About the Author

LOTTIE PHILLIPS worked as a teacher before turning her hand to fiction. She was brought up in Africa and the Middle East and then – as an adult – travelled extensively before moving to London and finally settling in the Cotswolds with her young son. When she’s not writing, you will find her scouring interior design magazines and shops, striving towards the distant dream of being a domestic goddess or having a glass of wine with country music turned up loud. As a child, she always had her nose in a book and, in particular, Nancy Drew. Sunshine at Daisy’s Guesthouse is her second romantic comedy but she also writes psychological thrillers under the pseudonym Louise Stone. Readers can find Lottie Phillips, otherwise known as Charlie Phillips, on Twitter @writercharlie or at www.writercharlie.com

Also by Lottie Phillips

The Little Cottage in the Country

Sunshine at Daisy’s Guesthouse
LOTTIE PHILLIPS

HQ

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2018

Copyright © Lottie Philips 2018

Lottie Philips asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

E-book Edition © August 2018 ISBN: 978-0-00-818994-5

Version: 2018-08-06

Table of Contents

Cover

About the Author

Also by Lottie Phillips

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Acknowledgements

Extract

Dear Reader

Advert

About the Publisher

To my Dream Team, thank you

Prologue
Amsterdam, 1997

Daisy adjusted the focus on the camera and zoomed in. He was waving his hands about as if to say ‘ta-dah, look at us, in Amsterdam, without a care in the world’. He made her laugh when he tried to be the joker. He wasn’t a joker at all, he was quiet, reserved, and serious, but her heart soared at his efforts to always make her happy, and she clicked the shutter over and over again, as if wanting to impress this moment on her mind forever.

‘Beautiful lady, what are you doing standing over there?’ He smiled at her and then, much to her horror, and in a very un-Hugh-like manner, he gestured to a man busy making his way to work, his briefcase in one hand. ‘Isn’t she one of the most gorgeous women you’ve ever set eyes on?’

The man grumbled, looked momentarily in her direction and gave a small smile and a nod.

‘Hugh!’ she shrieked, dying internally of embarrassment whilst also secretly enjoying the attention.

‘Well,’ he called over the cobbled street to her. ‘They all need to know!’ He paused, fumbled in his pocket. ‘You think that was embarrassing, wait for this!’

Her heart quickened. What was he doing?

He stopped, looking briefly serious and said more quietly, ‘Daisy, come over to this side.’

He brushed his foppish fringe out of the way with his free hand, the other remaining firmly in his pocket. ‘Curtains’ he had told her gravely, ‘they’re called curtains.’ She knew he was dying to cut them off but, again, he wanted to fit in with her friends.

‘How can a hairstyle be called curtains?’ he’d asked the day before. ‘I mean that’s a house furnishing, not a haircut.’ She had kissed him all over, inhaling deeply the scent of Ralph Lauren Polo and told him he should have the haircut he wanted. Eventually, he agreed; post-Amsterdam, he would visit his favourite barber and get rid of said house furnishings.

She watched him steadily now, refusing to go over to his side, teasing him. She swallowed a laugh as he shuffled from side to side impatiently in his Skechers. Skechers had been another display that he was a ‘man of the time’. The fact that they were still alarmingly white and new made them even more conspicuous. They didn’t suit him and he hated wearing them but as he told her, ‘I don’t want you to think I’m just some boring finance guy who wears chinos and boat shoes.’ Even though they both agreed that he was in fact all of the above. Maybe not boring, just well behaved. Daisy, on the other hand, was a party animal that flitted between the gym, clubbing – she had to show Hugh ‘big box, little box’ – and the odd lecture. Why exactly she had chosen French, she had no idea – and as she had pointed out to her main lecturer, her classmates were French; where was le justice in that?

‘Excuse moi, uhh…’ She had paused, given herself time to think with the old ‘uhh’ trick and said, ‘Mes amis…’

Her lecturer had cut in, smiling kindly. ‘Just speak English.’

‘OK,’ she agreed. ‘My classmates are all French, where’s the justice in that?’

Mr Faron smiled. ‘Why did you choose French?’

Truthful answer: she thought she might finish the three years as a cultured, thin, beautiful, long-fingered, cigarette-smoking woman who rattled off the language to her sexy French friends.

‘I want to go into business with the French,’ was what she had actually said.

What her teacher didn’t understand was that she came from the back end of beyond, in other words a farm in Gloucestershire, and she had never really had a penny to her name. So she had wanted to better herself.

It was partly the reason she had fallen for Hugh. He was intelligent, very serious and could talk about stocks and shares and GDP something or other in his sleep; actually, come to think of it, Daisy knew he actually did talk about those things in his sleep.

She brought herself back to the now, and after a moment or two more of watching Hugh, she couldn’t bear it any longer. Why did he look so nervous?

She jogged over to the other side of the bridge towards Hugh, who went to take her hand, but instead she teasingly dipped down to sniff a display of perfectly formed yellow tulips. As she bent over, she was aware of Hugh’s eyes on her and she pretended to study the flowers. She knew he was undressing her with his eyes. Not much guesswork involved, really, as she wore a crop top and bike shorts. She was lucky, she guessed, that she hadn’t piled the weight on at university – she was, as Hugh affectionately called her, a gym bunny. They had met in their second year; the most unlikely couple, according to her friends. Yet, here they were, at the end of their three-year degrees, in Amsterdam, carefully avoiding the subject of what they planned to do next.

Eventually, she looked up and took a sharp intake of breath; it was as if he had read her mind.

‘Hugh, what are you doing?’

He was down on one knee holding open a box. Inside, lay a simple silver ring with a diamond.

‘Hugh!’ she squealed. ‘What on earth are you doing?’

He still hadn’t spoken, red creeping up his neck.

Finally, he cleared his throat. ‘Daisy, would you do me the greatest honour and become my wife?’

She stood, mouth agog. Her life flashing in front of her. Wasn’t she too young? Hadn’t they only just left university?

She shook her head and his face crumpled but then she grinned; he looked confused. What was she thinking? She loved this man. They could spend the rest of their life together, have children, live happily.

‘Yes,’ she shrieked and hugged him so hard he wobbled and fell onto the pavement. ‘Yes, you silly, funny, beautiful man. I will marry you!’

She had lost all previous inhibitions and smiled at the now small gathering of onlookers who clapped her decision.

Hugh gathered himself, relief written across his features and he took her into a firm embrace, kissing her deeply.

‘We’ll be together forever,’ he whispered and she melted into his arms, as she breathed in the smell of cologne on his skin. She thought she could die happily as long as she was never separated from Hugh.

She had never felt so safe in her life.

Of course, she didn’t know that she would lose Hugh to cancer twenty years later.

Chapter 1

‘I have no idea why I let you talk me into this, Lisa,’ Daisy grumbled as she wiggled to and fro on the small changing-room stool. She had fallen for the Levi’s for Curvy Women bumph and now she would never be able to leave this store again.

No, really. She was officially stuck in the jeans. Oh, she had got as far as below her knees but then her generous size sixteen thighs and bum had decided she was beyond even Levi’s. Great.

‘Lisa, get in here now.’

She could hear giggling on the other side of the curtain and then, ‘Oh, I love them, they’re perfect.’

Daisy, now with a beetroot red face, looked at her sweaty, bloated body in the mirror and rolled her eyes. ‘Lisa, I’m so happy for you that your size ten self fits so wonderfully well in jeans from the normal Levi’s section, but if you wouldn’t mind helping me remove my cargo ship ass from these ones, I’d be so grateful.’

Eventually, Lisa could be heard moving her curtain across and then she shimmied into Daisy’s changing area. Lisa, looking amazing in her straight jeans and bra, took one look at her friend and burst into laughter, quickly righting herself when she saw tears in Daisy’s eyes.

‘Oh, Daisy, I’m sorry.’ She gulped. ‘I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. You’re beautiful.’

‘No.’ Daisy waved it off. ‘It’s all this. I can’t do it. I’ve lost me. Does that make any sense?’

Lisa nodded. ‘I thought it might make you feel better.’ She paused. ‘You know, getting out and going shopping.’ She hung her head. ‘I’m sorry.’

Daisy brushed her tears away and conjured up a smile. She didn’t want to make Lisa feel bad. She knew it had been well over a year, surely she was meant to be feeling better by now? Hugh would have thought up some mathematical equation in which someone’s spouse dies and the point at which they should start to feel normal, even happy.

Lisa sat on the floor now, gently tugging at the jeans, but they wouldn’t budge.

‘You’re going to have to pull harder,’ Daisy instructed, and an image popped into her mind of her mother telling her the very same thing when she had often tried, but failed, to get the cows onto the transporter.

