The Inn at Penglas Cove

Prologue

It started with a letter. Shoved through the letterbox with a pile of junk mail and thrown in a haphazard heap on the hall table. The thin, white envelope remained unopened, its message not received.

Growing up, I used to be the sort of girl who lived for the post, peering through the net curtains in anticipation of the postman’s arrival.

I’d tear open every generic-looking envelope and skim-read all the glossy circulars and catalogues.

After all, you never knew what might arrive – a card from Grandma with a five-pound note inside, a postcard from an exotic place, a letter from a pen pal.

I was a girl who lived for the excitement of the unknown, open to possibilities and opportunity.

I’m not that girl any more.

I’m ashamed to say that the envelope must have sat there for weeks.

Justifiable, of course – I’m a busy mum of two; I’m half of the architecture practice of Cartwright the piece of paper fluttered from my hand. My husband was in the office… but he was not alone.

This time, I received the message loud and clear. That life as I knew it was well and truly over.