The Holiday Cottage

6

Imogen

I t promised to be the busiest day of the year so far. Imogen had three events taking place at different times, in different parts of London. Not ideal, but it sometimes happened that way. Clients didn’t always have flexibility with their dates, and she was the one who had to make it all work.

Her schedule had required intricate planning to ensure she could spend some time at each event and even when she wasn’t physically present, she intended to be fully available to the client if needed. Experience had taught her she probably would be needed. That was life. And it was her job to smooth out any wrinkles.

Imogen wasn’t worried. She was prepared for every eventuality, and there were few emergencies she hadn’t encountered at some point in her career. Most memorable was the keynote speaker at a pharmaceutical conference who had suffered a heart attack on stage. Imogen had located the defibrillator, ripped open his designer shirt and delivered 200 joules, which had brought him back to life. It had been a shock to both of them (also to the audience, and the applause had raised the roof), because that happened far less frequently than TV medical dramas led you to believe. Imogen had then escorted him to the ambulance, while simultaneously locating a substitute keynote speaker. Despite the drama, the event had been declared a success. The company had been clients of hers ever since, and the CEO sent her an extravagant gift every Christmas.

Then there had been the event where the hotel had suffered a kitchen fire an hour before a celebratory lunch for the board of a leading investment bank. Imogen had tapped her many contacts, pulled in favors and produced a four-course lunch worthy of the royal family.

She’d held an event at a zoo (client’s request) where one of the delegates had drunk too much and tried to climb into the enclosure with the penguins.

And then there was the minor stuff. She’d dealt with broken heels (she’d had a pair of shoes couriered from a store in Knightsbridge), sore throats (lozenges), lost notes (she insisted clients gave her backups of all presentations), apocalyptic weather (moved the event from outdoor to indoor with two hours’ notice). The list was endless. But Imogen was confident she could deal with anything that was thrown at her (or blown at her in the case of the weather). She enjoyed the challenge. She liked proving to herself, and others, that she could handle anything. Bring it on.

This was her job, and she was good at it. Not just good. The best.

Clients assumed their events would run smoothly and usually they did, but when things went wrong it was Imogen’s job to fix it, preferably without the client being aware.

She worked on the principle that there was always a solution to every problem, and usually more than one. It was simply a matter of picking the best.

And even when she wasn’t physically present at an event, she was always available for advice and troubleshooting. She carried two phones, just in case one of them was lost, stolen, or she needed to field two calls at once (it happened).

Each event was allocated its own team from RPQ and they were present the whole time. Imogen’s job was just to show her face, take a few photos of the event, troubleshoot anything the account manager couldn’t handle and generally give the client confidence that everything was in hand.

Her first event today was an all-day sales conference in a smart hotel just outside London. The company was celebrating their best year ever, and her brief had been to design an event that was both a company celebration and a Christmas celebration.

It was one of their most ambitious projects of recent months, not least because of the time pressures.

The theme of the event was Winter Wonderland, and the hotel and the gardens had been decked out like Lapland. There had been no ceiling to the budget, and Imogen had arranged for snowmaking machines to transform the grounds into a snowy paradise. There were sleigh rides and reindeer and stands offering everything from mulled wine to creamy hot chocolate. Inside, the ballroom, which only two days before had hosted a gala dinner for five hundred, was now Santa’s workshop, complete with areas where the delegates could make their own toys.

Mindful of the pressures at this time of year, Imogen had arranged for a major toy store to run a stand so that people could do some Christmas shopping, and next to it a giant Santa sack so that they could donate an extra toy to a local children’s charity.

The middle of the ballroom had been turned into a skating rink, and in the far corner of the room was a grotto, where elves were serving champagne and nonalcoholic cocktails to people queuing to see “Santa.” Each staff member visited Santa to get their bonus for the year. Imogen had wondered if that was a little creepy, but the CEO, Angus Fitzgerald, had refused to let go of that idea, mostly because it was his idea.

“Imogen!” Angus Fitzgerald made his way across to her, looking totally out of place in a formal suit. “This is fantastic! You’re a superstar.”

