The Holiday Cottage

15

Imogen

I mogen stumbled through the snow. Her eyes stung, and she wasn’t sure if it was the cold or tears. She was going with the cold. She never cried . Even when her mother had publicly announced that Imogen was the worst thing that had happened to her, Imogen hadn’t cried. But surely crying right now would be understandable.

Dorothy was her grandmother. Dorothy!

It didn’t make sense. None of it made sense.

Dorothy, whom she’d worked with for almost two years and trusted, had lied to her. Not for one minute had Imogen suspected she was hiding such a big secret.

But why would she have suspected?

Who would ever think that a person would be hiding something like that?

It felt worse because she didn’t usually allow herself to get close to anyone. She was cautious. She kept her real self hidden behind the persona she’d created. She considered herself pretty much invulnerable. She wrapped and padded her feelings and then encased them in solid steel so that no one could get to them. She didn’t give people the ability to hurt her, but Dorothy had hurt her.

She’d trusted Dorothy, and it turned out that all this time she’d been keeping a huge secret.

Lying. Was it lying? Maybe not exactly, but it amounted to the same thing.

All those meetings they’d had together, all the laughter they’d shared, and it turned out that all along this woman who Imogen had liked and admired more than anyone she knew, wasn’t who she seemed.

She’d sneaked her way into Imogen’s affections by not being honest about who she was. She’d obviously known that if she told the truth, Imogen would want nothing to do with her. What other possible explanation was there?

She’d thought Dorothy respected her work, but maybe it wasn’t that. Would she have moved her business to RPQ if it hadn’t been for their relationship?

She felt betrayed and shaken. What was real? What was true?

Was Dorothy in contact with Tina?

The ground gave way beneath her, literally this time, and she yelped with shock as she slithered down a short bank and into a ditch. Her feet broke though the thin layer of snow and ice and she lost her balance and sat down hard in the freezing water of the stream she hadn’t even known was there.

Shocked, she didn’t move, but then she felt icy water seeping through her boots and her clothes.

Great. Just great.

She scrambled to her feet and squelched her way up the bank to the other side. She’d been so upset and deep in her own thoughts she hadn’t noticed that she’d gradually veered toward the edge of the field.

And now she was soaked as well as miserable, which just proved that life had a grim sense of humor.

Shivering, she looked around her and tried to work out where she was, but it was snowing hard now and there were no landmarks visible, just trees, fields and snow. She’d walked much farther than she’d thought, and there was no sign of the cottage.

Follow the church spire, Dorothy had said, but where was the church spire?

You can see it from everywhere.

Not when it was snowing, apparently.

She didn’t even have her phone because she’d fled the house without remembering to grab her coat and bag.

For a brief moment, anxiety swamped misery. She was freezing cold and she had no idea where she was. Storming off across the fields had been another of her less than brilliant ideas, not quite as bad as Midas the fake dog, but pretty close.

She hadn’t been thinking of anything except the fact that Dorothy was her grandmother, and that she’d hidden that fact.

There was so much she needed to digest. Rosalind had let her keep her job, but there was no way Imogen was going to be able to work with Dorothy now. What would happen?

It was too much. Too big.

Shivering, her survival instincts kicked in and she forced herself to concentrate on the moment. If she didn’t get herself somewhere warm and dry, the next thing that would happen would be hypothermia.

She should have gone straight back to the cottage when she left the house, but she’d thought they might follow her, so she’d decided to go for a quick walk across the fields instead and think things through. Which had sounded fine in theory, but now she was very cold and very wet.

Before she’d fallen in the ditch, she’d thought that maybe she’d head to the village that Dorothy had described and tuck herself away in a cozy café for a few hours while she digested all that had happened. But she couldn’t do that now. She was soaked and filthy.

She was going to have to go back to the cottage. But to do that she had to figure out where she was.

Squinting through the steadily falling snow, she could just about make out what looked like a narrow road winding its way through trees at the end of the next field. Presumably that was going in the right direction. If she could cross that field without killing herself, she could walk along the road back to Winterbury.

She trudged across the field, feeling colder by the minute, and followed the snow-covered hedge until she found a gate. Her feet were so cold she could no longer feel her toes, but she managed to clamber over the gate without further mishap. The road was narrow and covered in snow. The absence of car tracks suggested that no one had driven this way for a while.

Did she go left or right? Right, surely.

She started to trudge back along the road and she’d been walking for about five minutes when she heard the sound of a vehicle approaching. She tucked herself in by the hedge and waited for it to pass, but instead it pulled up next to her.

The driver lowered the window. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, thanks for asking.” She kept her head dipped, because she didn’t want whoever it was to see that she’d been crying. She wasn’t in the mood to be sociable.

“Are you sure?” His voice was deep. “Because it’s snowing, and you’re not exactly dressed for the weather. You’re soaking wet. Did you fall? Are you lost?”

