Page 1 of The Holiday Cottage

1

Imogen

It began as a casual conversation and Imogen wasn’t quite sure at what point things had started to go so wrong. It wasn’t her fault. At least, notallher fault. She’d wanted to be friendly, that was all. To form a bond with her colleagues. That wasn’t a crime, was it? It was almost a requirement of open-plan offices. They created an atmosphere of familiarity. Sitting side by side and across from the people you worked with encouraged confidences and chat, and allowed for the gradual absorption of tiny granules of information that you didn’t even realize you’d overheard. It was intimacy by osmosis.

“Hey, Imogen.” Anya glanced at her across the desk. She was a makeup addict and spent at least half an hour of every day extolling the virtues of her latest find. Today her eyelids glittered like an ornament on a Christmas tree. “Did you see the email from the boss? She’s planning a ‘bring your dog to work day’ the week before Christmas.”

“I saw the email.” Her day had gone downhill from there. Bonding with her colleagues was important, but she liked to keep her work life and her homelife separate. “Did you get the costings for those venues, Anya? I have to send that proposal to Rosalind to check before it goes to the client at lunchtime.”

Pets, clothes, makeup, diets, travel, food, movies, books, bad dates and irritating clients. That covered the bulk of the conversation that bounced around the office.

“Just waiting on the last two. Isn’t it a brilliant idea? Every dog wears a festive outfit and Rosalind picks the winner. All for charity. It will be so much fun. I’m wondering whether I can persuade my little Cocoa to wear antlers. Generally, he hates having his head touched, so maybe not. But we get to dress up too. I bought a new sparkly highlighter on Saturday. Perfect for Christmas. There was a discount if you bought two, so I got one for you too.” She passed it across the desk to Imogen.

“That’s for me?” She took it, surprised and touched. “Why?”

“Just because.” Anya shrugged and grinned. “Call it a thank-you for helping me out of that sticky client situation last week. Also, you have great cheekbones and it will look good on you.”

Imogen felt an unexpected sting in her throat. She remembered her first day at the company when Anya had presented her with a frosted cupcake and a pen that glowed in the dark.You’re going to be working late so you’ll need this.

It was hard to believe she’d been here for almost a year. She’d started her new job a few days before Christmas and had barely got started before the office had closed for the festive break.

“I love it, thank you.” She checked the time and felt a flash of panic. She didn’t miss deadlines. Not ever. And this one was too close for comfort. She wanted to call and get the costings herself, but she was Anya’s manager and was supposed to be helping her develop, so she needed to stop doing things herself. The restraint almost killed her. It was so much easier and safer to do it herself. At least then she could be confident it would be done on time, with no mistakes. “Will you chase those venues urgently? Those are the last numbers I need to finish this.”

“Sure, I’ll do it now. I saw a lipstick that would look great on you, Imogen. Maybe we could go shopping together one lunchtime. And if you’re looking for doggy outfits, I saw a cute red Santa coat on the internet that would look great on a golden retriever. Or do you already have something in mind?” Anya was more interested in the idea of everyone bringing their dogs to work than she was in doing actual work. “You will be bringing Midas, won’t you?”

Realizing there was no chance of getting those costings until she finished the dog conversation, Imogen glanced at the photograph on her desk.

Huge brown eyes gazed back at her and she felt a sudden pang.

Bring your dog to workday.

She touched the photo with the tips of her fingers. “I’m not sure if I’ll be able to bring him.” She definitely wouldn’t be bringing him, but she still had to work out how best to present that fact to her colleagues without alienating them. And then she had a brain wave. “He’s not been well. The vet has kept him for a few nights.”

“What? No! Midas is ill? And you didn’t tell us?” Anya put her pen down and looked at Janie. “Janie, did you know Midas was ill?”

Janie glanced at them, her ponytail swinging across her back. She was a fitness fanatic and used the gym for an hour every morning when everyone else was still asleep. Occasionally, she paced up and down the office just to get her step count up.

“Midas is ill?” Janie rejected a client phone call and focused on Imogen. “That’s awful. What happened? Was it the dog walker’s fault? Did she let him eat something he shouldn’t have eaten?”

“No, nothing like that.” Maybe illness hadn’t been the best way to go. She should have played along and then found a reason for Midas to be absent on the day.He stepped on something and he has to rest his paw.“It’s not important. Look, if you could get the last of those costings that would be great, because I need to finish this document and the deadline is—”

“Of course it’s important! This is your dog we’re talking about. What is more important than that? The client can wait.”

“The client can’t wait,” Imogen said. “We’re in a competitive business. There are new events companies springing up every day. It’s important that we exceed expectations.”

“We will. We’ll do a great job on the event itself. We always do, particularly with you in charge. But this is just a proposal. No one is going to die if it’s a few hours late. You can pause for two minutes, Imogen,” Anya said. “You worked over the weekend supervising those events, and you didn’t take a day off on Monday. You work too hard.”

Too hard? There was no such thing astoo hard.

She loved her job. Her job waseverything. She was a natural multitasker and handled twice as many accounts as everyone else. She did whatever it took to win business and keep the client, and she did that through experience, attention to detail, creativity and sheer hard work. She was good at what she did. And that wasn’t only her opinion. In her previous company she’d moved up to the lofty heights of management so quickly a jealous colleague had left an oxygen mask on her desk.

But now she had a team of six to manage, and occasionally she wished she could just do all the work herself rather than delegate. Anya, in particular, seemed to feel no particular sense of urgency about anything. She was generous and kind, but maddeningly slow to complete tasks. She told everyone that work-life balance was essential to her, but Imogen rarely saw her focus on the work side of that equation.

It was like trying to run a race with six weights attached to her waist.

She was going to have to speak to Anya. There was no avoiding it. She needed to have a “conversation” about commitment and goals. Managing Anya would take her away from doing actual client work, which meant she’d be working longer hours.

Work-life balance? There was no balance for Imogen, but she didn’t mind. This was her choice.

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