Page 87 of The Secret Mistletoe Promise
‘Are you OK?’ Fiona looked worried.
‘I’m fine. I’m so sorry I messed up the rehearsal. I would say that I’ll do it now, but my mum is here, and I have to see her.’ She peered over Fiona’s shoulder. ‘Where’s Dexter? I need to talk to him.’
‘He had an emergency at the bakery. One of the ovens has broken down, which could spell disaster for a whole lot of Christmas orders, so he couldn’t stay.’ She gave Imogen an apologetic smile. ‘He did say to tell you that he’d find you later.’
‘OK.’ Imogen couldn’t help worrying that he’d gone, but a rushed conversation would be worse than none at all. ‘Thank you. You’re sure you don’t mind that we didn’t rehearse?’
‘Jazz stood in for you, and I have no great concerns. It will be all right on the night, as they say. As long asyou’reall right.’
‘I am.’ She could tell Fiona wanted more details, but there were other people ahead of her in the queue for explanations. She had no doubt the rest of the villagers would find out everything soon enough. ‘I have to go. See you soon.’
‘Take care in the snow,’ she called, and Imogen waved to show she’d heard, then hurried out to the hall, only just remembering to collect her coat on the way. Edmund was waiting for her, idling the engine of his big, shiny Range Rover that would see the snow as a mere inconvenience. But she didn’t want to dampen his spirits any further, and even though his white knight act hadn’t had the desired outcome, she hoped he would go back to London happier, and feeling positive about a future that didn’t include her.
Chapter Thirty-One
She found her mum sitting with Birdie at the kitchen table, a bottle of red wine open between them. Birdie was her usual, slightly rumpled self, and her mum looked perfectly coiffed, her short hair a redder tone than the last time she had seen her, diamonds twinkling unapologetically in her ears.
‘Here they are. Have you two patched things up?’ Stella Rowsell stood up and accepted a dazed hug from Imogen, her thin frame as unyielding as ever.
‘We’ve talked.’ Imogen glanced at Edmund, who was standing in the doorway, looking horrified at the sight of Birdie’s eclectic kitchen. ‘But patching things up was never on the cards.’
Stella narrowed her gaze, and Imogen understood why people banging their heads against tables was a real thing.
‘It wasn’t a blip or cold feet or wedding nerves, it was a real, considered decision that I came to at the worst possible moment. I fucked up the wedding, I fucked up all yourlives for a bit, but Edmund and I have talked, and we know we’re not meant to be together.’
‘Have you been reading too many romance books?’ her mum asked.
‘Stop belittling Imogen’s decisions.’ Birdie sounded angrier than Imogen had ever heard her. ‘This is what you do when people behave in a way you don’t understand: you dismiss their feelings as trite or impossible. It’s incredibly tiring.’
Stella turned her aghast expression on her mum. ‘We’ve just been drinking wine together, quite pleasantly I thought.’
‘Yes, but it’s time to give you a few home truths, and to accept some back. This is one of them. You have a very specific way of doing things, and it’s up to you how you liveyourlife, but you cannot impose those ways on others.’
‘On my daughter, I can—’
‘Not even on your daughter. Come on, Edmund, let me show you the garden.’
‘It’s covered in snow,’ Edmund protested.
‘Let me take you somewhere that isn’t this room, so my daughter and granddaughter can have a conversation.’ Birdie slipped her arm into his. ‘You’re not very good at reading a situation, are you?’
Imogen didn’t hear Edmund’s reply because Birdie had hustled him to the back door. She sank into the chair opposite her mum.
‘Edmund brought you on his white knight quest, then?’
‘You really don’t want to give him another chance? He’s a wonderful man.’
‘He will be for someone else, but I don’t think he ever loved me. He loved that I could cement his position atRowsell & Patterson, tie everything up in a neat bow. I don’t love him, Mum, and I don’t want that life either.’
‘Mum says you’re thinking of staying here.’ Stella ran her finger over a knot in the wooden table, uncertain in a way Imogen had never seen before. ‘That you’re working at somecommunity huband running storytelling sessions. Is that really what you want to do?’
‘I love doing those things. I’m having such a wonderful time here, and the people—’
‘It’s just that holiday feeling,’ Stella said dismissively. ‘You’ll be bored before you know it.’
Imogen took a deep, slow breath. ‘I haven’t been staying in a five-star resort on a tropical island without a care in the world, thinking it could be a permanent, sustainable lifestyle. Believe it or not, I’ve been feeling incredibly guilty about what I did, how I’ve treated Edmund, and you and Dad. But you haven’t been fair to me either, and’ – she held a hand up when her mum went to say something – ‘I don’t want to rake it all up, because I don’t expect you to change. I’ve learnt a lot after what happened, and it’s for me to deal with. But I’ve got to know people here, I’ve got to know Gran again. I love Mistingham. It suits me much more than London.’
‘Mum says there’s a boy.’