She heard the concern in his tone and knew she had to reassure him if she wanted him to drive on, which she did. She was not in the mood for company, even concerned company. “I had a slight accident. But I’m fine.”

“Where are you heading?”

Oh, go away! She didn’t have the energy for this conversation.

She turned to look at him, ready to put him firmly in his place, and her gaze locked with his. She felt a jolt of shock. He was younger than she’d expected, just a few years older than her, she guessed, and his eyes were the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. Also the most tired. His jaw was dark with stubble, and he looked as if he’d been up all night.

The stab of attraction was unexpected. She didn’t have that kind of reaction to men. No fireworks. No insta-lust. She was far too controlled and careful for that. And her response to him irritated her. Or maybe what irritated her was meeting someone like him at possibly the lowest moment of her life.

She could just imagine how Janie would react if she were here. She’d be flicking her hair, giving him her most dazzling smile and begging him to rescue her. But it was hard to be dazzling when you’d just climbed out of a frozen ditch.

And Imogen was used to rescuing herself. She’d made it her mission in life to be totally independent. She couldn’t play the part of the damsel in distress even when she was, quite literally, distressed. She didn’t want to lean on those shoulders of his, however broad they were. One of the few advantages of her somewhat barren childhood was that she’d learned to pull herself out of ditches.

And anyway, if his slightly battered, haven’t-been-to-bed-all-night look was anything to go by, he was already living his best life.

Her ingrained sense of independence asserted itself and she almost didn’t tell him where she was going, but the sensible side of her decided it might be helpful to know that she was at least heading in the right direction. “Holly Cottage. It’s—”

“I know Holly Cottage.” He frowned. “You’re going the wrong way. How did you get here?”

“Across the fields.”

“In this weather?”

“I fancied a stroll.” It sounded ridiculous even to her. “I like snow. I find it...bracing.”

“Bracing?” Disbelief mingled with humor. “Mmm. Why don’t you hop in. I can drop you at Holly Cottage.”

She saw then that his eyes weren’t just tired, they were also kind. Instinctively, she backed away from that kindness. She didn’t want kindness. She was holding it together by a thread, and kindness might just snap it.

“No thanks, I’m fine.” Now that she’d been given the option, she realized she didn’t want to go back to the cottage. There was a strong chance that Dorothy and Sara would be waiting.

Her stomach churned at the thought of it. She couldn’t face them. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

Tears clogged her throat and she looked away again. “Thanks for stopping. I appreciate it.”

She was about to walk on and hope he took the hint when she heard a whimper from the back of the car and the man turned and stretched out a hand to something in the back seat.

“I know. Life sucks, but you’re going to be fine.”

She could identify with the first part of that statement. Life did indeed suck.

Wondering who he was talking to, she peered into the car. Underneath a bundle of towels and blanket something moved. “Is that a... dog ?”

“Somewhere under all that the muck. He’s hiding. He knows he’s in big trouble. He belongs to Valerie Kelly, a retired pharmacist who lives in the village. Her brother died six months ago and she promised she’d care for Ralph, but she has had health struggles of her own, poor thing, and there is no way she can handle him. He escaped again this morning so she called me, worried he was going to get himself run over. I was driving near to where he was last seen, and there he was, having a party for one in a very muddy ditch.” He glanced at the dog, who cowered guiltily under the blanket. “Don’t be fooled. He knows no one is going to hurt him. That look he’s giving you is pure emotional manipulation.”

The dog looked so pathetic she almost smiled. “Do you run a dog rescue or something?”

“It sometimes feels that way, but no, I’m a vet. Mostly farm animals, which is how I knew Jim Kelly. He was a farmer. I looked after his herd of prize cattle. For as long as I can remember Jim had a dog. The moment the dog died he got another one, and each one was called Ralph.”

“Why Ralph?”

“I think he just had the one name. Moved it from dog to dog. Anyway, Ralph is now the responsibility of his sister, and she’s not coping well. The dog is giving her the runaround. Her arthritis means she can’t walk him as much as she should. He needs to be rehomed, but she can’t bring herself to do it, because then she’d feel as if she was letting her brother down. But this little incident was the final straw. She’s worried the dog will end up dead.”

“That’s so sad.” She turned her attention back to the dog. There was something about him that tugged at her. “What will happen to him?”

“Well, he belongs to me now, which means he will have a life of being dragged around farms at inhuman hours and being fed when I remember to do it.”

“You’re keeping him?”

“Seems that way. I’m taking him home so we can get properly acquainted and I can figure out what he needs, but transporting him is difficult. He has some behavioral issues, because Valerie just couldn’t handle him. I’ll deal with those, but that’s not going to solve my immediate problem. He keeps trying to climb out of the car. I’ve been out on calls and wasn’t expecting to have a dog in the car so I didn’t come prepared.”

Out on calls. Was that why he looked so tired?

He was looking at her, contemplating something. “I don’t suppose you’d help? I’ve had to stop four times already. If you could sit in the back with him, that might settle him down. Once I have him safely at my place, I’ll drop you back to Holly Cottage. It’s not far.”

