LEONIE FOX
PENGUIN BOOKS
PENGUIN BOOKS
Published by the Penguin Group
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First published 2010
Copyright © Claudia Pattison, 2010
All rights reserved
The moral right of the author has been asserted
Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser
ISBN: 978-0-141-95950-4
PENGUIN BOOKS
Leonie Fox is a former magazine journalist. She has written two novels, Private Members and Members Only, both of which are published by Penguin. She lives in Kent.
A big thank you to all at Penguin, especially Mari Evans, Lydia Newhouse, Naomi Fidler, Katy Szita, Tom Chicken, Julia Connolly and John Hamilton.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
In the first week of April, the weather turned suddenly, unseasonably, insistently lovely. At this time of year, the historic market town of Loxwood was at its prettiest. Hyacinths and anemones filled the hanging baskets outside the town hall and the well-kept churchyard was dotted with clusters of wild daffodils, their golden heads turned to catch the watery sunshine. As her mini-cab turned off the high street and headed towards open countryside, Juliet Fisher caught her first glimpse of Ashwicke Park. She’d spent the winter in Aspen, staying with her cousin Harry, who owned a ski school and a string of luxury condominiums. Initially, she’d turned down his invitation, generous as it was, unwilling to abandon Ashwicke for an entire season. Managing the hotel was a demanding job – especially for someone who, like Juliet, had no experience in the hospitality industry. But Harry wouldn’t take no for an answer and eventually Juliet had relented. With hindsight, it was the best decision she could have made.
Feeling as if she might burst with happiness, Juliet turned to Dante, her husband of ten days. ‘I’m so excited to be back in England,’ she said. ‘I hope you are too.’
‘You bet,’ said Dante, gazing at her worshipfully. ‘Although, to be honest, I’m feeling kinda nervous too.’
Juliet’s eyes widened in sympathy. ‘I’m not surprised; your whole life’s been turned upside down … new wife, new home, new country. It’s bound to take you a little while to adjust.’ She gave his hand a comforting squeeze. ‘I can’t wait to show you the house – and introduce you to all my friends.’
Dante smiled shyly. ‘I sure hope they like me.’
‘Of course they will.’ Juliet looked at her new husband, taking in his long eyelashes, strong jaw and the pectorals bulging beneath his thin cotton sweater. ‘I should think most of them will be green with envy. One look at you and they’ll all be wanting toyboys of their own.’
Dante frowned. ‘I wish you wouldn’t use that word.’
‘I’m only teasing,’ Juliet said, resting her head on his shoulder. ‘You know the age difference means nothing to me; I married you because I love you.’
‘And I love you too,’ Dante replied. ‘I loved you the minute I saw you.’
He broke into a grin as he recalled the occasion in question. It was the third night of Juliet’s stay in Aspen and she’d arranged to meet her cousin in one of the resort’s more exclusive après-ski watering holes for pre-dinner cocktails. She’d already been sitting at the bar for half an hour when Harry called to say he’d be late. One of the condos had been inadvertently double booked and, it being high season, he was struggling to find alternative accommodation for his well-heeled and very irritable guests. Flipping her mobile shut with an exasperated sigh, Juliet leaned across the bar and ordered a second margarita from the cute bartender with the blue eyes. ‘Have one yourself,’ she added as an afterthought.
Dante, who tried to avoid drinking on the job, smiled at her. ‘Thanks. I’ll just take a Coke.’
It was a full two hours later when Harry finally arrived, flustered and full of apologies – by which time Juliet and Dante had struck up quite a rapport. The bartender was used to women coming on to him and, most of the time, he was immune to their charms. As far as his work was concerned, Dante was a perfectionist and he resented anything that took his mind off the job. But that night he welcomed the distraction, for there was something deeply fascinating about this cool blonde with the cute English accent and the slightly aloof air. In those two hours, as he expertly mixed one cocktail after another for the slick team of waiters to ferry to the thirsty punters, Dante found himself opening up to Juliet. He told her about dropping out of college and how he’d left his family and friends in Montana to come to Aspen, fuelled by a love of skiing and the dream of setting up his own bar. Although she was rather less forthcoming about her own background, Juliet had apparently enjoyed herself every bit as much as he had, because before she left she handed him a napkin with her mobile number scrawled across it.
‘In case you feel like some company on the slopes on your next day off,’ she said as a faint wash of colour spread from her jaw to her earlobes.
This casual offer turned out to be the start of a passionate, and entirely unexpected, love affair. At first, Dante found the enigmatic Englishwoman rather reserved. She preferred to listen, rather than to talk, and didn’t give up her secrets readily. But, after some gentle probing, her story slowly emerged – the blissfully happy childhood, the private-school education, her marriage to a high-flying businessman, followed, some years later, by her husband’s tragic death.
At twenty-eight, Dante was seven years Juliet’s junior but, from the very beginning, the age gap didn’t seem to matter. What started as a holiday fling quickly turned into something much deeper and when, nine weeks after their first meeting, Dante got down on one knee in the powdery snow at the foot of a blue run and proposed to Juliet she didn’t hesitate to say yes. Dante had envisioned a long engagement and he was stunned when Juliet suggested they get married, right then and there in Aspen. Unable to think of any good reason to refuse her, they had tied the knot without fuss in a log cabin nestling at the foot of the mountain, with a bemused Harry and his wife as witnesses.