She shook his hand, accepted his praise with a warm smile and glanced around her. “Everyone seems to be having fun, Mr. Fitzgerald.”

“How many times do I have to tell you to call me Angus? They’re having the best time. You’ve created a perfect fantasy Christmas. How do you do that?”

A perfect fantasy Christmas.

“It’s my job, Angus.” It helped that she was intimately acquainted with fantasy Christmases. They were the only ones she’d ever experienced. A real family Christmas had only ever happened in her imagination. She felt a tug of emotion, a sense of loss, and killed it dead. Everyone knew that Christmas was usually a time of pressure and stress. The snow-dusted beaming family type of Christmas that played a starring role in movies was fictitious. She believed that. She had to believe that, or she might start feeling sad about what she was missing.

Angus was still gazing around him. “Genius idea to have the toy store here. My wife is always complaining that she has to do all the Christmas shopping, so I bought a stuffed lion for my granddaughter. That’s my contribution.” He saw her looking at him and narrowed his eyes. “You have that look on your face.”

“I have a look?”

“Yes, it’s the look you always get when you’re about to suggest something and you’re not sure how I’ll react.”

Imogen pushed aside the image of Angus presenting his little granddaughter with a stuffed lion on Christmas Day. “You know me so well.”

“Go on. Whatever is in that head of yours, say it.”

She paused. “That’s a smart suit, Angus.”

He fiddled with the knot of his tie. “But?”

“This is a relaxed event. It’s corporate, but not corporate.”

“Meaning?”

“I’m wondering if you might connect with the staff more easily if you were dressed a little less formally. It might make you seem more approachable.”

At that moment the VP of sales skated past them in a red sweater emblazoned in a giant snowman.

Angus watched him. “He’s in sales. It’s his job to connect with the sales force.”

“You’re the boss. This is a reward for a brilliant year. You need to connect too. This is about them.”

“I’m not arguing with that,” he said, “but not even for you am I wearing a snowman sweater. I need to be able to have difficult conversations. Sometimes I have to fire people. That’s harder to do when they’ve seen you wearing a snowman sweater.”

“I agree there is a line between connecting and losing respect. We’re not going to cross that line. The snowman is definitely too much. But still—” She tapped her finger to her mouth, thinking, then pulled out her phone and called one of her junior team members. “Nick? Can you bring me one of the spare navy sweaters. Yes, the cashmere one. Thanks.”

“You have spare sweaters?”

“Always. Things happen. Red wine on white shirts. Lost buttons. Torn sleeves. The possibilities are endless. Ah, Nick, thanks—” She took the sweater from her colleague and held it out to Angus. “Try this.”

He took it from her and studied it. “The logo is a Christmas tree.”

“Small, barely perceptible, but just enough that it counts as a Christmas sweater. It says, ‘I’m approachable, but I’m still the boss.’”

He laughed. “I never thought clothing could say so much.”

“You’d be surprised. Nonverbal communication can be as powerful as the words that leave your mouth.” She took his jacket from him and held it as he pulled on the sweater. “That looks good on you.”

“It’s more comfortable than the shirt and tie, that’s for sure. That’s Christmas Day sorted too then.” He beamed at her. “Can I keep this?”

As if the guy wasn’t worth a gazillion. As if he couldn’t have bought several tons of cashmere sweaters with the change in his wallet. What he was short on was time, and her efficiency bought people time.

“Of course.” She handed the jacket to Nick and made a mental note to add the sweater to the final invoice. “Nick will hang your jacket somewhere and you can collect it later. Or we can have it delivered back to your office. Whichever works for you. In the meantime, everything looks in order here. We’ve checked the sound system, and everything is looking good for your speech at twelve.”

“You won’t be here for that?”

“Sadly, no. I have to be in Knightsbridge for eleven forty-five, but I’ll be in contact with my team the whole time if you need me. But you won’t, because everything is going to run perfectly.”

“Because of you. You’re one of a kind.” He shook her hand again. “Do you ever rest, Imogen?” His voice was caring, but she assumed it was a trick question.

