The state of the Old Bell Inn’s records – I’ve never seen anything like it. Half of them are still in ledger form, each year running into the next, depending on how many pages were left in that particular ledger, rather than starting a new one in the new year. And the way they’re filed? Almost haphazardly. I know I’m a control freak when it comes to filing, but who actually works like that today? No wonder I can’t make heads or tails of it. Unless… someone has done all this on purpose, to cover their tracks? Because someone is subtracting funds, no doubt about it. But who?
I am treating my mission, i.e. pretending to be on holiday and offering to work for free, as such. Every morning I come down, spend three to four hours giving Laura tips on how to deal with difficult guests, how to input data in a much quicker, complete and efficient way, how to place calls to suppliers, where to jot down personal comments that will help her improve her service, and most importantly, how to deal with Head Office calls (my first tip was to chuck her gum out).
After a quick lunch, I go straight back to reception and start all over again. Sometimes Mitchell is there, so I can’t be too nosy.
I spend the rest of my time covertly interviewing staff, trying to get to the bottom of why the occupancy rate and reviews are killing the establishment. Because, for the life of me, I don’t understand what is going on.
Unless… is it all a façade? Has it all been done to scam the franchise, so that occupancy numbers only appear to be at their lowest in the mainframe system, while, under the counter, he’s actually raking it in? Everything, from expenses to balancing, is off-kilter. It’s so bad it almost looks… doctored. But it would take one hell of a mind to do that. A cold, calculating, dishonest mind.
Nah. As obnoxious as he is, I can’t see Mitchell doing that. And yet, based on his personal lifestyle, questions must be asked. Laura has mentioned in passing that his daughter’s schooling is expensive. He must be paying his divorce lawyers through the nose. Not to mention the artwork in his room and… stop. There must be some logical, plausible explanation. Granted, he looks like the devil on a bad day sometimes, and has the temper of a volcano. But deep down, he’s got to be a good guy. I can just feel it in my waters. Otherwise I wouldn’t be trying to save his ass, right?
So I set that thought aside, lest my suspicious nature takes me on an endless journey, and I spend the rest of the morning doing mundane, monkey-job stuff, such as handing out brochures, giving the stag and hen parties directions to the nearest pubs (let them puke on someone else’s bar) and drumming up ways to bring in a better clientele. I just know that if this inn was mine, I could put it back on the map in less than a month. I make a note to meet every single person working here within the week and type up a spreadsheet with questions to ask them, which will help me assess the situation better.
I know Susan’s manual has plenty of those in the appendix chapter, but I prefer to approach people in a natural way. No one likes being grilled.
*
When Mitchell brings back Danny, his baby cheeks are red with excitement. ‘Mum! Mitchell’s got the coolest car ever! It has seats that warm up and slide back and forth at the touch of a button!’
The evidence is piling up against Mitchell, and I don’t like the look of it, but I manage to stifle it with a ‘Really? That sounds so cool!’
‘Maybe next time I can take him out on a pony ride?’ Mitchell suggests, and I stare at him. ‘What?’ he says. ‘The coastal path is a must-see, you know.’
You see? It doesn’t tally – he’s just spent the entire morning with my son, so he’s got to be a good guy, and could I feel any guiltier about going through his private life? He didn’t make the best first impression on me, granted, and I still don’t know what he thinks of me, but the more I come to interact with Mitchell, the more I see that he is a decent, caring human being. How could he be otherwise, when he is so kind and patient with my son? Danny hasn’t smiled this much in ages, and as much as it hurts me to admit my best isn’t good enough, I am grateful to Mitchell.
But I have to have a word with him about the business. Particularly the financial mystery that enshrouds it, without him thinking he is even remotely suspected. If Susan were here, she’d sack him in a heartbeat. But, luckily for him, I’m not my boss.
‘Are you excited, Danny?’ I ask, wrapping my arm around his little shoulder as we exit the lobby a little later and turn onto the path leading to the stables.
He looks up at me and grins. ‘Over the moon, Mum!’
I caress his cheek and squeeze his shoulder. He’s all decked out in some borrowed riding gear and I can only wonder how much it will cost to kit him out. When we get back, I’m enrolling him in the nearest lessons because I’ve never seen him so happy, so fulfilled. If I’d known that that was all it would take, I’d have signed him up ages ago, even at the cost of doing overtime. Anything for my baby.