There hadn’t been much discussion about where they should live – it seemed only natural that Dante, who had fewer ties than Juliet, should move to England. A six-month tourist visa was hastily arranged and a single airfare booked. Dante didn’t stop to think whether or not he was making the right decision. All he knew was he was in love with Juliet and, given that he would have gone to the ends of the earth for her, England didn’t seem so very far away. It was only now, as the cab turned right, heading for a pair of tall iron gates open wide to the long drive beyond, that he was beginning to realize just what a huge jump into the unknown he had taken.
‘We’re here,’ Juliet said excitedly as the cab sailed through the gates. ‘Welcome to your new home.’
Dante had been expecting something on a fairly grand scale. He knew Juliet’s late husband, Gus, came from a well-off family. But nothing could have prepared him for the full splendour of Ashwicke Park. With its ivy-covered colonnades and graceful arched windows, it looked like a Roman temple and seemed quite surreal, nestling there amid the sprawling gardens – which were, Dante couldn’t help noticing, rather overgrown.
‘Well,’ said Juliet after a few moments. ‘What do you think?’
‘It’s huge.’ Dante licked his lips, which were suddenly dry. ‘And very beautiful.’
‘It’s Grade-I listed,’ Juliet told him. ‘Built in the eighteenth century for the second Lord Brownlow.’
Dante dragged his eyes away from the house and frowned at his wife. ‘Second Lord who?’
‘He was a member of parliament and a bit of a rogue by all accounts. He’s said to have impregnated half a dozen housemaids during his time at Ashwicke.’
Dante couldn’t help smirking. ‘Sounds like a busy guy.’ His eyes returned to the house. ‘I didn’t know people actually lived in places like this. It looks like the kind of thing you’d see in a guidebook.’
‘Yes, but Ashwicke’s no museum piece,’ Juliet said. ‘It’s a much-loved family home. Gus’s great-grandfather bought it for a song after the war, and when he died it was passed on through the male line. And then Gus died …’ Her voice wavered. ‘He’d be horrified if he knew I’d turned the place into a hotel – but needs must.’
Dante looked at Juliet. It was barely a year since her first husband’s death. She’d found him herself in the garden, early one morning. He was hanging from the lowest bough of a horse chestnut, his last breath long extinguished. She hadn’t talked a great deal about the circumstances surrounding his suicide, but Dante could see his death had affected her deeply. How could it not have? Seeing the concern in his eyes, Juliet gave him a faint smile and mouthed, I’m fine.
A few moments later, the cab drew to a halt outside the house. Dante could see it wasn’t quite as well maintained as it appeared from a distance. There were tiles missing from the roof and the stucco façade was streaked with cracks. As his gaze travelled upwards, he noticed a row of faces ranged at one of the first-floor windows. They were very young – some no more than teenagers – and they were staring down at the car, wide-eyed and curious. ‘It looks like we’ve got a welcome committee.’
Juliet looked up and smiled. ‘That’s the hotel staff.’ Craning her neck, she waved at them. ‘They’re a nice bunch, if a little high-spirited.’
Right on cue, one of the figures at the window turned and dropped his trousers, before pressing his bare buttocks up against the glass.
Dante burst out laughing. ‘I guess that’s one word for it.’
‘I suppose I ought to be a bit stricter with them,’ Juliet continued. ‘But I don’t want to drive them away. It’s so hard to get staff these days. Nathan did a great job finding them for me.’
‘Who’s Nathan?’ Dante asked.
‘The general manager. He used to work at one of the big hotels in town and nearly doubled their turnover during the four years he was there. I was hoping he’d be able to do the same at Ashwicke. Heaven knows, we need all the help we can get.’
‘Oh? I’d have thought folks would be queuing up to stay at a place like this.’
Juliet grimaced. ‘Before I left for Aspen, we were barely covering our costs – but, then again, it is only our first year of trading. I’m sure things will improve.’
‘How many guest rooms do you have?’
‘Eight – and it’s bed and breakfast only. I’ve deliberately kept things on a small scale. I want the guests to feel as if they’re at an exclusive country-house party … you know, somewhere comfortable and intimate, where they can really unwind.’
‘Right,’ said Dante, who’d never been to a country-house party in his life.
Suddenly, a man in a well-cut suit appeared at the side of the car. He was forty-five or thereabouts – tall, and handsome in a swarthy sort of way. As Dante’s fingers closed round the door handle, the man yanked the door open from the outside, jerking Dante’s arm almost out of its socket.
‘Welcome to Ashwicke Park,’ the man said, as Dante lurched sideways. ‘Did you have a pleasant flight from the States?’
‘Yes thanks,’ Dante replied as he stepped out of the cab.
‘I’m Nathan Woods,’ the man said, taking Dante’s hand in a firm grip. ‘The general manager.’
‘Oh yeah, Juliet was just telling me about you.’
‘Nothing bad I hope.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ Juliet said, emerging from the other side of the car. You’ve been an absolute godsend, Nathan.’
The general manager nodded. ‘Thank you, Mrs Ingram.’
‘It’s Mrs Fisher now,’ Juliet said lightly as she passed a handful of notes through the driver’s window before walking round to join her husband.
