr. Mitchell nodded. “Fran is really looking forward to seeing you.” He held out his hand. “A pleasure meeting you.”
She shook it. “Likewise. And thank you for taking care of Jane.”
When they released hands, Dr. Mitchell continued on his way down the driveway. Fran rang the doorbell, shaking her head at the sounds coming from behind it. Damon was moaning and griping at Fran. When the door opened, Fran’s face lit up.
“Oh, thank God you’re here. You’re just in time to stop me wringing Damon’s neck.” She stepped to one side to allow Emily to enter. “If he tells me one more time that it isn’t fair, I swear I’m going to explode.”
“No, you’re not. You’re going to let me make you a cup of tea, and then I’m going to make you sit down while I take care of you.”
Fran arched her eyebrows. “I look that good, huh?”
Emily snickered. “You look frazzled. Oh, and I met your doctor as I drove in. He must be popular with the female patients. That is one gorgeous man.”
Fran’s eyes sparkled. “Oh, he makes a lot of hearts beat faster, I’m sure, but all the women in the village know they don’t stand a chance.”
“Married? Or single and playing hard to get?”
Fran snorted. “Not exactly. He’s gay.”
“Oh?”
“Mum!”
Fran glanced toward the stairs with a sigh. “It’s not that he’s poorly, it’s just that he’s so grumpy with it.”
Emily patted her arm. “Go see what he needs. I’ll make the tea.”
Fran gave her a sudden hug, and then dashed up the stairs. Emily went into the kitchen and filled the kettle. As she was setting out two mugs, she heard another car pulling into the driveway. Minutes later, the front door opened, and footsteps sounded in the hall.
“Hi. When did you get here?”
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