‘Mitchell says I’ll love Jeremy,’ he informs me. ‘He’s the head stable boy.’
As we swing the gate open, a man comes out to greet us. The stable boy, Jeremy Gabriel, is anything but a boy. He’s at least sixty, and just looking at him, with his checked shirt, leather cover-ups and quiet, kind manners relaxes me. I know they are going to get on like a house on fire.
‘Mr Gabriel, I’m so grateful to you for agreeing to keep an eye on my son. Are you sure you don’t mind?’ I ask as Danny stares in awe at the real, live horses in the stalls sticking their heads out to study us.
‘Name’s Jeremy, ma’am. I’d be glad of the help.’
‘He won’t be a nuisance, I promise you. He’s a quick learner, a hard worker and has read everything there is on horses. But he’s…’ I bite my lip. ‘Never had the chance to actually ride one except for pony rides at village fairs.’
‘We’ll be all right, ma’am,’ he says with a shy smile.
‘It’s Rosie.’
His smile broadens. ‘Well, Rosie, don’t worry about a thing. We’ll start d’rectly with a few lessons. Then Mitchell’s coming to take him out.’
I can’t help but smile and I’d hug the man if I didn’t want to keep it together. ‘Thank you so much, Jeremy. I have to get back to the office,’ I say with some regret. ‘But I’ll be back later.’
And that’s when this country gentleman dips his head. God, I’m going to miss this corner of the world, with its genuine ways. No frills here, but definitely good, salt-of-the-earth people.
*
An hour later, there is a flower delivery to the inn. The courier saunters into the lobby carrying a long box, so I sign for it and leave it on the counter.
‘Ooh, flowers,’ Laura says as she comes back from her break on the heels of the flower man. ‘Who for?’
I look up from my screen. ‘The bride, I assume.’
‘Shouldn’t we check, in case they aren’t?’ Laura suggests.
‘You’re absolutely right. I just thought—’
‘Ooh, Rosie! They’re for you!’
I sit up, confused. ‘Me?’
‘Here, read the card!’
I lean forward. I’m sorry. Give me another chance. Mark xxx
Mark. First a letter, and now flowers. On what planet does he think it’s actually going to happen? And by the way, how did he even manage to find out I was in Cornwall?
If I’d known they were from him, I’d have tossed them straight away without a thought. The same way I can’t bring myself to open the letter in my glove compartment. I already know what it says. That he’s a roamer, and wasn’t born to be a father, to please forgive him, but it’s better that way. Years of that codswallop. And now I’m done.
I shove the box into the bin without a thought.
‘Aren’t you at least going to have a look?’ Laura asks, surprised.
‘I don’t need to look. There are twenty-four long-stemmed red roses in there.’
‘Wow, no expenses spared,’ she says with a whistle.
I look around the lobby to check no one has heard her and she covers her mouth. ‘Sorry.’
‘No worries. You can still look if you like,’ I say.
Eyeing me, she pulls off the lid and oohs and aahs. ‘They’re gorgeous.’ She swoons. ‘I’ve never had anyone send me flowers.’
Flowers devoid of any sentiment. Besides a one-liner, he never feels the need to express any emotions. Not once has he ever asked for my forgiveness in person, nor had the grown-up conversation. And he keeps taunting me with flowers. I know him. He’s saying that I’ll never be able to forget him. In fact, never has anyone so absent left a mark so difficult to erase.
It had nearly killed me. I had loved him so much that I actually thought I would die of heartbreak. The injustice of it all. I had relived our relationship over and over in my mind, trying to understand what I’d done so wrong that he couldn’t love me like I loved him.
Sometimes I wonder what I’d say if he ever called my mobile. He still has my number. I never changed it, just in case… never mind. It’s done, he’s gone and I’ve moved on. But why does it still bloody hurt even to think about him?
*
‘Mum, it was fantastic! I got to ride Fletcher, the coolest horse ever!’ Danny cries when he gets in a couple of hours later, all dirty and as happy as Larry.
‘Did you?’ I say, bending down to kiss him on the cheek just as Mitchell comes in, eyeing the box of roses. I wonder where he goes every day.
