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Her driver was chatty, but she liked it. He was putting her at ease. Cara had traveled a fair amount before, but always with a friend. She wasn’t nervous about being on her own—this was England after all—but Christmas on her own would certainly be a novel experience. Fortunately, she liked people and enjoyed new experiences. “What is your name, by the way?”
“Paul.”
“I’m Cara,” she said.
“A pleasure,” he said. “And there’s your cottage just ahead.”
Cara had seen photos of the two-story stone cottage with the slate roof. The photos she’d seen were from summer with lotsof flowers and climbing roses, but the house was bare now, four windows across the front of the downstairs, three on the second floor. There was a pair of chimneys, one smoking. A dark gray four-door sedan was parked in the driveway which reassured her. Someone was here to meet her. Wonderful. She hadn’t been entirely clear on the check-in process, including on how she’d get the keys.
Paul pulled behind the car, lifted out her large suitcase, and Cara paid him, plus a generous tip since he’d been so helpful. He glanced at the bill and shook his head. “This is too much,” he said. “Maybe other drivers wouldn’t tell you, but here you’d only tip maybe ten percent. Some people just round out to the nearest pound.”
“But I don’t have change yet,” she confessed, “and you’ve been so helpful. Please keep it, and at least I know now for the future.”
He smiled and reached into his car, drew out a business card. “Here’s my number. Call me anytime. I’ll ask my wife about the tours, too.”
She waved goodbye and lifting her suitcase approached the cottage’s front door. She looked for a doorbell, but there was just a brass doorknocker so she used that, twice, firmly.
The door opened a minute later. A man in his midthirties dressed in a thick wool cardigan, trousers, and socks stood on the threshold. “May I help you?” he asked.
She smiled at him. “I’m Cara Roberts.”
“Yes.”
“I’ve just arrived from Seattle. Well, north of Seattle, but this is the Gamekeeper’s Cottage, isn’t it? Holiday Cottage Two?”
“It is.” He glanced from Cara to her suitcase. “And it’s let to my family. We’ve been here almost a week already, and have another week here.” A little person peeked around the man’slegs, wispy blonde hair, big brown eyes, a smile filled with baby teeth.
Cara’s heart fell but she hid it, smiling instead at the toddler before looking up into the man’s face. “Maybe I have the cottage number wrong.” She pulled out the printed pages from her purse. “South Woodland Drive. Gamekeeper’s Cottage, Langley Park.” She frowned, brows flattening. “Am I in the wrong place?”
“That is this cottage, but perhaps they assigned you the wrong one. There is a cottage by the dairy, and another by the gate. I think one of the barns, or the dairy, have also been turned into a holiday cottage.”
A woman appeared at his shoulder. “The dairy,” she said, taking the toddler by the shoulder and drawing her back from the door. “That’s quite a large place. Four or five bedrooms, I think.”
Cara’s head was spinning. She didn’t need four or five bedrooms, she just needed one bedroom, and while these people were being helpful, and their accents were lovely—all that British charm she’d come for, Cara was tired and hungry, andcold. The wind whipped at her coat and stung her ears.
“I’m not sure anymore,” she confessed. “I don’t even know who to call.”
“She should head up to the big house,” the woman said decisively. “They’ll be able to sort it out.”
“Where is that from here?” Cara asked.
The wife pointed to a road leading the opposite direction from where she’d come. “There. It’s a nice walk in summer.”
“But not today, not with a suitcase,” the husband added.
“I’ll ring the staff at the Park,” the woman said, scooping up the toddler, “but do shut the door, darling. We’re letting all the warm air out.” A baby cried from inside the cottage and the woman disappeared.
The husband looked at Cara apologetically. “Would you like to come in?”
She shivered. “No. You have babies. I don’t want to impose.”
“Let me get my keys. I’ll just run you up myself. One moment.”
He closed the door but returned quickly, now in shoes and wearing a coat, a cap, and a scarf.
“I’m so sorry to trouble you,” she said as he loaded her suitcase into his trunk.
“Not at all. My wife has already rung the office by the house and they know you’re coming. They’ll sort out the accommodations for you. It’s a good thing the manor isn’t open today, otherwise it’d be a different matter.”
