Page 16 of The Secret Mistletoe Promise
‘What on earth does that mean?’
Imogen could picture her mum, dressed in a smart skirt and blouse, heels on, even though she was at home and it was Sunday, pacing on the rug in front of the fireplace. The walls of their living room were Capri blue, their glass figurines would be catching the afternoon light. Everything there was polished: not a onesie, fluffy slipper or hot-chocolate stain in sight.
‘It was too important to get wrong,’ she said.
‘And when has marrying Edmund, becoming part of that wonderful family, been wrong? I have let my guard down and I’m furious with myself. I thought you had finally come to your senses.’
‘I came to my senses just in time,’ she whispered.
She wondered what her mum would do if she told her about the conversation she’d overheard between Edmundand her dad. Except she already knew the answer, and that was why she’d had no choice but to abscond and find her way to this idyllic coastal town, where she’d encountered a helpful baker with kind eyes, a goat wearing jumpers knitted by her grandmother, and an influx of mistletoe.
The thought of everything she’d already found in Mistingham warmed her, and gave her the confidence to say, ‘I’m really sorry for all the hassle I’ve caused, and I can understand why you’re mad at me, but I can’t face talking about it yet. I’m going to phone Edmund now, and I’ll be in touch when I can. Say hi to Dad for me.’
She hung up and flung the phone onto the duvet, basking in a small glow of satisfaction. Her mum was horrified with her, but not so distraught that she was showing signs of sympathy, and that was strangely comforting.
‘Right.’ She picked up her phone again. ‘Edmund now. Think of the garlic chicken. Think of the rosemary potatoes.’ She hit favourites, then his number. Her heart hammered in time with the ringing, until she heard a familiar voice.
‘Imogen, Jesus Christ!’
‘Hey.’ The warming fire that had banked inside her was quashed by Edmund’s exasperated tone. ‘How are things?’
She could almostfeelhis incredulity. ‘I think you can imagine how they are,’ he said tightly. ‘Do you have any idea how embarrassing that was for me? I amnevergoing to escape being the guy who was jilted at the altar.’
‘I couldn’t do it, Edmund. I heard you and Dad—’
‘Heard what?’
‘I heard what you said to him, about me. About us being married.’
‘You’re being hysterical, you do realize that, don’t you? You can’t have heard anything awful because I didn’tsayanything awful.’
‘I disagree.’
‘So, what now? I don’t know if we can come back from this. If I can be seen to take you back.’
‘If you can beseen?’ Imogen echoed. ‘You’re not even listening to me, which I suppose isn’t a surprise after what you said, what I clearly mean to you.’ She took a deep breath, waiting until she was sure her voice would be steady. ‘This isn’t going to work.’
‘Call me back when you’ve calmed down,’ he said. ‘I can’t deal with this right now.’
‘I wondered if you might be a bit sympathetic,’ she tried. ‘If you’d realized that not everything was peachy with me. I know I caused a lot of trouble—’
‘And expense.’
‘But I didn’t do it on a whim. You know me well enough to realize that.’
‘This isn’t getting us anywhere, Imogen. I need to go; I’m meeting a few of the others for drinks. Phone me when you’re prepared to have a sensible discussion about this.’
‘Edmund, I—’
He hung up with a click, and she stared at the phone. Had she blocked out any kindness or concern on his part, or had he really not shown any? She was pretty sure she knew the answer, she just wasn’t ready to believe it, especially since she had been a hair’s breadth away from committing her future to him.
‘How did it go?’ Birdie placed a plate of steaming garlic chicken, rosemary potatoes and buttery broccoli in front of her.
‘Oh, wow.’ Imogen picked up her knife and fork.
‘Imogen?’ Birdie sat opposite her, eyebrows raised.
‘They were both incredibly concerned …’ she started, and Birdie’s eyebrows rose impossibly higher, ‘… about all the money I’d squandered on the wedding.’