‘Ah yes, of course, my apologies.’ Nathan turned towards the front door and snapped his fingers. ‘Come on, Charlie, jump to it,’ he said officiously, whereupon a pale-faced youth in a burgundy uniform emerged from the shadows. In his arms he carried a garish bouquet of flowers, wrapped in cellophane.
‘On behalf of myself and all the staff at Ashwicke,’ the manager said as the boy handed the flowers to Juliet. ‘To congratulate you on your marriage.’
Juliet’s face lit up. ‘Ahh, how thoughtful of you, Nathan.’
‘Thanks,’ Dante added. ‘We really appreciate the gesture.’
Nathan dipped his head in acknowledgement. ‘You’re most welcome. I hope you’re going to be very happy at Ashwicke Park, Mr Fisher – and if there’s anything I can do to make your stay more comfortable, please don’t hesitate to ask.’
Juliet gave a dry laugh. ‘Dante hasn’t come for a holiday, Nathan; this is his home now.’
The ghost of a smile played about Nathan’s lips. He looked at Dante. ‘I do beg your pardon, Mr Fisher … a slip of the tongue.’
‘No worries,’ Dante said casually.
‘Will you bring our luggage in, Nathan?’ Juliet asked as the cab driver popped the boot.
‘Certainly.’ The manager jerked his head economically to his subordinate. ‘Mr and Mrs Fisher’s bags, please.’
As Charlie began wrestling with an oversized suitcase, Juliet linked her arm through Dante’s. ‘Come on, darling, let’s go inside.’
A few moments later, they were walking through the front door and into a vestibule filled with a haphazard collection of walking sticks and waxed jackets, and on to a large, honey-coloured hall, dominated by a tarnished chandelier. Beyond it, a wide, carpeted staircase swept upwards, the walls on either side lined with gilt-framed oil paintings, each depicting some energetic, and occasionally violent, countryside pursuit.
‘Wow, this place is awesome.’ As Dante’s words echoed around the hall, a dog came bounding towards them, leaving a trail of muddy paw prints in its wake. It ran straight to Dante and sat at his feet, beating its tail on the smart black and white tiles. ‘Hello, boy,’ Dante said, bending down to stroke the animal’s soft, liver-coloured head. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Actually, Jess is a girl,’ Juliet said.
Dante smiled as the dog thrust its wet snout into the palm of his hand. ‘She’s gorgeous. What breed is she?’
‘An English pointer. Bred for hunting. She and Gus used to go shooting together. They were pretty much inseparable.’
Dante felt a stab of envy, the way he did every time Juliet mentioned his predecessor. He knew it was silly to be jealous of a dead man, but he couldn’t help himself. He loved Juliet with a ferocity he wouldn’t have believed possible and the thought of her lying in another man’s arms made him feel quite sick. A sudden thought struck him. ‘Shit,’ he said. ‘I didn’t get to carry you across the threshold.’
Juliet smiled. ‘Never mind.’ She bent down and patted Jess’s flank. ‘How have you been, old girl? Did you miss me?’
The dog gave a little shudder.
‘No? I didn’t think so.’ Juliet looked at Dante. ‘Jess has always preferred men to women. She’s been following Charlie around the house like a lovesick schoolgirl since Gus died.’
There it was again: Gus, Gus, Gus. The sound of his name was like fingernails down a blackboard. Dante looked around, surprised that the house seemed so still and quiet. ‘Where are all the guests?’
‘I expect they’ve gone out for the day. The countryside around here is so beautiful people generally like to take full advantage of it.’
Nathan reappeared on the threshold. ‘All your bags are here in the vestibule now. Charlie’s going to take them upstairs for you.’
‘Great,’ Juliet replied. She went over to a modern blonde-wood reception desk, which looked strangely out of place among all the antiques. ‘How have things been?’ she asked Nathan.
‘The immersion heater broke down last week, so we didn’t have any hot water for a couple of days.’
Juliet groaned. ‘Not again.’
‘Oh, and I had to give Ellie her marching orders.’
‘What! But she was one of our best chambermaids.’
‘I know she was, but I caught her late one night in the lounge. She was sitting on one of the guests’ laps.’
‘Silly girl, I’ve warned her enough times about inappropriate flirting,’ Juliet sighed. ‘But, all the same, there was no need to sack her. Surely, a written warning would’ve sufficed.’
Nathan cleared his throat. ‘She was naked from the waist down.’
Behind him, Dante stifled a laugh.
‘Ah,’ Juliet said. ‘In that case you did the right thing.’ She began flicking through the pages of a ledger. ‘What’s our occupancy?’ she asked.
‘Only two guests at the moment, I’m afraid.’
Juliet looked at the general manager in horror. ‘You’re kidding.’
Nathan raised an eyebrow. ‘Last week we didn’t have any.’
Juliet sighed and slammed the ledger shut.
‘Don’t worry, Mrs Fisher, the winter season’s always tough,’ Nathan added. ‘I’m sure things will pick up now the weather’s warmer.’
‘I hope so,’ Juliet said wearily. She stepped out from behind the desk. ‘We’ve had a very long journey. Would you be able to rustle up some tea and biscuits for us?’