If she said yes, then he’d wonder if she wasn’t giving her all to his account. If she said no, he’d start worrying that she might suffer burnout and his account would suffer.

“I rest when I need to, and when the time is right.”

He laughed. “And that’s a diplomatic answer if ever I heard one. Anytime you want to leave all this behind and come and work for me, give me a call. You must be looking forward to taking a well-earned break at Christmas.”

“That’s still several weeks away.” She tried not to think about it, because she wasn’t looking forward to it. And she didn’t plan to take a break. Christmas was bad enough without having time off to sit around and think about how bad it was.

“Where do you spend Christmas, Imogen?”

It was the question she hated most, but she had her answer prepared.

“With my family in the country.” She’d said the words so often, she almost believed them. And the lie was better than the truth. The truth made people feel awkward, and she didn’t want people to feel awkward. Nor did she want people feeling sorry for her.

“So you’ll be getting out of the city. That’s good. We’ve worked together all these years. You know everything about me, and yet I feel as if I know so little about you. What do you do to relax, Imogen?”

“Lots of things. Jujitsu. I’m a black belt.” It was the truth. The one honest thing she revealed about herself among a bushel of lies. It was her only hobby. The only thing she made time for other than work.

“Jujitsu?” His eyebrows rose. “What made you choose that?”

A need to feel more in control and able to handle herself.

“It’s a great way of keeping fit.” She tried to think of more hobbies. She needed to look more rounded. What did Janie do? “I do yoga several times a week. I read. I walk my dog. Pretty normal things.”

“You have a dog?” Angus looked interested. “Breed?”

Oh good grief. “Golden retriever.” She shouldn’t have mentioned the dog. Those life details were for colleagues, not clients. She gestured to a couple of his executive team who were hovering. “I’ve taken enough of your time, Angus.”

“I enjoy talking to you, but you’re right—I should mingle. Thank you again, Imogen.” He glanced around him, taking in the winter theme park she’d created. “This is the perfect ending to a perfect year.”

Imogen decided it was time to extract herself before he started crying. “Enjoy yourself, Angus. This isn’t just for your staff. It’s for you too. You’ve had your best year ever. You’ve earned the right to enjoy this. Go and treat yourself to a sleigh ride.” She gave his arm an encouraging squeeze and left him to mingle with his staff while she checked the rest of the event.

She was genuinely fond of Angus, and there was a certain thrill that came from seeing all the plans come to life so successfully.

She checked in with the account manager in charge of the event, assured herself that all was well, and then jumped on the train back into the city.

Her next event was an awards lunch held at a five-star hotel overlooking Hyde Park and she arrived in plenty of time. So far so good.

She was halfway up the steps to the entrance when she had a call from the account manager in charge of her evening event. This particular client was difficult, so she was planning to be there for the whole thing to smooth over whatever wrinkles occurred.

“Imogen?” The voice was urgent and high-pitched. “Crisis!”

Imogen paused on the steps. “Breathe, Sophie. Stay calm. Remember, we talked about this. Calm. If there’s a problem, then we look for solutions. We solve it a piece at a time.”

“What do you mean ‘if’? There’s a huge problem.”

“Everything is going to be fine.”

“It’s not fine. It’s unbelievable. Of all the—”

“Facts, Sophie. Give me the problem in five words or less.”

“My keynote speaker for tonight is stuck in Edinburgh. There has been an incident at the airport. All flights canceled until further notice. She’s panicking, the client is panicking and I’m panicking. I mean, the whole thing revolves around this woman. We’ve been planning this event for so long! We booked her eighteen months ago. It’s not like anyone else can give her speech.” Sophie’s voice wobbled. “Alan Marsh is going bananas and blaming me, although why it’s my fault I have no idea because I don’t control the airports. But he doesn’t care about that. He told me I’m useless and that he’s going to fire us unless you get here in the next ten minutes.”

Imogen felt a ripple of annoyance. Exacting clients she could cope with, but she had a visceral loathing of bullies. “He had no right to say that. You’re very good at your job, Sophie.”

