11
Dorothy
D orothy arrived in the restaurant early and settled herself at the table by the window that Imogen had reserved. She’d had an excellent morning and managed to finish her Christmas shopping. She’d bought far more for the girls than she should have done, but she hadn’t been able to help herself. She intended them to have the best Christmas ever, and the thought of creating that for them raised her own spirits.
This weekend she intended to make a start on decorating the house. She’d already raided the garden for greenery, but she needed to dig out the boxes of decorations from the attic.
She checked the time. Imogen still hadn’t called, but she had no reason to think she wouldn’t be here. And after a hectic morning it was nice to sit for a moment and absorb her surroundings.
Every corner of the restaurant sparkled and all around her people were enjoying themselves. The place echoed with conversation and laughter. There was a small group enjoying an early Christmas office celebration, and a couple facing each other with bags of Christmas shopping stacked at their feet. They’d refused to leave their parcels at the desk and Dorothy wondered what could be in them that was so precious.
Christmas was supposed to be a time of giving, but for her Christmas was the time when everything had been taken away.
She took a breath and drank some of the water the waitress had poured on her arrival.
She wasn’t going to think about that now. She was going to do what Sara did and block that time of her life out and focus on the present. This Christmas was going to be wonderful, and in the meantime she was looking forward to a celebratory lunch with Imogen.
She studied the menu briefly, and when she glanced up again Imogen was standing in the doorway.
She was wearing a scarlet coat and she handed it to the girl at the desk, revealing long black boots and a well-cut wool dress that skimmed her figure and ended midthigh. She looked smart and businesslike and then she turned and Dorothy felt a flicker of concern because she could see even from this distance that Imogen was stressed. Upset?
She watched as Imogen smoothed her dress, pulled herself together and then spotted Dorothy. She crossed the restaurant in quick strides, a bright smile on her face.
“Am I late?”
“No, I was early.”
Goodness, the girl looked exhausted. As if she hadn’t slept at all. As if her world had somehow fallen apart since Dorothy had last seen her.
What could have happened?
Concerned, Dorothy stood and gave Imogen a hug even though she knew it would probably be considered unprofessional. She could almost feel Sara frowning. She expected Imogen to pull away, but instead she stayed there, hugging Dorothy as if she was the last human on earth.
Dorothy felt a lump form in her throat and she rubbed Imogen’s back.
“It’s good to see you. Is everything all right?”
“Oh. Yes, it’s fine. Sorry. Christmas hug.” Imogen cleared her throat and pulled away suddenly as if she’d just realized what she was doing. She sat down, her cheeks flushed. “It’s been a bit of a week, that’s all. You know how it is at this time of year. Chaos. I’ve been looking forward to this. Looking forward to seeing you.” She blinked several times and studied the menu hard.
She was so obviously struggling with her emotions that Dorothy felt an ache in her chest.
“Is it work that has been busy? Or all the Christmas preparations?”
“Mostly work, although some of that is linked to Christmas, of course. I had events back-to-back yesterday—” Imogen’s voice was overly bright “—but it was fine.”
Something in her tone told Dorothy that it hadn’t been fine at all, but she knew Imogen wouldn’t tell her the truth. She was the consummate professional. She didn’t confide or gossip, which was appropriate of course because Dorothy was a client. Still, she sometimes wished she could break down that barrier between them. There were so many things she’d like to know. So many questions she would like to ask.
Imogen put the menu down. “Have you chosen, Dorothy?”
“I think I’ll have the soup and the duck. You?”
“The same.”
They ordered their food and a burst of raucous laughter from a table close to theirs drew Imogen’s attention.
A party of ten were wearing silly hats and exchanging gifts.
Imogen stared at them for a moment, then looked away and focused on Dorothy. “How has your trip been so far, Dorothy? Successful?”
“Very. I did some Christmas shopping this morning, for my granddaughters. It was unbelievably crowded, but I did manage to get the last few things I needed. Next year I might bring them on a trip to see the Christmas lights. I think they’d enjoy it.”
It was small talk, but she sensed Imogen needed it.
“How are Ava and Iris?” Imogen remembered every detail of every conversation. It was one of her many strengths.
“They are excited about Christmas. They’re still at that age where the anticipation of Christmas is as exciting as Christmas itself.”
They paused as their starter arrived.
Imogen stared at her soup, as if she was trying to remember why she’d ordered it. Then she picked up her spoon. “Will you be spending Christmas with them?”
“They’re all coming to me, which will be chaotic no doubt, but also fun. Last year they spent Christmas with Patrick’s family—Patrick is my son-in-law, as you know—and to be honest, because I was on my own I didn’t bother too much. I had a tree, because I thought it would be nice when the children visited, but I didn’t do much more than that in the way of decorations. But as they’re all staying and we’re having a family Christmas, I’ll make more of an effort. I love to cook so there will be plenty of food involved.”