‘Can I have lunch in the dining room with Sally?’ Danny asks.
‘Shower first,’ I say.
‘But I’m hungry now, Mum.’
‘You can go with him,’ Mitchell says to me. ‘I’ll watch the desk.’
‘Thank you, Mitchell,’ I say, and then I turn to Danny. ‘Who is Sally, darling?’
‘Head of housekeeping.’
Of course. I’m meeting her tomorrow.
‘We bumped into her in L.K.’
He’s going way too fast for me. ‘L.K.?’
‘Mitchell’s name for Little Kettering. It’s supposed to be like L.A., only it’s not. It’s a joke. Right, Mitchell?’ Danny looks at him for approval, which he readily gets, along with another one of their high fives. It’s become a private joke between them. Anything they agree on, they high-five each other.
‘Right you are, mate.’
Mate? Ah, well. I certainly hope I haven’t made a mistake, letting Danny hang with him. After all, there is still a very slim chance that I may be wrong and that Mitchell Fitzpatrick is doing something he shouldn’t be doing. But my instincts are never wrong. Well, except about Mark, that is.
‘So can I go?’ Danny asks. ‘Mitchell said I can, if it’s okay with you?’
My eyes swing to Mitchell, who nods reassuringly. And, for some reason, I can’t help but trust him. I caress Danny’s cheek. ‘Okay, love. I’ll be in in a minute – you go.’
We both watch as he scurries off happily.
Mitchell grins. ‘You’ve got yourself a little gent there, Rosie.’
I feel myself blushing like Laura when Alex is around. ‘Thanks. He really is a good boy. He’s my blessing.’
‘He wouldn’t stop talking about you all morning.’
‘Oh?’
Mitchell laughs. It’s a nice, hearty laugh that makes his eyes twinkle and crinkle at the corners. How can anyone resist the rugged looks, the captivating, sexy grin, and oh… that voice, so deep that it vibrates in your stomach? I touch my stomach instinctively, and Mitchell’s eyes flicker to my hand, but he says nothing.
‘Nothing embarrassing, I assure you. Which reminds me. I have to apologise to you. For our rocky start…’
I shrug. ‘That’s okay, I know you’re – I mean I imagine you’re under a lot of pressure.’
He nods. ‘Well, yes, but that’s not it. I misjudged you completely. I see that, and once again, I’m sorry.’
This must have been one monumental effort for someone as proud as him. ‘It’s all water under the bridge,’ I concede.
‘Thanks. And in case you hadn’t forgiven me at this point, here,’ he says, producing a bag containing coffee and doughnuts. ‘I know, I know, we have all this here, but sometimes you just need a little contact with the outside world, don’t you?’
‘Yeah.’ Which is something I think he has a bit too much of. ‘Got a minute?’
‘Sure.’ He passes me a coffee and a doughnut. Caffeine might just give me the courage to start the List of What’s Wrong With The Joint conversation. I’m dreading it, and I’m not even the one on the receiving end.
I take a deep breath. Here we go. ‘This is a gorgeous place, Mitchell…’
He takes a sip, purses his lips, swallows, and then turns to me, his dark eyes probing. ‘But…?’
‘It could be better,’ I say as kindly as possible.
‘I know. I’ve had a few blips along the way.’ He dips his head and looks up at me with an apologetic expression I’m not expecting. I didn’t think he could do spaniel eyes, and yet, in the space of a few hours, I am learning things about him that make him much more human and kinder than I thought. I’m actually seeing a side of him that I didn’t know existed, so different from his Arrogant Superman attitude.
‘Blips? You mean your wife… quitting?’ I say before I can stop myself. You see? I’m a natural disaster. I should stick to my own job. Honestly, I tried telling Susan that I’m not the right person for this mission. Mitchell, who is bringing his cup to his lips again, does a double take at the boldness of my question, his dark eyes wide with surprise.
And then he becomes guarded again. Like I’m trying to penetrate his deepest secrets and poking at his open wounds. It’s not what I mean to do. I’m on his side, of course.
‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry…’
‘Diane had nothing to do with the problems here. It’s all my fault.’
Well, if he’s in a mea culpa mood, he might just take some things on board all the more easily. ‘How so…?’ I ask.
