‘We may have added a considerable amount of gravy powder,’ Myles admitted.
They let the memory settle between them and the laughter died down.
Myles’s smile had faded. ‘It was hard work for two little boys. I don’t mean the cooking of the meal: it was more the stress of whether their mum was going to drink the rest of the day; whether their dad was going to have fun with them or focus his attentions on a huge row with his wife.’
‘I tried to get her help.’
‘You got us a nanny!’ Myles was incredulous, the merriment gone from the room.
Ian shook his head. ‘You don’t understand. I paid for private counselling for your mother – she went once and then refused to go again. I tried to talk to her, but she didn’t want me near her. She alienated friends along the way.’ He spoke fast as though desperate to make Myles understand. ‘Her own mother wasn’t there to talk to, and I think that was the hardest thing for her. Somehow she’d got on this nightmare carousel with alcohol and couldn’t see a way to get off. I despaired. I had to work, I had to keep the house we were in up and running, I had two boys to feed, clothe and send to school. I had to pay a nanny because I couldn’t trust my own wife with our sons. I didn’t want her to drive you all over the county to sports tournaments, pick you up from school, or, heaven forbid, have to react in an emergency. She loved you, but she was a drunk.’
The D word stung the most, but it was completely true.
‘I did my best, Myles.’ His father looked right at him, his bottom lip wobbling.
Myles had never seen him look so fragile and in that moment he knew his dad was telling the truth. For years Myles had laid the blame largely at his mum’s feet, but he’d blamed his dad too and never once seen what the situation had been doing to him.
That Christmas he and Winston cooked, his dad really had been the life and soul of the party. There hadn’t been a massive row as he and his brother had anticipated. His dad had been there for them, played board games, they’d been outside for a long walk wishing it would snow instead of rain. His dad had been with them all day long until the moment their heads hit their pillows, exhausted. His dad hadn’t once focused on the fact that his wife had drifted off, away from the festivities, by mid-afternoon and found her solace in another bottle.
His sons had been Ian Cunningham’s focus, and Myles felt shamefaced he hadn’t realised.
Chapter Fifteen
Darcy
Five days until Christmas
Darcy couldn’t stop looking at her dress. Secure in the side of the closet that Sofia had emptied for her, it hung there as a reminder that she had a date. The last time she’d been on a date had been…well, she couldn’t actually remember, which, she supposed, was why she really had to go on this one. Part of her still thought it unprofessional to date a guest – didn’t it fall into the student/teacher or doctor/patient realm? But deep down she knew she was simply looking for excuses because she was afraid.
She took out the earrings from the drawer in the nightstand, unfastened one from the velvet insert and in front of the ornate white free-standing mirror she pushed it into her ear lobe. It shone as though telling her to put the other one in quickly before she changed her mind about the unexpected gift from Myles. When they were both in place she touched her fingers lightly to the jewellery, still scarcely able to believe he’d already given her diamonds before they’d even been out on a date. But when her gaze focused on her pale pink fluffy pyjamas instead, she plummeted back to earth. She was an ordinary girl, about to go out with a man who had plenty of issues and who felt way out of her league. She expected he usually dated women who dressed top to toe in Chanel or Gucci, not women who skipped the designer stores and found something for a fraction of the price. Myles’s women probably wore silk nighties to bed, not pyjamas like hers, and a pair of diamond earrings most likely slotted in with an already sizeable collection of equally impressive pieces.
Darcy took the earrings off, put them back in their box and tucked them away in the drawer of the nightstand. She went through to the kitchenette, put the kettle on and as it boiled and rumbled and steam shot out of the spout, she knew she needed to get her head sorted and go back to business-Darcy, not going-on-a-date-and-fretting-Darcy, because today her all-important guest would be checking in and she wanted the apartment she was staying in to be utterly perfect.