Imogen put her spoon down without touching her soup. “That sounds nice. It’s a wonderful time of year.” Her tone was warm and her words perfectly appropriate, but there was something in her eyes—something lost and sad—that made Dorothy put her spoon down too.
She’d never seen anyone trying so hard to be strong when she was clearly at the breaking point.
She felt the same emotion she felt when Miles called to tell her he had an animal who was unloved and needed a home. Which was ridiculous, because Imogen was an independent and successful woman.
Still...
“Are you sure everything is all right, Imogen?”
“Absolutely. Tell me more about your grandchildren.”
Dorothy paused and then picked up her spoon again. If that was what Imogen wanted, then she’d play along. “They love making homemade decorations and cards. My daughter, Sara, is drowning under paper chains and snowmen cards. How about you?” She asked the question casually. “What are your plans for Christmas? I assume you won’t be working?”
“The office closes for the week between Christmas and New Year.”
Their starter was removed, Imogen’s mostly untouched.
Dorothy decided not to comment. “You’re ready for the break, I’m sure.”
“Actually, I’m very lucky,” Imogen said in an unnaturally high voice. “Rosalind has given me a whole month off. An extended break. I’ve accrued some holiday and she wants me to take it before next year. But of course you have my mobile number so if anything at all comes up, or you’re concerned about anything, all you have to do is give me a call. Or call Rosalind, obviously.”
“A month? What a treat.” Dorothy could see from Imogen’s expression that she considered it to be anything but a treat. “Where will you go? Will you be spending it with family?” The moment she said it she wanted to snatch the words back. She shouldn’t have asked that question. It was too personal.
“No. Not this year. It will be just me.”
Just me.
Those two little words were loaded with emotion, and Dorothy had an overwhelming urge to invite Imogen to spend Christmas with them, but she managed to stop herself. That would not be appropriate.
She wanted to ask why Imogen wouldn’t be spending it with family, but she knew that question would also be inappropriate.
The main course was placed in front of them—glazed duck with fondant potatoes.
“What will you do?”
“I haven’t finalized my plans.” Imogen’s head was tilted down, her focus on her plate. “I’ll probably just stay at home,” she said. “Lie in. Read some books. Catch up on sleep and TV. All the things I don’t normally have time for. It will be fantastic. The great thing about spending Christmas on your own is that you can be entirely selfish. You can watch whichever TV program you like with no disagreements over the remote control, you can cook or not cook. Only yourself to think about. If I can’t be bothered I can just make a grilled cheese sandwich and no one will care. Brilliant.”
A grilled cheese sandwich. No one will care.
Dorothy cared. And she sensed Imogen cared too.
The ache in her chest intensified and she put down her knife and fork.
She couldn’t stand this.
“Imogen—”
Imogen put her knife and fork down too and looked up. “I’m really sorry, Dorothy, but I’m not feeling well. Headache. I didn’t sleep well last night. I should have canceled, but—”
“I’m glad you didn’t cancel, because I really wanted to see you.” Dorothy paused, unsure how best to handle this. “We’ve known each other for a while now, Imogen. I know that technically I’m a client, but I hope I’m also a friend. You can trust me.”
“Oh, I do. You’re always so kind.” Imogen picked up her glass and took a sip of water. “You’re my favorite client, but don’t tell anyone that obviously. Sorry. This is so unprofessional.”
“Not at all.” Dorothy ignored the people around her. “Why didn’t you sleep well? Is something wrong?”
“No. Well, maybe a few things, but nothing important. A few personal issues.” She hesitated and then put her glass down and gave Dorothy a tired smile. “Honestly? I don’t want a month off. I’d rather work. I like to stay busy, you know? Things feel easier when I’m busy.”
Dorothy did know. “When life is hard, it sometimes helps to have no time to think about it. I understand that. What I don’t understand is why are you taking a month off if you don’t want it? I’m surprised Rosalind would allow it.”
“It was her suggestion.” Imogen scrunched her napkin into a ball, her knuckles white. “Actually, not a suggestion. She thinks I need it. I don’t think she’s right. I mean, Rosalind is great ,” she said hastily. “Really brilliant. Best boss ever. And it’s true that I have been busy. We won a few new clients, and maybe I’ve taken on a bit too much, but I love it so it didn’t seem like a problem to me.”
But it had clearly seemed like a problem to Rosalind. Dorothy had the utmost respect for Rosalind. If she was concerned, then there must be a good reason.
“What do you do in your free time, Imogen?”
