Книга - Starlight Over Bluebell Castle

Starlight Over Bluebell Castle
Sarah Bennett


Don’t miss Starlight Over Bluebell Castle, the third book in the delightfully uplifting Bluebell Castle trilogy! The most magical time of the year… Jessica Ridley’s life has just been turned upside-down – and not in a good way! So when blast-from-the-past Tristan Ludworth invites her to stay at Bluebell Castle and transform it into a winter wonderland, it’s the perfect distraction for Jess and her two young children… Jess is used to planning even the most elaborate events in her sleep, but she certainly didn’t expect to be working so closely with Tristan at the castle – or that she could still find him quite  so handsome after all this time! And with a little holiday magic in the air, it’s becoming harder and harder to resist his charms. Can Tristan convince Jess to give love one more chance, just in time for Christmas? Perfect for fans of Trisha Ashley, Rachael Lucas and Hilary Boyd. Book 1: Spring Skies Over Bluebell CastleBook 2: Sunshine Over Bluebell CastleBook 3: Starlight Over Bluebell Castle Readers love Sarah Bennett: “Summer At Lavender Bay by Sarah Bennett is a deliciously warm, welcoming, fun contemporary read and just perfect for a summer's day. ” “Absolutely loved this book it has a great story line and the characters feel like great friends who you laugh with and cry with and really care about. ” “Such a joy to read – I cannot recommend this book enough!” “Sarah Bennett always keeps me entertained from the very first page” “Five stars from me!” “This is a brilliant five star modern fiction story. ”









About the Author (#ue5f0d153-b95e-5211-b492-8756822eedce)


SARAH BENNETT has been reading for as long as she can remember. Raised in a family of bookworms, her love affair with books of all genres has culminated in the ultimate Happy Ever After: getting to write her own stories to share with others.

Born and raised in a military family, she is happily married to her own Officer (who is sometimes even A Gentleman). Home is wherever he lays his hat, and life has taught them both that the best family is the one you create from friends as well as relatives.

When not reading or writing, Sarah is a devotee of afternoon naps and sailing the high seas, but only on vessels large enough to accommodate a casino and a choice of restaurants.

You can connect with her via twitter @Sarahlou_writes (http://www.twitter.com/Sarahlou_writes) or on Facebook www.facebook.com/SarahBennettAuthor (http://www.facebook.com/SarahBennettAuthor)




Also by Sarah Bennett (#ue5f0d153-b95e-5211-b492-8756822eedce)


The Butterfly Cove Series

Sunrise at Butterfly Cove

Wedding Bells at Butterfly Cove

Christmas at Butterfly Cove

The Lavender Bay Series

Spring at Lavender Bay

Summer at Lavender Bay

Snowflakes at Lavender Bay

The Bluebell Castle Series

Spring Skies Over Bluebell Castle

Sunshine Over Bluebell Castle




Starlight Over Bluebell Castle

SARAH BENNETT








HQ

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2019

Copyright © Sarah Bennett 2019

Sarah Bennett asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008331146

E-book Edition © 2019 ISBN: 9780008314828

Version: 2019-10-03


Table of Contents

Cover (#ub3b3a4ef-5a89-58de-8474-4c50db543504)

About the Author

Also by Sarah Bennett

Title Page (#u12ab82b3-401f-505e-8f5c-99ad29f0e8cd)

Copyright (#u14c1f8ec-083b-58ba-b198-5bc714bdc1de)

Dedication (#u732c7963-910b-5695-b7cb-d9791d550ff6)

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Dear Reader … (#litres_trial_promo)

Keep Reading … (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher


For M – for everything xx




Prologue (#ue5f0d153-b95e-5211-b492-8756822eedce)

Beaman and Tanner’s Christmas Party – Seven Years Ago


Jessica Ridley tilted back her head to watch the illuminated number above the door of the lift as it scrolled past floor after floor on its way to the penthouse level of the luxury hotel overlooking the London Embankment. Beaman and Tanner, the events and PR firm she’d been working for since graduating that May, had hired the entertainment space for their staff Christmas party. With access to the roof terrace above the penthouse included, it promised to be one of the best spots in town to take in a spectacular view of the London Eye all lit up for Christmas later in the evening.

If she could still see at that point. She pressed a fingertip to the corner of her eye, barely resisting the urge to rub, and cursed her decision to wear the contact lenses she’d been talked into trying by her mother. The lift dinged to announce her arrival, and the discomfort of her new lenses was soon forgotten as a hostess in a stunning black dress stepped forward to greet her with a smile. In short order, her name had been checked off on the hostess’s list and Jess had been steered towards the ladies’ cloakroom to divest herself of her coat and boots.

Hanging up the little backpack she’d used to carry her silver evening bag and black heels, Jess swapped the cosy boots for the strappy, sophisticated shoes and muttered a small prayer of thanks for the gel inserts her mum had reminded her to buy. When her school friends had been cramming their toes into the latest fashionable footwear, Jess had been clumping around in the Clarks wide-fit brogues Mum had insisted upon. She might be blessedly free of corns, hammertoes and other unsightly horrors she’d been warned cheap shoes would cause, but all that growing room meant her size seven adult feet were not the right shape for most high heels within her limited price range.

It took a couple of halting steps before she found her balance on the thick pile carpet. A couple of lengths of the wide area between the cubicles and the sinks later, she was feeling more confident of her footing. Her blasted eye started itching again, sending Jess scurrying over to the sinks to check her make-up in the brightly lit mirrors. Satin-lined wicker baskets rested in the spaces between each white porcelain bowl, stuffed with every imaginable emergency supply a woman could need from tampons to deodorant and perfume. She even spotted a little sewing kit tucked into one corner.

With a damp cotton bud, she managed to remove the small streak of mascara beneath one eye without destroying her eyeliner. Much heavier than her usual neutral shades, the black liner and sparkling silver eye shadow made her olive-green eyes look huge. It was strange seeing the whole of her face without the comforting shield of the dark-framed glasses she was used to seeing perched on the bridge of her button nose. She felt oddly naked without them.

Make-up checked, shoes and bag exchanged, there was really no excuse for Jess to linger in the bathroom any longer. She cast a quick glance towards the cubicles, contemplating the wisdom of a pre-emptive wee, before deciding against it. By the time she’d wrestled down her tights and the enormous Bridget Jones pants beneath them, she’d be all hot and bothered. Before she could change her mind, Jess forced herself to leave the safety of the bathroom and returned to the lobby to find the smiling hostess waiting at a discreet distance. With a sweep of her arm, she ushered Jess towards the entrance to the party then left her with a quiet wish that she enjoy her evening, the siren call of the lift summoning her to greet a new arrival.

Smoothing a nervous hand over one velvet-clad hip Jess took a deep breath, fighting the temptation to tug at the hem of her party dress which suddenly felt at least three inches too short. The midnight-blue sheath had been an impulse purchase when she submitted to her mother’s cajoling and joined her in the buffeting, shoving crowds thronging Regent Street a couple of weekends ago. A clever section of ruching stretched from a diamante flower on her left-hand side across to the opposite hip, falling in forgiving waves that disguised any hint of a tummy her support pants had failed to suck in. The wide shoulder straps provided perfect cover for her bra, the front scooped low enough to show off her décolletage without flashing more than she was willing to share with anyone other than a lover – not that she had many of those lined up. Though she’d had had her fair share of boyfriends at university, none had developed into anything long-term.

Only one man had caught her eye since leaving university, and Tristan Ludworth was so far out of her league she could drape herself naked across his desk and he’d probably still not take the hint. Not that Jess did any hinting. Just the sight of Tristan was enough to make her feel giddy and off-balance, like being in a high-speed lift. She could hold her own with him when it came to work stuff, but only by removing her glasses whenever he was in the vicinity. A blurry, out of focus Tristan was a lot easier to cope with.

The only other man she’d had a serious long-term crush on was her older brother’s best friend, Steve, back when she was thirteen and first starting to notice boys. He’d always felt like a safe option to practice her new and tender feelings on. Their mothers had been friends for years, and Steve had always been a familiar presence in her life. He’d tolerated her awkward teenage flirting with kindness, and never made her feel foolish.

Nothing about the way Tristan made her feel was safe. Exhilarating, yes, with a hint of something dangerous and outside her comfort zone. Like riding a roller-coaster, when she’d always preferred the steady even pace of the merry-go-round.

For a fleeting moment she wished she’d stuck with the perfectly serviceable black crepe evening dress hanging unused in her wardrobe. It had always been her plan to wear it tonight – sophisticated and understated, her mother had assured her when she’d first bought it as a wardrobe staple, pointing out how the forgiving drape of the material hid the excess weight that seemed to settle around her middle and bottom the moment she even glanced at a slice of cake. Safe and boring more like, a mutinous little voice had whispered in the back of her mind – perfect for someone who had never chosen the road less travelled in any of her twenty-two years. Head down, study hard, do the right thing, had been the mantras she’d carried from childhood into uneventful adulthood. Just lately those mantras had started to feel less like sensible rules to live by and more like the restraining reins her parents had made her wear as a clumsy toddler eager to explore.

The arch of her mother’s eyebrow when she’d descended the stairs at home earlier might have dented her confidence had her dad not swooped in to twirl her around before planting a kiss on her cheek and declaring she’d be the belle of the ball. Her mum’s face had softened then and she too had kissed Jess before bombarding her with such a flurry of questions about what she was taking with her – yes, she had her gloves, no, she hadn’t forgotten her personal alarm, yes, she would be careful and take a taxi if she was at any risk of walking on her own for any distance – that she’d not had time to consider whether she should change her dress until she’d been ensconced on an overheated tube train whisking her in from the suburbs, and by then it had been too late. Only now, dithering as she was, she wished she’d stuck to her usual, practical style.

‘God, Jess, just open the bloody door,’ she muttered, furious with herself.

‘Talking to yourself is the first sign of madness, or so they say.’ The voice purring just behind her ear sent a shiver down Jess’s spine that had nothing to do with nerves. Feeling a blush rising to burn her cheeks, she tilted her head to glance up and back into the face of a fallen angel. And if there was anyone who could tempt her into sin it was Tristan Ludworth. As ever when she met the hint of wicked humour in his chocolate brown eyes, butterflies fluttered in her middle.

He’d joined Beaman and Tanner the same week as her, and from the moment he’d sat down beside her at the company induction day, she’d been drawn to him. She shouldn’t like him – they were rivals on the same graduate training programme and, come the summer, they’d be fighting it out for a permanent position on the staff. The trouble was he was so charming and funny it was impossible not to like him.