“I—”

“I can understand you’re cautious. You were probably raised not to get into a car with a strange man, but I can call any number of locals to vouch for me if that would help.”

Over the years she’d learned to trust her own instincts. Also, she really did have a black belt in jujitsu, and even though she hadn’t trained since April, she was still pretty confident that she could do damage if she needed to.

The fact that she was inclined to refuse had more to do with the fact she didn’t want company than any wariness of stranger danger, but then the dog poked his head through the blankets and looked at her with soulful eyes. His fur was matted and so caked in mud it was impossible to tell what color he was, let alone what breed.

She felt a pressure in her chest.

He was too much trouble for Valerie. He’d already lost his master, and now he was having to leave his home for a second time. From the look on his face he wasn’t too happy about it.

He probably felt lost and lonely.

I don’t want to be your mother.

She felt a flash of kinship, and before she could talk herself out of it, she was opening the car door and climbing into the back with the dog. The rejected needed to stick together.

The dog raised his head and gave a thump of his tail, as if agreeing with her thought.

“I hear you’ve been naughty.” She stroked his head, feeling caked mud under her fingers. “You’re certainly filthy.”

The man turned to look at them both and nodded approval. “He likes you. Good. That will help. If you could just keep your hand on him to reassure him, that would be great. It will take me under ten minutes to get home. I’m Miles, by the way. Miles McEwan.”

“Imogen.” And then the name suddenly registered. “Miles. You’re Dorothy’s vet.”

He glanced in the mirror. “You know Dorothy?”

How was she supposed to answer that?

She’d thought she knew Dorothy, but apparently she didn’t know her that well at all.

Her throat thickened and she stroked the dog’s matted head. “Sort of.” The dog nudged the palm of her hand, and she felt ridiculously comforted. He couldn’t possibly know how upset she was, of course, but it felt as if he knew.

Or maybe he did know and was thinking you think you’ve got trouble? Look at me! No one wants me.

She gave a half smile and felt him lick her palm in solidarity.

Miles shifted his gaze back to the road. “You’re staying in Holly Cottage so of course you know Dorothy. She’s great, isn’t she? One of my favorite people.”

Dorothy definitely wasn’t Imogen’s favorite person right now, but she couldn’t resist the opportunity to find out more from someone who knew her well.

“You’ve known her a long time?”

“Forever. She and my mother were best friends. They were each other’s bridesmaids. Also, Dorothy was my primary schoolteacher for a while.”

“You’re kidding.” She tried to imagine him as a six-year-old.

“That was a long time ago. Before her husband died. Before she took over the running of the vineyard full-time.”

Before her husband died. Her grandfather.

Dorothy had mentioned being a widow, but Imogen had never probed for detail. It hadn’t seemed appropriate. But now she tried to work out where that information fitted with everything she knew about her mother’s family. What was the timing? Had he died after he’d thrown her mother out?

She caught Miles’s questioning glance and realized she was expected to respond.

“Our relationship is mostly professional. I work for an events company. Dorothy is a client.” Or was. Was a client. There was no way Imogen would be working with her again, but that was far too much detail to share.

He nodded. “You live in London? I suppose someone has to.”

“You don’t like London?”

“On occasion, but I generally prefer having space and clean air to breathe. Whenever I visit, I’m always glad to get home.”

Glancing out of the window at the wintry landscape, it wasn’t hard to understand his point of view. They were driving steadily along the narrow road, through an avenue of snowy trees.

If she wasn’t so cold and miserable, she’d be admiring it. It looked like a Christmas card, not that she ever sent Christmas cards.

“So Dorothy was your teacher and a family friend, and you look after her animals.”

“She didn’t always have animals. It started with a donkey. She rescued it and called me to take a look. That was quite a few years ago. I was just starting in the practice. Newly qualified. It was my father’s practice.”

“He retired?”

“My parents were killed five years ago.” His voice roughened. “They were on their way home from an anniversary dinner when their car hit a patch of ice.”

He gave no more detail than that, but he didn’t need to.

She felt a flash of sympathy and also frustration with how unfair life was. He’d clearly had a wonderful family, and they’d been taken from him. “I’m sorry. That must have been tough.”

“At the time it was, yes. But everyone in the village was a great support, Dorothy in particular. Partly because she felt she owed it to my mother, I suppose—they were close friends—and partly because that’s just who she is. Dorothy is the kindest person I know. Always there for anyone in trouble, and that includes animals. She takes in anything unwanted.”

Unless it was her own daughter , Imogen thought bleakly. Then she wasn’t so generous. Did Miles know that part of her history? Presumably not.

“You see a lot of her.”

“I check on her animals from time to time. And I drop in for cake when I’m passing. If she offers to cook for you, say yes. She’s a brilliant cook. I’d cross the country for her chocolate cake.”

Imogen thought about the meal she’d left congealing on the table.