When Darcy had managed to arrange this magazine editor staying at the Inn, it’d been a total fluke. It was a case of being in the right place at the right time. Darcy had been dropping off her résumé at a hotel on Broadway. She didn’t want to send it in the mail because she knew that it made a good impression to hand-deliver it and whoever she spoke to would have a face to put to the name. And so, at the hotel, she’d confidently asked to see the manager and handed her documentation over. There was a possibility of a job opening in the New Year and Darcy was excited to have something, anything, in the pipeline after her stint at the Inn came to a close. It meant she’d be able to sort an apartment, have no unexplained gaps in her résumé, and carry on doing the job she loved.
With her résumé delivered, Darcy headed to the flower market. The sun was still struggling to get to the best position in the sky as she arrived at the entrance, giving the city a wonderful glow. She hadn’t been to this market before but it was lovely and quiet right now so she had a chance to really look around. There was soft, delicate chocolate Queen Anne’s lace teamed with marigolds and orange roses, another display filled with purple alliums, their colour a contrast to the green ball dianthus. Roses in as many colours as you could think of stood tall and proud, and the smell inside the flower market was a fragrant escape from the fumes of traffic and steam coming from grates outside on the streets.
She wondered how they could have so many different varieties of plants and flowers in here – did they all bloom in America, or had some of them been shipped in from other countries so customers had an enormous selection? She was taken by one particular display in a rectangular vase near the counter. ‘Could you please tell me where I could get these?’ she asked the assistant who had just pushed the cash register closed after serving another customer.
‘They’re popular this morning,’ the girl confirmed. ‘I think I’ve got more out the back – give me a sec and I’ll check.’
Darcy leaned in to smell the white amaryllis, the red roses and the green hydrangeas. The arrangement had pine cones weaved between the stems of flowers and a type of red berry completing the look. It would be perfect on the side table in the hallway of the Inn, lift the dark wood and complement the garlands adorning the bannisters.
‘You’re in luck.’ The girl was back, brandishing a practically identical bouquet except the flowers were nicely closed.
Darcy confirmed the price and took out her purse, when another woman said, ‘They’re gorgeous.’
‘They are.’ Darcy smiled.
‘We’ll have more in tomorrow,’ the girl told the lady. ‘That’s our last one.’
‘But I’m here so early,’ the woman complained, though in good spirits.
When Darcy had paid and the assistant moved to help someone else, Darcy noticed the woman’s finger was bleeding. ‘What did you do?’
‘Every rose has its thorn,’ she laughed. Jackie-Onassis-style glasses were perched in amongst the auburn curls of her hair, ready to pull down to shield her eyes from the winter sun, and she wore a beautiful berry-coloured scarf around her neck. Dangly earrings jiggled as she laughed and her make-up was perfect, as though she’d just sat at a counter in a department store and had one of those makeovers they sometimes offered for free before persuading you to buy all kinds of skincare products and things you never had any intention of adding to your make-up kit.
Darcy fished in her handbag and took out a Band-Aid. ‘Here, use this. You’ll ruin your scarf if you get blood on it.’
‘Thank you, that’s really kind.’ She took the Band-Aid and wrapped it around her finger. ‘Enjoy
those flowers.’ She nodded to the arrangement nestled in Darcy’s arms. ‘I’ll definitely be back tomorrow to get my own. I’m staying in an apartment that has quite possibly the drabbest four walls I’ve ever had to be in. I even started crying this morning. How over-the-top emotional is that? But it’s all I could get at short notice.’
‘Crying doesn’t sound good, it must be really awful.’
The woman dismissed her concern. ‘I came to see a friend who was in hospital and she died four days ago. We were going to spend Christmas and New Year’s together.’ Her voice caught before she waved her hands about to rid herself of the over-sentimentality. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just that we thought she would be home for the holidays. We had it all planned out. I’d cook the dinner, she’d be waited on hand and foot. Oh god, I’m sorry.’ She swiped at her eyes when tears came. ‘I’m usually strong, I never cry. But she was only young, her whole life before her.’
Darcy ushered her out of the flower market. ‘Don’t apologise. Come on.’ She took her into the café next door, bought her a coffee and they sat down.
‘You don’t have time for this, I’m sure,’ said the woman, embarrassed at her outburst of emotion.
