Chapter 13
T he barking of a dog woke Annie up. She turned in bed toward the window with a wide smile on her face, and with eyes still half closed, she listened to the sounds of nature—birds chirping, the delicate rustling of leaves in the breeze, and the staccato of a woodpecker. The dog barked again, quieted by a sharp whistle.
Annie inhaled the air, scented with lilacs and morning mist, sat up in bed, and stretched her arms. Sleep had energised her, filling her with this internal certainty that everything would be fine.
Watching the orchard through the window, still enveloped in a morning fog that turned it into a magical place, Annie’s thoughts returned to the day at the pub.
Despite feeling afterwards as though a truck had run her over, she had this overwhelming sensation of being in the right place. Of belonging. After all, a pub used to be her domain, a place she called home. Where she had spent most of her days organising deliveries, coordinating staff schedules to fit their lives, ensuring customers had been looked after and dealing with anyone who dared harass her female employees without mercy.
Her locals had been like family to her, and she’d been family to them—celebrating babies being born, graduations, and first jobs. Supporting them through breakups or simply through bad days at work.
Her stomach ached as she thought of those times—the camaraderie, the sense of belonging, the ability to make someone’s day better.
But COVID had ended that life. It had finished the pub and her career along with it. And when the world had reopened, before she had a chance to get back on her feet, Darren had entered her life. Quite literally.
One evening, during her server shift at a dingy pub—a job she had taken temporarily while searching for other opportunities—Darren had saved her from a nasty patron with a habit of smacking the bottoms of the female staff. And he hadn’t been gentle about it. The poor sod had ended up in an ambulance with a broken nose, but Annie had lost her job.
Not that she’d liked it there, anyway. Plus, she’d genuinely thought she’d finally met a great guy, her knight in shining armour. Her protector.
Annie chuckled dryly and reached for the glass of water on her nightstand, gulping it down to wash away the bitter taste in her mouth. She’d never been more wrong about anyone.
What about Conrad? Was she wrong about him, too?
The way he’d stepped in yesterday at the pub—how he treated Sophie and the other staff with respect. And the way he’d interacted with his employees last Sunday at his other pubs. It reminded her of how she’d treated her own staff—with care and respect. That’s why it had felt so familiar. Maybe Conrad wasn’t such a bad guy after all.
Annie swung her legs off the bed, slipped on her bathrobe, and tied it securely. Barefoot, she tiptoed toward the wall and stroked the frame of the picture of young Grandma Ann.
“What would you do in my place, Granny?”
Take responsibility for your actions—that’s what she’d say.
Annie’s chest tightened. It wasn’t her fault, though. None of this was. It was her parents who’d made the shady deal. They’d forced Louise into this mess, and Annie had only stepped in to protect her sister. She wasn’t the one pulling the strings here. Right?
And yet, her gaze fell to her stomach. Her hand drifted to the faint curve, her fingers tracing it gently. She had to do what was best for her baby—the one she could still save. Her child deserved a safe, stable life, and she would do whatever it took to provide it.
You should have ended it back at the church.
Annie rubbed her face, trying to silence her inner voice. What was the point of dwelling on the past? She couldn’t undo it now. The only thing left was to move forward.
She needed to come clean. Conrad had the right to know the truth. But when? Right now? Later? This weekend on the Isle of Wight?
She scratched her chin, her thoughts whirling. If only she could find a way to make Conrad let her stay. To keep the deal alive—or to strike a new one. She could offer him her skills and the inheritance money. She’d give up all of her alleged inheritance—her parents assured her it was waiting under lock and key—if it meant having a place to raise her child.
Would that be enough?
Her hand dropped from her chin as doubt crept in. Would he see through her desperation? Did she even have the right to ask him for anything?
Annie sighed and straightened her posture, as though physically lifting the weight pressing on her shoulders. It could work. She just needed a bit of luck. She crossed her fingers.
Well, maybe quite a lot of luck. And the right moment, the right mood, and the right atmosphere. A lot of “rights”, but not impossible. She simply had to wait for that special moment.
Marching to the door, she whispered, “Granny, help me if you can.”
***
?
W ith a cup of freshly brewed black coffee, Conrad sat at the kitchen table, waiting for his wife to appear. He’d heard noises behind the closed doors earlier and had put the coffee machine on, hoping to lure Louise out.
He tapped a complex melody with his fingers, rehearsing the conversation in his head.
Should he keep it casual, ask how she liked her toast, and maybe suggest a day out? Or go for something more serious—make her understand he was willing to put in the effort?
“Coffee?” He jumped to his feet the moment she appeared in the doorway.
Her eyes widened, and she took a step back.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”
His wife pulled her bathrobe tighter, as if trying to shield herself within its folds.
“It suits you.” He pointed at the fluffy fabric. “I think you should keep it.”