Where was Dorothy now? Probably waiting for her at the cottage.

She’d probably been calling, but Imogen had left her phone in her coat pocket so she had no way of knowing.

“We’re here—” Miles took a left turn up a bumpy track and pulled up outside a converted barn.

Imogen stared. “This is yours?”

“It’s more impressive from the outside than the inside, so don’t get your hopes up.” He switched off the engine. “I spend most of my time in muddy fields, and when I’m home I’m sleeping, not mopping the floor. Right. Let’s get this chap inside and clean him up. Then we can start teaching him some manners.”

She opened her mouth to point out that she wouldn’t be teaching him anything, but Miles was already out of the car and opening the car door.

Imogen stepped out. The freezing air penetrated her damp clothing and she shivered, feeling the lack of a coat.

The dog whimpered and gave her a forlorn look.

“Imogen isn’t going anywhere,” Miles told him, “but I’m going to carry you indoors.”

“I’ll take him.” Imogen didn’t want the dog to think she was abandoning him.

Miles frowned. “Are you sure? He’s not a small dog. He’s fine, really. He’s only looking at you as if the world is ending because he wants your sympathy.”

“He has my sympathy.” Imogen gently scooped him up, blankets and all, and hoped she wasn’t hurting him. She wasn’t used to handling an actual dog, and he weighed more than she’d anticipated. The dog lay against her, and she wasn’t sure which of them was shivering the most.

“Here—” Miles removed his coat and draped it around her shoulders. She was immediately engulfed in warmth.

“You don’t have to—”

“Let’s argue about it inside.” He closed the car door and walked with her to the barn. “We’ll use the side entrance. That way I don’t tread mud all over the place.”

“This barn is amazing. How did you find it?”

“I bought it from a farmer who owed me a favor.” He opened a door that led into a large utility room. “This is where I clean off before I go into the house.”

He tugged off his muddy boots and then took the dog from her as she did the same.

The floor underneath her damp socks was blissfully warm. She could see how practical the room would be for a vet. There was a large stainless steel sink, and everywhere she looked there were coats and boots and signs that the occupant lived an active, outdoor life.

He gently lowered Ralph into the sink. “Let’s start by washing off that mud so we can check he’s all right.”

Again he used “we.” As if she was part of the dog’s future. She wished badly that she was. “You think he might be injured?”

“Hopefully not, but there was some barbed wire close by, so I want to check.” He pulled away the muddy towels that were wrapped around the dog. “I couldn’t see signs of injury, but it was snowing and we were both in danger of freezing to death so I prioritized getting him back here and calling Valerie to tell her he was safe.” There was a shower attachment on the sink, and he turned on the water and tested the temperature. “Let’s give him a shower.”

Imogen stroked the dog’s head to reassure him. “I’ve never seen so much mud. What breed is he?”

“Golden retriever.” He glanced at her. “You look cold. Why don’t you go and take a hot shower yourself? You’re wet and cold. I can find you something to change into.”

Golden retriever. She almost laughed at the irony. But not Midas. Ralph.

“I’ll stay with him until we’re done here.”

“I suppose you’re already soaked, so a bit more water isn’t going to make much difference. And at least this water is warm.” He gave a good-natured grin and rolled up his sleeves, revealing muscled forearms.

She turned her focus back to Ralph and covered the dog’s eyes as Miles carefully aimed the jet of water over his head.

They were just arms, for goodness sake. Arms.

Miles soaped the matted fur, loosening caked mud and rinsing and rinsing until finally the water started to flow clear and the dog’s coat started to appear.

“That’s better.” Finally, he turned off the water and ran his hands over the now-clean dog, examining him thoroughly. “He’s none the worse for his adventures as far as I can tell.” Miles checked the dog’s ears and wrapped him in a clean towel.

The dog looked almost as pathetic wet as he’d looked muddy.

Imogen felt a rush of compassion. “Is he going to be all right?”

“He’s going to be fine. You might want to stand back in case he shakes and soaks you.”

“I don’t care.” She stroked the dog’s head and he rewarded her loyalty by licking her palm.

“Okay, enough. This love affair between the two of you is going to have to wait.” Having wrapped the dog in towels, Miles focused his attention on Imogen. “You need to warm up. That door over there leads to a shower. Everything you need is there, including clean towels. Go and stand under the hot water and by the time you’re done I’ll have found you some dry clothes.”

Imogen didn’t want to leave the dog, but she was truly freezing and the last thing she wanted was to be ill. She needed all her energy to handle what was coming next in her life.

She gave Ralph a last stroke. “l’ll be back in a moment. I’m not going far.”

Ralph whined and watched her until she’d disappeared through the door Miles had indicated.

It led to a surprisingly smart shower room, complete with towels warming on a rail.

She stripped off her soaked, muddy clothes and dropped them on the floor. Her skin felt icy to touch and she realized how very cold she was. She stepped under the jet of hot water and closed her eyes, allowing the water to stream over her hair and body. She wondered if Ralph had felt the same way. Did he know Valerie couldn’t keep him? Did he miss Jim?

