Page 33 of The Secret Mistletoe Promise
‘So things in London aren’t …?’ Dexter’s words trailed off.
‘I’m not ready to go back yet,’ she admitted.
‘Ah. London people,’ Harry said knowingly.
Imogen laughed. ‘Not a fan?’
‘I lived there for a while. Worked in the City. It isn’t until you come somewhere like this – or in my case, comeback– that you realize how stressful living in London really is.’
‘Itisstressful,’ Imogen agreed. ‘Finding escaped goats is a bit out there, but it’s a whole lot more enjoyable.’
‘I concur,’ Harry said. ‘Even though it ismyescaped goat. I’m glad you’re getting a break, and perhaps you can come back more frequently, now you and Birdie have rekindled your relationship?’
‘I’d love that.’ Imogen tried to picture it: being back in London, still working for her dad, seeing Edmund on a daily basis – theawkwardness –then skipping up here atthe weekends with her mum giving her the cold shoulder every time she mentioned her gran.
‘I should think about heading back,’ Dexter said. ‘It’ll be the lunchtime rush soon.’
‘See you later.’ Harry and Dexter exchanged manly backslaps, then Imogen walked with Dexter along the manor’s wide driveway, the gravel lined with trees, parkland visible between the trunks on the sea side, the forest thicker where it flanked the house. She thought it must be spooky when it was dark.
‘Are you happy to give me your number?’ Dexter pulled his phone out of his pocket. ‘You’ve made yourself an integral part of the Felix rescue team, so it makes sense for you to be in the group; see how bad things get.’
Imogen recited her number, holding Artichoke close to her. The puppy seemed subdued now they’d left Felix behind, as if she was miserable without her goat accomplice. ‘Great.’ He put his phone away and they walked in silence for a while, the drizzle thicker among the trees, clinging to the leaves. With every step the pressure built in Imogen’s chest. Dexter had been such a help already, and he’d asked her about home: she needed –wanted– to be honest with him.
‘I don’t know when I’m going back to London,’ she told him, when they’d reached the road.
Dexter glanced at her but kept walking. ‘You’ve not sorted things out with Edmund? Spoken to your mum?’
‘It’s been two weeks since I last spoke to them, since Dad reassured me it was fine if I didn’t come back to work immediately. I’ve sent a few messages, but …’
‘You’re staying for Sophie and Harry’s wedding, at least?’
‘I am.’ She sighed. ‘Every time I think about London, and Edmund, I just want to immerse myself in everything that’s happening here.’
‘Isn’t that a good thing?’ Dexter asked gently. ‘That you’re not thinking about it all the time?’
‘Except it’s just one big stalling tactic. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be burdening you with this.’
‘It’s not a burden; I’m happy to be a friendly ear.’
‘You’re more than a friendly ear.’ He was a whole lot more, but she wasn’t about to tell him that – at least not intentionally. ‘Thank you.’
‘You can talk to me whenever you want to.’
‘I’m just …’ She pressed her lips together.
Dexter stopped walking. ‘Just what?’
‘No, it’s OK.’
‘Tell me.’
‘I feel like I have this guillotine hanging over my head. I keep thinking that Mum, maybe even Edmund, will work out that I’m here. Mum knows I’ve stayed in touch with Gran, that I never agreed with her being cut off from us. What if they run out of patience and come up here to drag me back?’
‘Then you’ll tell them you’re not ready; that you’re still figuring things out.’
Imogen looked at Artichoke’s furry head. How could she explain to him that it wasn’t that simple? Not with her parents, or with Edmund. And it was partly her fault, because she’d let them mould her into everything they expected in a daughter, a fiancée.
‘I don’t know if I’m strong enough to do that,’ she told him. ‘I have always gone along with things, let Mum andDad decide what’s best for me. I let Edmund sweep me off my feet, make me believe that we were perfect together, that it was the right thing for all of us. I’ve been weak.’