He was the son of an aristocrat, according to the coffee room gossip mill, and Jess could well believe the lips currently smiling down at her had been born with a silver spoon between them. And there was no way the tuxedo he wore had come off the peg, it fit too well – the jacket hugging his broad shoulders, and the trousers the perfect length to cover the tops of his shiny, patent-leather shoes. His bow tie – classic black, not like those awful novelty ones some men wore – looked hand-tied, and the handkerchief sticking up from the top pocket was a flash of deep maroon silk, not one of those fake white triangles glued to a bit of cardboard. He’d never looked so gorgeous, nor so unattainable.

There was an innate confidence about him, something that could’ve easily tipped into arrogance had he not been so damn nice to everyone. Where she fretted and worried over saying or doing the wrong thing, he seemed to breeze through the day without a care in the world. Which was why no matter how hard she worked, he would beat her in the final selection, and break her heart in the process.

Shifting position so that he was beside her, Tristan raised a finger to tug gently at one of the tumbling curls she’d left trailing from the complicated up-do it’d taken three hours in front of a YouTube tutorial to arrange earlier. ‘I like this,’ he said. Lowering his hand, he brushed the shoulder strap of her velvet dress. ‘And this.’ The deep timbre of his voice sent another shiver down her spine. ‘You look fabulous, Jess; like a gorgeous Christmas present just begging to be unwrapped.’

Warmth spread through her. Not because she thought for a moment that Tristan was being serious in his flirting, but because he’d obviously sensed her nervousness and was going out of his way to make her feel good about herself. It was the kind of thing he’d done since that first day they’d met – like the time he’d given her a little pep talk before her first big solo presentation, or the silly congratulations GIF he’d sent via their internal messaging service when she’d been part of the team that had managed to win back a big client who’d briefly left Beaman and Tanner for a rival company.

Feeling brave, she fluttered her lashes at him. ‘You’ll have to be a good boy and see what Santa leaves you under the tree.’ Oh God. Had she really just said that to him? She hadn’t even had a drink yet, and she was already making a fool of herself.

Mouth kicking up in one corner, Tristan offered her his elbow, covering the hand she rested upon it with his free one. ‘I promise to be a very good boy, although this gorgeous dress of yours is going to make that very difficult. Come on, Cinderella, let me be your Prince Charming and escort you into the ball.’

The next couple of hours passed in a whirlwind of laughter, free cocktails and not quite enough of the delicious nibbles on offer to counteract the alcohol. She and Tristan had ended up at a table with a group of co-workers all in their early-to-mid-twenties. So many people had complimented her on her dress, she quite forgot her inhibitions and let the evening carry her away on a wave of fun and frivolity. She barely had time to sit and ease her sore toes before one or other person in their group declared whatever song was blasting across the dance floor as their absolute favourite and away they all went to dance.

As the current song wound up to its climax, Tristan grabbed her hand and spun her out and back in a twirl. Unsteady from too many cocktails and the unfamiliar heels, Jess placed a hand on his chest to steady herself and let out a breathless laugh. Raising his hand to cover hers, Tristan squeezed her fingers lightly. ‘Having a good time?’

Jess nodded, regretting the action as it made the spinning in her head worse. ‘A bit too much of a good time, I might have to slow down if I want to make it to midnight.’

Whether through fate or serendipity, the music switched from fast-paced to a soft ballad. Around them, people left the floor in laughing groups, though a fair number shifted into pairs and began to sway to the music. Jess made to follow their friends but was stopped short when Tristan refused to release her hand. When she cast him an enquiring glance he tugged gently, drawing her back into him.

‘I thought you wanted to slow things down?’ he said, with that mischievous smile that did all kinds of stupid things to her insides.

‘This isn’t what I had in mind.’ Her voice came out breathless.

Circling his arm around her shoulders, Tristan held her close, the sway of his body a temptation she was powerless to resist. ‘No? It’s been all I’ve thought about since I first saw you in this beautiful dress.’

Not sure how to take his comment, Jess laughed. ‘You shouldn’t say things like that, or you’ll give a girl ideas.’

Expecting him to laugh along with her, she was shocked when the hand resting on her hip tightened. ‘Good. I want you to have ideas about us, Jess. In fact, I want you to spend the next couple of hours thinking about the fact that before this evening ends, I’m going to kiss you.’ With one last squeeze of her hip, he backed away from her, a knowing grin plastered across his face.

Heart racing, she turned in the opposite direction and fled for the safety of the ladies’. Locking herself in the far end cubicle, Jess pushed the seat lid down and sank onto it, knees wobbling. Though he’d been smiling, there’d been no mistaking the promise in Tristan’s eyes as they’d parted on the dance floor. He wanted to kiss her! A little giggle escaped her mouth and she clamped her hand over it. What if someone walked in and caught her laughing to herself?

What if they saw Tristan kissing her? This was her first proper job. Getting mixed up in an office romance might ruin her chances of being taken seriously. But, it was Tristan – the man who made her stomach do somersaults, and her heart race a mile a minute. The man who went out of his way to do nice things for her, for reasons other than his general decency perhaps? The man who would be certain to beat her to the permanent position if she did anything to diminish her reputation in the eyes of their superiors.

She might have sat there for another hour mooning over what could never be, had her bladder not decided to remind her quite forcefully just how much she had drunk in the past couple of hours. With a sigh, Jess stood and began the inelegant task of wriggling down her tights and underwear, almost groaning with relief as her stomach was released from the tight confines of her elasticated pants. She was in the process of struggling back into them when the external bathroom door banged open and she caught the tail end of a conversation.

‘… even more gorgeous than usual in a tux.’ Jess recognised the speaker as Michelle, one of the two company receptionists. She froze, not wanting the woman to know she was there. Though she’d never been overtly rude to Jess, there was an undercurrent to the way she treated her, as though she resented being asked to do things by the new girl – even when they were part of her job description and she never seemed to have a problem when anyone else asked her to make a drink for a visitor or to book a courier.

‘I know, right? Tristan’s so hot, he puts James Bond to shame.’ The second voice belonged to Nicola, the other half of the formidable duo who handled everything from dealing with visitors, to answering the phones and sorting the post without so much as a chipped nail or a single hair out of place. Jess had never seen either of them ever looking anything other than perfectly made-up and turned out. ‘I’m going to ask him to dance when we go back in,’ Nicola continued, her voice distorted in a way that told Jess she was applying lipstick as she talked.

‘Good luck with that,’ snorted Michelle. ‘You’ll have a fight on your hands the way Shrek has been hogging his attention all night. God, did you see the way she was hanging off his neck on the dance floor just now? I felt embarrassed for him.’

Jess found herself frozen in place, hunched over, her tights still halfway up her thighs. The bitchy edge to Michelle’s voice was harder and meaner than anything she’d heard from her before. And – God – had she really just likened Jess to the ugly ogre cartoon character? She clutched at the wall for support as she listened, the pair of them oblivious to her presence.

‘Everyone knows Jess has had a crush on him forever.’ Nicola said. ‘But tonight it’s downright embarrassing the way she’s traipsing after him like a dog with its tongue hanging out. As if he’d look twice at a fat lump like her.’

‘More like a bitch in heat.’ Michelle cackled. ‘And you’re right. How can she possibly think a man like him would fancy someone like her? That’s the trouble when you’re as nice as he is, I suppose – some people get the wrong message. Let’s go and find him and let him know we’ll run interference for the rest of the night. Give the poor guy a chance to enjoy himself without Shrek stomping on his toes.’ The pair’s laughter faded as the door closed behind them.

Shocked and humiliated, Jess tried to focus on the task of pulling up her tights, and not on the burn at the back of her eyes. How was it possible people knew she fancied Tristan when she’d gone out of her way to keep it to herself? Perhaps she wasn’t as discreet as she’d believed and the whole office was laughing at her behind her back. Horrified at the thought, Jess yanked at the thin nylon of her tights, manging to rip a big hole in the left thigh which immediately zoomed down to her ankle in a ladder. ‘Damn it!’

Vision swimming with tears, Jess kicked off her heels and yanked off the ruined tights. The pale, mottled skin of her legs looked shockingly white in the harsh overhead lighting. Now what was she going to do? She couldn’t go back out there flashing her dead-fish coloured legs, for God’s sake! Despair gave way to hope as she recalled the baskets of supplies on the counter tops. Leaving her heels on the floor of the cubicle, she padded barefoot across the thickly piled carpet and began to rummage. She came up with two pairs of tights, both of them size small. In desperation more than hope, she took one pair back into the cubicle but couldn’t get them much more than over her knees before the fibres stretched so thin and tight she knew it was no good.

Feeling wretchedly sorry for herself, Jess tried to push her naked toes into the narrow confines of her heels. Her feet had swollen after so many hours in the unfamiliar shoes, and that combined with the lack of any barrier between her bare skin and the leather made it almost impossible to get them back on. A couple of steps was all it took for her to know she’d rub a blister if she tried to wear them like that. Why was everything going wrong for her, tonight of all nights? A hot tear coursed over her cheek, and Jess stumbled over to the mirror to grab at a handful of tissues. No amount of deep breathing, cheek pressing, and dabbing could stem the trickles. She wasn’t exactly crying, but her eyes wouldn’t stop leaking and the salt of her tears made her contacts start to itch.

Between rapid blinks, she managed to get the right one out, only to drop it. Its slide down the plug hole was the last straw. ‘Sod it.’ Removing the other one, Jess flicked it into the sink and turned on the tap to flush it after its mate. Her ruined tights were balled up and chucked into the waste basket, the hated heels pried off and shoved into her backpack along with her evening bag. Retrieving her glasses, Jess popped them on and met her gaze in the mirror. A sense of calm descended as she reached up to tug and pull at the myriad pins holding her up-do in place. Curls tumbled around her shoulders only to be gathered up in one of the spare scrunchies she kept in the front pocket of her rucksack.

Securing her hair in a rough ponytail at her nape, Jess then pulled out a knitted bobble hat and tugged it down over her ears. Coat on and zipped to the neck, feet and calves snug in her furry boots, she cast one last glance in the mirror as she slung her backpack over her shoulder. She should’ve stayed at home tonight. It was clear she didn’t fit in here, and the idea of spending another second around people who thought so little of her they made up cruel nicknames behind her back was more than she could stomach. It turned out she wasn’t a blue velvet dress kind of girl, after all. And, she thought as she reached for the door handle, that was just fine with her.

Thanks to a points failure, it took Jess ages to get home and by the time she slotted her key into the front door all she wanted was to crawl into her pyjamas and curl up in bed with a mug of hot chocolate. Before she could turn the key, the door was yanked open and she was confronted with the sight of Steve, her brother’s best friend, red-eyed, his face an agonised mask. ‘Oh, Jess,’ he said, dragging her into his arms. ‘He’s gone. Marcus is gone.’

