Page 72 of A Secret Escape

“It is. Just as it must be satisfying cooking something that people can’t wait to eat, or running a place like Forest Nest where people go to escape and make happy memories.Different skill set, but still a skill. You’re good at what you do.”

She wondered if he was making fun of her. Not the cooking, she could see the validity in that comparison, but the rest? “Making beds and cleaning bathrooms?”

“I was thinking more about how you make people feel relaxed and welcome. I saw you the other day with that little girl. She was giving you a picture she’d drawn for you. I bumped into them later in the café. Her parents told me she’d been in hospital and that you’d sent her a note and a gift.”

“Katy? The family have been coming here since before she was born. They spent their honeymoon at Forest Nest. They rang to say they might not be able to use their week because poor Katy was in hospital and they thought they should cancel so that we could rebook it.”

“But you wouldn’t let them. You held the week for them anyway and said you’d absorb the cost if necessary.” He nodded. “They told me. And they also told me that looking forward to being here kept Katy going when she was sick. What would have happened if they hadn’t been able to come?”

“I either would have tried to rent it at the last minute or I would have lost money.” She shrugged. “Probably not the best business decision, but I can’t think of anything more stressful than having a child in hospital. I didn’t want them to worry about the holiday on top of everything else.”

They paused the conversation as their appetizers were placed on the table.

He picked up his fork. “I don’t think it was a bad business decision. You have guaranteed that they’ll be returning here every year for the foreseeable future, I should imagine. But I know you didn’t do it for that reason. You’re the warmest, kindest person I’ve ever met.” His voice was gruff. “Also your cooking skills are off the scale. I’m convinced you’re the reason I finished the book. It’s the first time I’ve reached this stage and felt fresh and clearheaded. Normally I’m existing on a diet of junk food and sugar,and it takes me a while to recover. The other night I dreamed about your lemon chicken. I’d ask for the recipe, but I know I wouldn’t be able to reproduce it.”

She made a mental note to make him her lemon chicken again soon.

“Did you always want to be a writer?”

“I always loved telling stories and reading, but I assumed everyone was like that,” he said. “I didn’t know that most people don’t walk around with stories and characters in their heads. And it didn’t cross my mind that it could be a career until I began working as a lawyer. I realized how complex people are. Everyone around me was interested in thewhat. The facts of the case. I was more interested in thewhy. What makes good people do bad things?”

She was interested in thewhytoo. Why Richard had behaved the way he had. Why he was always so moody with her now.

“Thinking about thewhysounds more like psychology than law.”

“An interest in psychology helps when you’re a writer. I’ve always been curious about people.”

“But you write about bad people.”

“Sometimes, but the most interesting villains are the ones who start out as good people but get driven to do bad things by circumstances. Maybe they make a decision that seems right at the time and turns out to be a mistake. Then they have to cover up the mistake, so they make another decision and that’s worse.”

“So you’re saying that the chef that needs to be in your book was a really good person until someone stole his fish knife? Then when he found out, he gutted them.”

The smile spread across his face. “You’re better at this than you think.”

Despite her anxiety, the conversation flowed, and over the best meal she’d ever eaten they traded life histories. She discovered that he’d spent the first five years of his life in Cumbria, and then his parents had separated and he’d gone to live with his mother in Boston.

“You’re not in touch with your father?”

“No. My mother always said that parenthood didn’t suit him. I have no memories of him. He died shortly after they separated. How about you?”

“My dad left when I was twelve. And it was hard.” She didn’t need to elaborate. Brendan was a writer. She knew instinctively that he’d sense all the things she was leaving unsaid. “He said he loved me and would always love me, but all I kept thinking was that however much he loved me it wasn’t enough for him to want to stick around. I think that’s why I married Richard so young. I was looking for stability, and he seemed to offer that.” She’d never said it aloud before. Never really acknowledged it. “I was looking for some sort of guarantee, and of course, that doesn’t exist.”

“No,” he said. “But that early experience shaped you. And it must have made it extra tough when Richard left because you were dealing with parts of the past as well as the present.”

“Yes.” It was true, and she wondered how he could see instantly what it had taken her ages to work out. “But mostly I was worried about Zoe. About the impact on her.”

“She’s lucky to have a mother like you. I think you’re incredible. And resilient. You’re running a business and raising a child, and you still find time to make delicious lemon chicken and nurture your guests.”

He thought she was incredible. Not boring or a martyr. Incredible.

She flushed. “I’m just getting on with life.”

“That’s the very definition of resilience. Did your mother marry again?”

“No. Her friends were always trying to match her with people, but she wasn’t interested. And we never talked about it until last year when Richard left, and she told me then that she’d grown to love her life exactly the way it was and that she had no intention of disrupting it. I think she liked the idea of being in control of all aspects of her life.But it was difficult for her when Richard left me because it brought it all back for her too.”

He nodded. “It must be hard watching your child go through tough times. You’re lucky to have such close family.”

---