Feeling sad for the dog, she reached for the shampoo, lathered her hair twice and then stayed under the scalding jets of water for several minutes. She wondered if she’d ever feel warm again.

Or maybe the chill came from the inside.

What was she going to do? Was she really going to leave without having another conversation with Dorothy? Was that even an option?

Even as part of her wanted to run as fast as possible in the opposite direction, another part of her had questions. So many questions.

“Imogen?” Miles’s voice came from the doorway. “I’ll leave some clothes by the door for you.”

She turned off the shower.

If he had spare clothes, then he was probably married, or at least had a partner of some sort. And why wouldn’t he? He was good-looking and seemed like a decent human. Also he was kind to animals, so it seemed likely some sensible person would have snapped him up long ago.

She stepped out of the shower, wrapped herself in one warm towel and rubbed at her hair with another.

Once she was dry, she reached for the clothes he’d left in a neat pile.

There was a pair of jeans that fitted surprisingly well, and a soft sweater in a shade of pale pink. She found a hairdryer in one of the drawers and finished drying her hair.

She emerged from the bathroom and almost fell over the dog.

“He’s been sitting there waiting for you since you closed the door,” Miles said, amused. “At some point I need to break the news to him that I’m his new owner and not you.”

She crouched down next to the dog, who was now also clean and dry, his fur a soft pale gold. She felt a lump in her throat. Here, right in front of her, was the dog she’d imagined. Only this dog was the real thing.

Right now he felt like the only real thing in her life.

She stroked his head. “Good boy. Aren’t you beautiful?” She smiled as he thumped his tail and pressed his nose into her hand. “He looks so much better without all that mud.”

“He’s a good-looking dog. I’m going to find him something to eat.” He glanced at her. “You look better.”

“Better?”

“Your lips were turning blue. For a moment there I was as worried about you as I was about the dog. I thought I was going to be dealing with a ripe old case of hypothermia. The clothes fit.” He nodded approval. “Good.”

“Yes. Thank you. And I do feel better.” She also felt self-conscious. He was probably wondering why she’d been stumbling along a snowy lane with no coat. “Do these clothes belong to your wife or something?”

“My sister, Lissa.” He piled the towels he’d used for the dog into a large washing machine. “She was doing some work on the place for me and left clothes here. I’m pleased to see them put to good use instead of cluttering up my home. Come through to the kitchen and warm up properly. I need coffee. I’m sure you do too.”

She followed him through to the living room and stopped as she saw the large Christmas tree that had pride of place by the window. “Wow. That’s—big. You’re a Christmas lover, obviously.”

“I don’t know if I’d describe myself that way. I’m usually working at Christmas.” He glanced at the tree. “It’s a bit over-the-top, isn’t it? I’m willing to bet that you can see it from space when I switch the lights on. You can blame my sister for the decorations. She worries that I spend too much time working, so she arranged for one of her interior design team to come and set up a tree for me. Can you believe that is actually someone’s job?”

She stepped closer and took a closer look at the tree with its artistically arranged decorations. She could smell the forest, and for the first time in her life understood how such a thing might lift your spirits. There was something magical about bringing the outdoors indoors. She reached out and touched one of the branches. “What do they do for the other eleven months of the year?”

“They work for my sister, which means they won’t even have time to breathe. Ironic, given that she tells me off for working too hard.”

She glanced back at him, remembering how tired he’d looked when he’d picked her up. “Do you work too hard?”

“Probably.” He shrugged. “But I’m happy. I love my job, except perhaps at three in the morning when I’m out in freezing snow and howling winds with my arm up a cow’s backside.”

She laughed at the image. Actually laughed, which seemed like something of a miracle, given that only a short time ago she’d been ready to hide in a snowdrift.

“I can see why your sister would be worried.” She glanced around her and felt a twinge of envy. “This place is like something out of a magazine.”

The living room had a vaulted ceiling and exposed beams. Like Holly Cottage, there was a wall of Cotswold stone and large windows that overlooked the snow-covered fields. Two comfortable sofas were arranged either side of the fireplace, and in the middle of a large rug (in an impractical shade of cream) there was a coffee table stacked with books.

The place looked tidy, as if the person who lived here spent very little time sitting down.

“Ridiculous, isn’t it?” He rolled his eyes as he gestured to the duck-egg blue sofas. “It’s all Lissa, obviously. I stupidly gave her free rein with the furnishings. I asked for practical, but as you can see I didn’t get what I asked for. She got a little carried away.”

“It’s gorgeous. Elegant and stylish, but still cozy.” And between Holly Cottage and this place, she was starting to rethink her life choices. Maybe it was time to stop saving and finally buy somewhere of her own.