‘Of course,’ Nathan said. ‘Why don’t you go through to the drawing room and take the weight off your feet?’
‘Good idea. Thank you, Nathan.’
As the manager disappeared through a vaulted stone archway, Juliet walked over to Dante. ‘I’m sorry about all this. It wasn’t the sort of homecoming I’d imagined for you.’
Dante smiled. ‘No problem. I’m just glad to be here.’
Juliet pointed towards one of the corridors that led off the hall. ‘The drawing room’s the last door on the left. Why don’t you make yourself comfortable while I pop upstairs to freshen up? I won’t be long.’
As she turned to go, Dante caught her arm and drew her towards him. It was the first moment they’d had any privacy since boarding the plane in Aspen. ‘Haven’t you forgotten something, Mrs Fisher?’ he asked.
‘What’s that?’
‘A hug for your husband.’
Grinning, Juliet stood on tiptoes and threw her arms round his neck. She was a petite woman – only five feet three, and very slender. Dante always felt as if he might crush her if he held her too tightly.
‘I can’t wait to show you the bedroom,’ Juliet murmured into his neck.
Dante grinned. ‘There’s no time like the present,’ he whispered back.
‘Let’s have some tea first, shall we? It’s been three months since I’ve had a decent cup.’
‘Hey, there’s nothing wrong with American tea,’ Dante replied.
Juliet wrinkled her nose. ‘You’ve got to be joking.’
‘Are we having our first row, Mrs Fisher?’
‘Absolutely not,’ said Juliet with mock indignation. ‘It’s a difference of opinion, that’s all.’ She patted Dante’s bottom playfully. ‘Now get that gorgeous arse of yours into the drawing room; I won’t be long.’ She twisted away from him and walked towards the stairs, turning to add over her shoulder: ‘And take that mutt with you.’
Dante looked down at Jess, who was lying on the floor, head between her front paws. ‘Come on, girl,’ he said, patting his thigh. The pointer rose to her feet obligingly and together they set off down the corridor.
When Dante pushed open the door of the drawing room, he found himself in a well-proportioned room, lavishly decorated in shades of green and purple. The furniture looked expensive and the walls were lined with more paintings – these ones in a softer Renaissance style. With Jess at his heels, he wandered around, pausing every now and then to admire some objet d’art – an antique globe, a tiny hand-painted Limoges, a lead crystal paperweight. On the mantelpiece was a porcelain heron with a struggling fish clamped in its beak. Dante picked it up and turned it over in his hand, marvelling at the detail.
‘I’d be careful with that if I were you.’
Dante looked towards the door. Nathan was standing on the threshold with a tea tray in his hands.
‘It’s Minton,’ the manager continued. ‘It’s been in Mr Ingram’s family for the best part of a hundred and fifty years.’
Feeling like a schoolboy caught shoplifting, Dante returned the ornament to the mantelpiece. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I was just looking.’
‘There’s no need to apologize.’ Nathan entered the room and set the tray down on an occasional table. Jess came trotting over to investigate, resting her chin on the edge of the tray. ‘No!’ Nathan said firmly, pushing the dog’s head roughly away with his knee. He offloaded two china cups and saucers, a fat brown teapot and a plate of shortbread fingers.
‘Are all these things family heirlooms?’ Dante asked, gesturing around the room.
‘Some of them are, but I believe most were bought at auction by Mr Ingram. He had an excellent eye for collectibles, as you can see.’ Nathan’s voice, which hitherto had been flat and expressionless, suddenly took on a new life. ‘Mr Ingram had expensive tastes, but then again he could afford to be extravagant; by all accounts, his shipping company was terribly successful. He was a generous man too. Every Christmas he’d host a carol concert at Ashwicke with all the money going to a local charity for children with terminal illnesses.’ Nathan sighed. ‘No wonder everyone in the town held him in such high regard.’
‘Well,’ said Dante, who felt compelled to offer some sort of comment, ‘he sounds like a great guy.’
‘Sadly, I never had the pleasure of meeting him, but I know lots of people around here miss him a lot.’
Dante shifted from foot to foot, suddenly feeling awkward. ‘Do you live nearby?’ he asked.
Nathan smiled tightly. ‘Actually, I’m in the lodge. It’s just by the entrance gates. You might have seen it when you drove past.’
Dante nodded, though he didn’t remember seeing the building in question – there had been so much else to take in.
‘It’s rather bijou, but perfectly adequate for one.’
‘Do all the staff live in?’
‘No, just me. Mrs Ingram likes me to be close by, even when I’m off duty.’ The manager moistened each corner of his mouth with his tongue. ‘Just in case.’
‘Oh … okay,’ Dante said. He suddenly had an overwhelming urge to be alone, away from Nathan’s penetrating stare. ‘Well, it’s been nice talking to you.’
The manager bowed his head obsequiously. ‘Likewise – and if you need any more information – regarding Ashwicke itself, or the local amenities – then don’t hesitate to ask.’
‘Thanks. I might just take you up on that; I’m not used to all this opulence.’
The manager blinked. His eyes were cold and hard, like chips of ice. ‘No, I shouldn’t think you are.’
When Nathan had gone, Dante sank into one of the wingback armchairs beside the fireplace. Jess immediately got up from her hidey-hole under the console table and settled at his feet with a great yawn.