No. No, no, no, no, no. It couldn’t be, he couldn’t be, not her darling big brother. After everything they’d been through with him the past couple of years. The endless worry, the thousands of pounds her parents had spent on rehab. A scream echoed down the stairs, inhumane, animalistic, a sound no human throat should be capable of making. As the waves of grief smashed into her, Jess clung to Steve, his strong arms the only thing that kept her from being swept away.




Chapter 1 (#ue5f0d153-b95e-5211-b492-8756822eedce)

Present Day – the first week of September


Charlie Tanner, Tristan’s boss since he’d left university and the cofounder of a very successful events and PR firm he’d set up with his business – and life – partner Tim Beaman, took a sip of the wine poured by the waiter. Though Tristan had invited him to lunch and was footing the bill, he had left it to the older man to select the wine. Already feeling nervous about the news he was going to deliver, he could only hope the sop of a decent vintage would go some way to ease the news he was pretty sure Charlie wasn’t going to want to hear. Charlie raised his glass towards the light spilling in from the window, turned his glass a couple of times as he studied the ruby-red hue of the liquid in his glass before finally giving the waiter a nod. With the ritual of the wine selection over, he turned his hawk-like gaze to Tristan. ‘So, when are you coming back to us?’

Okay, so they were cutting straight to the chase. Tristan smiled his thanks at the waiter then reached for his own glass, more to give himself time to word the answer than any real desire for a drink. Both Charlie and Tim had been incredibly understanding when Tristan had taken a twelve-month unpaid sabbatical in order to return home to help his brother, Arthur, and sister, Igraine, manage their ancestral home following their father’s death the previous autumn. Though he’d been happy to do everything he could to support Arthur, Tristan was grateful that being the youngest of the triplets meant the family title and all its burdens and responsibilities had not fallen on his shoulders.

During the bleak winter months when it’d seemed to do nothing but either rain, snow or some hideous combination of the two, Tristan had missed his busy life in London. Once the bluebells that had given the family castle its pretty nickname had started blooming and the hard work the three of them had invested started to pay off however, Tristan had found his thoughts straying less and less to the smart apartment he rented in Battersea and his job as a marketing executive in the city. ‘Yes, well that’s what I wanted to talk to you about,’ he said to Charlie with an apologetic wince.

‘Oh, balls. Don’t tell me we’re going to be losing both of you? When you invited me to lunch, I assumed you wanted to get up to speed on our current projects in preparation for your return.’ Charlie cast him a gloomy look then took a large swig of the rather fine burgundy. ‘Well, you know what they say about assuming things …’

It cut Tristan deeper than he’d expected to be letting the man opposite him down. Charlie had been an inspiration to him from the first day he’d started working at the events management and public relations firm. Both Charlie and Tim, chose to encourage rather than control their staff, giving them room to take chances as long as any failures were learning experiences.

Feeling wretched, Tristan braced his forearms on the edge of the table and met the older man’s gaze. ‘I’m really sorry. I should have given you a warning, I suppose, but I wanted to talk to you face to face and explain. After everything you’ve done for me, it seemed rude to put it in an email.’ Twisting his glass between his fingers, he studied the rich wine as though he could find the answers he owed his boss in its opaque surface. ‘If I’d thought for one moment I would find myself in this position then I would have resigned outright rather than requesting a sabbatical.’ He glanced up to find Charlie studying him over the steepled tips of his fingers.

‘What changed?’ There was no censure in this question, only genuine curiosity.

‘I fell in love.’ When Charlie quirked a brow, he laughed. ‘Not like that. As a second son, I always knew there was never any future for me at the castle and somewhere along the way my brain translated that into believing that I didn’t want there to be a future for me there. I told myself I was city boy, that life in the country was too slow-paced for me. And then somewhere along the line I found myself standing on the edge of our land looking out over the dales and I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.’

‘If that’s the case, then you can go with my blessing.’ Raising his glass in a silent toast, Charlie took another drink.

Relief flooded Tristan and he returned the gesture in tribute to everything the man opposite had done for him. As his worry over letting Charlie down began to dissipate, something else his boss had said earlier finally filtered through his awareness. ‘Hold up. What do you mean losing both of us? Who else is leaving?’

Setting down his glass, Charlie sat back in his seat with a sigh. ‘Jessica turned her notice in last month. Did you not know?’

Tristan swallowed. Cocooned in the microcosm of life behind the thick curtain wall of the castle, he’d been a bit lax in keeping in touch with his friends and co-workers. Several unread emails rested in his inbox. Fearing they would be asking him about his planned return, and not sure how to answer them, he’d stuck his head in the sand and ignored them.

‘Well, anyway,’ Charlie said after giving him a quizzical glance. ‘It’s her last day today. We’re having drinks in The Crown and Sceptre later; you should come along. I’m sure everyone would be delighted to see you.’

Everyone apart from Jessica. They’d been great friends until he’d cocked it all up by coming on too strong at a work’s party. So desperate had she been to avoid his crass advances she’d done a runner, then hardly said two words to him on their return to work in the new year. Several years later, it was still a source of embarrassment that he’d managed to read what he’d thought was a mutual attraction so wrong. The fact she’d married some bloke she’d practically grown up with less than twelve months later had told him exactly how mistaken he’d been about the whole scenario.

Even with her own wedding to plan, Jess had still beaten him hands down to the permanent position on the events team they’d both been interning for. Her work ethic had been formidable, even back then. Luckily for Tristan an opening had come up in the corporate affairs side of the business and he’d been able to transfer across. Things had soon settled down between them, and whenever they’d been called upon to work together on a big project it’d been fine. Oh, he still felt a pull towards her whenever she removed her glasses and stared at him, but married women were off limits. No matter how sweet and sexy they were. They’d never quite recovered that close bond forged during their first week as baby interns, both fresh from university and clueless about the real world, though, much to his chagrin.

‘Maybe I’ll drop in for a quick drink,’ he said, having zero intention of doing so. It wouldn’t be fair on Jess to appear out of the blue and steal any of her thunder. ‘Which of your rivals has been lucky enough to poach her?’ Their corporate world was a small one, and staff interchanged across the major firms with some regularity as they zig-zagged their way along career paths all headed in one direction. It was testament to both Charlie and Tim how few of their employees jumped ship for other opportunities. Someone must’ve made Jess one hell of a sweet offer.

‘That’s the absolute worst thing about the whole bloody business – she’s not moving to a new role, she’s quitting.’ Charlie shook his head then took another mouthful of wine.

His revelation stunned Tristan. ‘But why?’

The waiter chose that moment to return to the table, interrupting their conversation as they each selected something from the lighter lunch menu before throwing all their good intentions down the drain by adding a portion of chips to share.

‘Carbs will always be my downfall.’ As though to underline his point, Charlie reached for a piece of bread from the basket between them and began to slather it with butter. ‘What were we saying? Ah, yes, poor Jessica.’ As though intent on torturing Tristan, he took a large bite out of the bread and proceeded to chew it slowly.

Poor Jessica. What the hell did that mean? Tamping down his need to demand answers, Tristan conjured every possibility. Perhaps her husband was changing his job and they were moving away. She already had a couple of kids, was she pregnant again and had decided to take a career break? Neither of those seemed likely to elicit the sympathy he’d detected in Charlie’s tone. Was she ill? Oh God, what if one of the kids was ill? The piece of bread he’d taken was now many crumbs on his side plate, shredded into pieces as he pondered ever more outlandish scenarios.

‘Now, normally I wouldn’t say anything, but she’s been very open about things around the office, so I don’t feel I’d be betraying a confidence if I tell you that she and Steve are getting a divorce.’ Charlie shook his head, expression sad. ‘No one else involved,’ he continued, answering Tristan’s unspoken assumption. ‘Just one of those things, apparently, and they’re still very good friends. With him moving out and giving up his job to go back to university, she can’t afford the rent on her own so she’s moving back in with her parents until she can get things straight. They retired to Surrey, or Sussex, or perhaps it was Somerset. One of the esses.’ He dismissed them all with a wave of his hand, the look on his face saying they were all as bad as each other as far as Charlie was concerned. ‘But, enough about that, tell me what’s been going on with you.’

As they shared their meal, Tristan outlined the goings-on at Bluebell Castle, most significantly the discovery by Arthur’s now-wife, Lucie, of a long-lost painting which was going a long way to righting the family’s fortunes. ‘I saw something about that in the paper,’ Charlie said. ‘Hidden under the floorboards or something, wasn’t it?’

Tristan laughed. ‘Walled up in a hidden passageway, actually. There’s a heart-breaking story attached to its creation. One of our ancestors commissioned the piece to commemorate his engagement and his fiancée did a moonlight flit with the artist. I’ve been working with my sister-in-law on the copy for the information boards to support an exhibition in the castle about it. We’re hoping to add some of our other ancestors to it as time goes on, bit of a potted history of the Ludworths, you know the kind of thing?’

Charlie nodded. ‘You’re opening things up to the public then?’

‘Yes. My sister, Iggy, did an amazing job with restoring the grounds, and the summer fete was a huge success. We’d like to open a few parts of the castle as well to ensure we’ve got an all-seasons attraction. That’s where I come into the mix – I’m organising some top-end boutique holiday packages. A chance to experience a traditional Christmas in a real castle. I put a teaser up on the castle’s blog the other week just to see if there was any interest and I’ve had dozens of enquiries. I’d also like to do something with the grounds, create a Winter Wonderland experience.’

‘Hopefully it won’t end up like one of those disasters that seem to crop up on the news every year.’ Charlie observed, dryly.

‘Tell me about it,’ Tristan agreed, fervently. He’d come across some absolute horror stories during his research into it over the summer. ‘Thankfully, I’ve got my own crack team of garden designers on call in my sister and her other half, Will Talbot.’

Charlie raised an eyebrow. ‘Not that Will Talbot?’

Prior to meeting Iggy, Will had been something of a tabloid celebrity renowned for his wild ways. Happily settled, there was little about him now to hint at that bad boy image, other than a rather arresting scar on his face and a penchant for leather jackets and jeans.

Tristan grinned. It seemed like even someone as urbane and sophisticated as Charlie wasn’t immune to a little stardust. ‘The very same. They’re based here in town now for the most part which is one of the reasons I came to London. They’ve been working on design ideas, and we’re sitting down this afternoon to make a final decision.’

‘Cutting it fine, aren’t you? It’s September already.’ Charlie followed his comment with a chuckle. ‘But then that always was your style.’