‘I’m Darcy, and yes, I do have time.’
‘I’m Holly. And I’m normally an astute businesswoman, not an emotional mess. It’s nice to meet you.’
Darcy smiled. ‘It’s lovely to meet you too.’ Holly looked to be in her early thirties and as she began to relax, seemed more of a peer or a friend to socialise with than the businesswoman she described herself as. Darcy wondered if other people thought the same about her sometimes. ‘Tell me about your friend.’ Darcy was used to this, being the ear to strangers with their woes. A lot of the time they came in to a hotel inebriated, laughing and joking about something or other; other times she saw emotional people, who were most often embarrassed the next morning – but it was all part of being in the service industry.
‘How long are you here for?’ Darcy asked as they finished their coffees and conversation paused.
‘I’m staying for Christmas and New Year’s, I have a party to attend a few days before that. My friend wouldn’t want me to miss it.’ She smiled. ‘I can imagine her shoving me out the door, telling me to get on with it and stop moaning. She never did wallow in self-pity and hated anyone else doing it either.’
‘Your friend sounds like she made the most of life.’
‘She really did, although I’m not sure I want to hang around for the big day itself anymore. I’ll have to cook my own Christmas dinner in that revolting apartment with nobody for company apart from the rats.’
‘It sounds bad.’
‘It is. I’d wanted to live like a true New Yorker, but I guess my plan backfired.’
‘Can’t you stay at your friend’s place?’
She shook her head. ‘Her family is there now and I don’t want to encroach on their time together, their own grief. I might go to my parents perhaps, but I was all geared up for Christmas in New York.’
‘Can’t you have a word with the manager or the landlord?’
‘The manager doesn’t seem to be bothered about portraying the apartment as ten times better than it is. The adverts certainly used a lot of artistic licence. The pipes are noisy at night, one window is cracked, the water is lukewarm at best, there’s mould on the ceiling and the light fittings are either broken or missing.’
Sometimes, the accommodation you got in a big city like this was pot luck. And it looked like the woman hadn’t had much luck at all.
‘You know,’ Holly continued, ‘Sarah also had a mischievous streak and she’ll love my next move.’
‘And what’s that?’
‘Revenge.’ Her eyes twinkled.
‘How?’
She leaned in and tapped the side of her nose. ‘I’m a magazine editor and occasionally I write opinion pieces, the odd feature article, reviews when I travel around. I’m from Washington. I might put together an exposé. Other travellers really shouldn’t have their vacation ruined in this way. I wouldn’t mind if the landlord was helpful and at least a bit apologetic, but he isn’t. He has the money, that’s all he cares about.’
Darcy asked which magazine Holly was from and when she told her she tried not to let her shock show on her face. ‘That’s a major publication.’
‘I know, and the review will be seen by thousands. Our circulation is huge.’ Her voice went up an octave to illustrate the point. ‘Sorry, do forgive me, I’ve gone into business mode. And I’m boring you.’ She touched a hand gently to Darcy’s arm. ‘I’ll leave you to it. Thank you for the inspiration for the flowers; I’ll be sure to come back for some tomorrow.’
The smell of the blooms in Darcy’s arms was intoxicating in a good way as she followed Holly out onto the sidewalk. ‘Hang on a sec,’ she said. ‘I know this is a bit out of left field, but I know of a charming inn not too far from here that is streets ahead of the apartment you’re staying in, by the sounds of it.’
‘Give me the address and I’m there.’
‘I’ve just started managing the place and we have capacity over Christmas and New Year’s.’
‘What’s wrong with it?’ Holly looked suspicious. ‘Nowhere in Manhattan is available at that short notice unless it has something wrong with it. Rats? Blocked toilet? Neighbours from hell?’
Darcy laughed. ‘None of the above. I’m managing this inn for a good friend of mine while she’s overseas, but she isn’t overly good on marketing and advertising so the place is rarely at full capacity.’
She still looked sceptical. ‘Where is it?’