‘I’m like a heffer,’ Daisy said and Lisa bit her lip, trying not to laugh. ‘I’m like a heffer in jeans. Now that would sell. I must remember to phone Levi’s marketing deparment.’ Lisa, now in a leaning-back position, as if readying herself for tug-of-war, pulled harder and harder on the jeans until they eventually broke free, sending Lisa cascading through the curtain and into the seating area (for bored men).

Lisa could be heard apologising to a man for landing at his feet.

‘Bet you thought all your dreams had come true!’ she said in a singsong voice and backed herself through the curtain. She and Daisy both fell about in fits of laughter.

After a few minutes of laughing so hard that they were almost silent except for the odd painful squeak – their stomachs threatening to turn to six-packs from the pain – they got a grip. Well, not quite. Daisy wiped her eyes and realised she was doing a laugh-cry.

Lisa wordlessly took her into a firm hug and stroked her hair. ‘Daisy, I’m sorry. This was a bad idea. I just thought it was time you had some fun.’

‘It has been fun,’ Daisy said. ‘I haven’t laughed like that for months. I’m just a bit of a wreck. One minute laughing, the next minute crying.’ She paused. ‘It’s like being a pregnant woman. I imagine it is, anyway.’

They left the store, Lisa carrying her new jeans, and Daisy grateful for her free-flowing wide leg trousers. Who wanted to be contained in skinnies anyway?

‘Coffee? Cake?’ Daisy suggested.

‘Absolutely.’ Lisa nodded and they headed to one of the mall’s central coffee bars.

‘I’ll get them in,’ Daisy said. ‘You find us a table.’

Daisy eyed up all the cakes, the last hour’s events already being purged from her mind, and she chose a large slice of chocolate for the whippet-like Lisa (life was unfair) and she went for the carrot cake (there had to be at least one or two of her five-a-day in there).

Once they were both ensconced in a corner, Lisa turned to her friend. ‘Listen, I’m worried about you. I don’t think it’s healthy you living alone in that enormous house.’ She softened. ‘I mean… you know, you need to…’

‘Move on?’ Daisy arched a brow.

‘Well, no, not move on. That sounds so harsh. I just mean it might help you to recover if you moved away from the house, sold it perhaps.’ Lisa refused to make eye contact, her gaze fixed on her fork stabbing at the cake.

‘Lisa.’

‘Yes?’ She eventually looked up, like a naughty school child waiting for their punishment.

‘Lisa,’ Daisy repeated, ‘Hugh died over a year ago of cancer. Now, don’t get me wrong, yes, I knew it had been coming for over two years so some might argue I’m not in shock, I should bounce back faster.’ She paused, a lump rising in her throat. ‘Only, it doesn’t work like that.’ A tear slid down her cheek. ‘Knowing he was going to die for two years built the whole thing up in my head.’ She looked at her cake and pushed it away, suddenly losing her appetite. ‘Because after he had been diagnosed and stubbornly refused all treatment, I thought that every day he lived, maybe he wouldn’t die from cancer. I was so angry with him, so angry for refusing treatment. There’s a time and a place for pig-headedness I used to tell him, and that wasn’t it. Sometimes I thought that maybe—’ she gave a short, self-conscious laugh ‘—maybe they had got it wrong. Then, on the other hand, I knew it would get him eventually and so every day he was still here, I realised how much I would miss everything he brings…’ She gave a slight shake to her head, and corrected herself. ‘Brought to my life.’

Lisa nodded, her own eyes welling, and put her fork down. ‘I know, I’m sorry.’

‘So I guess I’m trying to get over three years’ worth of grieving, does that make sense?’ She paused though, knowing she was being untrue to herself. ‘I know that Hugh and I had our problems. We loved each other passionately but he could be controlling.’ She nodded. ‘Like he wanted me all to himself. Which is why…’ She looked at her friend and blushed. ‘Do you think it’s wrong that I feel kind of like I want to move on already? Like I want to meet someone? I’m not sure if I’m allowed to feel like that but I would love to be in a care-free relationship… but then a part of me thinks I shouldn’t be allowed to be happy again, does that make sense?’

‘Yes.’ Lisa nodded. ‘It does, which is why I just thought if you didn’t live in that house, that maybe you could try and build new memories.’

Daisy shifted irritably. ‘I don’t want to build new memories, Lisa. I am very happy with the old ones.’ She bit her lip. ‘Most of them.’ She thought about her twenty-year marriage. ‘It was all-consuming, our marriage, filled with passion but I’ve now woken up to its faults too.’

‘Look, I’m just looking out for you but, of course, you know best.’

‘I know.’ Daisy smiled gratefully. ‘And I’ve thought about it more and more, I think I’m ready to move on. I think I need to move on.’

Daisy looked at the next table. A man and woman had chosen to sit side by side, instead of opposite one another, and they were holding hands, laughing at something on his phone. Their easiness and happiness sent a pain through her heart. She didn’t want to be the woman who grew old, begrudging other people their lives. Her friends had all done so much for her since Hugh closed his eyes for that final time in January last year. He had died at home, and she had luckily been by his side, only because her gut instinct had told her not to go and visit her mother that day. She had been all ready for her bi-weekly coffee with Mum but a feeling of unease had gnawed at her, forcing her to cancel her plans.

Her phone buzzed, snapping her out of her thoughts and she fished it out of her bag. The screen saver was a picture of Hugh in Amsterdam back in 1997, just before he proposed. He had his arms up in a ‘ta-dah’ kind of a way.

She looked up and caught Lisa staring at it. No words were exchanged but she knew what Lisa was thinking. Until she made some changes, she wasn’t going to live her life again. And that probably included uploading a different screensaver. Maybe Lisa would be happier if she put up a picture of a flower or a puppy.

It was a text message from James, her and Hugh’s best friend. Her heart lifted. She enjoyed any contact with their oldest and closest friend.

Hi Daisy, hope you’re doing OK. Can I pop by later with something? I think it’s time I gave it to you. Maybe 4ish? J X

She was surprised, having seen James many times since the funeral; she couldn’t imagine what he might want to give her.

‘It’s James,’ Daisy said, and she read the text aloud. ‘He wants to give something to me.’

Lisa snorted and arched a brow. ‘Sorry, I mean, a bit forward, don’t you think?

Daisy giggled. ‘Lisa, your mind belongs in the gutter!’

‘Got you to smile again though.’ She shrugged. ‘Maybe it’s something of Hugh’s. James mentioned before he had some old photos, didn’t he?’

Daisy furrowed her brow. ‘But he says “it’s time I gave it to you”. I mean that does not sound like a bunch of photos, does it?’ She smiled. ‘James was amazing throughout those last years with Hugh, not sure how I would have coped without him. All of you.’

‘Well, let’s get going then as there’s only one way to find out. And Daisy?’ Lisa slid her hand across the table, clasping her friend’s. ‘Listen, we’re all here for you, however you want us to be. OK?’

Daisy smiled. Lisa stood and looked at her watch. ‘I’ll drive you back home then head onto work.’

Chapter 2

Daisy was grateful when they pulled off the M4 and away from the madness of Bristol. There had been a time when she loved nothing more than heading into the city with her friends or Hugh and soaking up the buzz of the cosmopolitan hubbub.

Now she couldn’t cope with it. She wanted to scream at everyone that they were being too noisy, too energetic, too alive. The countryside was quieter, allowed her to think, enabled her to remember Hugh properly, although Lisa believed she needed to make new memories. As she had pointed out, she was just fine with the ones she had. It was all she had, and she didn’t want to let go of them – but was it time?

Lisa drove quickly in her convertible, top down even though it really hadn’t warmed up enough, towards Atworth where Daisy lived – had lived – with Hugh. Hugh had become an incredibly successful banker and bought an enormous manor house on the outskirts of the village. Daisy had never, growing up, imagined she would live and own such a glorious pile with its creamy sandstone walls, and ivy and wisteria creeping ever higher up to the tiled roof. The front garden alone was so picturesque it often took her breath away to this day, with its aged stone benches and cherub spouting water into the lake. It was actually just a big pond but Tom, her other best friend, said it was a lake. He was quite sure of it.

‘A pond, Daisy darling, is the size of the paddling pool we had in our student house, yours could take a rowing boat. Catch my drift?’ To which he fell about laughing at his own wit.

The back garden was sublime. Wild roses and an oak tree that Hugh adored. He would often sit for hours at a time on the weekends (he was rarely around in the week), reading his Financial Times and snoozing. He never knew but Daisy used to watch him and fall in love with him all over again. Hugh had worked so hard to buy the house and to keep her in a lifestyle that her own mother, a farmer’s wife, had thought was too grand for the likes of her daughter.