He puts his cup down on the counter and rubs his face with both hands and then turns to grin at me, but I can tell he’s unhappy. ‘Bloody hell, where do I begin? My heart just isn’t in this place anymore. Do you have any idea how many hotels belong to this franchise?’
I seriously hope he doesn’t expect me to answer that.
‘Fifty-three. It’s become part of a faceless corporation now.’
Faceless corporation. If he only knew it did have a face, and that, for the next few weeks, it’s mine.
‘My dream is to open my own holiday cottages,’ he informs me, and we’re back to being friends again, hopefully.
‘Wow, that would be a stroke of genius. And one day, I’m sure you will.’ Hopefully, before HO sacks you.
‘Thank you.’
‘Well, for now, your biggest problem is sitting right in front of you. And I don’t mean me.’ Which, actually, I do, but we can’t tell him that, can we? And after the evaluation, when he’s found out about my role in it, I’ll be out of this place before he can say Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.
He looks around at his two-storey problem. ‘I’m listening…’
‘Well… the clientele, for instance.’
He rolls his eyes, dragging a hand through his loose, ebony curls. I can’t help but notice his hair looks very healthy, and I become conscious of my own limp blonde hair and want to cry with envy. ‘I know,’ he concedes. ‘I hate hen and stag parties.’
‘Well, you shouldn’t, because they are important, and not all parties are like these ones. There are also so many nice people. You just need to keep them away from the holiday season and concentrate on families.’
‘I’m in no position to refuse business, Rosie.’
‘No, but make it more family-friendly. Kit out the park and put in some kiddie stuff. Get some more horses. Open up the equestrian side of it.’
His dark eyes swing to mine. ‘You think?’
‘Yes, look at Danny. Lots of kids love horses. You could even have an equestrian school here. Or, you could make it available as a set location.’
‘What?’
Oh my word, the man is completely clueless about the important things in life. Like absolutely great TV. ‘This is Cornwall! Hello? Poldark? Rosamunde Pilcher? Agatha Christie?’
He makes a face. ‘Aren’t Agatha Christie’s stories set in Devon?’
A-ha. So he’s not a complete philistine. I laugh. ‘A lot has been shot in Cornwall. Don’t you know anything about your own county?’
He grins. ‘I’m not English, in case you didn’t notice.’
As if I hadn’t noticed how he can switch on the Irish charm when he wants. ‘So what brought you here?’ I ask.
He lifts his eyebrows as if to say ‘I’d like to know that, too’ and turns to look at me, resigned to telling me the truth. ‘I came for love.’
‘Diane?’
He nods and takes another sip of his coffee, but I think he’s just trying to hide his face in his cup. Strangely, he doesn’t strike me anymore as the arrogant twat he acted like only yesterday.
And I can’t seem to stay off this subject. It’s like I need to know everything, even if it’s not my business. They should call me Nosy Rosie. ‘I’m sorry about how that ended, by the way,’ I say. Which is true. No one should be abandoned like that. I should know, right?
Again, that quizzical smile. ‘Boy, does my staff gossip, or what?’
‘Oh, no. They love you, you know?’
He smiles. ‘And I don’t know where I’d be without them.’
Silence. How do you fill the awkward pauses?
He grins and leans in confidentially, like he’s telling me a secret. ‘In answer to your question about Di, I’m doing all right. Better than I’d thought. Thanks to Lola.’
I blink, my smile freezing on my face like instant icicles. ‘Lola?’
‘My little girl.’
‘Oh!’
‘She keeps me going with her cute face and adoring eyes. No matter what I do, she thinks I’m the best thing since pasties.’
Just like Danny. It was marvellous how blind love can make kids. ‘Awh. Do you not see her often?’
‘Mostly when she’s home for the holidays. She prefers to spend them here, rather than with her mother.’
‘That must be hard on Diane,’ I concede.
‘I wish it was. Diane only loves herself. And you? Any skeletons in the closet?’
I think about my secret mission, and the unopened letter in my glove compartment. I’m not letting anything spoil this Christmas, no matter what.
A gaggle of party hens clops by to distract us, high heels and heaving breasts. We watch them in silence as I try to figure out which one of them attracts his attention the most, but he turns to me.