“No, I’m not. He’s right. I get a problem like this and I just panic. I’m not like you. We’re going to lose the client and I’m going to be fired and—”

“Stop!” Imogen cut her off in mid flow. “I need you to listen to me, Sophie.”

There was a sniff. “I’m listening.”

“Alan Marsh can be a difficult client, but try and look at it as a learning experience. Stay calm and handle him.”

“Handle him how? Can I just tell him you’re coming? That will calm him down.”

“No, because if you do that you’re basically telling him that you don’t have the confidence to do the job.”

“I don’t have the confidence to do the job.”

Imogen’s heart softened. “Yes, you do. He’s just shredded it, that’s all. But we’re going to put it back together.”

“We are?”

“Yes. And you’re going to start by stating the problem as briefly as possible.”

“I thought I already did.”

“No, you are so flustered by the fact the client shouted at you and distracted by imagined consequences that you’re not focusing on the actual problem. Your mind is all over the place and your panic explosion is stopping you focusing on what needs to be fixed. Tell me the problem. The thing that started all this.”

“I don’t have a speaker!”

“You do have a speaker.”

“Not in the right place!”

“Right. Your speaker is in the wrong place. That’s the problem that needs solving. So what you have here is a transport issue.”

“Sure, but I don’t see how—”

“So instead of worrying about losing clients and losing jobs, you need to think about how to solve this transport issue.”

“I don’t see what else I can do. I’ve already called the airport, but no one can tell me anything.”

“The problem that needs fixing is not the airline’s schedule, it’s the fact that your client is in the wrong place. Forget the airline. Figure out how to get your speaker from A to B in the time frame available. Find a solution to that, and everything will be sorted.” It was how she handled her life. Outline the options. Pick one. “Possible modes of transport—plane, train, car. Car would take too long, so that leaves planes and trains.”

“But the airport has delayed all flights from Edinburgh—”

“So now the problem is that there are no flights from the airport. One solution is to consider another airport.” Imogen checked the time and did some calculations. “Have you checked flights from Glasgow?”

“Glasgow?”

“Yes. Check availability. If it’s an option, then arrange for a car to pick her up and take her there.” She gave Sophie the name of an executive car company she’d used before and knew to be reliable. “What are you going to do when she lands?”

“I’m—er—I’m going to arrange for a car to pick her up from Heathrow. And I’m going to have one of the team meet her at Arrivals so she can relax and focus on her keynote and not logistics. That way she won’t be standing at that podium flustered and stressed.”

“Brilliant. You’ve got it.” Imogen showered her with praise, trying to build up the confidence that client had shattered.

“But it won’t be enough. The speaker is stressed too. In fact, she’s so irritated she is threatening to give up and go home.”

“Of course she is. Business travel is always stressful if you have to be somewhere by a certain time and everything is delayed. She probably feels embarrassed, even though none of it is her fault. So our problem here is to make her feel special and valued. Any suggestions?” She stepped to one side to allow a small group of guests to pass and pulled her coat around her. It was too cold to be standing outside.

“Um. She’s staying here at the hotel tonight. The room is nice, but it’s nothing special. The client wouldn’t give us the budget.” Sophie paused. “I suppose I could talk to the hotel and see if I can get her room upgraded. We do use them a lot for events.”

“We do,” Imogen said. “And that is excellent thinking.”

“Maybe they have a suite.”

“Worth checking.”

“And we could offer her a complimentary spa treatment.”

“That’s a genius idea. Brilliant.” Imogen saw one of the team gesturing to her from the doorway. “I need to go. I’ve just arrived at the graphic design awards. I’ll be here for the next couple of hours.”

“But will you be contactable?” The panic was back in Sophie’s voice.

“At all times. But you won’t need me, because you’ve got this. And if the client is rude, just listen, keep calm and assure him that you’re doing everything you can to deliver the very best outcome. You’re doing well, Sophie.”

“It doesn’t feel that way. I wish I was as calm as you. You will be here, won’t you?”

“I have never missed an event, Sophie.” She wasn’t sure if that meant she had a sad life, or that she was efficient.