‘At least somebody around here likes me,’ Dante muttered, as he petted the dog.
A few moments later he heard the sound of Juliet’s heels clicking down the corridor. When she appeared at the door, he saw that she’d tied her hair back in a high ponytail and swapped her T-shirt for a light cashmere sweater.
‘I hope you haven’t been too bored,’ she said, flopping onto the armchair’s twin with a great sigh.
‘Nope, I’ve been chatting with Nathan.’
‘That’s nice.’ Leaning forward, Juliet picked up the teapot and began filling their cups.
‘He was telling me about Gus’s charity work,’ Dante went on.
‘Oh?’
‘I didn’t realize your late husband was such a pillar of the community.’
Juliet made a little moue. ‘Everybody in Loxwood knew Gus; he was one of those larger than life characters.’
Dante carried his tea to the window and looked out across the lawn. Dusk was falling and the sky had darkened to the colour of an old bruise. In the gloom he could just make out a wooden swing hanging from a large oak. Suddenly, the wind caught it, sending it rocking backwards and forwards as if propelled by an invisible hand. ‘I don’t think Nathan likes me,’ he said glumly.
Juliet came to stand beside him, resting her head against his arm. ‘Don’t be silly, darling. He’s just a bit prim and proper, that’s all. He’ll soon loosen up once he gets to know you.’ She wrapped her arm round his waist. ‘I’ll take you on a guided tour later, if you like. There’s tons to show you.’
‘I bet there is; I can’t wait to see it,’ Dante said, trying to sound as if he meant it. He knew he should be excited about the prospect of exploring his new home, but instead all he felt was a sense of being hopelessly out of his depth.
It was lunchtime in Loxwood High Street and Chez Gaston was bustling with life. Sitting at one of the restaurant’s coveted window tables was journalist Yasmin O’Brien. The exotic product of an Irish father and a Malaysian mother, she was tall and olive-skinned, with glossy chestnut hair and startling green eyes. Since making her entrance, five minutes earlier, Yasmin had drawn plenty of admiring glances, but she was too engrossed in her mobile phone to notice them. She’d just received a text from her current lover, David, a fellow journalist, who lived in London. They’d met at a press conference in the city and, after some flirtatious small talk as they waited for the conference to begin, David had invited her to join him for dinner that evening. Dinner became a nightcap at Yasmin’s hotel and so on to bed. They’d been seeing each other for nearly two months now – though, given the distance between them, their dates were usually confined to weekends.
In the beginning, things had been great. Just lately, however, David had grown clingy and now here was a text demanding to know why Yasmin wasn’t coming down that weekend. Rolling her eyes in exasperation, she punched out a brief reply, promising to call him that evening. She’d break the bad news to him then. Even for someone as single-minded as Yasmin, dumping a lover by text was a no-no.
The text safely despatched, she leaned back in her chair and smoothed a hand over her Miu Miu pencil skirt. The designer suit had cost her the best part of a month’s wages, but it had been worth every penny. Whenever she wore it, she felt powerful, invincible even. Not that she wasn’t pretty self-assured already, but just occasionally she needed an extra boost of confidence, especially when it came to dealing with some of the Sunday Post’s curmudgeonly hacks, who resented her rapid rise through the ranks.
Yasmin had wanted to be a journalist for as long as she could remember. After graduating with a first in media studies, she’d joined a local free sheet as an unpaid intern. Six months of making tea and photocopying followed before she landed a proper job as the editor’s PA. By her own admission she was a useless secretary, too busy looking over the reporters’ shoulders and bombarding the features editor with ideas to take dictation. Within a year, she was working as a junior reporter on the showbiz desk of a well-regarded evening paper. Equipped with a socialite’s charm and a racehorse’s stamina, Yasmin rose steadily through the ranks until, at the age of thirty-one, she defected to the Sunday Post, becoming the first female showbiz editor in the paper’s long and proud history – not to mention the youngest.
Yasmin checked her watch; her friends were running late. Feeling bored, she pulled her compact out of her handbag and flipped it open, checking her teeth for lipstick marks. The face that stared back at her looked tense – which, given her current workload, was hardly surprising. Sighing, she snapped the compact shut. When she was stressed, there was only one remedy and, with the soon-to-be-dumped David miles away in London, she was going to have to seek a cure closer to home.
Looking up, she saw Gaston himself standing at her table. ‘Good afternoon, Mademoiselle O’Brien. What a pleasure it is to see you – as always,’ he lisped. ‘And may I say how lovely you’re looking today?’
‘Thank you, Gaston,’ Yasmin replied, though she knew his compliment was meaningless, given that he took the same toadying tack with all his rich and/or well-connected female customers.
‘Can I get you something to drink while you’re waiting for your friends? A glass of Chablis, perhaps?’
‘Just some sparkling water, thanks; I need to keep a clear head for work.’
‘Of course.’ Gaston threw a hand camply in the air. ‘And how is the world of show business?’
‘Oh, you know, the same as usual: fickle, fatuous, ferocious.’ She smiled. ‘And utterly fabulous, of course.’
‘I enjoyed your gossip column last weekend,’ Gaston said, raising his voice slightly so the nearby diners would realize he was talking to a local luminary. ‘How do you dig up all that dirt?’