“As I said, Lissa is an interior designer and she decided that as my work life involves me up to my thighs in mud half the time, my home life should be more civilized. I pointed out that my lifestyle isn’t compatible with pale blue, and that’s when she converted that room we just used into a mudroom/utility room. I’m supposed to scrub off the dirt before I enter my own house. I’d ignore her, obviously, except that I’m convinced she has installed CCTV somewhere, just to check that I’m not ruining her work by living in the place.”

Imogen felt Ralph nudge her leg, and she bent to stroke him. “Do you want to leave him in the other room in case he breaks something or jumps on something?”

“Definitely not. A home is to be lived in, and it seems this is his home now. And anyway—” his eyes held a wicked gleam “—if there aren’t marks on the duck-egg blue, I won’t be able to prove I was right that it was an impractical choice. There’s no point in having a sibling if you can’t say ‘I told you so.’ Come through to the kitchen. You need a hot drink and so do I.”

She followed him through the beautiful living room and into the kitchen, which did seem more practical with its stone floor and large kitchen island.

“Coffee?” He eyed her. “Or maybe I should make you hot chocolate. It might warm you up.”

“Hot chocolate sounds comforting.”

He gave her a quick look and she berated herself for her choice of words. Now he was going to ask her why she needed comfort.

But he didn’t. Instead, he opened the fridge and pulled out the milk. “Did you eat lunch? Because I’m going to make myself a sandwich so I can easily make you one too.”

She relaxed, grateful that he hadn’t probed.

“I’m not that hungry, but thanks.” She was still too stressed about what had happened earlier to contemplate eating.

“I’ll make extra in case you’re tempted. Food will warm you up.” He frothed some milk and made her a hot chocolate, and then made himself a coffee using a machine that looked as if it could have launched a rocket into space.

He intercepted her glance and smiled. “I don’t care what color my sofas are, but I do care about my coffee. So would you if you spent as much time awake at night as I do.”

She did spend a fair amount of time awake. Maybe she needed to invest in a coffee machine like his.

She sipped her hot chocolate and instantly felt warmer.

Miles opened the fridge and pulled out random ingredients. “Cheese or ham?”

“I’m not really—”

“Let’s go with cheese then.” He pulled out a block of cheese and gestured to a cupboard near her. “You’ll find some dog food in there. You’d better feed your new friend as you seem to be his favorite.”

“I envy you, being able to keep him. I wish he was mine.” She slid off the chair and found the food and a bowl.

The dog pressed against her leg, tail wagging in anticipation.

Miles sent her a curious look. “Do you have a dog?” He cut thick chunks of bread from a fresh loaf and added cheese and chutney from a jar with a handwritten label.

“No. I live in London.”

“People have dogs in cities.”

“Yes, but I work a lot. And unlike you, I can’t take the dog along with me. It wouldn’t be fair.” But she couldn’t stop thinking of how it might be to come home to that waggy tail every night. She was starting to understand why her colleagues were obsessed. She watched as the dog devoured the food. “You don’t already have a dog?”

“I had a German shepherd for eleven years. Alfie. Brilliant dog. Lost him a year ago. I still miss him.” He opened one of the cupboards and pulled out two plates. “I wasn’t planning on replacing him, but it seems the universe has different ideas. Although you’re the one Ralph is interested in. Time to feed the humans. Here...” He put a sandwich in front of her. “It’s not elegant, but the cheese is organic from the farm down the road and the chutney was a gift from Valerie. It’s homemade from the apples in her orchard. If you bought that in London, you’d pay a fortune for it.”

She really didn’t think she could eat, but she didn’t want to attract any more attention or questions so she balanced on a stool at the kitchen island and bit into the sandwich, keeping one eye on her new protector. “But you’ll keep him?”

“I made a promise to Valerie.” He drank his coffee, his gaze fixed on the dog. “He’s going to need training. I haven’t got time to search the countryside for him every time he decides to go for an adventure. Are we going to stick with the name Ralph?”

She put her sandwich down. He was talking as if she was a longtime friend, and not someone he’d just rescued from the side of the road. “You want to change his name?”

He shrugged. “As I said, Jim only had the one dog name. Maybe this chap would like to have a name that’s personal to him. He’s had a bit of a sad time, and this is a fresh start. Maybe he’d like a fresh name.”

Maybe that was what she should do. Change her name. Start fresh. Get away from her old life.

She brought her attention back to the present. “But does he answer to Ralph?”

“I don’t know.” He took a bite of his sandwich. “Why don’t you find out?”

She slid off the stool. “Come here, Ralph.”

The dog shot across to her, tail wagging.

Miles watched while he ate his sandwich. “Now go into the living room and call him Napoleon.”

“Napoleon?”

“Just try it.”

With a sigh, she walked back to the living room and took a breath. “Come here—Napoleon.” She felt like a fool saying it and then moments later started laughing because the dog came shooting toward her, just as he had the first time.

She took him back to the kitchen. “I don’t get it. Doesn’t he know his name?”

“Possibly, but he’s still young, and what he’s really responding to is the tone of your voice.”