‘Hey,’ Tristan protested, though he was laughing at the same time. ‘I met most of my deadlines.’ True, he’d pulled more than a few all-nighters to get the job done, but he’d always delivered when it mattered.

‘Well, I hope you’ve got someone who’ll keep you in line.’ When Tristan remained silent, Charlie gave him a speaking look. ‘I quite fancied the sound of your traditional Christmas in a castle. After the year we’ve had, Tim and I could do with a bit of luxury pampering, but maybe we’ll wait until next year …’

‘You don’t think I can pull it off.’ Tristan couldn’t keep the disappointment out of his voice.

Leaning forward, Charlie patted the back of his hand in a purely paternal gesture. ‘I’m sure you can pull it off, but perhaps it’s time for you to do more than that. Christmas is a special time for a lot of people. Last-minute scrambles to get things done shouldn’t be a part of that.’ Sitting back, he finished the wine in his glass. ‘Look, Tristan, you know I adore you – both Tim and I would cut off our right arms if we thought for a moment we could lure you back into the fold – but you’ve never been one to sweat the small stuff. When you are part of a team, you’re unstoppable, and we gave you the structure you needed to succeed. But even you have to admit you’re not always on top of all the details.’

Tristan opened his mouth to argue then recalled the unread emails in his inbox. He was very good at focusing on the stuff that interested him, the rest of it … ‘So, what do you suggest?’

‘Get yourself a decent assistant, someone to compliment your enthusiasm with a dash of ruthless practicality.’ Charlie offered him a kindly smile. ‘Don’t look so worried, I’m sure it will be a great success, but this is the first time you’ve struck out on your own and sometimes it takes a friend to point out our potential weaknesses.’

A friend. Yes, that’s what Charlie was, and a mentor too. ‘Thank you. And if you’re serious about you and Tim coming up for Christmas, I’ll be happy to do you a special deal.’

Charlie waved him off, but Tristan could see it had pleased him that Tristan was willing to not only listen to his advice, but take it in the spirit in which it was meant. ‘Nonsense. Mates rates are the death of far too many ventures. We’ll be happy to pay full price. Do we get a proper four-poster bed?’

‘We’ve still got a couple of old horsehair mattresses if you want that authentic experience. Or I could throw some rushes down in front of the fireplace in the great hall and you can bed down with the dogs for warmth.’ The image of Charlie, a walking Savile Row catalogue, being descended upon by the castle’s collection of unruly hounds brought a wicked grin to Tristan’s face. A mixed bag, most from local shelters or given up by people who had taken on more than they could handle, the castle pack were a sweet, harmless bunch but could be a little overwhelming to someone not used to them. ‘I did tell you about the dogs?’

‘Stop trying to put me off, it won’t work. Tim told me the other day I’m getting a bit paunchy.’ Charlie touched a hand to the slight roundness of his stomach well disguised by the impeccable cut of his jacket. ‘I can already picture myself striding around the Derbyshire countryside with a whippet at my heels.’ He frowned, thoughtfully. ‘That’s what you North-country types have isn’t it?’

‘Either that or a ferret stuffed down our trousers, yes,’ Tristan responded with a wry grin. ‘If you want to walk the dogs every day, Arthur will probably love you forever.’ He paused to signal to the waiter that they were ready for coffee. ‘Seriously though, the castle is set right on the edge of the dales so there’s no shortage of walking to be done – weather permitting, of course. And the estate has its own woods and plenty of parkland. There’s also stables if you ride …’

Charlie pulled a face. ‘I can’t see myself on the back of a horse, but the idea of getting out of town and away from the endless round of parties is very appealing. We’ll have to talk Tim around to the idea, but you can do that later when you join us in the pub for drinks.’

Damn, now how was he going to duck out of it without causing offence? ‘I’m not sure if I’ll have time, what with seeing Iggy and Will this afternoon.’ Probably best not to mention he was staying in their spare room during his visit, or that he wasn’t going back home until the day after tomorrow.

‘Nonsense. You have to come. Now you’re leaving us in the lurch, it’s the least you can do.’ It was said with a smile, but there was no getting around Charlie’s disappointment at his continued attempts to evade the celebration.

‘The party is for Jess, I don’t want to crash in at the last minute.’ Tristan tried one last time to get out of it.

‘Rubbish. She won’t mind, she’ll probably be relieved. You know how she is when there’s too much fuss. Hold on a minute.’ Before Tristan could say anything, Charlie whipped out his phone and made a call. ‘Jessica? Charlie, here. What? Yes, everything is fine with the Centrifuge account, and besides, it’s not your problem anymore, is it?’

Tristan listened as Charlie laughed. ‘Okay, Little Miss Conscientious, in three and a half hours it won’t be your problem anymore. Look, I’m with Tristan, and he’s decided to quit on me as well. I told him he should come for drinks tonight, but he’s being stubborn. Have a word, will you?’ With that he thrust his phone across the table, leaving Tristan no choice but to pick it up.

‘Hi, Jess.’

‘Hello, stranger.’ The phone emphasised the natural huskiness of her voice, and he could instantly picture her, long dark hair wrapped up in one of those practical knots his fingers always itched to undo, a little crease of concentration furrowing her brow as her hands flew across her keyboard. ‘Causing trouble, as usual?’

He laughed. ‘You know me too well.’ But not half as well as he might wish. ‘I’m staying in Derbyshire for the foreseeable future, and Charlie has decided he’s never going to forgive me.’

‘I’m not,’ Charlie bellowed loud enough to be heard. ‘And the same goes for you too, Jessica. Pair of traitors.’

‘Here we go again,’ Jess muttered, giving Tristan the impression Charlie had put a lot more pressure on her about leaving than he had received. It didn’t do much for his ego, but it would be churlish to feel any resentment. Her tone brightened. ‘Well at least if you’re leaving, too, that takes some of the heat off me.’

‘Cheers,’ Tristan said, wryly. ‘Thanks a bunch. Listen, Charlie wants me to come along to your leaving drinks tonight, but I don’t want to crash your party.’

‘Oh God, crash it, please crash it!’ she begged. ‘I told them I didn’t want to do anything, but you know what they’re like.’

‘Any excuse for a party.’ It was the company’s unofficial motto, and, after all, the way they made most of their business.

‘Exactly! Please, say you’ll come.’ She was quiet for a long moment. ‘It’d be nice to see you again.’

Well, hell, how on earth was he going to refuse now? ‘It’ll be nice to see you too.’

What was he going to wear tonight? He hadn’t packed much, having only planned to be away for a couple of days. He’d worn a suit for lunch with Charlie, but that would be a bit over the top for the pub given he wasn’t coming from the office. They were only going to the pub, surely a shirt and jeans would suffice? And why was he bothered about it anyway?

‘Hello? Earth to Tristan.’ Iggy snapped her fingers a bare inch from his nose, making Tristan flinch back in surprise.

‘Hey, stop that.’ He batted her hand away.

‘Well, if you’d stop daydreaming for five minutes, I wouldn’t have to.’ His sister slouched back in her seat, arms folded across her chest. ‘It’s not like we’ve got anything better to do other than give up our time to help you out.’

Tristan didn’t know what the hell had got into her, but Iggy had been in a foul mood from the moment he’d returned to the apartment she shared with Will. They’d gathered around the big island in the kitchen that doubled as a table to discuss how to transform the castle grounds into something spectacular, but she’d done nothing but snipe and snap at him since they’d sat down.’

Will leaned over from his seat to press a kiss to the tip of her nose. ‘Leave your poor brother alone, he’s not going to ruin your garden.’

Iggy scowled at Will, but there was no mistaking the way her body language softened when he tucked his hand under her hair to stroke a light caress. ‘He can’t even pay attention long enough to listen to what we have to say about it, how can I trust him?’

Now he understood what was at the heart of her mood, Tristan had nothing but sympathy for his sister’s position. She loved Bluebell Castle – probably more than he and Arthur did combined – and she’d surprised them all by her decision to move away. It was clear to anyone she adored Will, and he her, and his horticultural business was based in London so the move made sense. They were working to diversify the brand, to leave the refurbishment projects which had been the bread and butter of the business in the hands of their experienced installation team so Will and Iggy could focus on their new passion for bringing gardening to schools and deprived inner city areas, and Tristan understood how important it was for his sister to strive to build a life away from their childhood home. Not because she didn’t love it there, but because she’d been the de facto mistress of the castle for several years and she was determined to surrender that role to Lucie. But the gardens were her baby, and Tristan needed her to know that he understood that, that he would honour all the hard work she had put into them and preserve her legacy.

Pulling his chair close on her other side, he slung an affectionate arm around her waist. ‘I won’t screw this up, Iggle-Piggle, I swear.’

Though his use of her hated nickname earned him a punch in the arm, it was immediately followed by a swift, hard hug. ‘I know, it’s just …’

‘I know.’ Tristan gave her a squeeze before shuffling his chair back. ‘When it comes to the grounds, you’re still the boss. Consider me your on-site eyes and ears, but I won’t do anything that the three of us haven’t agreed in advance.’

‘And we’ll go up for as many weekends as we can spare. And a whole week at half-term,’ Will assured her.

‘That’s a lot of unnecessary miles,’ Iggy protested. ‘When I’m just being precious about it.’

‘Bollocks to that,’ Will retorted, before digging in his pocket with a sigh and dropping a pound coin into a jar on the table. ‘I can’t believe that meddling assistant of mine talked you into having a swear jar at home as well as in the office. A man should be able to eff and blind in the peace of his own bloody kitchen.’

Giving him an evil grin, Iggy tapped the side of the jar with her finger until he fished out a fifty-pence piece and flipped it in after the pound. ‘She showed me a brochure for that luxury spa she visited last month on the back of your dirty mouth,’ she said.

Will leaned forward to steal a kiss. ‘I thought you liked my dirty mouth.’

‘Okay, okay, time out.’ Tristan waved his arms to draw their attention away from each other. As happy as he was that his siblings had both found love, it was bad enough watching his brother moon after Lucie every day at home without being subjected to these two and their public displays of affection. ‘Can we get back to the matter at hand?’




Chapter 2 (#ulink_90c1a49a-6446-51c6-b443-886d68f7d47e)


The door of the pub swung open and Jess cursed herself not only for her Pavlovian response to it, but the little dip of disappointment she felt when once again it wasn’t Tristan who walked through it. She checked her watch surreptitiously, giving a weak smile as a gale of laughter went around the table to some comment she’d missed.

‘Here, get this down your neck!’ A large glass of rosé was thrust in her face.

