Chapter 3
Alexandra
Later that evening in her townhouse in historic Beacon Hill, Alexandra poured herself a glass of wine. A few drops fell onto
the marble counter-top and she mopped them up, relieved no one was there to witness her hand shaking. She knew how people
saw her. As a robot. Someone with no emotions. Someone who felt nothing.
They’d be shocked if they could see her now.
She picked up the glass and walked through the open French doors to the pretty garden courtyard that was both a suntrap and
a haven.
Climbing hydrangea clung to the walls, peonies added a splash of colour to the borders and the soothing sound of bubbling
water from the fountain created a serene, tranquil space.
It was her sanctuary. One of the few places she could truly relax. A place she found comfort, and she’d never needed that
comfort as much as she did this evening.
She was still wearing the tailored skirt she’d chosen for the meeting along with the ivory silk shirt, but she’d undone a few of the buttons and her feet were bare.
Beyond her garden lay the charms of Beacon Hill with its tree-lined cobblestone streets and charming boutique stores, but
here behind these walls she had privacy and right now she was glad of it because the meeting had unsettled her more than she’d
imagined possible.
Who would have thought her emotions would be this churned up over something that happened years ago?
She’d blocked it all out. Put it behind her. Left it in her past. But now all those feelings were back, as fresh and real
as the day she’d left Cornwall for Boston and a new life.
She was angry, of course. Furious. But behind that heated burn of emotion lay something else. Something insidious and unwanted.
Doubt? Regret?
She held on to the anger because anger was easier to deal with than the other more complicated emotions that swirled inside
her.
In her head she’d divided her life into two parts—before and after.
No one knew all the details of her “before.” Not even her own daughter. From the moment she’d discovered she was pregnant
all those years ago, she’d been determined that her daughter’s life wouldn’t be like hers. Alexandra’s entire mission had
been to protect her from it and that was going to continue. She would not allow the past to intrude on the present.
She breathed and ran her hand over the back of her neck.
It was fine. Everything was fine. The people in that meeting would have had no insight into her true thoughts and feelings.
She hid herself behind silk and success.
They thought she was ruthless and ambitious, and they weren’t wrong.
But it wasn’t ambition or the promise of success that had brought her to Boston. It was cowardice.
She’d been running away.
The sound of the doorbell startled her, but it shouldn’t have done because a glance at her watch told her it was 7 p.m. and
her daughter was never late.
She would have liked a little more time to compose herself, but that wasn’t an option. Fortunately, she’d had decades of experience
making sure the way she looked didn’t reflect the way she felt. She knew how to appear cool and collected even when on the
inside she was fierce and fighting.
Alexandra put her glass down carefully, took a moment to smooth her hair and steady herself before sliding her feet back into
her shoes and walking through the house to open the door.
Abby stood there and Alexandra felt emotion tighten in her chest.
Her daughter. Her family.
Looking at her now she felt not one single regret about the decisions she’d made. She’d given none of her baggage to her daughter.
She’d left it behind and built a new life.
Abby had changed into a white linen dress, and she was clutching a bottle of wine and a small white box tied with a blue bow.
She looked poised and elegant and thankfully untouched by the grimmer side of life.
“It feels strange doing this on a Monday when our usual routine is Friday. As it’s going to be our last evening together for
a while before I head off to Cornwall for the summer, I brought wine and dessert.” Abby stepped inside and sniffed the air.
“Something smells good. You’ve been cooking.”
Occasionally they went out for dinner, but tonight Alexandra hadn’t been able to trust her emotions sufficiently to step out in public. She’d needed the sanctuary of her own home and garden.
“It’s just chicken.” Just chicken, but the herbs were fresh from her garden, and the olive oil and garlic had come from her
favourite Italian store two blocks away. Normally cooking soothed her, but this evening she barely remembered throwing it
all together. It had done nothing for her stress levels. “I have to mix a dressing and then we can eat.”
“I’ll mix the dressing. You’ve been working all day too, you shouldn’t do all the cooking.”
Abby took the wine and the box through to the kitchen and pulled out plates and cutlery.
Then she rooted through the cupboards and found what she needed for a dressing.
They worked together seamlessly, as they had for all the years Abby had lived at home. It was a familiar routine, and one
Alexandra still missed even though Abby had been living in her own apartment for years.