‘I’ve always wondered why people choose Christmas for the A-list things. Getting married…’ he murmurs.
‘Going abroad…’ I add, then silently: Sacking employees…
Mitchell raises an eyebrow in a sardonic grin. ‘Dumping their partners…’
At the question on my face, he shrugs. ‘It was Christmas Eve, when I found out she had someone else. We had a fight and she left.’
‘Nice…’ I whistle, meaning exactly the opposite. ‘Was it out of the blue?’
He purses his lips and shrugs his shoulders in a sign of helplessness. ‘Was it? Dunno? I kind of had a feeling that things weren’t going very well. But I thought it was just one of those moments, you know, where you sit tight and wait for the storm to pass. But it never did. And then, she went.’
‘Did you miss her a lot?’ God, can I ask dumber questions?
‘If I did, I quickly changed my mind. You know, she always hated Cornwall. When we got these jobs together, I thought it was going to be the start of something great. But then the company grew overnight, and it’s not the same place it used to be. And she wanted to leave.’
‘How can you hate Cornwall?’ I ask in surprise.
He chuckles, draining the last of his coffee. ‘I know, right? She said she wanted to get as far away from here as possible.’
‘And go where?’
‘London. She’s a city gal.’
The opposite of me. I’d give ten years of my life to be able to escape the Big Smoke, and Susan, for that matter.
We sit there in amiable silence. I’ve still got a gazillion pointers to give him, but for now, it’s nice just to shoot the breeze. Susan would have a heart attack if she saw me fraternising with the plebs, as she calls us, sitting shoulder to shoulder, with (apparently) no care in the world.
‘Giving birth to babies,’ I suddenly say, and his brow furrows in confusion as he looks over at me. I laugh. ‘Another favourite Christmas activity. Danny was born on Christmas Eve.’
He chuckles. ‘Makes you wonder what people do the rest of the year.’
I search his face, and upon spotting the now familiar, endearing twinkle in his eye, I grin back. ‘Yeah. Makes you wonder.’
‘So… will we pass muster, do you think?’ he wants to know.
‘I’m not here to judge,’ I lie.
‘Of course you are,’ he says.
For a moment, I panic, searching his face, but then he smiles. It’s a cheeky grin, complete with tongue-licking lips. It’s very distracting and unnerving, considering that a) he’s sitting a breath away from me, looking right into my eyes, b) I haven’t flirted in years, and c) I have absolutely no right to do so with a future-ex-employee.
Good thing I’ll be gone in a few weeks’ time.
‘Are these roses for the bride?’ Mitchell asks, nodding to the box.
‘No,’ I answer sheepishly. ‘They’re for me.’
His face freezes in a smile. ‘Ah. Danny’s father? Or maybe some other bloke?’
My, he’s a bit nosy, though, isn’t he? I eye him. ‘There is no other bloke.’ Which sounds like I only have eyes for Mark, but if I hurry to correct myself and say that I’m actually single, it’ll sound like I’m on the prowl, which I’m not. I mean, I wouldn’t mind finding love again one day, but I’m not all that certain that I would be able to trust someone completely with my heart – and Danny’s. Heartbreak is not on the menu.
And speaking of which. I clear my throat. ‘If there’s nothing else, Mitchell, I need to prepare for tomorrow’s meeting with your chef, if you don’t mind.’
He is still watching me with an undefinable look, and then he straightens. ‘Yes. No, there’s nothing else, Rosie. Thank you.’
And we are back on uneasy terrain again, I can sense it. Why can’t we just have a normal conversation without ending up in these dead ends?
*
At the end of the day, Danny and I are exhausted. Or rather, I’m exhausted, while he’s elated. All through dinner in the dining room, he’s been talking about all the new horse-related – sorry, equestrian-related words he’s learnt. Even as he’s brushing his teeth, he’s telling me about how Jeremy did this or did that, and how Mitchell promised to let him hang out.
‘He’s so cool, Mitchell. Isn’t he, Mum?’
‘Yes, darling, he certainly is,’ I echo, and, happy with my answer, he spits and rinses.
I sit on my bed and toe off my shoes, waiting for him to free the bathroom where a nice hot shower awaits. What I wouldn’t give for a proper bath right now. That would make Cornwall absolute perfection.