She was going with efficient.

“I know. I’m sorry. It’s just that the client keeps asking for you, like the rest of us don’t know what we’re doing and that the whole airline debacle wouldn’t have happened if you’d been there because you’re like some sort of wizard problem solver—” Sophie cleared her throat. “I need to calm down. Problem, solution, problem, solution.”

“That’s right, and you’re doing a great job.” Imogen raised a finger to indicate to her hovering colleague that she’d be done in one minute. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Right. Because you’ll be here. Of course you will. I’m going to make all those arrangements and I’ll see you in a few hours.”

“Keep me updated.” Imogen slid her phone back into her bag, sprinted up the steps and into the hotel. She felt a wave of dizziness and realized she hadn’t eaten anything since the night before. She’d grab a snack before heading to the big evening event. She wasn’t surprised Sophie was finding the client difficult. Alan Marsh was difficult. One of those annoying people whose glass was always half-empty even when you’d filled it to overflowing. He found fault with every small thing and seemed to be looking for an excuse to fire them. Imogen had been careful never to give him that excuse. And she wasn’t going to start today.

“Hi, Arthur.” She waved a hand to the man behind the concierge desk and he waved back.

“Good to see you, Imogen.”

They used this venue so frequently that she knew the staff well.

She headed straight to the ballroom where the event was taking place, spoke to the tech point person and the account manager and slid into the back of the room for five minutes. The atmosphere was buzzing.

“The tables look great.” The centerpiece of each table was a hologram of a snowflake.

Christmas was already dominating her life and there were still weeks to go until the day itself.

She stayed long enough to speak to the client, check everything was exceeding expectations, and then she headed upstairs to the room they were using as their HQ for the duration of the day.

As she’d hoped, the place was empty because the rest of the team were now at the event.

Imogen took off her shoes, poured herself a large glass of water, ate a banana and a chocolate bar and then sprawled on the sofa.

She was exhausted. Her mind was racing, her heart was racing, and she still had to find time to check through the plans for her events the next day. This close to Christmas the events they ran were almost always back-to-back.

She thought about Rosalind. Are you sure you haven’t taken on too much, Imogen?

She could not afford a single misstep. Although she’d reassured Sophie, she felt uneasy about the event tonight. The client was tricky. She needed to bring her best self.

She closed her eyes.

Five minutes, and then she’d head over and give Sophie some support.

She must have fallen asleep because she was woken by the sound of the door opening.

By the time the person entered the room, Imogen had her shoes back on and was poring over her emails. Her head was muzzy and she could feel the beginnings of a headache. She was beginning to wish she’d eaten something other than chocolate.

“Hi, Imogen. I didn’t know you were still here. I love your suit. That shade of green looks good on you. You look like a very sexy elf.” It was Janie, looking professional in a tailored black dress, her hair twisted into a knot on the back of her head. “I just came up to grab my stain remover. Client dropped raspberry juice on his shirt. Next time I’m suggesting a cheese plate for dessert.” She rummaged in one of the bags. “Agh, where is it? I know I had one.”

Imogen reached into the oversize bag she carried everywhere and handed her a stain remover. “Raspberry isn’t easy to shift. You might be better off providing him with a fresh shirt.”

“That’s my backup. Problem—solution, right? Thanks, Imogen.” Janie pocketed the stain remover. “I’m all over the place because Mum just rang, and guess what? She’s getting married again.”

Imogen wasn’t sure how to react. Was that good or bad? “Wow. And how do you feel about that?”

“Excited! I like Ray, and she’s been on her own since Dad died. All I want is for her to be happy. Sometimes I think we’re more like best friends than mother-daughter, you know?”

No, she didn’t know. She had no experience of that sort of relationship.

On a good day her relationship with her mother was distant and chilly. On a bad day—she didn’t know how to describe it.

“I’m pleased for you.”

“I’m going to be bridesmaid. We’re picking out dresses next week. I love a good mother-and-daughter shopping trip, don’t you?”