She almost suggested they rename him Midas, but she stopped herself.

Midas was in the past. Midas wasn’t real. Her fake dog days were behind her. And if this dog was having a fresh start, so was she. No more pretending. Maybe she wouldn’t go as far as changing her name, but from now on she only wanted what was real.

“I like the name Ralph. It suits him. And I don’t think he needs a new name just because he’s getting a new life.” She slid back onto the stool and took another bite of her sandwich. It was delicious, but her stomach felt tight and no matter how gorgeous the dog, or how charming and good-looking his new owner, she was still reeling from the shocking revelation that Dorothy was her grandmother.

That reality hung in her head even while she was talking about other things. Sooner or later she was going to have to stop avoiding the issue and decide what to do.

“Ralph it is,” Miles said. “Welcome to your new home, Ralph.” He smiled as the dog thumped his tail. “He doesn’t seem too unhappy to be here. So now tell me more about yourself. You’re spending Christmas at Holly Cottage? It’s a great place for that.”

“I won’t be spending Christmas there.” Even as she said it, she felt a stab of regret. “I’m leaving later today.”

“Oh, shame. I was thinking maybe you could help me walk Ralph occasionally. When did you arrive?”

He was going to ask for her help with the dog? “Yesterday.”

“That’s a pretty short stay.” His gaze lingered on her face. “I gather you’re not impressed with our country ways.”

“It’s not that.” She hesitated. “It’s complicated.”

“I guessed that when I saw you wandering along a snowy lane with no coat.” He glanced at her half-eaten sandwich. “Are you going to finish that?”

“It’s delicious, but I’m not really hungry.”

“You’re upset,” he said slowly. “It’s none of my business, but if you want to talk about it, I’m a pretty good listener.”

She could believe that. She was used to being with people who were usually doing several things at once, including glancing at their phones. Miles had a way of giving you all his attention. It was a little unnerving.

“Let’s just say my life is a bit of a mess right now. And that’s probably an understatement.” There was something about his calm, strong presence and his gentleness with the dog that made her want to blurt it all out. “I found out something today. Something that shocked me.”

She was emotionally raw from her earlier encounter and hadn’t yet managed to seal the gaps in her armor. The only thing stopping her from telling him everything was the fact he knew Dorothy. He obviously thought Dorothy was an exceptional person, and she didn’t want to be the one to expose Dorothy’s secrets.

She’d be gone from here today and she’d never see any of them again.

That thought depressed her more than it should have done. It felt as if she was losing something, which made no sense because all she’d lost today was the last of her naivety.

And a friend. Because she’d considered Dorothy a friend.

She was hit by a wave of exhaustion. She felt tired and despondent, and maybe Ralph sensed it because he stood up and rested his head on her lap.

Miles glanced at him. “He knows you’ve had a bad day.” He paused. “Anything I can help with? I’m a champion problem solver when the problems belong to other people.”

That made her smile. “I’m a champion problem solver too. Unfortunately, this isn’t really something that can be solved. More something I have to learn to live with.”

“Right.” He studied her, his expression sharp. “Does Dorothy know you’re going? Because if you leave early, she’s going to blame herself. She prides herself on making sure her guests have the best time. Is there something wrong with the cottage?”

“It’s not the cottage. The cottage is perfect.” A little too perfect. It made it all the harder to leave. Despite her initial reservations, her mood had lifted from the moment she’d stepped through the front door. The thought of returning to her place in London wasn’t appealing. It was definitely time to rethink her life plan. If this trip had given her nothing else good, she at least had that. She’d realized that it was time to make a move. She’d saved hard, worked multiple jobs when she was studying and she had enough money for a deposit on somewhere half-decent if she was willing to commute. Perhaps she could re-create the “feel” of the cottage in an apartment in London.

Miles finished his sandwich. “Holly Cottage is usually booked up with people wanting to take lifestyle shots for social media. Last year she rented it to an advertising company for a Christmas shoot for a major brand. Whenever I turned the TV on, I saw Holly Cottage. They used it for a movie a few years ago too. Covered the place in fake snow, which irritated the locals.”

“I can imagine.”

He stood up and put his plate into the dishwasher. “Dorothy is pretty commercial. She’s had to be. She has learned how to monetize what she has, but that’s so that she can give back. Most of her money is poured into community projects and rescuing the animals.”

She realized now how little she knew Dorothy.

“Why does she rescue animals?”

He hesitated. “Trying to compensate for the one she couldn’t save?”

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry. I was thinking aloud.” He shook his head. “I’m not a psychologist, but I’d say it all goes back to a family tragedy. It’s public knowledge, so I’m not betraying a confidence. We’re a pretty tight community here. Which can occasionally be irritating, but mostly it’s a good thing. Everyone keeps an eye on everyone.”

“Family tragedy?” Her heart was thumping hard. “You mean losing her husband?”

“No, although that was a tragedy too of course, and what happened had to have contributed. You don’t know about her daughter?”