“Free time?” Imogen had a glazed look on her face as if she was trying to remember what that was. “I do loads of things. I have a black belt in jujitsu—the Japanese variety, not the Brazilian. I started in my last year of school, and I’ve done it ever since. I train with a club here in London and usually I go a couple of times a week, although when I started working for Rosalind it became more like once a week. Less than that sometimes.” She paused, thinking. “In fact, I haven’t been since April because I’ve been super busy. But I keep meaning to go. It’s a great way to keep fit, as well as being useful for self-defense. I prefer it to the gym.”
But she hadn’t been since April. And it was now December.
“It sounds like a fun thing to do. And being based here in London you have so many options for entertainment. Do you like theater?”
“ Love it. The last thing I saw was that controversial staging of Hamlet .” The napkin was now so twisted that Dorothy doubted that even a steam iron would restore it to its previous state of pristine smoothness.
“The one last year?”
“No, it was this year.” Imogen frowned. “Or maybe it was last year. Time flies.”
By the time they’d finished their duck, Dorothy had ascertained that not only had Imogen all but given up martial arts and hadn’t been to the theater for over a year, she’d also not been to the cinema and had only read one book since the summer.
She was starting to understand why Rosalind had insisted Imogen take a month off.
“So what will you do with your time? A month off is a real chance to recover. Will you stay at home?”
Imogen seemed to pull herself together. “I haven’t decided. This only happened this morning, so I haven’t had a chance to get my head around it. I’ll probably stay in London. Maybe I’ll finally manage to see a play or go to jujitsu.” She put her knife and fork down. “The duck was completely delicious.”
She’d eaten about two mouthfuls, but Dorothy didn’t comment on that.
She couldn’t bear to think of Imogen on her own in London eating a grilled cheese sandwich on Christmas Day.
“Have you considered a break in the country? I have a holiday cottage on my estate.” The words were out before she could stop herself. “You could use it.”
“Use it?”
“Stay in it. Holly Cottage. It’s pretty. Cotswold stone. Open fire. Thatched roof.” Her mind drifted back to the few months when she’d lived there herself. After Sara had left for college and she’d been on her own, the place had been a comfort. It might be just what Imogen needed. “It’s idyllic, really. Popular with honeymooners, and the social media generation who love to take selfies because the place is so welcoming and cozy. It’s normally booked solid all year, but I had to have some work done in it so I stopped taking bookings in the summer. If you fancied getting out of London, then you’d be most welcome to use it. I wouldn’t charge you.”
Imogen stared at her. “You’re offering me your cottage?”
“Why not? It’s empty. And if you’re looking for fresh air and relaxation it fits the brief. And the village is only a ten-minute walk away across the fields. We’re in the country, but the village has everything you could possibly need. In the summer it’s ridiculously crowded, with tourists trying to photograph it from every angle, but at this time of year it’s at its most charming. It has an excellent farm shop, a few gift shops, a vintage clothing store, a wool shop—do you knit?”
“I—No, I don’t knit.”
“There’s a library, an independent bookshop and a café that sells the best gingerbread you’ve ever tasted. They switched on the Christmas lights last week and the village looks so pretty. And if you don’t feel like leaving the cottage it’s the perfect place to curl up and read, or catch up on TV.”
Imogen took a sip of water. “And you’d let me stay there?”
“I’d love you to stay there. You’d be doing me a favor to be honest, because it isn’t good for the cottage to be empty in this cold weather.”
Imogen put her glass down. “How long were you thinking?”
“Stay the whole month if you like. You don’t have to decide now. See how you feel.”
Imogen took a breath. “When would you want me to come?”
“Whenever you like. The cottage has everything you need so all you have to pack is warm clothing.”
“I could come on Friday?”
“Perfect.”
“Friday it is,” Imogen said. “If you’re sure. Thank you. It will be great to get away from London.” She smiled at Dorothy. A real smile this time, not the forced overcheerful version she’d produced at the beginning of their lunch.
“I can meet you at the train station.”
“There’s no need, but thank you. I’ll rent a car,” Imogen said. “It will be useful to have one while I’m there, and I don’t want to make extra work for you.”
“It’s no work at all. It will be a treat to have you in the cottage.”
And only in that moment, when it was all agreed, did she realize that Sara was going to kill her.
She felt a flicker of trepidation and also guilt. She should have thought about that, and normally she would have done, but she’d been so stressed at the thought of Imogen sitting alone with a grilled cheese sandwich on Christmas Day that she hadn’t been able to help herself.
But what was Dorothy supposed to do? She could not enjoy Christmas knowing that Imogen was all alone in London. And it wasn’t as if she’d invited Imogen for Christmas or anything. She was simply lending her the cottage. It was no different to renting it out to a stranger.
What could possibly go wrong?