Page 77 of The Secret Mistletoe Promise
‘I’m so glad.’
‘Mark, who runs the local allotment, wants help creating a website, along with a spreadsheet of members and lease lengths to keep track of all the plots, so he’ll be in to see you at some point.’
‘Great.’ Imogen pictured her neat London desk, collated reports piled on the corner, the swanky coffee machine thatbroke down at least once a week. She knew she was supporting her dad, but she only ever got to greet his clients, show them into the conference room and provide them with refreshments. She didn’t make a life-changing difference to any of them, and everyone at Rowsell & Patterson Law would laugh at how meaningful she’d found it untangling balls of wool.
‘We’re looking at the budget in the new year,’ Winnie went on, oblivious to her turmoil. ‘Now we have the kitchen, post office and hub, we’re going to need someone to manage our community endeavours – separate it properly from the hotel side of the business.’
‘These things do have a habit of getting unwieldly,’ Imogen agreed.
‘Exactly.’ The older woman beamed up at her. ‘It would, all being well, be a paid role. We’d need someone organized, good with people.’
‘Sounds great,’ Imogen rasped out. Then she wished Winnie well and fled the hotel before her brain exploded under the weight of all her conflicting emotions.
That evening was the last rehearsal in the village hall. Fiona had said she wanted everyone polished before they were awed by the manor, where they would do a final rehearsal in situ; Harry and Sophie still had a few things to finish before it was ready. Imogen arrived, braced for another green-related nickname, and when she stepped through the door, she almost did a little twirl to announce herself.
‘Imogen!’ Lucy raced up and wrapped an arm around her, the other clutched to Artichoke so the dog was pressed between their bodies.
‘Hey Lucy. Artichoke.’ She stroked the dog’s head and then, to her utter mortification, realized she was stroking Lucy’s head, too, as she’d seen Dexter do countless times.
‘Dad said I could come and watch. When I got here, old Mr Carsdale said it wasn’t appropriate for young eyes, but Dad said I should ignore him and gave him a glare.’
Imogen’s laugh had a sandpaper edge.
When Lucy released her, May gave her a hug, and Sophie did too, and Imogen wished that these people would stop being sofriendly, for God’s sake.
‘I hope it’s OK that I brought Lucy,’ Dexter murmured, when Imogen took her place by his side. The girl in question was introducing Artichoke to Annie and Jim’sGrinch-performing children, Oscar and Rose, at the front of the room. ‘She wanted to see us before the real thing, and I couldn’t think of a reason to say no.’
‘It’s fine,’ Imogen said, even though it didn’t feel fine. ‘She wants you to help turn our shells and pine cones into tree decorations, but I said I didn’t know if you’d have time.’
‘I’d love to.’ She looked around the room, taking in the faces that had become so familiar over the last few weeks.
‘At least we’ve rehearsed a bit more since last time.’
She turned sharply to look at him, triumphant when she saw that his cheeks were as pink as hers felt. ‘Why would you bring that up moments before we’re about to do it?’ she whispered fiercely.
He grinned. ‘Do it?I seem to remember that ourlastrehearsal …’
Imogen pressed a finger to his lips. ‘Do not, Dexter Rivera, finish that sentence. I know what you’re referring to.’Andit hadn’t involved a lot of clothes, and only a cursory attempt to say the right lines.
Dexter kissed her finger, and that simple gesture had such a violent effect on Imogen, it was as though an earthquake was rumbling through her body, shaking her from her moorings. ‘We’ll be amazing,’ he said, his grin turning cheeky. ‘At our scene.’
‘Very fucking amazing.’ Imogen’s reply mirrored her words of a few nights ago, and she saw the moment recognition hit, Dexter’s eyes going wide, then softening to something that looked like—
‘And this, young woman,’ Frank Carsdale intoned, ‘is why I thought it might have been wise for you not to come tonight.’
Imogen dragged her gaze away from Dexter, and found Lucy looking up at them, clutching a sleepy Artichoke, her expression one of such delight that Imogen felt a second earthquake rumble through her.
‘Ready to perform?’ Fiona called.
Imogen thought that, yes, there would be a whole lot of performing tonight, because she needed to look as if she was holding it together, while inside, her thoughts were in chaos.
‘There are lots of things to think about.’ Birdie was at the kitchen table, parcelling up packages of Christmas vegetables for the community kitchen. ‘Mistingham is so different to London, and you’re still young. Would you find it fulfilling enough here?’
‘Is that the only thing you’re worried about?’ Imogen put two steaming mugs of tea on the table. She hadn’t been ableto keep it from her gran any longer, the dilemma that was splitting her in two. ‘Not that you’ve been living here, happily alone, for years, and now your granddaughter – who hasn’t been in your life for ages – has rocked up unannounced, taken over your spare bedroom and is contemplating whether she might actually want to stay?’
Birdie smiled, eyes twinkling. ‘Happily alonemight be pushing it. I keep busy; I have lots of connections in the village.’
‘You’re knitting Felix a new jumper.’ Imogen pointed at the bundle of wool on a chair. It was pink and silver, pale blue and grass green, and she was already eager to see what design her gran would come up with.
