Chapter Forty-Two
The rain had started up again, a steady, persistent drizzle that softened the edges of the houses along Sandy Lane.
Even so, the evening light lingered — that pale, stretched-out northern brightness that clung to the sky long after eight o’clock in July.
Inside The Gables, Lydia stood in her newly painted hallway, adjusting the position of a fresh wicker welcome hamper on the sideboard, when the doorbell rang.
She frowned slightly, checking her watch. It was nearly eight o’clock on a Friday evening. Her first booking — a couple from down south — wasn’t expected until Saturday afternoon.
Opening the front door, she found a tall, sharply dressed older man and a woman in a tailored raincoat standing on the threshold, two pristine leather suitcases resting between them.
The man held a large black umbrella, his expression crisp and demanding, while the woman looked past Lydia’s shoulder with a cool, assessing eye.
Lydia blinked, her administrative instinct locking neatly into place. She recognised the names from her booking ledger, but they meant nothing to her beyond the reservation for the garden suite.
“Good evening, Mr and Mrs Vance,” Lydia said smoothly, her tone professional and polite. She stepped aside, opening the door wider to invite them out of the damp coastal air. “Please, come inside out of the rain.”
Richard carried the bags onto the wide stone flags of the entrance, his eyes tracking the pristine corridor. Sally followed, her sharp gaze immediately inspecting the fresh paintwork, the alignment of the sideboard, and the quality of the wicker hamper.
“The motorway was dreadful,” Sally said, her tone critical and unhurried as she unbuttoned her coat. “We called on our family first, but they were in the middle of getting the children settled, so we thought it best to come here.”
Lydia offered a polite, measured smile. She hadn’t expected them until Saturday, but she had spent the morning ensuring the garden suite was immaculate. Every towel was pressed, the welcome tea tray stocked, the sheets turned down.
“The suite is ready for you, Mrs Vance,” Lydia said calmly, pulling her master ledger toward her on the desk. “It’s no problem at all to check you in a day early. I’ll simply add the extra night to your final bill before departure.”
Richard nodded once, a look of stiff satisfaction settling over his features. “Quite right. Quite professional. We appreciate a business that operates without unnecessary fuss, Miss Taylor.”
Lydia guided them down the long, pale corridor toward the garden suite. As she opened the door and switched on the soft bedside lamps, Sally stepped past her into the room and ran one finger along the top of the oak wardrobe, then gave a small, approving nod.
The room smelled faintly of clean linen and lavender, the view through the wide glass doors showing the hedge glistening in the rain.
“This is very nice indeed,” Sally admitted, her brittle tone easing slightly. “Excellently kept, Miss Taylor. The standard of cleanliness is exactly what we are used to in the south.”
“I’m glad it’s to your liking,” Lydia replied, her posture elegant and unbothered by their demanding entrance. “You’ll find tea and coffee on the tray, and breakfast is served in the conservatory from eight. My room is at the top of the stairs if you need anything tonight. Sleep well.”
She closed the door quietly behind them, leaving the Vances to unpack their leather suitcases in the quiet luxury of the suite. Lydia walked back down the hallway toward the kitchen and filled the kettle, pleased that her unexpected first check-in had gone smoothly.
Behind the closed door of the garden suite, Richard and Sally Vance were congratulating themselves on finding such a capable hostess.
Neither of them had realised that Miss Taylor and the Lydia whose name they had noticed next door were one and the same.