‘Thanks.’ Accepting the drink, she set it down untasted beside the half-full one she’d been nursing for a while. Apart from the odd bottle at the weekend when she was curled up in her pyjamas after the boys were asleep, she was grossly out of practice. From the ever-increasing volume of her friends and colleagues, they were having no such problem sticking with the pace.

‘Everything all right, Jess?’ Tim was watching her with a frown of concern, making her feel guilty. He and Charlie had put a lot of money behind the bar, she needed to buck up and a least make an effort to have a good time.

‘I’m fine, just not used to being away from the boys.’ Sitting up straighter, she reached for the fresh glass of wine and took a sip. It wasn’t bad at all for a house wine, though not as cold as she preferred it. ‘I could do with some ice.’ She cast a forlorn look towards the bar. Hemmed in as she was along the back row of a group of tables they’d shoved together, there was no chance of her getting out short of getting on her hands and knees and crawling underneath.

‘I’ll get you some.’ Tim rose at once. ‘I’ll order some food while I’m at it to soak up some of this booze.’

‘That’d be great.’ She shot him a grateful smile.

He was back in moments with a large tumbler full of ice which he placed on the table between them. ‘I hate warm wine,’ he said, fishing out a couple of cubes for himself after Jess had added what she wanted to her glass. Leaning across the table, he lowered his voice with a conspiratorial wink. ‘And it won’t do any harm to water it down a touch. I can’t keep pace these days.’

‘We should be at home with our pipes and slippers.’ She grinned and finally allowed herself to relax. This would be the last night out she was going to get for a long time, it would be stupid to waste it. Besides, she’d worked with the people gathered around her for the past seven years, and she would miss them. Her eyes flicked to the end of the table to where Michelle, the company receptionist, was holding court with a couple of the guys from accounts hanging on her every word. Well she’d miss most of them, she mentally amended.

Even if she could get away with sneaking out early, it wouldn’t be fair to Steve or the boys. This was their last weekend together before Steve moved out, and he’d planned a special night in. Knowing how much Elijah and Isaac were going to miss him, she’d told Steve to take the bedroom he’d surrendered to her when they’d finally admitted things were over between them.

They’d been as honest as it was possible to be with a five and a two year old, but little Isaac in particular had become very clingy and spent more nights curled up with one or other of them than he did in the bunk beds they’d put into Elijah’s room to allow Steve to move into the box room which had previously served as their youngest son’s bedroom. She had no doubt the three of them were already sprawled across the king-sized bed, watching cartoons and eating pizza. A pang of sadness struck deep in her middle as she thought about other Friday nights when she’d been a part of those messy, lazy gatherings. So many things their little family would never do together again. She shoved the threatening sadness away. No matter how awful they both felt about it, separating from Steve had been the right decision.

Taking a fortifying sip of her wine, she turned her attention back to Tim, catching a look of sympathy on his face which told her he knew what she’d been thinking about. She couldn’t deal with any kindness right now; it would only lead to tears. A distraction was needed. ‘Charlie was telling me yesterday that you guys are looking to book a late break, have you got anywhere in mind?’

Tim pulled a face. ‘I was hoping for somewhere in the sun, but after his lunch with Tristan earlier Charlie is obsessed with going up to Derbyshire for Christmas. Did you know he lives in a castle? A proper turrets and drawbridge castle.’ He reached for the phone resting next to his glass, fiddled with it for a few seconds and then handed it across to her. ‘I thought Charlie was joking until I googled it.’

Jess stared at the screen, unable to believe what she was seeing. She’d always known Tristan came from a background of privilege, but she’d assumed he was joking from the dismissive way he’d told her he’d grown up in a castle. A big house – bigger certainly than the standard suburban three-bed semi she and Marcus had been raised in by their parents – but Tim was right. It had turrets.

Fascinated, she began to scroll through the website, found a link and clicked on the blog. She recognised Tristan’s breezy writing style in the updates. He’d always been a whizz at producing press releases that didn’t sound like hard-sell marketing, even if that’s exactly what they were. The top story talked about plans for a traditional Christmas and how the family hoped to be able to share it with a few new friends. It sounded so inviting, like an intimate house party rather than a hotel break. She might be tempted herself had common sense not told her it would be way outside her price bracket. Although once Steve started his course and they were down to one income, a weekend at Butlins would be outside her price bracket. ‘It looks glorious,’ she said on a wistful sigh.

He shuddered. ‘It snows up there.’

She couldn’t help laughing. ‘It snows down here too, sometimes.’

‘Not like they get up there. Can you see me wading through the drifts? No, thank you.’

‘You can stay in, cosy by the fire. God, look at this!’ She passed the phone back to Tim, showing him a picture of a roaring fire in the biggest fireplace she’d ever seen. A gorgeous pair of brindle greyhounds were curled up before it, and a thick swag of greenery decorated the high mantel.

‘Mmm, now that is something I could get on board with,’ Tim mused. ‘A nice glass of port, a Kindle full of books.’ He leaned forward to call down the table to Charlie. ‘Derbyshire is a go!’

A hand landed on Tim’s shoulder and Jess looked up to meet a twinkly pair of brown eyes. Her stomach did that ridiculous little flip thing it did every time she saw Tristan. Even when she and Steve had been happy, had been in love and looking forward to growing old together, she’d always had this visceral reaction to Tristan. ‘Now that’s music to my ears,’ Tristan was saying as he eased himself into a chair someone had vacated for him. ‘I thought I was going to have to give you the hard sell.’

‘You can thank Jess. She’s the one who showed me this.’ He held up the fireplace image to Tristan. ‘This is the real deal, right? Not creative marketing?’

‘Every picture on the website is a genuine image of somewhere on the estate,’ he assured Tim as he offered a smile of thanks to a co-worker who’d placed a pint in front of him. Raising it, he toasted the table. ‘Well, cheers to you all. I wasn’t expecting to have the chance to see everyone on this flying visit so it’s a real bonus.’

‘Cheers!’ Jess joined in with everyone sitting close enough as they clinked glasses. ‘I’m really pleased you could make it.’

‘Me too.’ His expression grew serious for a moment as he spoke in an undertone. ‘Everything all right?’

Oh. He knew then. She wondered if it was someone from the office, or if Charlie had mentioned it over lunch. Not that it mattered, she’d decided to be open about it when it was clear things with Steve were beyond repair. She’d never been great at hiding her feelings, and once they understood the reason behind it her colleagues had given her a wide berth on the mornings when she’d turned up red-eyed from lack of sleep and too many tears. ‘Getting there.’

He gave her the ghost of a wink before turning away to respond to some banter flying from the other end of the table, giving her the opportunity to study him from behind the shield of her wine glass. He’d rolled the sleeves of his blue and white checked shirt to his elbows, revealing tanned forearms that spoke of many hours spent outdoors. His hair was longer than she’d seen it in a while, the shaggy curls tangling in the back of his collar. A hint of five o’clock shadow dusted his chin the way it always did at this point in the evening. It struck her then that perhaps it wasn’t the sort of thing a woman ought to know about a man who wasn’t her husband.

Embarrassed, she looked away only to meet a knowing look from Michelle. With the slightest curl of her lip, the receptionist tilted her head to whisper something to the girl next to her, eyes never leaving Jess’s. For a horrible moment Jess was back in that toilet stall listening to Michelle bitch about her having a crush on Tristan.

Instinct had always pushed Jess to avoid confrontation and she’d submitted to the subtle bullying of messages not passed on, post misfiled and myriad other little snipes from this woman for years. She’d always told herself she was rising above it, that the lack of respect didn’t matter, but it did. It always had, but she’d never done anything about it, too afraid to rock the boat. But this wasn’t her boat any longer, was it? Michelle would never again ‘forget’ to book a meeting room for her because come Monday morning Jess would be trying to comfort her boys as she waited for her parents to arrive and help her pack their belongings.

Part of Jess wanted to wail about the unfairness of life, to curl up in a quiet corner and sob over her situation, but a larger part of her was angry. Angry that she and Steve hadn’t been able to find a way to stay together; angry that his plans were having such a drastic knock-on effect on her; angry at the thought of being trapped once more under her mother’s loving, but oppressive thumb. Marcus had always been the golden child, and Jess had accepted her role in the background, adoring him as she did. After his death, all that expectation he’d been unable to carry had fallen upon her shoulders. A burden she neither wanted, nor quite knew how to shrug off.

She’d been swallowing this anger for weeks, not wanting to upset the children or descend into pointless rows with Steve that would do nothing other than hurt them both even more than they already were, and now it felt like she would choke. Letting it push to the surface, she locked eyes with Michelle and let all the contempt she felt for the woman rest in that look. It didn’t take more than a few moments before Michelle lowered her head.

Reaching for her glass, Jess gave herself a little toast of victory then drained half of what remained in there.

‘Can I get you another?’

It was on the tip of her tongue to refuse Tristan’s offer, but she gave him a smile of thanks instead. ‘Yes, please.’

The food Tim had ordered arrived as Tristan returned with their drinks and everyone tucked into the platters of sandwiches, bowls of chips, onion rings and other calorie-laden treats. Conversation ebbed and flowed, much of it led by Tristan, and she was content to settle into the background and let the evening wash over her.

After the first couple of hours, people started to drift off, home to their families, or in the case of one group on to the bright lights of the West End. They’d done their best to persuade Jess to join them, but she’d never been one for crowded pubs and clubs even in her university days. There were maybe a dozen people left and Jess had finally been able to escape from her position at the back of the table for a well-needed bathroom break. While in there, she loosened her hair from its restrictive bun to scrub her aching scalp before tying it up in a messy ponytail. She freshened the light lip gloss she favoured, although she had to squint one eye shut to focus properly on her reflection to do so. Time for a soft drink.

The bar was busy, and she was still waiting for the server who’d given her a nod of acknowledgement to make his way towards her when someone nudged her arm. ‘Alone at last.’ Tristan’s grin looked a little wonky, maybe she wasn’t the only one feeling the effects of the free bar.

‘Apart from the fifty people standing within about five feet of us.’

‘They don’t count.’ Turning his body to stand sideways onto her, he propped an elbow on the bar effectively shielding them from the rest of their group sitting beyond him. ‘I was really sorry to hear about you and Steve.’

‘Just one of those things.’ She tried for levity but missed by a country mile. ‘Seems like we’ll both be living back home.’

Tristan gave her a sad smile. ‘But I’m the only one of us doing it by choice, right?’

It would be simple to let him believe that, to indulge in her earlier need to bemoan her fate and soak up the sympathy she knew he’d offer in abundance. But that wasn’t right. She wasn’t a child, nor a passive participant in what was happening in her life. The decision for Steve to quit a job he hated and that was slowly destroying the laughing spirit she’d loved in him since they were little, had been made together. In fact, Steve had been the one to argue against it, knowing how hard it would be for her to move back home – even for a short while.