‘Well, Daisy, don’t forget it’s was me and your father putting our hands up sheep’s asses that allowed you to go to university, you hear? Don’t you ever forget your roots.’ She had a strong Gloucestershire accent – you could almost smell the grass and taste the cheese when you listened to her.

They drove up to the house and Lisa turned the ignition off.

‘I’m afraid I have to go and feed the red-trousered folk of Cirencester.’ She pulled a face. ‘So that should mean an evening of over the top laughter and women claiming the crudités are “so filling, darling, couldn’t eat another morsel”, and then the men will drink their whisky and talk golf and skiing.’ She laughed. ‘It’s a joy.’

Daisy smiled. ‘You know, I feel your luck is about to change.’

Lisa giggled. ‘Why, have you found me some rich banker friend? Because if you have, I don’t even care what he looks like.’ She snorted. ‘You know it’s best to have sex in the dark anyway. You just imagine they’re George Clooney, job done.’

Daisy grinned and got out of the car. ‘You, Lisa Davidson, are my best friend and a gem.’ She paused and indicated the length of Lisa’s body. ‘You have kept in such good shape and look great, Tom is probably one of the best-looking gay men on planet earth, James is just,’ she smiled, ‘lovely… and I’ve… got a good sense of humour.’

‘Good sense of humour?’ Lisa shrieked with laughter. ‘That’s what fat people say when they’re advertising themselves on dating sites.’

‘Exactly.’ Daisy winked. ‘don’t forget I’m bubbly too.’

Daisy was suddenly hit by the fact she hadn’t said anything about Hugh. For a second, she felt quite breathless – maybe she was beginning to move on.

‘And Hugh,’ Daisy said quickly, looking up at the sky, ‘is up there looking down at us.’

‘Thinking, James is a dish, Lisa’s still a complete loser, Tom is over the top, and I love Daisy.’

Daisy’s eyes teared up. ‘Oh God, get out of here before I cry again. My mother always told me not to make a scene and look, I now spend my life making scenes.’

‘Bye, beautiful lady. I’ll ring you tomorrow. Find out what James has up his sleeve.’ Lisa started up the car and swung it around, speeding out the drive, a cloud of dust behind her.

It amazed Daisy to this day that Lisa was still single. She was gorgeous, fun and flirty. Wasn’t that what men wanted? In fact, Daisy used to be like that herself but marrying Hugh so young meant she had felt comfortable early on. Even as she piled on the pounds, he loved her and she felt good for it. In fact, he would often encourage her love of baking. She was not good at it but he always politely and solemnly tried her day’s bake. Lisa and Tom often tried it too.

Hugh’s reaction would be, ‘Darling, that is marvellous.’

Lisa and Tom, however, would be stood behind him pretending to put their fingers down their throats and then come up all smiles. ‘Yes, darling, it is… words just can’t describe it!’ James would just give her that look, a look she had never been able to describe, and smile at her.

Hugh did over time learn to relax around her other university friends and it had felt like they belonged to a club. They would, especially in the last two years of Hugh’s life, when he would have periods of being very tired, help each other prepare kitchen suppers and then dance and drink to whatever tunes were on the radio. It had been oddly perfect when she could forget about the future, about what would happen, about what did eventually happen over a year ago.

She reckoned grieving (she hated that term) would have been easier if they had had children but they didn’t try for the longest time. They didn’t want to break their happy bubble, however, she had always lived with a nagging feeling that they should have been trying for children. But then she had convinced herself that it was okay to be an older mum and what was the rush? Plenty of women were having children in their late thirties and early forties. Despite her doctor telling her she was geriatric when it came to having children, even three years ago.

‘Jesus,’ she had said to Dr Sawyers. ‘I am not geriatric, I’m in my prime.’

Dr Sawyers nodded sagely, his plethoric face not looking up from his notes. ‘You may be having the time of your life.’ He paused. ‘But your ovaries are not.’

With that, aged thirty-nine she told Hugh they had to go at it like rabbits. Admittedly some of the romance was taken out of the moment with statements like that but this was a matter of urgency; a time bomb no professional could disarm. She had to get pregnant.

Only, as if Sod had laid down his law, a month later Hugh found out he had terminal cancer. Suddenly she didn’t want children, she just wanted to spend every moment she could with her husband. He would become so tired and immobile, that she couldn’t bear to watch. They hugged and kissed like each day was their last together but children were soon swept from her mind. That wasn’t to say she didn’t wish she could keep a part of Hugh here, with her, but she was consumed with guilt about bringing children into the world under those circumstances.

Daisy was abruptly brought out of her reverie by the sound of another car coming up the drive and realised she hadn’t actually moved since Lisa left.

James, in his Maserati, roared up to where she stood and hopped out. He walked quickly over to her and took her in a warm, comforting hug.

‘Daisy, how you doing?’ He eyed her bag. ‘Been out shopping? That’s good.’

She wanted to point out that she was still able to dress herself, eat and move. Hugh’s death hadn’t taken those facilities from her, but she knew, deep down, he was just being kind and she was being entirely unreasonable. She always wanted to look like a strong woman around James, when in fact, right now, she wished he would just hug her again.

‘Yes,’ she nodded. ‘Lisa thought it was a good idea to go to the shopping mall in Bristol. She bought jeans which make her already stunning body look more… stunning.’ Daisy smiled. ‘I, on the other hand, was beached on the shore of Levi’s Land and decided make-up was probably a better bet for someone like me. Oh, and wide trousers.’

He laughed, his kind eyes lighting up, but when Daisy’s eyes fell to what looked like an envelope in his hand, he immediately stopped and grew seemingly tense.

‘What did you want to give me, James?’ She almost dared not to ask. ‘Is it that envelope?’

She heard his breath catch. ‘Yes.’ He indicated to the house. ‘Shall we go in? Only I think it’s best if you’re sitting down.’

She nodded in agreement, her heart quickening. They walked towards the solid oak front door. She opened her bag and found the key. Daisy didn’t like to open the door when she had company; the dull ache she felt every time she realised Hugh wouldn’t be there made her feel quite light-headed.

‘Are you OK?’

She felt James’s hand on her arm, warm and firm.

‘Yes,’ she murmured, a lump in her throat. ‘I just find certain things a bit hard still.’ She looked up at James who nodded and bit his lip; almost as if he was dreading showing her whatever was in that envelope. ‘Let’s go through to the kitchen, have a cup of tea.’

She felt happiest there and, at this time of year, she could see the snowdrops scattered across the lawn.

As she busied herself filling the kettle and placing it on the Aga, James sat and nervously handled the envelope.

‘So anything new?’ She knew it hadn’t been easy for him either, losing both a best friend and colleague. ‘Any girlfriend on the scene?’ She always asked this, braced for him to one day confirm he was seeing someone. She could only describe the feeling as jealousy but why should she be jealous of James loving another woman? They were just friends…

‘Nothing new.’ James’s face grew grim. ‘I miss him at work, the whole place changed after Hugh’s death. It’s probably as it always has been but I can’t even look at the water cooler without thinking about him. I know he wasn’t there for quite big chunks of time towards the end anyway but just knowing that…’ His voice trailed off. ‘Well, I don’t need to explain it to you.’

She turned and appraised James. He looked older, with deeper lines around his eyes, since Hugh’s death, but he was still as rugged and gorgeous as ever. She and Hugh had always joked that he should have been a model and not hidden away in the world of banking.

‘No,’ Daisy agreed and put a mug of steaming tea in front of him. ‘You have every right, though, to feel as cut up as I do. Anyone who knew Hugh does.’ Daisy smiled tenderly at James. ‘You know he had such a great effect on so many people’s lives. And he could, also, be the most boring old fart on two legs.’

James barked out a laugh and then grew self-conscious as though he felt he shouldn’t allow himself to be happy.

‘Laugh, James, when you can. We are allowed to laugh.’ Daisy had no idea when she had become such an expert but maybe she was beginning to come through some initial phase of grieving. She was paraphrasing the book she had been given by Tom: Stop Crying and Pull Yourself Together.

Tom had presented it with such a flourish she hadn’t had the heart to tell him that the title was a bit harsh. That being said, she had actually read it and it had made her laugh aloud so, who knew, maybe it worked?

‘In fact,’ she continued, ‘I was talking to Lisa today about… moving on.’

He raised his brows. ‘Moving on? As in…’

‘Yes, I don’t want to spend the rest of my life by myself.’

‘Hmm.’ He nodded, sipping fast at his tea. He then pushed the envelope across to her.

‘It’s a letter.’ He averted his eyes. ‘If you say you’re ready to move on, maybe I was right in thinking I should give it to you today…’

She nodded.

