Chapter Forty‑Five
Chapter Forty-Five
On Sunday morning, the glass-walled conservatory of The Gables was flooded with pale sunlight when Richard and Sally Vance arrived for breakfast at exactly half past eight. The morning was perfectly still, the only sound the quiet, rhythmic wash of the tide against the harbour wall outside.
Lydia stood by the sideboard, a white porcelain coffee pot in her hand, as she set down a fresh basket of warm croissants. She offered her guests a polite, welcoming smile, her professional hospitality completely intact.
“Good morning,” Lydia said softly. “I hope you both slept well again.”
“Extremely well, thank you, Miss Taylor,” Sally replied, her voice smooth and refined — a world away from the sharp, brittle tone she had used the previous day.
She adjusted her napkin with a sigh as Lydia poured their coffee.
“The peace here is simply a marvel. It is a stark contrast to what we are forced to deal with when we leave these walls.”
Richard took his seat, his mouth tightening into a thin, clinical line as he reached for the toast rack.
“We spent yesterday visiting our grandchildren, Miss Taylor, and I must say, the situation is thoroughly distressing.”
“Oh dear,” Lydia said politely, her voice carrying a touch of genuine neighbourly sympathy as she set down the cream jug. “Is everything all right?”
“Far from it,” Sally declared, shaking her head with a look of deep, high-handed disapproval.
“The house is terribly neglected. Dust everywhere, non-existent organisation, and the kitchen counters were in a dreadful state. I had to spend my entire Saturday scrubbing the grout behind the cooker just to make it habitable.”
Lydia felt a quiet wave of pity for the family they described.
In a small village like Brookleigh Bay, she knew how difficult it could be for young families to keep on top of domestic chores — but to hear this impeccably dressed southern woman describe the house as terribly neglected made the household sound utterly chaotic.
“And the discipline is completely gone,” Richard added, his voice clipped as he buttered his toast with aggressive precision.
“Those children twist their father right around their little fingers. They run wild through the garden, shouting, slamming doors, and he simply sits there and lets it happen. He has become far too soft with them.”
“It’s heartbreaking, really,” Sally murmured, leaning closer to her husband, her voice dropping into a confidential tone that carried clearly across the quiet conservatory.
“And to make matters worse, we are certain there is another woman involved. The children talk about her constantly. Some local person who has managed to insert herself into their routine — and, no doubt, captured their father’s attention. ”
Lydia stood beside the sideboard, sympathy stirring for the family they described. It sounded dreadful — an overwhelmed father, unruly children, and a household struggling to cope, with another woman becoming involved before the family had found its balance.
“That does sound incredibly difficult for you both,” Lydia said gently, smoothing down the front of her summer dress. “It must be very hard to watch from a distance.”
“It is a trial, Miss Taylor, a total trial,” Sally sighed, looking up at Lydia with a warm, approving smile.
“But finding somewhere so properly managed as your B&B — where the standards of cleanliness and conduct are exactly what we appreciate — makes it bearable. You run a beautiful establishment.”
“Thank you, Mrs Vance,” Lydia replied smoothly. “Please, help yourselves to the fruit. I’ll leave you to your breakfast.”
She stepped back into the hallway, the empty coffee pot tucked under her arm, grateful that her unexpected first weekend of guests was going so smoothly.
Richard and Sally Vance clearly thought highly of Miss Taylor.
Neither of them suspected that she was the very woman they had just condemned.