Yasmin tapped the side of her nose. ‘A good journalist never reveals her sources.’
‘I understand,’ the restaurateur said with a smile. ‘I’ll be right back with that drink.’
‘Wait,’ Yasmin said, touching his arm as he turned to go. ‘Your nephew from Grenoble … is he working today?’
‘Pascal? Yes, as a matter of fact he is.’
‘How’s he shaping up?’
‘So-so.’ Gaston lowered his voice. ‘I know he’s my sister’s boy, but, between you and me, he has a bit of an attitude problem. He wants to be a top chef, but, as I keep telling him, he’s got to start at the bottom. That’s why I’ve got him waiting tables.’ He shook his head despairingly. ‘He thinks it’s a waste of his talent, but he’ll thank me for it one day. He needs to work on improving his English too. Some of our customers find his accent a little thick.’
‘I wouldn’t mind giving him private lessons,’ Yasmin murmured.
‘I didn’t know you spoke French, mademoiselle.’
‘I don’t. I had something else in mind.’ Yasmin cocked her head to one side. ‘Perhaps you could send Pascal out with my water. That way I’ll be able to discuss my proposition with him directly.’
Gaston gave a small nod and disappeared.
A few minutes later a stocky man wearing the restaurant’s regulation black suit approached Yasmin’s table. He was very young with flashy dark looks and black hair that curled over the collar of his jacket. While most of Chez Gaston’s waiters were deferential and understated, this one wore a distinct air of arrogance. He strutted rather than walked, shoulders pulled back as if to emphasize the broadness of his chest. After depositing an ice-filled glass onto the table, clumsily knocking Yasmin’s butter knife out of alignment in the process, he began to fill it with sparkling water. Then he straightened up and stood with his legs aggressively akimbo.
‘Gaston – ’ee said you wanted to see me,’ he said in heavily accented English.
Yasmin’s eyes flickered from Pascal’s crotch to his face and back to his crotch again. ‘You’re new here, aren’t you?’ she said. ‘I spotted you last week; you served me a delicious duck pâté.’
Pascal gave a little pout and a shake of his head. ‘Zee chef ’ere, ’ee is very good, but ’is pâté is not as good as my grandmère’s. She gave me zee recipe when I came to England. I make it all the time to remind me of ’ome. It is …’ Pascal kissed the tips of his fingers. ‘Out of zis world.’
‘I’ll take your word for it.’ Yasmin leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table, and looked the waiter in the eye. ‘I expect you’re wondering why I asked to see you.’
Pascal nodded.
‘I was keen to find out how you were settling in,’ Yasmin continued. ‘I know Gaston has very high standards. Family or not, working for him must be pretty tough.’
Pascal stuck out his bottom lip. ‘’Ee’s okay, but ’ee gets angry wiz me because my Engleesh is not so good.’
This was the opening Yasmin had been waiting for. ‘You know,’ she said, ‘I’m not a qualified language teacher or anything, but I’d be happy to spend some time with you, talking English – just, you know, to bring you up to the required standard.’
Pascal looked at her, confused. ‘You would do zat, for me – a stranger?’
‘Why yes,’ Yasmin replied. ‘I’m a journalist, so I work with words all day. I’d be delighted to help you.’
The waiter rubbed his jaw, which was covered in decidedly non-regulation stubble. ‘Zat would be very kind, mademoiselle. But I would ’ave to do somezing for you in return.’
‘Oh, I’m sure we can come to some arrangement.’ Yasmin’s eyes flitted over Pascal’s crotch again. ‘I know.’ She paused and bit her bottom lip provocatively. ‘Perhaps you could cook me dinner.’
A lazy smile spread across the waiter’s face as the penny dropped. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I zink I would like zat.’
As Pascal made his way back to the waiter’s station, one of Yasmin’s business cards now nestling in his jacket pocket, he passed a curvaceous brunette wearing a baby sling. The woman paused for a moment, scanning the room, before making her way towards one of the window tables.
Seeing her approach, Yasmin sprang to her feet.
‘Hi, Nicole,’ she said, kissing her friend on the cheek. She turned to the sleeping infant pinned to the other woman’s chest. ‘Hello, Tilly, darling,’ she whispered, bending her head so she could inhale the baby’s sweet scent.
‘She wasn’t such a darling last night when she was screaming her lungs out,’ Nicole said as she eased herself into a chair. ‘She’s got colic; I’ve been up half the night with her.’
Yasmin winced. ‘Poor little thing. Can’t Connor prescribe something for that?’
Connor Swift, Nicole’s husband of three years, was a GP and a well-known figure in Loxwood.
‘No, apparently there’s no treatment for it, so I guess I’ll just have to get used to the sleepless nights.’ She patted the area under her eyes. ‘Look, even my bags have got bags.’
Yasmin smiled sympathetically. ‘You should have stayed at home and grabbed a couple of hours’ rest while the baby was asleep.’
‘What – and miss seeing Juliet for the first time in months? You’ve got to be kidding.’
Yasmin tapped her watch. ‘I hope she gets here soon. I’m doing an interview at two thirty.’
‘Who is it?’ Nicole said eagerly. ‘Anyone exciting?’