Abby mixed oil and vinegar, added a little mustard and ground pepper. “I must admit I was shocked when you decided to send
me to Cornwall. I never would have expected you to go in that direction. I thought you’d sell. I’d love you to talk me through
your thinking.”
Alexandra reached for water glasses from the cupboard.
Invariably during the evenings they spent together they talked about work, but tonight she didn’t want to. She had no intention
of explaining her decision.
“The hotel is in the perfect location.” She put water glasses on a tray and added napkins. “If I was looking at it now, I’d
consider it a perfect addition to our portfolio. I think the disappointing performance of the last few years merits further
investigation. And you’re the person to do it.”
“Thank you. I’m excited.” Abby dipped a salad leaf into the dressing and tasted it. “Tell me everything. The more detail the better.”
Alexandra’s mouth dried. “Everything? I’m not sure I know what you mean.”
“Weather, what clothes I should pack, what the people are like, any strange local customs I need to know about—”
Alexandra relaxed slightly. Abby was asking her about the place, not the past.
Since when had she been this jumpy?
“The weather is changeable so pack layers. And as for customs—remember jam, then cream.”
“Excuse me?”
“A Cornish cream tea. A fresh scone, sliced in half and topped with jam and then clotted cream. The order matters.”
She tipped olives into a bowl and added the bowl to the tray.
“You remember that detail from when you were there?”
“I served hundreds of cream teas to guests over the summers I worked at the hotel. Probably thousands.” She’d had blisters
on her feet from walking at speed between the sunny sea view terrace and the kitchen. She’d done battle with wasps who were
attracted to the jam, and squirming toddlers bored from sitting. Her face had ached from smiling. Her head had ached from
lack of sleep because she’d been working three jobs at the time. Her stomach had ached from anxiety and stress and beneath
it all had been anger.
She’d buried it deep, but it had never completely gone away.
Abby glanced at her. “I can’t imagine you at eighteen serving cream teas.”
Sixteen, Alexandra thought. She’d been sixteen.
And she’d been working in the hotel for four years by then, rushing home from school and then rushing out again to clean.
She’d lied about her age so that they’d let her work more hours, but it had been a punishing schedule.
She’d been exhausted and on at least one occasion she’d fallen asleep in the laundry room.
“I’ve done most of the jobs in the hotel at some point in my life,” she said. “There is no better way to get to know the business.
It’s the reason I’ve encouraged you to do the same.”
The difference was that her daughter’s need to work in the hotel hadn’t been driven by desperation.
“Was it tough?” Abby stole an olive from the bowl. “I always forget that you started out working there. You never talk about
it.”
“It was a long time ago,” Alexandra said. “Nothing to talk about.”
“Jam, then cream. Got it. Anything else?”
“Be mindful of the tides if you’re walking on the beach.” Her heart bumped against her chest as she remembered one particular
night. One particular man.
“Mom? Are you okay?”
Alexandra dragged herself back to the present. “Yes. I was thinking which information might be useful for you. The coastline
can be dangerous. I know how much you love to swim but be careful. There are rip currents.”
“I’ll be working. I doubt I’ll have much time for swimming in the sea.”
“Do you mind going?” Only now did it occur to her that by sending her daughter to Cornwall she was depriving herself of her
company for the whole summer.
She enjoyed the time they spent together. It was the closest she ever came to relaxing in another person’s company.
“I don’t mind. You raised me to be adaptable.” Abby poured the dressing over the salad and tossed it. “It will be interesting,
I’m sure.”
Her daughter would be in Cornwall, walking where Alexandra had walked. Seeing the views Alexandra had seen and working in the same hotel.
It was unsettling. It made her feel vulnerable and she hated that feeling.
She had an unusual urge to hug her daughter. To hold her close and be comforted by her presence.
Alarmed by that feeling, she picked up the tray.
Since when had she needed a hug from anyone to make herself feel better? She made herself feel better. That was what she did.
She didn’t lean on people, not even her own daughter. And she could imagine Abby’s reaction if her mother had suddenly hugged
her. She’d be shocked. And worried. Alexandra knew all too well how it felt to worry yourself sick about a parent and she
didn’t want to burden her daughter with that.