‘From Hugh,’ he went on.

Her heart skipped a beat and her mind went into overdrive. Had he been having an affair and now had countless children – the children they’d never had – with another woman or more? Had he decided to leave his money to someone else, was his will a joke?

She put a cool hand to her forehead and breathed deeply.

‘Are you OK?’ James asked, suddenly by her side. ‘It’s not actually bad, if that’s what you’re worried about. He just asked me to give it to you when maybe you felt a bit stronger.’ He gave a small shake to his head, and pushed it at her again. ‘Sorry, I’m making it sound awful. Just read it.’

Slowly, Daisy picked up the envelope, her hand visibly shaking, and with her forefinger, she sliced through the top. The sight of Hugh’s handwriting even on the envelope was like a warm, comforting hug and she drew out a piece of manila paper, the very kind that Hugh had kept in a small pile on his desk. His neat and precise writing filled the page. She brought the letter up to her nose, hoping to smell him but there was nothing.

James excused himself, told her he would be by the oak tree when she wanted him. He took his mug and left her alone.

Chapter 3

My dearest Daisy,

Firstly I want to tell you I love you. You are my world, my rock, my life.

I have asked James to give you this letter when I hope the rawness has faded a bit. Even better, maybe you are bloody relieved to have got rid of the boring old sod! Hopefully you are having parties every night and living the life you want and deserve. Keep laughing, I adore the way your nose wrinkles when you laugh, I adore the way you sometimes laugh so hard, there isn’t a sound! How is that possible?!

I am writing this in the present tense because I’m still here for you but that being said, I want you to have fun, live life to the full, and maybe, hopefully, find love again.

I only have one wish because really this was our wish. We dreamt and often talked about setting up a bed and breakfast at Atworth Manor. I know you’re thinking you won’t do it without me. You’re stubborn like that. Try it though. For me? See what adventures it brings you. I have left you, as you will know by now, the house and everything that ever belonged to me. If you want to follow our dream, I am there with you every step of the way.

James knows about our dream and says he will help in any way he can. He wants to be there for you, to look out for you. Please let him, he’s a good man.

Keep this letter and read it when you feel like you can’t do something. You can, Daisy Ronaldson, you are the most amazing woman I’ve ever had the honour of knowing and I still can’t believe you said ‘yes’ in Amsterdam.

Say ‘yes’ again, let’s make our wish come true.

Love and kisses,

Hugh xxx

Daisy put down the letter, tears streaming down her cheeks, and tried to breathe through the onslaught of raw emotion threatening to drown her. James entered the room quietly and sat down next to her, taking her hand.

‘Holy shit, James,’ she said. ‘There was never a right time to give me this, the silly sod.’ She smiled through her tears. ‘And I am not stubborn.’

She waited, the gasps of her fast breathing the only sound.

‘James, have you read it?’ He nodded. ‘You see, the B&B was our dream. Our dream. It was after we watched that couple in France doing up that chateau. I remember we had had a couple of bottles of something Hugh had found in the cellar and we talked like we could do something like that here, in England.’ She snorted with laughter, tears still pooling. ‘But even though we often joked, if we were ever to have done it, it would have been together.’ She looked up once more. ‘Good lord, Hugh Ronaldson makes me angry. Why does he lay this idea at my feet and expect me to run with it? I don’t do as I’m told.’ James nodded his agreement with a wry smile on his face. ‘I know, I know, I’ve never done what anyone’s said. Well, there you go, I don’t plan to start now.’

She looked at James through blurry tears. ‘No offense but I don’t need you to look after me. I’ll be just fine.’ She circled the knots in the wooden farmhouse table with her finger. ‘In fact, maybe, just maybe I’ll move to France and meet some baker and eat croissants for the whole of my life and use that bit of French I vaguely learnt at university. I mean, as you know, James, I have five minutes on Le Front National down pat.’ She giggled. ‘Look, if those two off the telly box can manage, then so could I.’

She hung her head and let out a long shaky breath. He let her keep talking.

‘Shit me, James, why did he do it? Why did he go and leave me? We were meant to be together forever. That was the deal. I even changed the words at our ceremony. Until arguing over house furnishings do us part. Remember?’

James laughed with affection and grabbed her hand, holding it up to his cheek.

‘Do you also remember how appalled my mother was at our ceremony? She wanted to know why we had all this posh food, when we could have had her hog roaster for free…’

Daisy smiled, brushed more tears from her cheeks, and rose from her chair, her legs unsteady beneath her. She had not been expecting that. The grief suddenly felt so fresh and acute, the breath knocked from her lungs.

‘Do you know I sometimes talk to the ceiling?’ She smiled, wiped her nose with a sheet of paper towel. ‘Because I let myself believe he can hear me.’

James smiled kindly. ‘I’ve done that too.’

‘Well, we’re as barmy as each other.’ She drew a deep breath. ‘Listen, James, this all feels quite odd actually.’ She held up the letter. ‘You see, many years ago Hugh and I watched this programme…’

‘I know.’ He nodded. ‘The couple in the French chateau. I saw it, Hugh told me you had been quite serious about this dream.’

‘He was very serious but I always thought it was a crazy idea.’ In her head, it had been more of a fantasy in which she would have never-ending guests who sipped G&Ts on the veranda and admired her peonies. She would, of course, wear a floppy hat and have a smudge of dirt from gardening on her left cheek as she greeted her regulars who would claim that the house was ‘looking more and more beautiful year on year and how did she stay looking so young too?’

Anyway, now Hugh wasn’t here, why would she even think about it? More to the point, why would she set up the B&B with James? She loved James dearly but this was such a huge commitment.

James cleared his throat. ‘Listen, he had just found out about the Big C so told me about this dream. I think he had started to think about you and how you would cope afterwards.’

Daisy lifted her head, and a familiar irritation at Hugh’s needing to control everything, even from the grave, flooded her body.

‘What? How I would cope? I am coping just fine, thank you. Good Lord. Why are men like that? Why do men feel they can just solve everything? So he thought he would get me to set up a B&B with you in order to get over my grief?’ She gave a sharp shake to her head. ‘God, a mathematician to the end.’ She gestured wildly with the letter. ‘I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful to both you and Hugh for surmising that a sodding bed and breakfast would be a good idea but the thought, now, of anyone in my home is an abhorrent one, so the answer is no.

‘Anyway,’ she continued, ‘don’t you have a job to get on with? You have, after all, just been promoted, haven’t you?’

His face flinched with hurt and he looked at the ground before looking back at her.

‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m not annoyed with you, more annoyed with Hugh. He knows I’m the sort of person who feels so guilty if someone asks me to do something. What about your job in London?’ she pressed.

A small smile appeared at the corner of James’s lips; he tried to hide it. ‘I quit a week or so ago, I didn’t enjoy it anymore anyway.’ He looked again at her face set in a defiant pose. ‘I’m actually not sure why I’m laughing but it is quite funny, but you look so lovely when you’re angry.’

‘That is not even funny.’ But then, she, too, felt a small bubble of laughter and she giggled. Once she started to giggle, James snorted as he tried to hold back his chuckling and then they started to laugh uncontrollably. James leant his hand against the wall as his broad frame convulsed with laughter.

Daisy wiped away the tears and realised how good it felt to let go like that.

Once they had both caught their breath, James smiled, resting his hand assuredly on her arm. ‘I didn’t quit my job because of this letter; I quit because I couldn’t bear working where Hugh had once been, the office wasn’t the same. You know?’

‘Yes,’ she said, calm now. ‘I know. I live in this house every day, remember?’

He nodded, his voice quiet. ‘I think that’s what Hugh was worried about, he thought you would stay here and perhaps feel you had to because it had been your home together. Then we agreed that there was no way you would ever consider selling it, so the next best option is to change it, invite people in.’

Daisy furrowed her brows. ‘You’re doing it again.’

‘What?’ Confusion crossed his face.

‘Being a man. Trying to solve it.’ She looked around her. ‘I love this house because it’s my home. I don’t need to invite strangers into it.’ She dipped her head. ‘Actually, if anything, I think I would resent that.’

James nodded. ‘Well, you know what’s best and you’re probably right but if you did want to try and you needed someone to look after the office side…’ He stuck his hands in the air. ‘I’m your man.’

‘Otherwise, what? You find another job in the city?’

He shook his head. ‘No, I thought I’d try moving.’

‘What? Out of London?’

‘No.’ He smiled. ‘Further afield. Australia. There are some great opportunities there at the moment and it would just mean properly getting away, starting again.’