“I thought it reminded you never to trust a woman?” Louise took a few proud steps forward, her chin raised high. It wasn’t the reaction he’d expected to his compliment, but hey, he wouldn’t complain. At least she wasn’t retreating anymore.
With his eyes fixed on her, Conrad pondered the situation. If it was a rhetorical question, answering might start a fight. On the other hand, if he ignored it, focusing on coffee, she might feel disrespected and that could be even worse.
“It’s a great question. How about I make you a cappuccino, and then we have a chat?” Without even waiting for her response, Conrad placed a mug under the coffee machine spout and poured milk into a small jug for steaming.
“Actually, yeah. There is something I’d like to talk about.” Her tone softened, less feisty now. “I’ll be back in a sec, just gonna change quickly.”
The door opened and closed behind her, the sound barely audible over the coffee machine.
If she was planning to bail on him now, he had to stop her. Subtlety wouldn’t cut it. As he waited for the milk to steam, Conrad emptied a pack of Digestives into a small bowl. By the time he’d poured the milk into the mug, the door opened again.
“Do you need a hand?”
He glanced over his shoulder to see her dressed in leggings and the jumper he’d bought her the other day. It seemed like the clothes had been designed specifically for her.
“Could you take the biscuits, please? I’ll carry the coffee.”
They ambled toward the patio without speaking, the creaking of the wooden floorboards filling the silence.
She perched at the edge of the sofa while Conrad took the lounger, angling it away from the sun so he could see her face. Louise took a small sip of her coffee, licked her lips, opened her mouth as if about to speak, and then closed them.
Now or never. If he waited any longer, find the words he wasn’t ready to hear. That this wasn’t going anywhere. That they’d tried and failed. That they’d be better off going their separate ways. No. He wasn’t giving up without a fight.
“So, I was thinking ... ”
Louise glanced at him with a spark of interest in her eyes.
Keep talking, mate.
“Yesterday you were an enormous help.”
She waved her hand in a dismissive gesture.
“Honestly, woman, we wouldn’t have coped without you. It was almost like you were born to do this job.”
The moment the words left his mouth, Conrad regretted them. Shit. Now what? What woman wanted to hear she was born to be a bartender? Conrad tensed as he took a sip of his already cold coffee, bracing himself for an inevitable barrage of insults.
“It was fun.” Her light chuckle made his jaw drop.
You lucky bastard.
Somehow, he was still in the game. Carefully now, he formed each sentence in his head before speaking. “I’d like to make it up to you for yesterday. Have a day of fun rather than work. What would you say to an art fair?”
“An art fair?” Her surprise seemed encouraging.
“Yes. Someone mentioned there’s one happening this week in Bradford on Avon. Local artists showing their work.”
She cocked her head, clearly interested.
“We could go now, have a wander, maybe even buy a piece or two, and then stop for lunch at The Canal Inn.”
“Your pub?” Her tone turned hesitant.
“Yes—or we could do something else. There are plenty of lovely places nearby.” Conrad barely took a breath between sentences. “We could go on a boat trip and have lunch on the barge. Or go to Bath. Or ... ” He was running out of ideas. “So, what do you think? Would you like that?”
Her head nodded slightly, but Conrad held his breath, unsure if it was a yes or a maybe.
“Yeah, that would be lovely, but I need to tell you something.”
“Brilliant.” He clasped his hands together and sprang up from the lounger. “We can chat later during lunch—unless it can’t wait?”
With his feet already facing the house, he glanced back at Louise, who seemed to be working through something in her mind, judging by the number of wrinkles on her forehead.
She exhaled visibly, and the creases disappeared. “Yes, it can wait till lunch. No rush.”
One point for him. He was still in the game.
Just don’t screw it up, man.
***
?
I t could wait till later, couldn’t it? What difference would it make if Annie pushed for this conversation right now? Maybe it would be better to do it in public—but not at any of his pubs. Oh no, that would be a disaster.
Annie took another sip of her cappuccino, watching Conrad disappear through the doorway.
“Are you coming?” His voice called out from inside the house, snapping her out of her inertia.
“Sure.” Holding the mug in both hands, she rose from her seat and glanced around at the cracked wooden rails and the patio planks, polished by years of shifting feet. The white and pink blossoms of the apple trees completed the magical picture, with morning rays of sunlight weaving between the leaves and branches. The fog had lifted, promising a sunny day with no chance of rain. It was almost as if nature had gifted her this one last beautiful day to enjoy before facing the future.
“Louise?” Conrad’s head popped through the door.
Dressed in pale blue jeans and a navy polo shirt that accentuated his muscular arms, he could easily model for a magazine cover. Maybe he had? Annie wouldn’t put it past him, given his empire and his love for luxury clothes and cars.
She placed her empty mug into his outstretched hand, his hard calluses contradicting the polished, model-like image he projected.
“Yeah, let me grab my bag, and we can head out.”
