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‘Business only, right?’ Seb grabbed a folder from the corner of his desk and handed it across to Ben.
Opening the file, Ben felt his heart lurch against his ribcage at the sight of the reception desk at the Royal Court Hotel, Chester. So much for a distraction from Luce. Slamming the folder shut, he said, ‘Been there. Done that. What’s next?’
‘I want you to go back.’
‘Why? It’s fine. It’s running well. I’ve made my recommendations for streamlining some processes, making things more effective. Other than that...’ He shrugged.
‘I want to try something new.’
Against his better judgement, curiosity welled up in Ben. Something new. Something different. That was something they’d never been able to do while their father was alive. He’d had an unalterable system. Buy the hotel, make it look and run like all the others in the chain, move on to the next project. Every time.
‘New how, exactly?’
Seb gave him a slow smile. ‘Knew that would catch your attention. Trust me, you’re going to like this plan.’
Ben wasn’t so sure about that. But he was willing to give his brother the benefit of the doubt. ‘Okay. I’m listening.’
* * *
Luce barely had time to toss her suitcase in her room before her phone rang. Glancing at the display, she saw it was her mother and let it go to voicemail. Sorry, Mum, but if you want dinner tonight you’ll have to wait for me to call you back.
Okay, it was almost five in the afternoon. Two hours until her guests arrived. Long enough to cook something fantastic if she had any food in the house—which, having missed her supermarket delivery, she didn’t. Long enough to clean and tidy the house if she didn’t have to do anything else—which she did. And long enough to make herself look presentable if she could bring herself to care what she looked like—which she couldn’t.
Collapsing into her favourite armchair, Luce pulled out her organiser and started her list. The most important thing about the evening was that it go well for Tom. After his break-up with Hattie, and the misery and depression that had followed, he’d not introduced them to a new girlfriend in two years. This was big. This was a turning point. Luce needed to make it as successful as she could. And pray that the turkey she’d yanked out of the freezer the moment she walked in defrosted in time for tomorrow.
Obviously at this stage a gourmet feast was out of the question. Instead Luce raided the corner shop for whatever was left at this point in the Christmas panic buying—mostly mismatched canapés and mince pies. Halfway to the till she remembered to grab vegetables for the next day. She’d just have to hope she had enough of everything else in to make do.
The house itself wasn’t in too bad shape—after flinging everything that didn’t belong in the lounge, dining room or kitchen into the bedroom, Luce figured it would serve. Candles and cloth napkins on the table, lamps instead of overhead lights, and they were set to go.
Of course by that point it was seven, and she was still wearing the skirt and jumper she’d travelled home from Brecon in. A shower was out of the question, she supposed, but she’d hoped to at least change and put some make-up on. The ringing doorbell suggested she was out of luck.
‘Are you running late?’ Dolly asked, looking her up and down as she answered the door.
‘However did you guess?’ Luce ushered her sister in. ‘I just got back a couple of hours ago. You’re lucky I’m here at all.’
‘Tom’s lucky, you mean. I had plans for tonight, you know. This new girl of his had better be worth the effort. Does this mean you didn’t have time to make the chocolate pots?’
Luce glared, and Dolly held up her hands in self-defence. ‘Okay, okay. Next time. You go and get changed and I’ll get us something to drink. Is there wine in the fridge?’
‘As always,’ Luce called back as she went to try to excavate something from her wardrobe that didn’t need dry cleaning.
In the end the best option she had turned out to be the purple dress she’d worn to dinner with Ben in Chester. Luce tugged it on, trying not to notice the way his scent still clung to the fabric. Shoving her feet into low heels and pulling a cardigan over it made it feel a little less dressy—more suitable for a family occasion. And it matches the culinary sophistication level better. Or maybe I should put on jeans...
By the time she’d run a brush through her hair and thrown on the minimum amount of make-up her mother would let her get away with, the doorbell had rung twice and Luce could hear voices in the lounge, along with clinking glasses. ‘Showtime,’ she whispered to herself, and tried not to wish she was still at the cottage.