Daisy’s heart skipped a beat. ‘Oh, I see.’ She was, for once, speechless. She knew he was right to want to move on but another country? Though why should it bother her? James was just a friend. Friends did that; they got on with their lives.

She stared hard at the ground, contemplative. Maybe it was because it felt like everyone else was moving on and she was stuck. Stuck in the thick quagmire of grief and memories that threatened to drown her. She couldn’t, however, stop other people from saving themselves.

‘Oh, that sounds wonderful,’ she said but she could hear the forced appreciation in her own voice.

‘You don’t sound that happy about it.’ James searched her face. ‘Sorry, it’s not that I’m abandoning ship, it’s just… you know.’

‘No, absolutely.’

Suddenly, there was the rumble of a car coming up the drive. She didn’t need to turn around to know it was Tom. The giveaway was the faulty exhaust pipe; it sounded like a Boeing 747 coming into land.

‘Hello darling Daisy,’ came a booming voice behind her and shortly the doorway was filled with the tall and athletic frame of Tom, wearing bright pink chino shorts and a Hawaiian shirt.

‘Oh my, Daisy.’ He air-kissed her cheeks then looked at James, grinning broadly. ‘If only I had known that James was here. I’d have put on my very special—’ he elongated this word ‘—cologne. This one is so understated and I hate to be understated.’

James, ever the gentleman, held out his hand. ‘Good to see you again, Tom.’

Tom clung to his hand like ivy to a wall. Daisy eventually had to tell him to let go.

‘Oh sorry, darling Daisy, it’s just this man has left me hanging since university days.’

That was the thing about Tom: not a shy, retiring bone in his body.

‘Why are you dressed up for some sort of New Orleans street party?’ she asked, eyeing his loud and proud outfit.

‘Well, darling, I’ve decided I’m not getting any…’ Once again, his eyes walked the length of James’s body who Daisy noticed flushed ever so slightly. It had taken her twenty years to not flinch at some of his statements. ‘So,’ he continued, ‘I think it’s because I’ve been wearing drab, wintry, but ever so chic, clothes. Now is the time to break free and show people my spring and summer wardrobe.’

Daisy giggled. ‘How’s it working out for you?’

‘Well, so far, some builders asked me when the parade started…’ Tom mused, grinning. ‘Anyway, more to the point, Lisa sent me.’

Daisy narrowed her eyes. ‘Oh, she did, did she?’

‘Yeah, she said you had big news and I was to find out what the big news was…’ He waited expectantly, like a puppy.

‘There is no news,’ Daisy interrupted quickly. ‘None.’

‘No, no news,’ James agreed, catching her grateful smile.

Tom put his hand on his hip. ‘OK, not being funny. You two are so up to something.’ He grabbed the piece of paper from Daisy’s hand and turned his back on Daisy who madly tried to scramble it away from him.

‘Tom, give it back to Daisy, come on,’ James said, like an ever-patient schoolmaster.

Eventually, Tom turned back to them both and beamed. ‘This is wonderful. This is so wonderful.’

Daisy wrenched the letter from his grasp and held it to her chest. ‘It’s not happening.’

Tom wasn’t listening; he was already on his phone.

‘Lisa?’ He smiled at his audience and Daisy just stared on in horror. ‘Daisy is going to set up a bed and breakfast at the house.’ Daisy could hear a muffled voice on the other end of the receiver and she went to grab the phone.

‘It’s not true,’ she managed to say quickly before Tom had it back off her.

‘Yeah, and James is going to help her which means he’s going to live at the house. How good is that?’ He indicated his outfit. ‘I knew, when I put this on, something special was going to happen today.’ He touched Daisy’s arm tenderly, phone still pressed to his ear and then with a nod of his head to James, he said, ‘Come on guys, group hug. I’ll put you on speakerphone, Lisa. We are more than happy to help out, aren’t we, Lisa? We’ll be doing it in the name of Hugh.’

Daisy quickly found herself ensconced in a mass of male limbs, quickly noting that James wasn’t refusing and putting Tom right. No, he was fully involved in the group hug.

‘Um, guys…’ She disentangled an arm and waved her hand around like a white flag. ‘Um, I actually said no, I wasn’t going to do it.’

James and Tom moved in closer and she was well and truly trapped in a sandwich of testosterone, hairy chests and Tom’s sickening cologne. God, she couldn’t imagine what the other cologne – the special one – was like; she would have needed a gas mask.

‘Um, James, didn’t we just agree that we’re not doing this crazy idea and you’re heading to Australia?’ Her voice sounded small as they still refused to let go and she remained trapped.

‘Shouldn’t we at least try, Daisy? Isn’t it what Hugh would have wanted?’ Tom said.

‘Exactly,’ Daisy heard Lisa say.

‘Um, actually if anyone’s doing it, it’s me and James.’

‘Nah, you need all hands on deck,’ Lisa said and Tom murmured his agreement. ‘I mean who’s going to change beds and cook eggs.’

‘I’m not sure I want everyone here all the time plus guests.’ Daisy was growing ever hotter. ‘Can I get out of this hug? I mean this is craziness.’

‘No,’ Tom said. ‘Darling, you are staying there until you agree. At least give it a go, then we can always stop if it turns out badly and James—’ he delivered a fake sob ‘—could then go and tan his beautiful body on an Australian beach and discover he was gay, after all, but can’t afford the return journey home so he will never have me in his life…’ He stopped, genuinely caught up in his own fairy tale. James shifted uncomfortably.

‘And Lisa and I could go back to waitressing in the bistro, talking to the tweed brigade. And you, you could continue to do it is whatever you do.’

Silence descended on the huddle, Lisa included, and Daisy realised that, unbelievably, he was right. What did she have going on? She didn’t have children, she barely spoke to her mother and she didn’t work. Maybe Hugh had been offering her a lifeline, and maybe, annoyingly, the boring old sod was right.

No one had spoken since the end of Tom’s presidential speech; they were waiting on her.

She clutched the letter and held it to her lips. ‘Categorically no.’

Tom huffed. ‘Lisa and I will cook you guys dinner. I’m going to pick her up now anyway and let’s see if we can’t persuade you this evening.’ Tom gripped his phone. He hadn’t stopped smiling. ‘There is so much to talk about.’

Daisy felt uneasy as she watched Tom head back to his car. James, sensing this, squeezed her shoulder.

‘You OK?’

She nodded, forcing herself to smile.

He nodded and walked outside, leaving her alone in the hall as she caught sight of a silver-framed picture of herself, Hugh and James taken at an outdoor concert three years ago. Hugh and James hugged her close. Maybe that was why she hadn’t entirely written off the B&B idea in her head: James was the closest she could be to Hugh. The thought of him on the other side of the world had made her feel panicky, unsure. She couldn’t let go of any more of Hugh. Not yet.

Chapter 4

Daisy looked at each of them in turn over the rim of her glass and inhaled her wine. Tom had gone to town over supper. He had remembered that the B&B idea stemmed from a reality show set in France and so red, white and blue bunting fluttered across the ceiling, the table was laden with salami and casserole and some sort of terrine with actual animal hair poking out of it (rustic she had been told), beset on top of a paper red gingham tablecloth and, of course, there were carafes of red wine. It looked glorious and simply perfect. Her eyes flitted towards the ceiling and she was glad Hugh (who, to her mind, was now a permanent fixture of the ceiling or sky) could feel a part of it with the bunting. She discreetly held her glass up to him.

‘Salut, dear Hugh,’ she thought and fearing another onslaught of tears, said, ‘Gosh, it must be hot in here,’ and offered her glass to Tom for a refill. ‘Fill her up, please.’

She was trying to get drunk because she could see where the conversation was going; they wanted her to set up the B&B. But, she thought, what about her quiet, controlled world where she just about coped: what would happen to that? The thought alone of losing the tranquillity was awful and she snorted inadvertently into her glass, wine escaping in all directions.

James eyed her kindly. ‘You OK?’ he whispered from stage left, his voice barely perceptible above Tom’s booming laugh, and his hand briefly touched her own. ‘You know, it is your house, you can always say no.’

However, she might have known that nothing got past her friends and Tom stopped talking as both he and Lisa turned to her.

‘Oh, come on, obviously it’s your decision, but we’re sure you can do it. Of all people!’ Lisa pouted. ‘I can help out and quit my job, and Tom can quit his. There’s a reason they call us casual labour.’

‘I know but it’s so rash, so sudden…’ Daisy’s voice trailed off.

She studied Tom’s hazel eyes dancing with happiness, Lisa, who was positively glowing, and finally James, who had somehow in the last few hours lost some of the grey pallor that comes from months of heartache. Why couldn’t she be so positive?

‘I’m not saying no as such,’ she said quietly. ‘I’m just scared.’