‘Just some second-division soap star who’s written her autobiography. I daresay I’ll be clawing the walls by the end of it.’
‘Don’t knock it … showbiz editor of the highest circulation newspaper in the south-west of England? I wouldn’t mind swapping with you. All those launches and after-parties … sounds like heaven to me.’
Yasmin raised an eyebrow. ‘It’s not all glitz and glamour, you know. Some of it’s bloody hard work.’
‘Don’t give me that, Yaz. You love it … you know you do.’
Yasmin broke into a grin. ‘Yeah, you’re right, I can’t deny it: I have got the best job in the world.’ As she spoke, she caught sight of a familiar figure crossing the Square. ‘Look!’ she cried excitedly. ‘Here’s Juliet.’
Nicole turned towards the window. ‘Ohhh,’ she groaned in disappointment. ‘She’s on her own. I thought she was going to bring Dante.’
‘That’s a shame. I’m dying to meet him.’ A frown nicked Yasmin’s brow. ‘I hope she knows what she’s doing, getting married again so quickly. It’s barely a year since Gus died and you know how close those two were. I’m worried she hasn’t given herself enough time to grieve properly.’
‘She did take his death very hard,’ Nicole agreed. ‘Poor Gus. I still can’t believe what he did … and for Juliet to be the one to find him.’ She gave a little shudder. ‘It makes me go cold just thinking about it.’
‘Do you remember when we went to see her at Ashwicke, just a few days after it happened?’ Yasmin asked.
‘How could I forget? She could barely string a sentence together; the poor woman was in pieces. Do you remember how she kept saying how it was all her fault? That was the worst thing.’
Yasmin nodded. ‘For a while I was really worried about her. She seemed so … I don’t know … broken. And rattling around that big old house on her own couldn’t have been good for her.’
‘That’s why setting up the hotel was such a brilliant idea. Apart from having people around the place, it must really have helped take her mind off things.’ Nicole gave a long sigh. ‘I really admire Juliet. I don’t know how I’d find the strength to go on if anything happened to Connor. After everything she’s been through, she really deserves a bit of happiness.’
‘Well, judging by her emails, it looks as if she found it in Aspen,’ Yasmin said. ‘Let’s just hope this Dante’s as crazy about her as she obviously is about him.’ She broke into a smile as Juliet entered the restaurant and waved to attract the other woman’s attention. A moment later, they were hugging warmly. ‘It’s wonderful to see you,’ Yasmin said as she released her friend. ‘I can’t tell you how much we’ve missed you.’
‘And I’ve missed you too,’ Juliet replied as she bent down to hug Nicole. ‘More than you know.’ She planted a kiss on top of Tilly’s head. ‘I can’t believe how much this little one’s grown.’
‘She’s crawling now,’ Nicole said proudly.
‘Clever girl! I’m looking forward to giving her a great big cuddle when she wakes up.’ Juliet took a seat at the table. ‘Sorry I’m late. There was a bit of a crisis at the hotel this morning – Jack, our kitchen porter, has gone down with the flu.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Although, knowing Jack, it’s more likely to be a hangover. Normally, we could’ve managed without him, but I’ve agreed to lay on a special birthday dinner for one of the guests and there’s no way Chef could’ve done all the prep on his own. I’ve spent the morning on the phone, trying to find a temp, without any luck – and then Dante very kindly agreed to step into the breach.’
‘Wow,’ said Nicole. ‘I’m impressed.’
Juliet pressed a palm to her breast. ‘Honestly, girls, I can’t believe how lucky I am. Dante’s so strong and dependable … the sort of person that would never let you down.’
‘How can you tell when you’ve only known him a couple of months?’ Yasmin’s hand went to her mouth. ‘God, that must’ve sounded really rude. I’m pleased for you, Juliet, really I am. It’s just –’
Juliet finished the sentence for her: ‘You’re worried I might have rushed into things?’
Yasmin blushed. ‘Well … yes.’
‘I know how it looks – a woman of my age falling for a barman on holiday. You probably had a heart attack when you read my emails.’
‘I was a bit concerned for you.’ Yasmin flashed a look at Nicole. ‘We both were. You’ve been through a tough time this past year; no one could blame you for wanting a bit of fun.’
Juliet shook her head. ‘Dante is more than a bit of fun,’ she said firmly. ‘I realize we haven’t known each other very long, but we’re soul mates; I feel it in my heart.’
Nicole smiled at her friend. ‘Then that’s all that matters.’
‘We were gutted to miss the wedding,’ Yasmin interjected. ‘Couldn’t you at least have waited till you got back to England?’
Now it was Juliet’s turn to blush. ‘Sorry, but it just felt so right at the time. Aspen’s such a magical place. I felt like a different person while I was there … so relaxed and carefree. Dante and I did things I’d never dream of doing back home, like knocking back tequila in some backstreet dive, or having a massive snowball fight, or staying up all night to watch the dawn break over the mountains.’ Her eyes misted over, as she relived each memory. ‘And as well as being funny and kind Dante’s incredibly sexy too. Sometimes, when we’re lying in bed at night and I look at him, lying asleep next me, I almost have to pinch myself.’ She smiled impishly. ‘Not that either of us is getting much sleep at the moment.’