Before she had a complete meltdown imagining his muscular arms on her waist—like the other day when they had danced a tango full of desire—Annie squeezed past Conrad, brushing against his chest and feeling the firmness of his muscles through the fabric of her sweater. Heat rushed up her neck.
What’s wrong with you, woman?
She tilted her head away from Conrad, hurrying toward her room. It must be the pregnancy hormones.
Annie paused over her suitcase, scratching her chin. Was it, though? She couldn’t recall feeling this way during her first pregnancy—not with Darren.
Her shoulders tensed, and her body shivered as the memories flooded her mind. Darren’s anger, the accusations over something she’d said or done, the feel of his fingers digging into her arms, shaking her, pushing her. Tripping over a chair behind her. The fall. The piercing pain, followed by that haunting numbness.
Annie inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with air, then exhaled slowly and deliberately, blinking the tears away.
No. That would never happen again.
She stretched her neck, mentally wiping the images from her mind, and focusing on the new life within her. Her hand stroked her still flat belly, while the other touched the picture frame on the wall.
“Louise?” Conrad’s voice came again, faint and distant, with a tone of ...
Of what? Annoyance? No. Worry? Yes, it sounded like worry.
Annie bent down and picked a pair of jeans and a white T-shirt, quickly changing into them. Her unzipped hoodie completed the look paired with trainers. She grabbed her bag and lunged for the door, to hesitate and turn back on her heel.
The camera. If she truly were her sister, she’d never miss the chance to take pictures.
Not for much longer, though. For better or worse, after lunch, she’d no longer be Louise.
***
?
C onrad stood at the open house door, dangling the keys on his finger, waiting. Where was that woman? How long could it possibly take to grab a bag? He glanced at his watch, starting to do some mental arithmetic, when Louise finally appeared at the end of the hall. A small rucksack hung over her shoulder, and she cradled his dad’s camera in her hands.
I knew it.
A wide grin spread across his face, and whatever annoyance he’d been feeling evaporated without a trace. His dad would be over the moon knowing someone had so much love for his camera.
As she reached him, a wrinkle furrowed her forehead as she scanned the driveway.
“Is Colton not here yet?”
“No, he’s looking after the business.”
Someone has to while I’m having a day off .
And jumping through hoops to make sure his wife stuck to her part of the deal.
“Ah, so you booked a taxi?” She shaded her eyes with her hand, scanning the road for any sign of a car.
“Nope. We’re taking my trusted truck.” Conrad locked the door and strolled to the left side of the house, the crunch of her footsteps on gravel following close behind.
“I wouldn’t have pegged you as a truck guy. You strike me more as a Bentley or S-Class type.”
Me and you both.
Conrad swallowed hard and hid his thoughts behind a forced laughter. “Not today. We’ll need something that won’t get stuck in mud or on a country road.”
Half the truth. The art fair was set in a meadow, with the parking lot likely situated in a nearby field.
As they rounded the corner of the house, his old red pickup truck came into view, tucked between the side wall and a tall wooden fence. The vehicle sat there like a relic, rarely used but still functional. Conrad stopped and turned to Louise.
“Wait here. I’ll bring it around.”
Without waiting for her answer, he squeezed through the narrow gap, unlocked the truck, and slid into the cracked faux leather seat. The door groaned in protest, but at least the old beast still worked. It was the last car he owned. It was a godsend that Colton never complained about driving Conrad’s ass around in his Tesla.
He glanced through the windshield at Louise, who was staring at the truck with her mouth slightly open. Sliding the key into the ignition, he winced as the diesel engine roared to life—a stark contrast to the quiet hum of the Tesla he’d grown used to.
Conrad gritted his teeth.
Soon. It will be over soon.
Once he paid off the bank, he’d have more money to inject into the business, and from there, the luxuries he used to take for granted—like a better car—wouldn’t seem so far off.
As the truck rolled forward, Conrad leaned over and opened the passenger door. “Hop in.”
Louise scrambled into her seat and fastened the seat belt while Conrad searched for a radio station without a crackling static noise.
“This looks ancient.” Her curious gaze flitted across the interior. She ran her fingers over the battered dashboard and paused at the window handle. “Does it even work??”
A bit of faith, woman.
“Sure. It might look old, but trust me—it’s as good as new.”
Louise laughed, the sound light and easy. “It’s probably older than me, but I don’t mind. As long as it gets us where we’re going.”
She nestled into the seat and rummaged through her backpack, pulling out a pair of sunglasses, which she perched on her forehead. After placing the rucksack on the floor, she rubbed her hands together. “Let’s do this.”
Her cheerful command jolted Conrad into action. He pressed the clutch and shifted into gear, and the truck rumbled forward.
Conrad grinned and let out a whistle. A woman who didn’t mind being driven in an old beater? That was a first. She was a keeper—his mum would have said if she’d lived to see this moment.?