Page 25 of The Secret Holiday Kiss

Winnie waved her hand dismissively. ‘I’m sorry for what I said outside: about you not having time for us. Mary and I were frustrated, because we could see how much love you needed, and that you weren’t getting it from your father. He was a good man, Bernie Anderly, but once Harriet was gone …’

‘He got lost,’ Daisy said quietly. ‘And he lost us too.’

Winnie’s steely eyes softened, and she reached out. Daisy held her breath, because a hand-squeeze from Winnie Staples was a rare and precious thing. But instead, the older woman patted the back of Daisy’s hand, abruptly, like she was trying to squash a fly, and Daisy bit her lip to stop herself grinning.

‘We’ll have the white chocolate and cranberry yule logs,’ she said, ‘unless either of those flavours offend you?’

‘Not offended by white chocolate or cranberry,’ Daisy confirmed.

Winnie ordered their cakes and coffees, and the waiter glided off to the kitchen, fitting in perfectly with the serene atmosphere in the lounge. Even the tree was softer, the vibrant green of the pine fronds enhancing the silver and pale yellow decorations. Daisy felt calm in here, which was a good thing when she was about to get a sugar and caffeine rush.

‘Shall I tell you what I’m thinking so far for your house?’ She rested her elbows on the table. ‘It has so much potential, so many strong features, and with all the natural light we can do whatever we want. I was imagining sea tones to fit in with the location, pops of bright colour that will be set off by the golden hour at either end of the day. I need to know what textures you and Mary like, so—’

‘Do you think you became an interior designer because you spent so much time alone in that big old manor, when it was gloomy and dull and unloved? Because it didn’t feel like a home, and that was what you needed?’

Daisy sat back, her spiel dying in her throat. ‘I mostly work on commercial properties. Hotels and restaurants.’

Winnie shrugged. ‘You want to work on our house. And even with those hotels and restaurants, isn’t your aim to make them welcoming? Places people will want to visit again and again, stay in for hours or days, feel entirely at home in?’

‘I had never …’ Her stomach tightened, because was that it? She had put so much time, expense and commitment into her and Stefan’s home, and she’d been devastated when she discovered what he’d done. The fact that he’d cheated on her in their bedroom was the thing she couldn’t get over. Was she always trying to create that homely space? Somewhere warm and bright and kind, because the manor had been so far from that after her mum died?

The waiter brought over their coffees and the delicate white chocolate yule logs, with a burst of real cranberries decorating each end like tiny fallen rubies. It was delicious, soft and sweet and moreish, and she recovered enough to keep the conversation going, to tell Winnie about her business and some of the more extravagant places she had worked on.

She was letting her in, subtly selling her credentials, because there was something about the house behind the hotel that she found captivating. But all the while, Winnie’s words replayed in her mind, like someone slowly sliding a jigsaw puzzle piece into its rightful place after hours of searching.

Once they’d finished their coffee and cake, and Winnie had promised to speak to Avery about a tour, Daisy realized she couldn’t ignore the bookshop any longer. She walked down Perpendicular Street, past the delicious smells of the bakery, past the green and the oak tree, still statuesque despite its supports, to her dad’s old shop.

The Book Ends. It seemed like a melancholic name for a bookshop, but maybe that was because all her memories of it were melancholic. It was a clever play on words, and a reminder that a book would always end, so you needed to come back and buy a new one. She stopped outside the double-fronted shop, peered through the dusty window into the empty space beyond, and thought of her new hardback. The Hound of the Baskervilles. Had Lars really sent it to her? He couldn’t know her dad had owned a bookshop, but did that matter?

She burrowed in her bag for the keys she’d nabbed from Harry’s study earlier that morning. He had a dish full of keys of all shapes and sizes, but she remembered the book-shaped metal keyring their dad had attached the bookshop key to. She didn’t think Harry would miss it; it was likely that he wouldn’t even notice she’d taken it.

She put the key in the lock, but it wouldn’t go all the way in. She took it out and tried again, but had the same problem. She glanced up the street, sure that she looked suspicious, trying to get into a shop that was so obviously abandoned, but nobody was paying her any attention.

She took a deep breath, pulled the key out, and tried again. It wasn’t the right key. Then she noticed that the lock, the handle and the surround looked new: a whole lot fresher than the aged wooden door with its peeling paint.

Harry had changed the lock. He had no interest in the shop any more, but he cared enough to make sure it was secure. Daisy’s disappointment was diluted by a sharp, unexpected surge of hope. Perhaps, if he was still looking after the place, he was thinking about reopening it?

Her memories of coming here, of finding her dad amongst the shelves and the books and the customers, were equally confused. She hated that it was the only place he had seemed alive, but she had loved the wide smile he would give her whenever she came to see him, the stories he would tell her, the books he would recommend that had just arrived as part of a new delivery.

She wished she could get inside, walk the floorboards again after all this time. She thought that, if she could, she would be able to banish some of the uncomfortable emotions that still lingered. Being back in Mistingham twenty years on, for more than a flying visit, wasn’t nearly as bad as she had expected, and she wondered if that would be true of the bookshop too, and she could start to resurrect the happier memories of her dad, and of their once-content family.

Chapter Nine

‘So, what you’re saying,’ Daisy said, careful to keep her voice neutral, ‘is that the work to repair the structural integrity of the building has uncovered more problems with the building’s structural integrity?’

‘Yeah.’ Mo sighed down the phone. ‘It seems the pipes have been broken for a while, the water’s been building up, and now the floorboards above you all need replacing.’

‘Shit.’ Daisy leaned her forehead against the cool wall. ‘How long will that take to fix?’

‘At least another month.’ Mo sounded apologetic, but she knew he hadn’t got a water cannon and fired it into the space between the floors. ‘Sorry, Dais.’

‘It’s OK. I have some … obligations up here now. I couldn’t come back to London, even if everything was good as new this morning. Thanks for all you’re doing.’

‘Course. I hate to say it, but it’s fun, this one. A good team, lots of problems to solve, almost like a domino run.’ He chuckled.

‘Great,’ Daisy said weakly. ‘Stay in touch.’

‘Will do.’ Mo rang off.