Nicole sighed wistfully. ‘Lucky you. I can’t remember the last time I had sex.’
‘You’re kidding!’ Yasmin cried. ‘I thought you and Connor couldn’t keep your hands off each other.’
Nicole looked down at the sleeping infant in her arms. ‘Things have changed since Tilly was born. I don’t think Connor finds me sexually attractive any more.’
‘In that case he needs his head examining,’ Juliet said. ‘Because any idiot can see you’re absolutely gorgeous.’
‘Thanks, it’s sweet of you to say that, but I’m still struggling to get rid of this baby weight.’ Nicole’s hand went instinctively to the overhang of flesh at the waistband of her skirt. ‘I wish I could be like one of those celebrity mums whose stomachs miraculously snap back into shape two days after giving birth.’
‘No you don’t,’ Yasmin said firmly. ‘The women that do that put themselves through hell – and for what? Just so they can look good in front of the camera. Who gives a shit if you’re carrying a few extra pounds anyway?’ She threw Nicole a sharp look. ‘Has Connor said something to you?’
‘Not in so many words. He did buy me a gym membership for our wedding anniversary last week, though.’
Yasmin snorted. ‘And they say romance is dead.’
‘He didn’t even take me out for dinner like he usually does; he had to work late at the surgery.’ Nicole’s mouth tightened. ‘He’s always working late these days. I sometimes think he does it on purpose, just to avoid being at home.’
‘Why would he do that?’ Juliet asked. ‘Surely he’d want to spend every spare minute with his family.’
Nicole shrugged. ‘I get the impression he’s finding fatherhood quite difficult. I don’t think he realized just how much our lives were going to change when Tilly came along.’
‘Honestly, men can be so pathetic sometimes,’ Yasmin snapped. ‘When a woman has a baby, she’s thrown in at the deep end and just expected to get on with it. Why can’t guys be the same?’ Her gaze wandered to Juliet. ‘You know, I’m surprised you and Gus never had kids. I think he would’ve made a brilliant dad.’
‘Do you?’ Juliet said, fiddling with the stem of her wine glass.
‘Yeah … maybe it’s because he seemed like a big kid himself. He was so full of life, always laughing and joking, and he had that wonderful mischievous grin, as if he’d just put a whoopee cushion on the teacher’s chair.’ She smiled. ‘Do you remember that time he hosted the auction at the cricket-club dinner?’
‘God, yes,’ said Nicole, giggling at the memory. ‘He had us all in stitches, didn’t he?’ She turned to Juliet, but the other woman was staring out of the window with a faraway look in her eyes.
‘Anyway, let’s not dwell on the past,’ Yasmin said briskly, sensing Juliet’s discomfort. ‘Why don’t we order some food and then Juliet can tell us all about Dante?’
‘And you mustn’t leave out a single detail,’ Nicole said, squeezing Juliet’s arm. ‘We’ve missed out on far too much already.’
Over the course of the next hour, Juliet regaled her friends with the story of her whirlwind romance. Although the three women had been in regular email contact during her stay in Aspen, this was the first chance they’d had to talk face to face. As Juliet relived her low-key wedding, her eyes shone with happiness. ‘It was amazing – just me, Dante and the mountains,’ she said. ‘And afterwards we went for dinner at this wonderful Italian restaurant Dante knows. He’d persuaded the owner to let us have the private dining room all to ourselves and when we walked in the whole place was filled with candles and dozens of long-stemmed roses.’
‘Dante sounds ever so romantic,’ Nicole said enviously. ‘I can’t wait to meet him.’
‘Why don’t you both come to dinner next weekend? I’ve invited my family over.’ Juliet winced. ‘And Piers and Eleanor, Gus’s parents. They’re going to want to meet Dante sooner or later and I thought I might as well get it out of the way.’
‘So they know you’ve got married again?’
Juliet nodded. ‘I called Eleanor from Aspen a couple of days after the wedding to break the news. It seemed the right thing to do.’
‘How did she react?’
‘She wasn’t exactly thrilled, put it that way,’ Juliet said with a sigh. ‘No doubt she thinks I’m desecrating Gus’s memory by getting married again so soon, but it’s my life, not hers.’ She reached out and rested a hand on each woman’s arm. ‘It would be great to have you two there on Saturday for moral support – and Connor too, of course. The Ingrams are terrible snobs … I have a feeling they’re not going to approve of Dante.’
‘We wouldn’t miss it for the world,’ said Yasmin, leaning to one side as the waiter deposited a trio of cappuccinos on the table.
‘And if the in-laws give Dante a hard time, we’ll spring to his defence,’ said Nicole, reaching for the sugar bowl. ‘How’s he settling in to life at Ashwicke? It must be very different to Aspen.’
‘I think he finds it all a bit overwhelming, to be honest,’ Juliet replied. ‘And I don’t blame him; I felt the same way when Gus brought me back to Ashwicke for the first time.’
‘I’m sure he’ll soon settle in,’ said Nicole. ‘And it sounds as if he’s going to be a great help running the hotel. How are things going on that front? Did the staff cope okay while you were away?’
Juliet shrugged. ‘So-so. Nathan seems to have kept everybody on a tight rein, but our occupancy rates are still low. We’ve only got a couple of guests staying at the moment – two