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CHAPTER ONE
LUCINDA MYLES WASN’T the sort of woman to panic, usually. But the prospect of being without a bed for the night five days before Christmas, in the midst of the coldest December the north-west of England had seen in decades, was decidedly unappealing. The city of Chester was booked solid by Christmas shoppers and by the other unfortunate academics attending the badly timed Bringing History to the Future conference. If the Royal Court Hotel didn’t find her booking...well, she was going to need a new plan. But first she’d try dogged persistence. It had always worked for her grandfather.
‘I understand that you’re fully booked,’ Luce said, in her most patient and forbearing voice. The one she usually saved for her brother Tom, when he was being particularly obtuse. ‘But one of those room bookings should be for me. Dr Lucinda Myles.’ She leant across the reception desk to try to see the girl’s computer screen. ‘M-Y-L-E-S.’
The blonde behind the desk angled the screen away from her. ‘I’m afraid there is no booking at this hotel under that name for tonight. Or any other night, for that matter.’
Luce gritted her teeth. This was what she got for letting the conference staff take charge of her hotel booking. She really should have known better. Take responsibility. Take control. Words to live by, her grandfather had always said. Shame she was the only one in the family to listen.
As if to echo the thought, her phone buzzed in her pocket. Luce sighed as she reached in to dig it out, knowing without looking that it would be Tom. ‘And there are absolutely no free rooms in the hotel tonight?’ she asked the blonde, figuring it was worth one more shot. ‘Even the suites are booked?’ She could make the university reimburse her. They wanted her here at the conference—the least they could do was give her a decent room for the night.
‘Everything. Every room is booked. It’s Christmas, in case you hadn’t noticed. And now, if I can’t be of any further assistance...’ The blonde looked over Luce’s shoulder.
Glancing back herself, Luce saw a growing queue of people waiting to check in. Well, they were just going to have to wait. She wasn’t going to be intimidated by this fancy hotel with its marble floors, elegant golden Christmas tree, chandeliers and impatient businessmen. She’d had one hell of a day, and she was taking responsibility for making it better. ‘Actually, perhaps you could check if any of the other local hotels have a free room. Since you’ve lost my reservation.’
‘We haven’t—’ the blonde started, but Luce cut her off with a look. She sighed. ‘I’ll just check.’
While the blonde motioned to her colleague to come and assist with the check-in queue, Luce slid a finger across the touch screen of her phone to check her messages. Three texts and a voicemail. All in the last twenty minutes, while she’d been arguing with the receptionist. A light day, really.
She scrolled to the first text while the disgruntled businessman behind her checked in at the next computer. It was from Tom, of course.
Has Mum spoken to you about Christmas Eve? Can you do it?
Christmas Eve? Luce frowned. That meant the voicemail was probably from her mother, changing their festive plans for the sixth time that month.
The next text was from her sister Dolly.
Looking forward to Xmas Eve—especially chocolate pots!
That didn’t bode well. Christmas Day was planned and sorted and all due for delivery from the local supermarket on the twenty-third—apart from the turkey, which was safely stored in her freezer. Christmas Eve, however—that was a whole different proposition.
The final text was Tom again.
Mum says we have a go! Fantastic. See you then.
Luce sighed. Whatever Mum’s new plan was, apparently it was a done deal. ‘You’re the responsible one, Lucinda,’ her grandfather had always said. ‘The rest of them couldn’t take care of themselves for a minute out there in the real world. You and I know that. Which is why you’re going to have to do it for them.’
Apparently they needed looking after again. With a Christmas Eve dinner. And chocolate puddings. Presumably in addition to the three-course dinner she’d be expected to produce the following day. Perfect.
Luce clicked the phone off as the blonde came back. The voicemail from her mother, hopefully explaining everything, could wait until Luce had a bed for the night.
‘I’m sorry,’ the blonde said, without a hint of apology in her voice. ‘There’s some history conference in town, and with all the Christmas shoppers as well I’m afraid the local accommodation has been booked up for months.’
