Page 32 of The Gin Sisters' Promise

It was after midnight when she pulled the cottage door closed behind her. She’d spent almost three hours at the house, just wandering about, sitting, thinking, planning and, for the first time in years, dreaming of something that she would love to do just for herself.

As she saw it, most of the work in setting the cottage to rights as a quaint, self-catering getaway, would mean little more than elbow grease. It was a lot of washing, scrubbing, a fresh coat of paint, new curtains and repurposing some of the furniture from the main house to replace what was too shabby to be upcycled here. Her life so far had prepared her perfectly for it.

The worst part would be telling her sisters – or rather asking them, because after all, this cottage was as much theirs as it was hers. And she wondered, for a fleeting moment, if perhaps Georgie had felt the same way when she’d decided to take on the marketing brief at the distillery. Of course not, Iris thought with a sigh and shrug. Georgie never let anything slow her down; nothing got in her way if she set her mind on something. But that was Georgie. The same set of rules did not apply to Iris. But this was something she longed to do.

She mulled over the idea for the next couple of days, fizzing with excitement all the while. In fact, by the end of the third day, it had become such a dominant thought in her mind, it had actually pushed all thoughts of London and some of Myles andthat letterto one side for most of the time.

Iris steeled herself for the conversation she dreaded having with her sisters. She went down to the village beforehand and bought a huge bouquet of white roses and lilies and arranged them on the kitchen table. They’d finished dinner and for some reason, this evening, Georgie had opened a bottle of wine, as if there was something to celebrate before Iris even got around to sharing her plans.

‘I wanted to tell you both something,’ Iris began softly. ‘Well, maybeaskis a better way of putting it. It’s about the gate lodge…’

‘Oh?’ Nola’s head shot up from examining her phone.

‘Yes. I think I could make it into a really nice holiday let.’

‘But isn’t it almost derelict?’ Georgie said without a moment’s thought.

‘Well, that’s what I thought too, but I’ve had a look around and it’s in much better shape than I expected. You see, I was talking to Ted down at the hotel, and he said that with the overflow from weddings alone, we could probably have it filled with guests every weekend. It could be a nice little earner,’ she said.

‘Let me say, right here, I’d have absolutely no interest in being a chambermaid to some yobs arriving down here for stag nights,’ Georgie said, but when Iris’s eyes met hers, something in her features softened. Perhaps she realised that just as she had the distillery and Nola had the school to keep her occupied, Iris too needed something more than hanging about the house all day long. ‘But of course, if you want to take it on, it would be a great string to our bow, if… I mean, when we sell the place…’

‘Yes. That’s exactly what I thought…’ Iris said, and then she looked across at her younger sister. ‘Nola?’

‘Fine by me, just don’t expect me to cook breakfast for your guests anytime soon,’ she said, going back to browsing the internet on her phone. Then her head darted up, as if she’d remembered something. ‘Are you sure it won’t be too much for you, I mean…’ she stopped ‘…well, we’re meant to be taking it easy, enjoying…’

Iris felt herself stiffen. Trust Nola to pour cold water on things. ‘Of course not. I think I’m more than capable of putting a house together and making sure the place is nice for someone coming to stay,’ Iris bit back. It wasn’t going to affect either of her sisters. After all, it was just something to keep her busy for the next six months. They’d all be rushing back to London as soon as they could afterwards.

And so, it was settled. Iris had the strange sensation that she was about to take a tentative step towards her future. And, she had to admit, that future looked just a shade brighter than it had in a while.

*

A week later, Georgie was sitting at her father’s desk when her phone pinged, but she ignored it. Unlike in London, she didn’t feel she had to be ‘on’ all the time. She could ignore emails and messages because for the most part, they didn’t have any great power over her anymore.

And this morning, she had important things to consider.

Periwinkle, Savoy Blue, Blurple or Midnight Blue? She had narrowed it down to just four – no mean feat when she had started off with ninety-two various shades of blue for the packaging of Iseult Gin.

‘You’re asking the wrong man,’ Robert English said as he placed two digestive biscuits beside her stout cup of tea.

‘I could get used to this.’ Georgie smiled. Yesterday, they’d brought her cake. Somehow, they’d found out it was her birthday and one of the women – June – had made the cake the night before. It was uneven and filled with far too much cream to be anything but messy, but they’d sang her happy birthday and Georgie had felt a warm glow like she hadn’t felt in a very long time. It felt as if she was among not just colleagues, but maybe even friends if she stuck around long enough. She couldn’t help but compare it to the leaving party that never happened at Sandstone and Mellon – there she knew the only celebration would be because she’d left, not because they’d miss her. ‘So, what do you think?’

‘Blue is blue to me. You might as well be putting different types of fairy dust before me. I wouldn’t have a notion.’ He smiled, and while Georgie laughed, it brought her no closer to a decision.

‘Well, I need to choose soon. They’ve been on my desk for three days now.’ Never, in all her professional career, had she been a woman to dither. The Georgie of old would have known, just as if told by some divine voice, which to go with.

‘You’re overthinking it.’

‘Hmm.’ He was probably right, but this wasn’t just any product. This was the Delahaye brand and ithadto be right. Somehow, over the last few weeks, the late nights, the early mornings and the time she’d spent with just the whirring sounds of the distilling lines for company, she had become invested in the future of this place in a way she’d never been before. ‘Once we make the choice, it’s there for a very long time,’ she said. She held a line of silver samples against the Midnight Blue. It was classic. But then she knew, if she held it against the Periwinkle, it could be iconic. ‘Bloody hell, when did this get so hard?’ She flopped into her chair, took up a biscuit and chewed it slowly. Perhaps the sugar would loosen something in her brain.

‘Why not put it to a vote?’ Robert asked.

‘A vote?’ She laughed at the suggestion. ‘And who would we ask to vote? The cat’s mother, I suppose?’

‘If you want, but I was thinking, more like your sisters? Or the lads on the floor? They all have vested interests in the place, after all.’

‘Really? But…’ Georgie felt that old familiar feeling rise up in her again, a sort of tightening of the muscles around her neck. She knew what it was, of course: it was a reaction to the idea of losing control. She’d never been very good at handing over her work to anyone else. Wasn’t it half the reason she’d driven away every assistant who’d ever made a suggestion in the past?

‘After all, you’re not going to be here, Georgie.’ Robert’s words unexpectedly hurt like a gut-punch. Maybe he was right. If she was going to be handing over the Delahaye Distillery to the new owners, she should just make a decision and have done with it.

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