‘Listen.’ Tom stood up, cleared his throat and pushed his chair backwards causing it to scrape loudly over the flagstones. ‘I’d like to propose a toast to Daisy for being such a gem and, I know she doesn’t feel it right now, but we only want what’s best for you.’ He looked at her. ‘This could be the making of you, of us.’ He puffed his chest out in an almost Napoleonic fashion and started to sing, quietly at first. Daisy could see his mind whirring as he adapted the lyrics and it took her only moments to figure out the song, her finger already tapping out the drumbeat.

‘Do you hear your friends sing? Singing the songs of… Atworth Manor?’ Then his smile grew wider as the next line fit into place. ‘It is the music of the Daisy crew who will laugh and smile again!’

Daisy grinned. They all knew Les Miserables was her favourite musical and Hugh had taken them all, everyone sat at her table tonight, to see it at the Bristol Hippodrome the Christmas before last, a month before Hugh died.

‘When the beating of your heart, echoes the beating of the manor, there is a life about to start!’ He lifted his hands. ‘Come on! Again!’ He ripped his second Hawaiian shirt of the day (this one even louder with a giant palm tree enveloping his back) open, shooting James a look of ‘look at me, I’m a god’ and held his wine glass way up high, the liquid sloshing over the side. ‘Let’s do it again, people, and let out your inner campness!’

Lisa stood, her hand struck across her chest, followed by James and then Daisy, giggling, also rose to her feet. They swayed in time repeating each line Tom boomed at them as if they were in fact revolutionaries. Daisy’s giggles manifested itself in side-splitting laughter and within minutes she was swaying and drinking along. Daisy realised, for the first time in months, maybe years, she felt lighter and somehow different.

After a few minutes, Tom collapsed in a chair. ‘Christ almighty, I’m out of practice.’ He wiped the sheen of sweat from his forehead. ‘But, you see compadres, we will win this. We will win back laughter!’

James did laugh. ‘You’ve got a very good voice.’

Tom looked at him. ‘Some say good voice when they mean fine body.’

Daisy punched Tom playfully on the arm. ‘No, I think he actually meant your voice.’

‘Daisy, darling, you read things so literally.’

Lisa poured out more generous glasses of wine. ‘It’ll be like being back at uni.’

‘But no Hugh,’ Daisy whispered.

James shifted next to her. She realised she must stop doing that: making others feel uncomfortable, like they were unwanted replacements. James was very much wanted and she glanced at him and smiled. ‘I’m glad you’re here.’

Daisy felt eyes on her and looked up sharply. Lisa winked, and she flushed, guilt washing over her. Then seconds later, Tom was pushing catalogues on her.

‘What are these for?’

‘I picked them up earlier when I was in Cirencester.’

Daisy eyed them gingerly, not liking where this was going. ‘And…?’

‘And I think some of your rooms need a bit of a spruce up if we’re going to have guests staying.’ Tom drank deeply from his glass.

‘No, I haven’t said yes yet.’ She stood, her heart fluttering. ‘This is my house, this is the house I did up with Hugh, I’m not just going to redecorate and erase all that.’ She saw James nod briefly out the corner of her eye, perhaps even gesture to Tom to take it easy.

‘Daisy, darling, I am not trying to upset you. It’s just an idea. I know how much you love interior décor.’

She knew he was right: ten of the sixteen rooms remained starkly furnished, as they simply hadn’t got around to doing them. Perhaps, in her heart, she hadn’t thrown herself into the house over the last couple of years because she knew she would end up living alone in the depths of its corridors and shuttered windows. Shutters she had closed the day Hugh had been diagnosed. She had wanted to shut the world out: just Daisy and Hugh. It was safer that way. Only now she was being forced to confront those dark crevices and she wasn’t sure she could do it.

‘Listen,’ Lisa said, more gently now, ‘Dais, if you want to go ahead, how about you choose what you would like. You have the best taste after all.’ Daisy gave a small smile at this compliment because she knew it to be true but also she had seen the state of Tom and Lisa’s rented accommodation.

‘Are you trying to tell me, Lisa, that after all these years you haven’t come to love the leopard print, velveteen cushions and the life-size framed photo of The Nude Man?’ Tom grinned broadly. ‘I even bought you zebra print under sheets for your birthday, you ungrateful cow.’

Daisy snorted with laughter and she looked at James who sat there wide-eyed.

‘Is that all true?’ he asked Daisy.

She nodded. ‘Yes, all true. Every single word. But, most importantly, Tom has forgotten to tell you about his love of an artist who paints… um, man parts.’

‘Lucky you!’ James furrowed his brow. ‘Man parts, huh?’

Daisy laughed, her mind returning to the idea of the B&B. It was true, she did love a project and if it involved anything to do with interior décor and was moving in the direction of being the next Kelly Hoppen… maybe this was what she needed, otherwise, as Tom so often bluntly pointed out, what else did she have?

‘OK, just say I was to say yes…’ Lisa squealed and Daisy smiled. ‘I get to choose the décor and there’s one rule: no one goes into Hugh’s office or our bedroom.’

They nodded solemnly.

‘That’s the one place I can be with Hugh, it means the world to me.’ Her eyes glassed over. ‘OK? It really would mean so much to me if I can trust you to stay out of his office.’

The gathering nodded in unison.

‘In which case…’ She grinned broadly. ‘OK, what have we got to lose?’ She frowned as everyone jumped up to hug her. ‘Well, probably a lot but it is exciting.’

‘First thing tomorrow morning before Mum comes for lunch I will go into Cirencester and start ordering furniture and curtain material.’ She paused. ‘Then I can tell her our plans.’ Daisy visibly flinched. ‘That’s going to be a treat.’

James looked confused. ‘I thought she loved Hugh.’

Daisy nodded. ‘Don’t you remember me telling you? Hugh wasn’t the problem. Mum never agreed with me marrying Hugh. She said that I’d grow too big for my boots living in a house like this. I was a farmer’s daughter and farmers’ daughters don’t marry men like Hugh.’ She grimaced. ‘To this day I can’t tell if it’s because she genuinely believes that or almost doesn’t want me to be happy.’ Daisy shrugged. ‘Who knows? She’s a complicated thing, dear Mum. Anyway, here’s to Atworth Manor and our plans.’ Daisy clinked everyone’s glasses in turn and looked at the ceiling.

‘I hope you’re happy, Hugh, you silly sod,’ she whispered.

The next morning, nursing a boisterous hangover in which it felt as if the drums behind Tom’s song were still going strong, she geared herself up to face her demons: the tour of her own house. Tom and Lisa who had already claimed their rooms at the top of the house, where they always stayed anyway when nights socialising rolled into morning, had returned to their flat to officially hand in their notice; the landlord wouldn’t care. He had wanted rid of Tom and his leopard print many moons ago. She had met the landlord once; a gentleman dressed head to toe in tweed, even his brogues possessed tweed fabric inserts, and the owner of the most horrid Jack Russell on planet Earth.

‘Nigel.’ He had proffered a limp handshake. ‘Oh, you’re another friend of Tom’s, are you?’ he had said, his voice so far back, it was probably being wired over from a previous era. ‘Well, any friend of Tom’s is no friend of mine.’

‘Charmed, I’m sure,’ she had said, resisting the urge to slap him across the face.

His mangy mutt stood at his owner’s feet, baring his teeth and looking like he wanted to eat Daisy for his breakfast.

‘Gosh,’ she said. ‘Don’t you and…’ She indicated the dog.

‘Bitsy.’

‘Ah.’ She forced a smile and looked him the eye. ‘Don’t you and Bitsy look so alike.’

Nigel nodded and then pulled a face. ‘Yah, I suppose we do.’

Her phone buzzed in her pocket: James. He too was already halfway to London, apparently to collect more belongings. He had been very happy to stay on the sofa last night until rooms were sorted. Daisy had already decided he could have the one next to hers. It would make her feel safe knowing he was near. He was to keep his apartment back in London; he owned it outright and Daisy was grateful. That was one less person to entirely financially support. She loved Tom and Lisa to bits – they were as much family to her as her own had ever been – but to think they would quit their jobs, albeit jobs in a restaurant and bar, and now they were giving up their shared home too. It didn’t bear thinking about and she had to remind herself that if it didn’t work out, which she suspected it might not, they could all go back to how they were. She was sure the restaurant would want them back. On the other hand, she was positive the landlord wouldn’t want them back polluting his Cirencester house but there were other rented houses out there. She nodded; yes, they were grown-ups and really, they could make their own decisions.

Her phone beeped again. Tom.

‘Daisy, darling, have dropped credit card down the outside drain trying to break into house. Could be longer than expected.’