‘I can’t wait for tomorrow,’ Danny enthuses as I tuck him in. Usually, he’s content going to bed early, but now he seems too excited, too wired to fall asleep.
‘Neither can I,’ I assure him. But it’s a lie. I don’t want it to be tomorrow so soon. I want to stay here, tuck him in and read him a fairy tale and sleep with him in my arms. Because that’s the only way I can spend time with him. Tomorrow he will be another day older, and another day wiser, and another day less my boy and more a boy discovering the world around him. I swipe at a tear, but not before turning off his bedside light. What the hell is wrong with me? I should be elated he has finally found his niche. And I am.
‘Mum?’ he whispers in the sudden darkness.
‘Yes, darling?’ I whisper back.
‘Be happy, Mum, while we’re here.’
I swallow and grope for his hand, which I gently squeeze. ‘I am happy, Danny. I am happy when you are happy, love.’
He squeezes back. ‘I am happy, Mum.’
‘I love you, Danny,’ I barely whisper, not wanting my voice to crack. Sentimental, yes. Pathetic, no.
‘I love you too, Mum,’ he says with a yawn and I kiss him on the cheek. My little man.
Content that all is well in our little world, I grab a towel and head for the shower, hoping I won’t fall asleep in there, and wondering at the same time where Mitchell is right now.
But I can’t sleep, still jittery from the roses. Mark knows I’m here. He’s called Head Office where he used to work – that’s how we’d met – and some old buddy of his gave him the tip. That’s the only explanation I can think of. And now, after years of silence, he’s suddenly interested in talking to me again?
*
My first visit of the next day is to the chef, Russell Jones, who is a cross between Schwarzenegger and Mr Clean, only with more swagger. His muscles are straining his T-shirt that threatens to burst at the seams. He gives me a flirty double-raise of the eyebrow as I knock on the door of his domain, the kitchen.
‘Come if you want,’ he warns me with a double-entendre tone.
‘Hi, uhm, my name’s Rosie Anderson? I’m helping Mitchell with a few things around here, so I thought I’d come and congratulate you for all the amazing reviews on your food.’
At that, his chest puffs up even more, and he pulls up a stool for me. ‘Sit yer lovely bottom on this,’ he says, and then turns away to lift a lid off a casserole. He dips a wooden spoon in it and promptly rests it before my mouth. ‘Taste.’
‘Oh? Oh, okay.’ It is a sort of pink cream. I scrape my index along the bottom of the spoon and pop it into my mouth, realising too late that he probably sees it as an open invitation of sexual nature. At least it looks like that by the way he’s watching me. ‘Strawberry?’ I venture.
‘Passionfruit…’ he swoons. ‘Orgasmic, isn’t it?’
‘Uhm, if you mean good, then yes. Very good.’
He puts his wooden spoon down and grins at me expectantly. ‘Food is like sex,’ he instructs me. ‘If you’re going to bother at all, make it special.’
‘I guess so,’ I say, completely at a loss. What do I know about sex?
‘Do you like food?’ he asks.
I’m not so sure we’re still speaking literally now. ‘Uhm, yeah, sure.’
‘Excellent. Now try my desserts. I have crème brûlée, baked Alaska and tiramisu, all with a twist.’
‘Ooh, yes, please,’ I say, my mouth beginning to water already, when my mobile rings. It’s Laura.
‘Rosie, I’ve confirmed you and Sally having a sit-down. She’s ready now, if you are.’
That’s the head of housekeeping. From what I’ve seen, she’s got all her ducks in a row and her work is flawless. But her timing isn’t.
‘Sure, tell her I’ll be right there.’
With great sadness, and eyeing the tiramisu in particular, I slide off my stool. ‘Thank you, Russell. By the way, that beef wellington the other night was the best thing I’ve ever had.’
‘That’s because you haven’t tried my other things,’ he says, waggling his eyebrows again.
How do you answer that? ‘I’ll see you soon, then. Thank you.’
‘I’ll be here,’ he promises with a wink.