“Doesn’t everyone? I’m holding you up,” Imogen said, “I know you need to get back to the client so you can sort out that shirt.”

“Yes, you’re right. I should.” Janie patted the stain remover in her pocket. “I’ll see you back in the office tomorrow. Let’s grab lunch together if there’s time. Are you all ready for Friday?”

Friday? What was happening on Friday? “I—”

“You haven’t really forgotten?” Janie laughed. “‘Bring your dog to work day.’ The day we get to meet Midas. We’re all more excited than you are!”

Midas.

Enough. She had to put an end to this, she really did. “I can’t do that, Janie.”

“Why not?” Janie’s expression shifted from anticipation to alarm. “Midas isn’t ill again?”

“No, not ill.” She floundered. One small lie led to another and then another. She wished she’d never started it, but she had, and now she didn’t know how to end it. “I didn’t really want to talk about it. It’s too awful.”

“What?” Alarmed, Janie sat down next to her. “You’re scaring me. Of course you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but you know you can, don’t you? You can tell me anything. We’re friends.”

Imogen felt her throat thicken. “Are we?”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Of course we are.” Janie took Imogen’s hand, and Imogen was suddenly choked by the gesture of friendship.

She had a sudden urge to tell her everything. Would that be so bad? Janie was a kind person. She’d understand.

She tried to figure out where to start, but Janie was still speaking.

“I knew from the moment you put that photo of Midas on your desk that we’d be good friends. We’re both dog people for a start!”

She wasn’t a dog person. At least, not a real dog person. She was a fake dog person. She was a fake generally. An imposter. A real dog would have sniffed her out in a moment.

“And we’re similar in other ways too.” Janie was in full flow. “We’re both home-loving people. I’m not saying I don’t enjoy a good night out as much as the next girl, but I also love an evening in snuggled on the sofa watching a movie with my family. I know you’re the same.”

She wasn’t the same, although she would have liked to be. When Imogen watched a movie on the sofa she was always alone.

She pulled her hand away from Janie’s. “You’re a wonderful person, Janie. I’m lucky to work with you.”

“Right. So now tell me what’s happened with Midas.”

If she told Janie the truth, then that would be their friendship over. Janie would discover she wasn’t a dog person. She’d be hurt that Imogen had lied. She’d never trust her again. The atmosphere in the office would change.

Imogen couldn’t bear that. For now she needed to keep up the charade.

“He’s gone. Midas has gone.”

“Gone where?”

“He ran away.”

“Ran away?” Janie looked at her in horror. “I thought you said your little garden was secure?”

“It is.” Maybe the running away excuse hadn’t been such a great idea. It made her look careless. And blaming the dog walker wasn’t a good idea because Janie would want to know which dog walker so that they could all leave bad reviews. But she just needed Midas out of her life and she couldn’t bring herself to kill him. “Honestly? I think maybe someone might have climbed over the fence and taken him, but I don’t have security cameras or anything so I don’t suppose I’ll ever really know. But he’s gone.”

There. It was done. Goodbye, Midas.

It was almost a relief. No more lying about the dog.

And no, she wouldn’t be getting another one.

She hoped that was the end of it, but one glance at Janie’s face told her that was wishful thinking.

“Gone?” Janie’s face turned puce with outrage. “You think someone stole him? I’ve read about a few cases lately. So shocking. These people who think they can take something that doesn’t belong to them! And it’s not like they’re taking a piece of garden furniture or a TV. I mean, pets are family. They’re taking a family member. It’s kidnapping. Oh, Imogen—” she flung her arms around Imogen “—I can’t imagine what you’re going through. What did the police say?”

“The police?”

“You have reported it to the police?” Janie let go of Imogen, her mind in overdrive. “Do you have one of those pet tracking tags? Can you track him on your phone?”

Imogen stared at her. Track your dog? That was a thing? “Er, no. I never saw the need. He always stayed so close to me when we were out. He never ran away.”

“So you can’t track him. Oh, poor you. And poor Midas. If he wouldn’t naturally run away someone must have taken him. What must he be going through?” Janie was silent for a moment. “There must be something we can do.”