‘It makes the most sense,’ she said to Tristan now, echoing the words she said to Steve at their kitchen table months earlier. ‘Steve wants to go back to university, and I fully support his decision to do so. I’ve got a couple of interviews lined up next week, so it won’t take me long to find another job.’

‘I thought you were taking a break from work?’

The question surprised her. ‘No. Why would you think that?’

Tristan shrugged a shoulder. ‘When Charlie said you’d turned down his offer to work remotely, I just assumed, I guess.’

God love Charlie, he’d been beyond understanding, and it had been very tempting to accept his offer. But the kind of work she did required too much face-time with their clients and she wouldn’t be able to do as good a job as the company deserved, which she wouldn’t be able to cope with. Jess liked to do the best she could – needed to feel like she was doing a good job. And, no, she didn’t need a shrink to tell her where that desire to please came from.

‘I wouldn’t have been able to give work the attention it deserved. Elijah will be starting school full-time, and both he and Isaac are going to need me around until things settle down. Isaac’s too little to really understand what’s going on, but poor Elijah is the apple of his daddy’s eye. If Mum and Dad lived closer, I might have found a way to juggle everything.’ She shrugged. ‘It’s not a permanent move and I’ll take stock at the end of the year. The jobs I’m applying for are both part-time. It’ll make things tight, but we’ve got some savings and not having to pay London rent prices makes a difference.’

The barman finally made his way to her and she ordered a bottle of sparkling water before asking Tristan what he wanted. ‘I’ll take a bottle of alcohol-free beer, please.’

Drinks in hand they made their way back to the table to find the group had thinned out a bit more. Taking a free seat at one end Jess took a long, cooling drink of her water and started to feel a bit less tipsy. Not wanting to pursue their conversation at the bar, Jess waited until Tristan slipped into the seat beside her and then began to question him about his future plans. ‘How many guests do you think you’ll have at Christmas?’

Tristan sipped his beer from the bottle. ‘Not sure, yet. As many as I think we can cope with and still give them an individual experience. We’ll do a few bigger group things, Christmas dinner, of course, and Midnight Mass at the chapel for those who want to participate. But I want each person to feel like they are spending time with family and friends rather than being just guests who I’m trying to screw a load of money out of.’ He laughed. ‘Not that I won’t be trying to do that as well, but it’s important they don’t feel like that’s my aim.’ Settling back in his seat, he stretched his legs out in front of him, feet crossed at the ankles. ‘Charlie said he liked the idea of walking the dogs, for example.’

‘He might be on his own there. Tim wants to sit by the fireplace and read.’

‘See, that’s another perfect example. The bedrooms in the castle are all different, so it will be important to establish what people want and make sure we give them accommodation that matches those expectations. We’ve got several different reception rooms available so if one couple is a bit more introverted, we could assign them their own private lounge as well as giving access to a larger one if they choose to mingle some evenings.’

‘A proper boutique experience,’ Jess mused. ‘That sounds brilliant, but it’ll be a lot of upfront preparation. You’ll also need to provide some kind of concierge service for guests who want to go out and about.’

‘You’re right. I hadn’t considered that, but I’ll have to put together an itinerary of available entertainment and ways to access them either by road or rail.’ Pulling out his phone, Tristan began tapping notes into it. ‘Bloody Charlie was right.’

Not sure if his half-muttered comment was aimed at her, Jess didn’t ask what Charlie had been right about, though she couldn’t deny her curiosity was piqued. She didn’t have to wait long, because as soon as he’d finished jotting things down, Tristan shoved his phone in his shirt pocket with a sigh. ‘I’m just not detail-orientated enough to think of all these things, I’m really going to have to up my game, or do what Charlie suggested and get myself an assistant.’ He reached for his beer, then stopped, hand outstretched as he stared at her.

‘What?’

Tristan blinked. ‘Nothing. Never mind.’ Seizing his bottle, he took a long draught. ‘Nothing,’ he repeated, sounding less certain this time.

‘Stop being so bloody mysterious, and tell me,’ she demanded, giving his free arm a playful shove.

‘I was thinking you and I might be able to offer the perfect solution to each other.’ Shifting his chair a bit closer, he slung an arm around the back of hers. ‘How do you fancy coming to work for me?’

The wine had not only affected her eyesight apparently, because she must’ve misheard him. Gulping at her water, she silently admonished herself for that third glass of wine.

‘Well, what do you say?’

Incredulous, she shifted in her seat to face him. ‘About what? Surely, you were joking.’

He shook his head, sending a lock of his dark hair tumbling into his eyes which he twitched away with an impatient finger. ‘I’m deadly serious.’

Maybe he was the one who was drunk. ‘I’ve just told you that my boys need my attention and you expect me to abandon them to come and work for you.’ She couldn’t hide her outrage.

‘Who said anything about abandoning your kids? Bring them with you, of course.’ He said it like it was the most reasonable thing in the world.

No, not drunk, mad. ‘And do what with them?’

‘Put Elijah in the village school, and you can keep Isaac with you during the day if you want. We can set up a little play area for him next to your desk, but you can work flexible hours around them. Once he’s got used to things a bit there will be plenty of people around to do a bit of babysitting if you need a break. There was never any shortage of willing hands when we were kids, and that’s not changed in the past thirty years. We’ve got acres of land for them to play in, a special children’s area of the gardens where they can dig and plant stuff with Constance. Lancelot will give them riding lessons, whatever you want.’

He was talking about people she’d never heard of, volunteering them for roles without the slightest hesitation that they might have better things to do than be saddled – literally in Lancelot’s, Lancelot! Who had a name like that anyway?, case – with a stranger’s children. ‘It’s ridiculous.’

Tristan opened his mouth as though to argue his point further, then reached for his beer bottle with a shrug. ‘You’re probably right’

Of course, she was right. As Tristan turned away to say something to Tim, she caught a flash of something on his face, like maybe she’d hurt his feelings by dismissing his outlandish idea so quickly. Annoyed she turned her back to him, her eyes lighting on the phone still on the table. With an exasperated sigh, she scrolled back through the photos on the castle’s blog. It was clear that growing up in a fairy tale setting had given Tristan some odd ideas. People like him just didn’t understand how things worked in the real world. She couldn’t just pack up the boys and make them live with a bunch of strangers.

Her heart clenched at the image of a tyre swing hanging from the boughs of an ancient oak, and she thought about the prim neatness of her parents’ back garden. About how her mother had pretended – unsuccessfully – not to mind when Elijah had trampled a row of gladioli when retrieving his football from one of her pristine flower beds. And it wasn’t just the perfection of the garden to worry about, there was also the cream carpet in the front room just waiting for a blackcurrant squash disaster. It had really begun to bother her how much her boys would have to compromise to fit into the neat and tidy box her parents called home. They’d have to be small, and quiet, and neat at the very age when they should be able to explore their environment without fear of the constant drip-drip of criticism she and Marcus had been subject to. A place for everything, and everything in its place. How many times had she bitten her lip as she watched her mother correct the boys for breaking some rule that only existed in the pristine bubble of Wendy Wilson’s perfect world? She imagined Elijah whooping with joy as she pushed him on the tyre swing, of Isaac tumbling around in great piles of autumn leaves; of them just being free. ‘I’ll have to talk to Steve.’

Sitting up straighter, she nudged Tristan’s arm to get his attention. ‘I’ll have to talk to Steve,’ she repeated.

His expression was puzzled for a moment before he gave her that dazzling, tummy-flipping grin. ‘Well, okay then.’




Chapter 3 (#ulink_d544d125-ffc9-5615-b7cb-514ed15ea811)


‘It’s a stupid idea,’ Jess said for what must’ve been the tenth time in as many minutes. When Steve remained silent, she paused in the act of sorting the clothes from the bottom of Elijah’s chest of drawers to stare across the bed to where Steve was doing the same task from the blanket box they used for Isaac’s things. ‘Well?’

Steve held up a tiny pair of dungarees with a dinosaur patch sewn on the front pocket. They evoked a flood of memories of both their boys wearing them. She’d been determined not to put Isaac in too many hand-me-downs, but they were too adorable for her to consign to the charity bag. ‘Are you keeping these?’

Downsizing her own wardrobe had been a doddle compared to this. She had no emotional attachment to an array of Dorothy Perkins skirt suits in varying muted shades, and it had been quite liberating to shed the uniform she’d moulded for herself. She’d kept a couple of the newer ones for future interviews, but the two suitcases already stacked against the wall in her room were mostly casual clothes. These dungarees though, the idea of parting with this little scrap of denim was breaking her heart. They couldn’t keep everything, though. ‘They’re too small.’

Steve tugged at a loose thread, ‘And this hem is getting frayed.’ He gave her a smile. ‘Keepsake bag?’

‘Keepsake bag,’ she agreed, and they shared a laugh. It shouldn’t be this easy, to parcel up six years of their lives, but apart from the odd heart pang over a few pieces of old baby clothes she’d found it remarkably straight-forward. Maybe too straight-forward. Crumpling the jumper in her hands, Jess sank down on the edge of the bed. ‘Are you sure we’re doing the right thing?’

Abandoning his own packing, Steve circled the bed to crouch down before her. ‘Aren’t you?’

She stared into a pair of blue eyes as familiar as her own and wished she felt more than deep affection. The first storm of passion they’d shared in those dark days after losing Marcus had inevitably blown itself out, leaving the aching realisation they had little in common other than the friendship they’d grown up with, and two beautiful boys who meant the world to them both. ‘We’re blowing up entire lives.’

Circling her ankle with a hand, Steve gave her a little squeeze. Hugging was too awkward now, but those urges to comfort each other didn’t just vanish overnight. ‘Because we want something better.’

‘Because we deserve something better.’ It was the conclusion they’d reached together in those long, painful hours when they’d been coming to terms with the truth about their feelings for each other. ‘But what about what we’re doing to the boys?’

Releasing her leg, Steve sat back with a sigh. ‘They’re young enough to adjust. We just need to give it a bit of time.. Isn’t this better than spending the next twenty or thirty years together when our hearts aren’t truly in it and destroying each other with a million tiny acts of bitterness?’

She knew he was thinking about his own parents then. For all she wished her folks would be a bit more honest with each other, she’d never once doubted the love they had for each other unlike the icy war of words that raged constantly under the roof of Steve’s childhood home. Though they seemed to have reached something of an entente cordiale lately, the Ripleys had rowed constantly when she and Steve had been growing up. Part of the reason Steve and Marcus had become such close friends was Steve’s desire to escape from the toxic atmosphere his parents had created.