Just before I sit down with Sally, Danny comes back from the stables for a quick hello. I haven’t seen him all morning, but from his flushed cheeks and confident stride, I realise he is truly in his element, and I’m delighted. In a way, it sort of makes up for me not being able to see as much of him. I might be missing him like crazy, but at least I know he is happy, safe, and learning about things he loves.
‘Your boy is lovely,’ Sally says as he skips off again.
‘Thank you.’
‘I miss mine being that young.’
‘How old is yours?’
‘My youngest was three only yesterday. Now he’s preparing for his GCSEs.’
I laugh. ‘It does go by quickly, doesn’t it?’
She smiles. ‘You enjoy him, Rosie. Before you know it, he’ll be bringing The One home. And then you’ll be babysitting.’
I can’t imagine what that would be like, but I know what she means. ‘Yesterday I was changing his diaper. And today he’s riding horses for the very first time. I confess I’m a little emotional.’
‘Jeremy’s a good man. Competent and kind. You can trust him.’
‘I do. I feel that Danny is protected. I knew Cornwall was a completely different world, but this goes beyond all my highest expectations.’
She smiles. ‘We are a close-knit community in Little Kettering. Besides, Mitchell would have our heads.’
‘He would?’
She winks. ‘Oh, yeah.’
Again, I have to admit to myself that I haven’t captured the essence of this man yet and how he came to be investigated. It still doesn’t make sense. One moment he’ll be a complete, arrogant ass, and then the next he’ll just take you by surprise with the kindest of gestures. Go figure.
Sally and I then discuss staff, shifts, whether there are any issues, and I offer her my complete availability if she is uncomfortable with anything.
‘You’re very good at your job, Rosie. You should take Diane’s place,’ she says with a smile.
‘I’ve got a job to get back to in London,’ I say, more to myself than to her. Because despite the fact that I didn’t want to be in this position, this place is really starting to grow on me.
That night, I crawl into bed with Danny, who rests his head on my chest while telling me about his day in the stables with Jeremy and his favourite horse, Mabel, that he hasn’t been able to ride yet.
‘I rode all of them, but haven’t managed to mount her yet,’ he says with regret. ‘She’s a sweet old mare, but has trust issues.’
I stifle a laugh. I’ve never heard my kid use that phrase before. Sally is right. Time does go by quickly, and I want to cherish every single moment now.
‘Jeremy says that if I insist and show my face every day and help brush her down, that eventually I’ll be able to ride her.’
‘Of course you will, darling,’ I assure him. ‘You can do anything you set your mind to.’
‘Do you really think so, Mum?’
I lift my head to look him in the face. ‘When have I ever been wrong about you?’
‘Never.’
‘And you will never be wrong about yourself as long as you believe you can do it.’
‘Thanks, Mum. I know. Even Mitchell says so.’
Mitchell says so? Huh.
He seems so happy already after two full days here. My fear of him feeling abandoned was altogether my usual exaggeration. But I also have the feeling I’ve missed him more than he’s missed me.
This room feels like home, the bed is amazingly comfy and welcoming, and I’m just about to drop off when Susan calls, scaring the crap out of me. I must change her tune to something a bit more relaxing. I groan as I fish my mobile from somewhere below Mitchell’s nightstand.
‘H’llo?’
‘Rosie!’
I sit up, ramrod straight. I hadn’t been dreaming after all. I clear my throat. ‘Yes, hi.’
‘You weren’t asleep, were you?’
I eye the clock on the nightstand. Midnight. ‘No, I was just, ehm, rereading some notes,’ I lie.
‘Good idea. Because the revision of the preliminary report you sent me is crap.’
I shift onto my side, trying to knock the sleep out of my brain. ‘I’m sorry?’
‘You should be – I’ve never read such drivel. Your report insists that there is nothing wrong with the place or the staff.’
‘That’s right, as far as I can see.’
‘Then you need to delve deeper. I didn’t send you there for a three-week holiday, Rosie.’
‘No, of course not.’
‘From now on, I want regular updates. I want theories, suspicions, and evidence to back up your suspicions.’
In other words, she wants to hang the bloke. ‘I’ll see what can be done,’ I promise, crossing my fingers.
‘You do that.’
‘Goodnight, Susan,’ I say, but she’s already hung up. I’d love to meet her parents one day and ask them a lot of questions about her childhood, because she is one messed-up woman.