“There’s nothing,” Imogen said. “I just have to learn to live with it. I only told you because I won’t be bringing him to Rosalind’s ‘bring your dog to work day.’”

“Of course you won’t.” Janie squeezed her hand. “We should tell Rosalind and she’ll cancel it. It would be too upsetting for you to be there and see everyone else’s dogs.”

“No, really, I don’t want it canceled. I need to get on with life.”

“You’re so brave. In your position I’d be a sobbing mess.”

“I’m trying not to be. I’m keeping busy. That’s the best way. I don’t want time to think.” That part at least was true. Her phone buzzed and she reached for it gratefully. “Sorry, Janie, I need to take this. Poor Sophie is having a bit of a nightmare with the event this evening. Keynote speaker is AWOL and client is difficult. I need to head over there.”

“Is this The Work Nook? They’re horrible. My friend used to do their PR. And I know you want to support Sophie, but I don’t know how you can think about work at a time like this.”

“Work takes my mind off things. Life sends you challenges, doesn’t it? All we can do is weather them.”

And stop making up pets and family members. That was another thing she could do. It turned out that unpicking lies was a lot more complicated than telling them in the first place.

It was relief that Midas was gone now. That part of her fictitious life was behind her. She felt lighter for it, although weirdly sad that she’d lost her dog.

She stood up and swayed slightly.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Janie was on her feet in a moment. “Because you don’t look okay. You look white. And exhausted. It must be the shock. Sit down. I’m going to make you a drink.”

“I’m fine, honestly. I really need to get going.”

But she did feel a bit strange. The back of her throat hurt, but she assumed that was too much talking.

With a final nod to Janie, she grabbed her coat and headed back down to the lobby. She popped her head into the back of the room where the lunchtime event was already underway, satisfied herself everything was fine and then left the hotel.

She’d support Sophie and deal with the horrible client, and then she’d go home and collapse for a few hours. Fortunately tomorrow was clear. No events. She just had to survive a few more hours and then she could use her office day to recover.

She stood on the street for a moment, debating whether to use the train or taxi. In the end, she went with a taxi. She didn’t feel well enough to cope with the Christmas crush on the train.

In the taxi, she relaxed back against the seat and checked her emails.

She’d had ninety-six in the short time it had taken her to get from the hotel to here, almost all of them marked urgent. She scanned them all, selected the ones that related to the events she had today and answered them swiftly. She was in the middle of composing a reassuring response to a panicked email from a client about a budget change when a call came in.

Tina.

She rejected the call. The only time her mother called her was when she wanted something, and there was no way she was taking a call from her in the middle of her working day. It would unsettle her too much and she needed to concentrate.

She went back to her emails, but she felt on edge and she hated the fact that a call from her mother could still have this effect on her. It wasn’t just an emotional reaction, it was a physical one. Her heart was banging against her ribs, pounding out an alert. Disaster incoming. Her palms were sweaty ( drop what you’re doing and run ), and her breathing felt as it did when she ran up the stairs too quickly.

She took several slow breaths, and then the call came again, and again she rejected it.

To begin with it had felt weird and unnatural to be rejecting a call from her mother, but that had been before she’d been forced to acknowledge that everything about her mother was weird and unnatural, most of all their relationship.

Call me Tina , was one of the earliest things Imogen could remember her mother saying to her. I don’t want people knowing you’re my daughter.

It had been confusing when she was six and hadn’t become any less confusing at sixteen. But she’d weathered it. It wasn’t as if she’d been given a choice. No one had said, hey, which one would you prefer? This warm loving mother who will hug you and read to you and show interest in everything you do, or this young angry individual who blames you for coming along uninvited and ruining the best years of her life?

Her phone buzzed again and this time it was Sophie.

ETA? Client asking for you.

The event wasn’t for another five hours, but if the client needed her to hold his hand she’d hold his hand.

She was about to type her reply when her phone rang again. This time it was from an unidentified number.

Concerned that it might be a client, she answered it. “Hello?”

“Is that Imogen Thorne?”

“Yes. Who is this?”