After Marcus died, she’d been so desperate for something to hold onto as life imploded around her, and Steve had been there, warm and familiar, and just as in need of comfort. They thought they loved each other enough to hold on forever, but they’d been wrong. Or perhaps it was because they still loved each other just enough, that they knew it was time to let go.

Bracing his arms behind him, Steve dropped his head back to stare up at the ceiling. ‘Or maybe that’s the lie I’m telling myself, so I get to be selfish.’

Now it was her turn to offer comfort. She rubbed her foot against the edge of his. ‘We only get one go at this, and archaeology has always been your dream, Indy.’

He laughed at the old nickname he’d given himself at ten years old after the BBC had shown the first three Indiana Jones movies over Christmas. Steve had been mesmerised by the wise-cracking, whip-cracking hero and his love of archaeology had been born. ‘God, those films have a lot to answer for.’

‘Including your love of all things beige,’ she teased, poking the leg of his chinos. When Marcus had been experimenting with hair dye and piercings, Steve had stuck rigidly to khaki and beige, as though any moment he might be summoned on an adventure to the deserts of Egypt, or the jungles of South America. Jess had skipped the experimental stage all together – her brother had done more than enough rebelling for the both of them. Even after all this time, the memory of him pricked sharp like a needle. ‘No more calling yourself selfish, okay? We made this decision together, in the best interests of our family.’ They’d both hear enough of that particular accusation when her parents arrived tomorrow.

He nodded. ‘United front.’ He held out his fist and she bumped hers against it.

‘United front.’

They returned to their chores, but the previous easiness between them was lacking as the reality of their choices pressed a little closer. This was the last night the four of them would spend beneath this roof. Her gaze strayed to the freshly painted wall beside the door where they’d drawn marks on the wall to record the boys growing. She closed her eyes. It was just a wall; the memories of those moments were what mattered, and she would carry them in her heart forever.

A couple of hours later, she sealed the final box of toys that were being donated to a local charity and lifted it on top of the half a dozen others also heading for a new home. ‘Are we giving away too much?’

‘Given the fact the keep pile is about three times the size of that, I’m going to say no.’ Steve climbed down from the stepladder he’d been using while he cleaned the top of the wardrobe and folded the dirty cloth into a small square. ‘I think that’s this room about done.’

There was no helping the lump in her throat as she glanced around them. The little beds looked too bare. She’d wanted to take the bunk beds to her parents, but her mother had refused, saying there wasn’t room, that the boys would be fine to top and tail in the second guestroom until Jess got herself back on her feet and had her own place again. A place close enough for Wendy to be able to keep an eye on the boys, and her too, Jess suspected.

‘You look done in,’ Steve said, dragging her thoughts back to the present once more. ‘Why don’t you go and have a bath and I’ll check on the boys? There’s no point in loading anything up until the morning.’ Although Steve wasn’t taking any more than he could fit in his car – a cheap second-hand runaround he’d purchased after returning his company car – they’d rented a small trailer and attached it to the estate car they’d invested in after Isaac’s birth when the logistics of transporting all the paraphernalia of two small boys proved too much for their old hatchback.

‘That sounds like a good idea, I might just do that.’

‘And I’ll order a takeaway.’ He checked his watch. ‘The Szechuan Palace is open until ten, so there’s no rush.’

Jess let him usher her out of the bedroom and towards the bathroom without protest. She was pretty much at the end of a very frayed tether and could feel the tears that always gathered when she was tired, or angry, or hungry, or just about anything on the emotional scale these days. Crying was a default she’d always hated and did her best to fight, but damn it she was exhausted.

Avoiding the bathroom mirror, she began to fill the tub, adding a squeeze of Matey bubble bath because she wanted the comfort of the bubbles but everything of hers bar the absolute essentials was already packed. She was swishing her hand through the water to build them up when a soft knock came at the door. Steve was in the hallway, holding a glass of white wine so cold it was already covered in condensation. ‘I decided we both deserve a drink,’ he said, showing her the open bottle of beer in his other hand. ‘Kids are out like a light.’

‘Thanks.’ She accepted the wine, feeling awkward because they were now people who knocked on bathroom doors. How many nights had they spent chatting with one or other of them perched on the toilet lid whilst the other soaked away the trials of the day? The tiny threshold strip of metal holding down the carpet separating them felt as wide as the ocean. She turned away, not wanting Steve to see her cry, knowing this was part of the mourning process and not true regret.

‘Jess.’

She froze, not daring to turn around in case it allowed any regrets he might be feeling to intrude, then cursed herself for a coward. ‘Yes?’

‘That stupid idea of yours? I think you should do it.’

This time she did turn. ‘You do?’

He shrugged. ‘Why not? When else are you going to get the chance to do a job you know you’ll love and live in actual castle at the same time?’ His enthusiastic grin was infectious. ‘Imagine the history in a place like that! And it’s like you said, the boys will have all that space to run around and explore.’

‘It’ll be disruptive. Come the new year I’ll be back where I am right now.’

‘Maybe, or maybe you’ll have had time to work out what it is that you want from life. You can say as many times as you like that we’re making the decision to split together, but I’m moving on to something positive, and I just wish there was a way for you to be doing the same.’

‘If I’m up in Derbyshire, it’ll be harder for you to see the boys.’ One of the many reasons she’d agreed to move in with her parents was to be close to where Steve was doing his course at Exeter University.

‘Stop putting everyone but yourself first, Jess.’ There was real exasperation in his tone. ‘So what if it’s inconvenient for me? So bloody what?! This is a brilliant opportunity for you. All you have to do is give yourself permission to take it.’ A thin, high wail came from the main bedroom, Isaac disturbed by his father’s uncharacteristically loud voice. ‘Damn, I’ll get him.’ Steve took a couple of steps away then glanced back. ‘I appreciate that you wanted to consult me about this, but this is one decision you need to make for yourself.’




Chapter 4 (#ulink_930039de-a773-53fe-9a3b-0e5f41afa7b7)


‘Sit down, Tristan,’ His great-aunt Morgana peered at him from over the top of the porcelain teacup which looked as pale and delicate as the hand holding it. ‘You’re making the place look untidy.’

Though age had shrunken her somewhat from the formidable figure she had cut during his childhood, nothing had dimmed the strength of her character and the old admonishment was enough to still his pacing. With worry gnawing at him, he resorted to staring out of the sitting room window once more. He’d never felt a sense of responsibility towards another person before, well not more than the usual consideration for his family. From the moment Jess had called him that morning to say not only would she be taking the job, but she and the boys were loaded up and ready to hit the road immediately, he’d been weighed down with the knowledge that he’d put himself firmly in the middle of her very delicate domestic situation. The urgency of their impending arrival hadn’t given him much time for introspection during the day as it’d been all hands to the pump to get suitable accommodation sorted out, but now there was nothing he could do but wait – and worry.

It wasn’t just Jess he would need to look out for. As he and Arthur had cleared out old boxes and rearranged furniture whilst Maxwell and Mrs W cleaned and Lucie had cut fresh flowers from the orangery and even managed to find a few old toys to brighten up the old nursery, it had struck Tristan that he needed to offer a place of security to two very vulnerable little boys. The doubts niggling at him now were not about his family, they’d taken the news that their new events planner came with some very special baggage with their usual open-hearted acceptance. It was himself he was bothered about. And more especially his motivation for offering Jess the job. Yes, he needed help, and yes, she was the perfect person to do it, but sitting beside her in the pub had reminded him of how much he’d missed being around her and he’d not been ready to say goodbye. Stupid, really, but as long as he kept any foolish yearnings for what might have been firmly to himself, there was no reason they couldn’t work successfully side by side as they had these past few years.

His gloomy mood matched the weather beyond the glass. The heavy rain showed no signs of letting up and had now been joined by a thin mist rolling in from the dales. He could barely make out the dark shadow of the protective curtain wall which separated their land from the single road snaking up through the village. A dim light flashed giving rise to his hopes that this might be them at last, but the headlights vanished an instant later, the vehicle passing rather than turning into the heavy iron gates he’d left open. ‘They should’ve been here by now.’

‘They’ll get here when they get here,’ his brother’s relaxed voice from somewhere behind the paper he was reading was enough to make Tristan want to punch him in the nose. ‘I’m sure Jess is just being sensible and taking her time.’

Their great-aunt harrumphed. ‘Phoning out of the blue to say one is setting off without so much as a day’s notice to one’s hosts doesn’t strike me as the actions of a sensible woman.’

‘It wasn’t out of the blue. I offered Jess the job knowing her circumstances, and that we’d have to move quickly if she accepted it. She was willing to book herself into a hotel for a few days, but what’s the point in wasting money unnecessarily?’ Hearing the defensiveness in his tone, Tristan attempted to moderate it as he continued. ‘I’ll try to minimise any disruption, Aunt Morgana, I promise.’

She gave him a look blistering enough to peel the lacquer from the wood panelling at his back but said no more on the subject.

‘I’m sure Arthur’s right and there’s nothing to worry about.’ Lucie offered him a reassuring smile. ‘Come and have a cup of tea.’

Abandoning his watch with one last glance out the window, Tristan slouched over to drop himself onto the floral sofa next to his sister-in-law. They’d complied with his request to take afternoon tea in this rarely used front parlour rather than their usual cosy family room just off the great hall so they would know the instant Jess and the children arrived. It would be churlish of him to refuse a cup of tea when he could have left them in peace and skulked around here on his own.

‘Maybe the weather got too bad and she decided to stop for a while?’ Lucie suggested after handing him a plate of sandwiches to go with his tea. ‘I wouldn’t fancy driving in this on my own, never mind with two little ones on board.’

‘Yes, you’re probably right.’ But wouldn’t she have called? Tristan slid his phone from his pocket to check the reception. Thankfully, the booster they’d had installed over the summer at considerable expense was holding up even in these dank conditions. It was early in the year for it to be so gloomy, but the forecasters were promising the rain was a temporary blip and high pressure would be moving in to bring one last taste of summer by the weekend.

Half a cup of tea and two sandwich fingers later, he was up by the window once more. Folding his newspaper, Arthur tossed it onto the footstool beside his armchair and rose. ‘For goodness sake, if you want something to do why don’t you come and take the dogs out with me?’

‘You’re going out in this?’

‘Doggy bladders don’t care what the weather’s like.’ Crossing to his side, Arthur clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Besides, if we’ve worn them out they’re less likely to scare our new arrivals.’ The last was said to his wife with a wink.