“You mean Sara? I saw her this morning.”

Sara, her aunt. Her aunt. That was something she hadn’t even started to get her head around. And Ava and Iris were her cousins. Did her mother know about Ava and Iris? Presumably not. She’d never been given the chance to know them. And neither had Imogen.

She felt a pang. The two little girls were so engaging it would have been nice to have them in her life. She imagined Ava on Christmas morning, her excitement brimming over like lemonade poured too quickly into a glass.

Miles frowned. “I’m not talking about Sara. I meant her other daughter.”

Other daughter?

She kept her hands in her lap and tried to keep her expression neutral. “Tell me about her other daughter.”

“I don’t remember much about her, but my sister was—still is—a close friend of Sara’s and I know she hated going round to the house when Tina was there. Tina used to keep alcohol and cigarettes in Sara’s bedroom because she knew her mother wouldn’t search there. She once stole money from Lissa’s coat pocket, but Lissa didn’t tiptoe around her in the way Sara did. She took it right back and Tina never bothered her again.”

“Tina stole money?”

“Yes. And that wasn’t the only thing she stole. She hung around with people who weren’t a great influence, I think. She and one of her friends were arrested once. Then at sixteen she got pregnant and after that everything unravelled.”

Imogen’s mouth felt dry. “That’s the tragedy? You’re saying that the shame of her getting pregnant killed Dorothy’s husband?”

“What? No. Dorothy and Phillip loved that baby and they tried hard to support their daughter too. But Tina didn’t want their help. She rejected them. Left home and didn’t get in touch for four years.”

Imogen felt a flicker of outrage. That wasn’t right. Her mother had told her so many times that it was her family who had rejected her. They hadn’t supported her or given her a chance.

You ruined my life.

“Maybe she knew they didn’t want her in their lives.” She tried to keep her voice normal. “Maybe she left because she knew they didn’t want the baby.”

“No, that wasn’t how it was.” He looked confused by the suggestion. “And anyway, she didn’t take the baby. The baby stayed with them.”

Those words hung in the air for a moment and then slowly sank into her head.

“Excuse me?”

“Tina didn’t take the baby with her. She walked out on her family and the child too. Just left. Dorothy cared for the baby for four years and not once did Tina get in touch. I’ve never understood how a mother could just walk away from a baby like that. But that was Tina. She just did what she wanted and didn’t care about anyone else. I suppose she knew the baby would be safe with Dorothy.”

Imogen’s head spun.

Miles was saying her mother had left her with Dorothy?

No. That couldn’t be right. She had no idea where he’d got this version of the story, but she knew it wasn’t right. She hadn’t lived with her grandmother, she’d lived with her mother. It had been just her and her mother against the rest of the world. Her mother had told her that so many times.

But she wanted to hear the rest of his version, so she forced herself to keep listening. “And what happened after four years?”

“Tina came back. She just turned up one day, right before Christmas, and said she was taking the baby.” He shook his head as if the logic behind the whole incident defeated him.

“Took the baby?” Her lips were so dry she could hardly move them. “What do you mean?”

“She turned up without warning, took the baby and that was that. Poor Dorothy.” His voice softened. “I can’t even imagine it. She and Phillip loved that baby. So did Sara. They cared for her as if she was their own. And then she was taken away from them. They were heartbroken. Are you going to finish your sandwich?”

She’d forgotten about her sandwich.

What he was telling her couldn’t be true. She knew it wasn’t true. “Didn’t they try and stop her?”

“Yes, but Phillip had a stroke that night. Everyone assumed because of the stress of it. And that part I do remember because my mother took the phone call from Dorothy. She wanted to go with him to the hospital, but she didn’t want to leave Sara in the house on her own. Sara was in a bad state. Her dad had just collapsed in front of her, and her sister had taken the child that Sara had been doting on for four years. Dorothy asked my mother to stay with her. My father was out on a call and my sister was on a school trip somewhere, so my mother put me in the car and took me with her to Winterbury. I’ve never forgotten that night.”

She felt lightheaded. “How old were you?”

“Nine? And totally ill-equipped to deal with so much emotional trauma. Sara was distraught. She sat on the sofa sobbing, which is a bit disconcerting when you’re a nine-year-old boy. I was relieved my mother was there to handle the brunt of it. Sara just kept saying she took Immy . Over and over again. She took Immy. ”

She took Immy.

Imogen’s heart was thundering against her ribs. “It’s not true. If it had happened that way, she would have told me.” But even as she said it part of her was wondering. Remembering all the other untruths her mother had told. But not this, surely? This was huge. No. She couldn’t believe it.

But what reason would Miles have to lie? He wasn’t repeating something he’d heard; he’d actually been there that night.

“Who would have told you what?” Miles frowned briefly and then stilled. Understanding dawned. “Imogen.” He said her name softly. “Immy.”

“Yes.” She croaked out the word. “I’m the baby. And this is the first time I’ve heard that story.”