They still only had one key between them, she realised, and shook her head in disbelief.

‘Don’t worry, taking tour of my own house. Scared.’

Moments later: ‘Don’t be scared. We love you.’

She smiled and felt a surge of strength. Now, standing at the top of the stairs, she bypassed her and Hugh’s bedroom and walked to the first unused bedroom. She drew a deep breath and pushed the door open. It squeaked loudly on its hinges and a rush of stale air hit her square on. Tiptoeing, as if not to disturb its dormancy, she made her way to the window and pulled open the internal shutters letting the light flood in. She turned and looked back at the room, her eyes immediately stopping at the fireplace. How they had argued over that fireplace! The thought sent a shock of pain through her and her breath caught.

‘I think we should rip it out,’ Hugh had said adamantly. ‘I mean, it’s not functional.’

‘No!’ She crossed her arms. ‘We are not ripping it out, that would be like ripping out someone’s heart. It is part of the fabric of this house. We just clean it up and it becomes a feature.’ She had closed her eyes, wishing that Hugh had some sort of mind that didn’t involve maths. He would not be subtracting this one from the room, not whilst she lived in the house.

Then she had felt a kiss, ever so gentle, on her nose. ‘You funny thing. If it means that much to you, we keep it. You know best, after all…’

Daisy returned to the present, her eyes smarting with these fresh memories. She supposed that would keep happening. The remembering stuff.

The question now was could she do this? Was she strong enough? Maybe Tom, Lisa and James were wrong; maybe she was herein meant to be a sombre widow who would grow old in the quiet pattern of the life she had adopted since Hugh’s death. But then, a movement at the window caught her eye. It was Mr Robin: a gardener’s best friend and, to her mind, Hugh’s best friend. As Hugh gardened, no matter the time of year, Mr Robin would appear. She felt for the latch on the window and gently pushed it open. Mr Robin stayed put.

‘What do you think, Mr Robin? Can I do this?’

As if to answer he bobbed closer and to her utter amazement, he entered the room and sat delicately on the wrought iron radiator. He cocked his head and even when she put his hand closer, he didn’t move. Then, moments later, he moved back out onto the windowsill.

‘Extraordinary,’ she muttered. ‘Maybe you’re Hugh?’

With that, she felt once again lifted, and a bit like peeling a plaster off, she moved quickly from room to room, opening the shutters both inside and outside, letting the light flood once more into Atworth Manor. With each window she opened, the robin flew nearby and she grew almost exhilarated at how liberating the whole process was. Dust clouds danced through the air with her quick and determined movement and with each window she opened, the spring air outside appeared to smell sweeter and fresher.

When she had opened up every single room in the house, she took the catalogues Tom had given her and a pen and made notes on each room and the feel she wanted. Atworth Manor, she realised, was turning into a very calm and beautiful French chateau as she chose white, pale grey and dusky pink linens, white metal frame bedsteads and, she sighed happily, she would put flowers everywhere. Flowers in every room. People would arrive and feel alive. She wanted that. She needed that. Who knew, maybe other widows would arrive and they too could benefit from the energy?

Just as she had written the last item down to be ordered and wiped her brow at her morning’s efforts, she heard the familiar clunkety-clunk of her mother’s Land Rover (the kind, Daisy thought, that proper farmers kept with no heating, appalling steering and barely a roof). She looked out of the windows on the final floor’s landing and yes, it was as she had thought; Jenny, her mother, dressed in wellies and overalls, just come from her own morning of hard work.

Daisy moved quickly down the flights of stairs and arrived at the bottom as her mother knocked, somewhat aggressively, on the heavy front door.

Daisy clutched the catalogues and notes to her chest like a comfort blanket and pulled open the door with her free hand.

‘Mum,’ she breathed. ‘So good to see you.’ She went in for a hug but when her mother didn’t reciprocate, she pulled away quickly.

‘Not sure why we couldn’t have met down Hilda’s Coffee Shop on the edge of town or, even better, your old family home?’

‘I thought you might like me to make you lunch here.’ Daisy pulled the door further open and nodded for her to come inside.

‘Well, Daisy, you know full well neither you or me belong in houses like this.’ She had never lost her broad Gloucestershire accent even with the influx of ‘yuppies’, as Jenny called them, to the area. Though Daisy was glad of it because on the odd occasion when her mother was in a softer mood, it sounded glorious to her ear and reminded her of days out in the fields together tending to the animals or, on the rare day off, her mother making a huge picnic for them all, including her father who was still alive then.

Daisy often tried to recall when her mother had become quite so bitter; she reckoned it must have been after her father died. He had a heart attack one day, out on the farm, and that was it. So sudden. He had been fine that morning eating his two rashers of bacon and two poached eggs with a wedge of buttered toast. In fact, she often thought guiltily, how at aged sixteen as she was becoming highly aware of her body she had ribbed her father over his diet and how, if he wasn’t careful, it could be the end of him. Then, one morning, the man she adored with his laughter lines and rough, calloused hands just dropped down dead.

Daisy and her mother were both widows, only in Daisy’s case, her husband died over the course of a few years. She had never been able to figure out which way out was best. Maybe it didn’t matter; both left gaping holes in lives.

She realised her mother was still stood in the hall and so she herself had to move towards the kitchen, otherwise they might be there all day.

‘I’ve got soup I made a few days ago, your favourite? Tomato. And some bread I put in the bread-maker this morning. Does that sound OK?’ Daisy looked at her mother who was eyeing up the antique French kitchen dresser and the granite work surfaces. She didn’t even need to ask what she was thinking. Granite was for posh people, apparently. What was wrong with a bit of Formica?

‘Sounds fine,’ her mother eventually answered, sitting awkwardly on the edge of the carver chair.

‘Great, perfect,’ Daisy remarked through gritted teeth. As she set to heating up the soup and slicing the bread, she wondered how she was going to tell her mother about their hare-brained idea.

She needn’t have worried.

Her mother’s beady eyes had already clocked the catalogues and list on the table.

‘Tell me you’re not redecorating? You know, you might be quite well off but Hugh’s money isn’t going to last forever.’ She paused. ‘Life is expensive when you’re relying on yourself.’

Daisy continued stirring the soup, turning ever so slightly from the range.

‘Actually—’ she forced a smile ‘—you won’t believe this…’ Her mother flinched as if Daisy were about to inflict pain upon her. She had spent her life relaying her plans and goals with the utmost of care, never expecting a warm reception. Especially after the death of her father, he had been her go-between. ‘So I’m opening a B&B with Tom, Lisa and James.’ She turned quickly back to the soup.

The silence lay heavy and ominous.

‘Well, I suppose it would do you good. Ground you.’

Daisy took that as a seal of her approval.

‘Actually, it was an idea Hugh and I had years ago but not here, not in this house.’

‘Where then?’

Daisy poured the soup into the bowls and placed her finest bone china soup dish in front of her mother. Her mother’s arched brow told her that she would have been happier with Tesco’s own.

‘France.’ Daisy sat down, busied herself with cutting more bread needlessly.

‘Well, that really would have been a stupid idea. You in France? We all know how well French went for you at university.’

Daisy pushed down the lump in her throat. ‘Actually, I had been relearning and I’m almost fluent,’ she lied, pushing the far too hot soup into her mouth. Anything to avoid talking about it any further.

‘I’m amazed,’ her mother started after taking a mouthful of soup, giving an almost imperceptible nod of approval, ‘that James would want to stay here. I mean James is obviously from a house like this so that bit doesn’t surprise me but to stay here with the likes of you and your friends. It doesn’t make sense.’

Daisy lifted her chin defiantly. ‘What does that mean? “The likes of you”? I may not have been born into a house like this but it doesn’t mean I can’t live in one.’

‘Oh, Daisy, don’t be silly. I’ve told you all along you should have stayed with me on the farm. I needed your help and you insisted on going to university, which, frankly, was a total waste of time and money because then you married above your station. You just tried to make me look bad.’

Daisy buttered her bread, pushing the knife this way and that with such force she thought she might break the knife. ‘You’ll never be any different. I don’t know what happened, Mum, but when Dad died you changed and you pushed me away.’ She pouted. ‘Anyway, maybe I can make a success of this. Imagine that. Imagine your own daughter actually running a successful business.’

‘Well, we’ll see about that.’ Her mother spooned the last of her soup into her mouth and stood. ‘Thank you, I think I’d better get back to the lambs that have arrived early.’

‘Oh, have they?’ Daisy’s prickly mood softened. She had adored lambing, watching new life enter the world. ‘Do you want me to come over? Help?’

‘No,’ her mother said stiffly. ‘You stay here and look up cushions. Much more important.’