Darcy reeled off the address as they stood outside the café. ‘We’re in a side street but there are plenty of cafés, bars and restaurants nearby. And this year we’re offering the full Christmas lunch if you’re interested.’
‘It does sound infinitely better than a takeaway for one in that grotty place I’m staying at right now. What’s the room rate?’
Darcy told her that too. ‘And I’ll offer you a fifty per cent discount.’
‘What’s the catch?’
Darcy pulled her sunglasses down at the same time as Holly pulled down her own. She was squinting too much and the last thing she needed was a headache. ‘There is a small one.’ They stepped out of the way of a woman braving the Manhattan streets with a stroller. ‘Is there any way we’d be able to have you review the Inn?’
Holly thought for a moment and then her eyes danced, her auburn hair bounced in enthusiasm. ‘I’ll do one better than that. I like you, Darcy. I’ll review your inn, and I’ll do a proper big feature on it too. I can jiggle things so come Easter you’ll get a huge boost in advertising.’
Darcy was shocked. ‘I wouldn’t ask you to do that much. We don’t have the budget.’
‘This one’s on me, it’s sorted.’
And that was how she’d scored magazine coverage for the Inn.
Now, showered and ready to face the morning, Darcy had the cleaner do a thorough sweep of apartment number one. It had already been done last week but Darcy wanted to be thorough for their new guest.
‘Do you want me to make up the bed?’ Jill had done a wonderful job with the bathroom that sparkled already. She’d swept the floorboards and vacuumed the rug, she’d taken all the cushions off the two-seater sofa and cleaned beneath before replacing them strategically in the pattern they were usually in.
‘If you could, that would be great.’ Darcy smiled. Holly was going to love the Inglenook Inn, she just knew it.
‘I’ll give the stairs a once-over before I leave,’ said Jill, ‘and I picked up the flowers you requested. They’re in the sink in the basement, in a bit of water but not too much.’
‘Thank you.’ Darcy beamed. Teamwork was what worked in this industry. She’d ordered the flowers from the same flower market she’d met Holly at that day. She’d remembered the same arrangement, reeled it off on the phone to ensure she got what she wanted. They’d add a touch of elegance the
second Holly arrived. If she was coming from a posh hotel room then Darcy would have some competition, but as she was moving straight from that grotty apartment to here, Darcy knew she’d be in luck because anything would be better than that place sounded.
Darcy checked her watch. It was only mid-morning and her guest was checking in around dinner time. Darcy had already asked Rupert to cover for her – he was so much more than a chef – and sent Holly her enormous apologies. She hadn’t said why she wouldn’t be around later, she’d just said she had an important engagement tonight that she couldn’t miss, but that she could be contacted if there were any problems, or else she’d see her tomorrow morning. Holly had replied back that it was of course fine, and she couldn’t wait to be at the Inglenook Inn. She’d mentioned running a long, hot bath and Darcy thanked the heavens that her bathroom was the one with a free-standing tub. It was a bit of a squeeze in there but Sofia had put one in because a lot of guests asked for one, particularly in the winter months. Darcy had already put out a small bottle of fancy bath salts from Crabtree & Evelyn for their guest and some scented candles dotted around. She wanted the editor’s write-up of the Inglenook Inn to give this place the biggest boost possible, for Sofia, for her, and for both of their reputations as independent businesswomen who could make it to the top without a man by their side.
‘You’re ridiculous,’ Isabella had told her once. ‘If a man wants to shower you with gifts and affection, let him!’
But that was the problem. Darcy was scared to let someone do that for her in case she forgot how to function on her own.
Darcy kept herself so busy that she blocked out thoughts of tonight’s party until she saw Ian Cunningham coming through to the lounge. She was in the middle of sweeping up pine needles from the wooden floor after watering the tree – not an easy task to do elegantly when it involved getting under there to the root with a long-spouted watering can.
‘Good morning,’ he said, but then checked his watch. ‘It’s almost afternoon. Where does time go, eh?’
Snowflakes and Mistletoe at the Inglenook Inn Page 16