“I’m a doctor and I work in the emergency department.” He named the hospital. “Are you Tina Thorne’s sister?”

Sister? She leaned her head against the seat and closed her eyes briefly. Her mother had been at it again.

“I’m her daughter.” In her time she’d played the part of sister, best friend and a distant cousin from Scotland, but those days were gone. She was done with all that. “What happened?”

“She has had an accident. When she was brought in, she mentioned a sister. We found your number in her purse. We tried calling you from her phone, but you didn’t answer.”

That had been the hospital? She felt a flush of guilt. She’d assumed it was her mother asking for money. “I was in a meeting. And she doesn’t have a sister.”

“You’re sure? Because she mentioned it specifically. She was adamant.”

Pretend you’re my sister.

“She doesn’t have a sister. You mentioned an accident. What kind of accident?”

“If you come to the hospital, we can discuss this face-to-face. She does have a head injury, and the fact that she thinks you’re her sister might indicate an element of confusion.”

Delusion, more like, not confusion.

What did it say about her that she immediately suspected a trap? Was this guy really a doctor or was this one of her mother’s elaborate manipulations?

“When?”

“Right away.”

“Right away? You mean now ? That’s out of the question. I’m at work, and I won’t finish before midnight and—”

“Miss Thorne—” his tone was scalpel sharp “—your mother has incurred some injuries. We’re running tests and depending on what those tests show she’ll need suturing and she will have to have someone with her when she goes home.”

“You’re sure she asked for me? She doesn’t normally want—” She stopped. What was she going to say? She doesn’t normally want me around. It was too embarrassing to admit that to this man, and she could already feel his judgment pulsing down the phone. He probably had loving parents, a couple of doting grandparents and maybe a wife and kids of his own. People like that didn’t understand that not everyone was so fortunate. That some families were made in hell, not Hollywood. That not every problem could be fixed, nor every sin forgiven. “She may not want me.”

“In my opinion, you should be here.”

He didn’t have a clue. He didn’t know how many times this had happened to her before. He had no idea how many taxis she’d taken across the city in the middle of the night to get to whichever hospital her mother had been taken to. And each time her mother would swear it would never happen again. Occasionally, she meant it and the phone would go quiet for a few months. But then the call would come. Sometimes from a neighbor, sometimes from the police, sometimes from a strange man her mother had picked up in the bar where she worked. The end result was always the same.

Imogen took her home, did her best to tidy up the place, filled the fridge with food (she’d learned the hard way that giving cash wasn’t a good idea) and then waited for her mother to sober up and tell her to get out of her life. Which she did. Until next time. And there was always a next time because no matter how hard she tried, Imogen couldn’t bring herself to cut those ties completely.

She believed in family, even though hers fell short of her ideals. She tried to behave the way she felt a family member should—by offering loving support, no matter how hard that sometimes was.

She was her mother’s only relative. All they had was each other. That might not mean much to her mother, but it meant a great deal to Imogen. She wouldn’t give her mother financial support because that always led to bad things, but nor would she cut her mother out of her life completely. That wasn’t what family did. Family should stick together through thick and thin. She believed that, even if her mother didn’t. And she wanted her actions to reflect her beliefs, which was why she still had contact with her mother even though most of the time it would have been more comfortable to lie on a bed of rocks. It wasn’t easy and she wasn’t blind to reality.

“Was she drunk?”

There was a pause. “If you come in, we can update you properly.”

Which probably meant she had been drunk. That wasn’t a surprise.

But this doctor was asking her to come in. He was impartial, and he believed she should be there. What tests were they running exactly? Doctors weren’t allowed to lie, were they? Hippocratic oath and all that.

She checked the time. The hospital was virtually on the way to her next event. She could take a minor detour, drop in for half an hour, talk to the doctor and then wait for her mother to tell her to get out of her life. That normally took a matter of minutes.

“I’ll be with you in twenty minutes.”

She ended the call, then messaged Sophie.

“Keep client calm. I’ll be with you in an hour.”

She’d deal with her mother and still arrive at her event in good time. No problem.