‘They can be a bit of a handful if you’re not used to them,’ she said with a rueful grin. ‘Oh, what the heck, I’ll come out with you as well.’

Their arrival in the great hall was greeted by a few enquiring woofs from the dogs who were all cosied up before the fire. As the three of them made their way towards the coat cupboard beside the front door, those woofs rose in volume and were soon joined by the skitter of claws on stone as Nimrod and Bella, their pair of matched greyhounds shortly followed by Tristan’s wheaten terrier, Pippin, came over to see what was going on. When Arthur appeared from the cupboard clad in a Barbour jacket and flat cap, the excitement level in the hall reached fever pitch and Tristan found himself almost toppled over by the milling pack as he raised one foot to wedge it into his wellington boot. Once dressed similarly to his brother, he pulled open one side of the enormous wooden front door and stepped aside expecting a stream of fur to rush past him. Nimrod stuck his nose outside, gave a sniff and promptly sat down on the stone floor. Tristan couldn’t say he blamed the dog, to be honest.

Arthur was having none of it, however, and he marched out the door and down the steps, pausing at the bottom only long enough to toss a couple of tennis balls out across the wide gravel drive. The temptation proved too much and Nimrod shot up and out after the balls, the rest of the dogs following closely on his heels.

Once he was out in it, Tristan decided it wasn’t that bad. The earlier wind had dropped, and if he kept his face ducked down, his cap kept the worst of the rain off. Though the rest of the dogs followed his brother and Lucie as they made towards the path leading through the formal gardens and to the broader open spaces of the parkland beyond, little Pippin kept close to Tristan’s heels, only circling off now and then when one delicious scent or another proved too tempting to ignore.

Happy to let them range ahead, Tristan found himself breaking away from the path and headed towards the open gates at the end of the drive. As he reached them, he ordered Pippin to wait before poking his head past the heavy stone pillar securing the left-hand gate to stare down the hill. Other than a few static lights shining from the houses and cottages lining the lower half of the hill, all was quiet. The oppressive rain laid a strange stillness over everything like a thick wet blanket. ‘What are you doing?’ he muttered to himself. ‘It’s not like staring down the road is going to make them arrive any quicker.’ It still took him a few more moments before he could persuade his feet to move.

Not ready to return to the house, Tristan wandered away from the gates towards his latest obsession. Tugging a torch from his pocket, he shone a thin beam of light through the dirt-encrusted window of the old gatehouse. The saggy old sofa he, Arthur and Iggy had persuaded their father to put in the sitting room when they’d claimed it as their private den still stood before the fireplace. It looked more black than the pale green velvet he remembered, possibly a trick of the light, but more likely from mildew. He pulled a face, wondering just what else might be lurking in the depths of its cushions after so many years of neglect. They’d outgrown it after going off to university, and he doubted very much anyone had been inside in the dozen or so years since.

Ever since Uncle Lancelot had taken it upon himself to convert the rooms above the stable blocks from which he ran his successful horse stud, Tristan had been pondering the idea of carving a private space for himself on the castle grounds. It wasn’t that the castle didn’t have more than enough bedrooms to accommodate them all several times over, but now the long-term future for the castle looked healthy, it was time to start making plans of his own. A home of his own. He’d have to speak to Maxwell, the family’s butler, to see if he knew where the keys were and check the place out before he got too far ahead of himself.

Ignoring the little voice in his head that whispered perhaps now wasn’t the best time to take on yet another project when he had so much already on his plate, he circled around to the other side of the gatehouse, shining his torch through each window in turn. The kitchen was small, but how much space did he need? Though Lancelot and Constance lived above the stables, they still joined the rest of the family for most evening meals. The old wood-fed stove was a bit too primitive for Tristan but could easily be replaced with a microwave and an electric hob. He flashed the torch around the rest of the room. The tile floor looked pretty sound and the wooden cupboards were mostly intact apart from one door hanging loose off its hinges.

His progression round to the two rooms which had once served as bedrooms was halted by a sudden splash of light behind him. A car with a mobile trailer box attached had pulled into the drive and come to a standstill. At last. Abandoning his plans for the gatehouse for the moment, Tristan hurried across the grass. When he got close he could make out the silhouette of a woman, hands gripping the steering wheel as she stared straight ahead through the windscreen. She seemed lost in a world of her own and gave no sign she was aware of his approach.

Using the butt of the torch he tapped lightly on the glass. With a muffled scream she twisted her head to stare up at him through her window before quickly glancing behind her towards the back seat. Following her gaze, he saw two little figures strapped into car seats, their heads lolling in sleep. The window slid down, and she hissed at him. ‘You scared me half to death! What are you doing lurking out here in the bloody dark?’

Adopting the same hushed tones, Tristan bent down. ‘I was out taking my dog for a walk and wondering where on earth you’d got to. Is everything all right? Why did you stop here?’

She waved a hand towards the castle. ‘Look at it, for goodness sake.’

His eyes followed the direction of her hand. The rain had thinned to a drizzle, casting the illuminated front of the castle in a misty curtain. Looming out of the darkness, he supposed it cut an imposing sight, but for him it was simply his home. ‘What am I looking at?’

Her incredulous stare narrowed as she realised he was teasing her. ‘Not funny.’

‘Well, a bit funny,’ he argued, giving her a grin. ‘Come on, you must be knackered, let’s get you inside in the warm.’

She eyed him for a long moment before nodding. ‘It was a tough drive.’ As though admitting it brought the reality of what she’d been through rushing forward, her shoulders slumped, and he could make out the lines of strain bracketing her eyes.

‘The rain’s almost stopped. If you want to leave the car here and walk the rest of the way …?’ He or Arthur could come back and fetch it in a bit once Jess and the boys were sorted.

‘It’s so silly, it’s only a hundred yards.’ When she made no move, Tristan leaned in and turned the engine off before tugging open her door. ‘Come on, the fresh air will do you good.’

‘Yes, you’re probably right.’ She still seemed a bit dazed when she climbed out, so Tristan put his arm out to steady her. When she looked a bit more with it, he quickly unzipped his jacket and slung it around her shoulders.

‘Mine’s in the boot somewhere,’ she protested, vaguely.

‘And you can get it later.’ Tristan moved towards the passenger door and popped it open quietly. ‘This is Elijah?’ he asked Jess over his shoulder as he crouched down beside the sleeping boy.

‘Yes.’ Shrugging into his coat, she leaned across Tristan to shake Elijah’s shoulder. ‘Hey Eli, wake up, sweetheart, we’re here.’

A pair of thick sooty lashes blinked open to reveal a set of deep-set green eyes inherited from his mother. ‘Mummy?’

She tugged the complicated mechanism strapping him in then straightened up. ‘This is Tristan. Remember I told you about him? He’s going to help you out while I get your brother.’

Those big olive-green eyes blinked owlishly as they watched Jess disappear around the back of the car before turning to gaze at Tristan. ‘Hello, Elijah.’

‘’lo.’ The little boy made no move to get out, his expression a combination of suspicion and weary confusion.

Glancing behind him, Tristan clicked his fingers towards where Pippin was busy sniffing at the tyres of the trailer behind them. ‘Come here, Pippin. I’ve got a new friend for you to meet.’ The little terrier bounced over, his stub of a tail wagging a mile a minute as he put his front paws up on the side of the car and gave Elijah an inquisitive sniff. ‘This is Pippin,’ Tristan said. ‘We’ve got lots of lovely dogs here at the castle, but he’s my special friend. He can be your friend too, if you’d like?’

Still looking uncertain, Elijah held out a tentative hand towards the terrier, giving a little giggle when Pippin licked the tips of his fingers. ‘It tickles.’

‘Down now, Pip,’ Tristan tap his thigh and the obedient dog came to sit at his heel. Turning back to Elijah, Tristan held out his hand. ‘Ready now?’ The boy nodded and wiggled down from the car. When he left his hand resting in Tristan’s he kept hold of it as he rose, making sure to keep his grip loose so Elijah could slip free at any time.

‘Well now, who’s this?’ Jess asked as she returned with a very sleepy Isaac in her arms and Pippin came to sniff at her feet.

‘Pip!’ Elijah said, then glanced up at Tristan as though checking he’d got that right.

Smiling, Tristan nodded. ‘His name is Pippin, but he likes to be called Pip by his friends.’ Pippin wagged his tail in agreement.

‘Making friends, already? Aren’t you a lucky boy, Eli? Now where’s your coat?’ Jess bent forward, still clutching Isaac to her hip.

Over her shoulder, Tristan surveyed the jumble of toys, pillows, colourful plastic lidded cups and other detritus spilling across the back seat and into the footwells beneath. ‘Do you want me to look?’

Jess straightened. ‘Thanks. It’s a navy puffa-type thing.’ At that moment, Isaac straightened in her arms and pulled the kind of face that portended nothing but trouble. As the first wail escaped his lips, Jess jiggled him. ‘Shh, it’s all right, bubba. We’re here now.’ Paying no heed to her assurances, the toddler continued to cry.

‘Take him in,’ Tristan nodded down the drive. ‘I’ll find Elijah’s jacket and we’ll be right behind you.’

‘Okay, sorry.’ Jess gave him an apologetic smile before heading towards the castle, crooning nonsense words to Isaac as she tried to console him.

Crouching once more, Tristan began to turn over everything in the back of the car, but the jacket remained stubbornly elusive. Giving Elijah a quick glance, he asked ‘Any idea where your coat is hiding?’ Elijah shook his head, his expression falling.

Fearing more tears, Tristan decided to abandon the hunt. The rain was nothing more than the odd spot now, and the boy’s sweatshirt looked warm enough for the couple of minutes it would take them to get inside. ‘Brave men like us don’t need coats, right?’

Clearly liking the sound of being a brave man, Elijah nodded. ‘Right!’

After closing the car door, Tristan held out a hand. ‘Come on then, let’s get inside. Betsy’s been working hard all afternoon to make you a very special welcome tea.’

Elijah linked fingers with him, eyes bright with curiosity. ‘Who’s Betsy?’

‘She’s our cook,’ Tristan said, starting towards the castle. He kept his stride short to make sure the boy could easily keep pace with him. ‘Our house is very big, so we need lots of people to help take care of it, and us.’ It suddenly occurred to him how overwhelming all this must be and paused to crouch so he was at eye-level with Elijah. ‘I’m sure this is all a bit scary for you, but I promise that everyone here at Bluebell Castle is very excited about you and Isaac and Mummy coming to stay with us. If anything upsets or bothers you, tell your mummy straightaway and we will sort it out.’ He squeezed Elijah’s hand very gently. ‘And you can always come and talk to me, okay?’





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