With that, her mother bustled from the kitchen, her wellies leaving a trail of mud to the front door, and got into her jeep, roaring off down the drive.

Daisy continued to sit, almost numb from the visit, except for one thing. Her mother had left a burning desire somewhere deep in the pit of her stomach, a desire to make the business not only work but be a raving success.

Chapter 5

Daisy’s mood had entirely shifted in a twenty-four hour period. This time yesterday she had felt as if the plans for the B&B were at best, mad, at worst, catastrophic. But something had changed. She had sensed it even in the sunrise this morning. It had appeared brighter, more hopeful.

She rose early and made everybody breakfast. Well, she said everybody: Tom and Lisa. James hadn’t returned last night as he had promised. He had texted her saying he had some unfinished business. Daisy felt momentarily panicky at this news. But why should she? He was his own man. Maybe it was because James had given her the letter, set this whole ball rolling, that she felt he needed to be there every step of the way. When her more rational self took over, she knew that of course he had unfinished business: he had just quit his job, he had an apartment in London to close up for a while, he had… a girlfriend? The thought jolted her. She shook off the self-righteous feeling of ownership and they had a quiet breakfast of omelettes, hangovers still very much present.

However, over the next two weeks, and with each passing day, she felt fresh and raring to go. She had phoned Laura Ashley and other interior shops in Cirencester asking them to deliver. In fact, on the final morning of deliveries, she was just about to call up to Tom and Lisa with the bell in the kitchen, when she heard the beeping of a lorry reversing.

Tom and Lisa ambled down the stairs, clearly woken rudely by the sound of deliveries and sat heavily at the table. Daisy looked at them with affection, it was as if they were still at university. The only giveaway was Tom’s peppered hair, Lisa’s accentuated laughter lines and in her case… well, just about everything had gone south. Her friends with children often talked about how it all went ‘pear-shaped’ after having children. She hadn’t needed sproglets for nature to take its course.

Daisy had dealt with the various deliveries that had appeared in the last forty-eight hours and had used the barn at the back as a storage area. She imagined the neighbour, a very sullen man in his eighties who had never taken a liking to her or Hugh, would imagine she was having some sort of post-Hugh crisis, spending all his money wildly in an attempt to fill the void in her life.

When she had signed on the last dotted line and the barn looked like a warehouse, she walked to the kitchen, her cheeks flushed with the excitement and anticipation, in order to find Tom and Lisa.

‘Gosh, I hope you two like my choices!’ She poured herself a glass of orange juice, barely noticing the silence. When she had drained the glass, she eventually looked at her friends. ‘Guys?’

They were staring at her, smiling broadly.

‘You look positively radiant, darling,’ Tom gushed. ‘Goodness.’

‘She does, she really does,’ Lisa agreed and took Daisy in a big bear hug before standing back once more.

Daisy smile immediately faded. ‘Maybe I shouldn’t be so… you know, I mean maybe it’s not respectful…’

Tom placed his hands firmly on her shoulders and looked her squarely in her eyes. ‘Whose idea was this?’

‘Hugh’s,’ she mumbled, pushing down the panic and sadness in her heart. ‘He wanted me to do it.’

Tom nodded. ‘Exactly. He wanted you to do it and he wanted you to be happy. I imagine he’s looking down on us now.’

Daisy nodded; she knew so too. He was looking down, peering over his ridiculously expensive specs, and smiling.

‘Yes, you’re right.’ Daisy nodded again and then indicated outside. ‘Come and see?’

She was hesitant. It felt as if she was baring her all showing her friends her ideas for the rooms. They walked to the barn and she opened box after box, explaining the various French toile curtains, the linen sheets, the white bed frames. Eventually she came up for air and waited for their reaction.

‘Well…’ Tom said, his voice brimming with concern.

‘What?’ Daisy stood more upright, her heart fluttering. Why had she ever thought she could choose the right furnishings for Atworth Manor?

Tom grinned. ‘I can see you’ve decided to dodge leopard and zebra print which might be your downfall…’

Lisa snorted. ‘It’s bloody beautiful, Daisy. Bloody classy.’

‘Yeah, it really is.’ Tom pulled Daisy in for a congratulatory hug. ‘You have so many hidden talents, you beautiful woman. Hugh would be so proud. Hugh is so proud.’

Daisy felt her heart lift.

‘Good thing you got it sorted so soon because—’ Tom winked ‘—I took it on myself to sign up Atworth Manor with some exclusive agents throughout the country and Europe as James said it was worth paying a premium so…’

Daisy stared, wide-eyed.

‘We are officially a boutique B&B with 5 stars.’

‘What?’ Daisy screeched.

Lisa joined in now. ‘Yeah, you pay quite a lot of them for the ranking so…’

‘What?’ she screeched again, realising she sounded demented but she felt as if she was being hit from all sides.

‘And,’ Tom said gleefully, ‘we have our first guests arriving in…’ He looked at his watch. ‘Three days and five hours.’

‘Holy…’ Daisy’s voice was shrill. ‘What on earth were you two thinking? We have to make plans, set things up, think about the accounts.’ She was struck by something else. ‘None of us have ever done this before and you’ve already got people coming! I haven’t even got sodding eggs!’

‘Well, lucky for you,’ Tom said gallantly, ‘I have got a few of my friends, beautiful muscles, beautiful physiques, Gloucestershire’s finest if you know what I mean, to set up all the furniture, Lisa will make beds as we go and you, dear Daisy, are off to the mecca of Bed and Breakfast Land…’

She waited, expectant. Daring not to breathe.

‘Waitrose!’ he announced.

‘What are their names? Are they from the UK?’ she asked. Maybe, she thought, if they came from Iceland they might want salmon, if they came from Japan they might need sake. OK, she agreed with herself, maybe too much for breakfast but she needed to offer them a night cap. She’d been to some fabulous bed and breakfasts throughout the country with Hugh and the service never stopped at just a bed and a breakfast. In fact, she remembered Hugh getting pissed on whisky at an honesty bar in Scotland, but forgetting to pay. It was added to his bill; he had been necking a one-thousand-pound bottle of vintage whisky.

‘Relax, Dais,’ Tom said smoothly. ‘Just do what clearly comes so naturally to you.’

‘But I haven’t even been into a supermarket since Hugh died,’ she realised aloud. ‘I’ve been getting them to deliver. I mean, I don’t know who I’ll meet and I can’t bear the looks of sympathy and pity.’

‘Well, time to face the music, Daisy darling, and get that fridge full!’

Just as she was about to protest, a minibus pulled up the drive, a dust cloud in its wake. The bus was pink with a leopard print strip around its centre.

‘What on earth?’ she breathed. ‘Is this our guests?’

‘No,’ Tom announced happily, waving enthusiastically at the bus, undoing one more button on his shirt. ‘This, ladies, is heaven.’

Out of the bus, one after another, stepped six drop-dead gorgeous men: all chiselled, all with impeccable physiques and…

‘The tightest shorts I’ve ever seen,’ Daisy whispered aloud.

‘Yes, here is my dream crew ready to build your furniture and dress your house. Dave set this company up a couple of years ago when a woman he does DIY for said she wished there were more like him; men who are good with their hands and who women feel safe around.’

Daisy looked at Lisa who she expected was having a similar surreal experience herself but, in actual fact, Lisa had started to trot down the drive, greeting each and everyone by name.

‘Dave, hi!’ Lisa chirped. ‘Gary, how’s the knee? Didn’t they tell you not to slide down the pole like that…’

Daisy smiled at the team as they approached and went to shake their hands. They all shook her hand in turn and Dave, the leader, gave her the lowdown as if she were the queen.

‘I introduce to you, the Dream Team.’

‘You are very welcome,’ Daisy said, smiling. ‘So very welcome!’

Daisy spotted James’s car pulling up – he had been opening a business bank account in Cirencester – and she suppressed her laugh: now this she wanted to see.

James parked his car and got out, making his way towards the crowd now standing outside Atworth.

‘James!’ Tom shouted, the excitement evident in his voice. ‘This is James, the guy I was telling you about!’

Six, seven counting Tom, Athena poster model men from the Eighties turned to James who held his hand up awkwardly in greeting. ‘Hi all!’

The men flocked around James, and Daisy and Lisa laughed until they cried and only laughed some more when James arrived at their side, his usually carefully placed hair ruffled.

‘Well, they all seem lovely,’ James said, his voice genuine if not dazed.

‘The account all sorted?,’ Daisy said, only semi-jokingly.

‘Yep, all in order.’ He touched her arm gently. ‘You look radiant today.’

Daisy found herself blushing and she didn’t know why. She was glad when Lisa dragged James to the barn to show him the new items for the house.

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