Page 112 of The Holiday Cottage

“At six?” Understanding spread across Sara’s face, along with a smile. “He left the cottage at six? That explains it.”

“Explains what?”

Sara caught her mother’s eye. “Why you’re—er—looking a little tired. How maddening for you not being able to have a lie-in and a slow start to the day.”

“I don’t mind. That’s his job, isn’t it?”

“True.”

“I like the fact that he cares about his work so much. I’m the same.”

“He’s a good person. Also smoking hot—”

Dorothy gave a start. “Sara!”

Sara grinned at Imogen. “We’ll have that conversation when your grandmother isn’t in the room.”

“I’m not a prude,” Dorothy said, “just more respectful of people’s privacy than you are.”

“I’m respectful of people’s privacy normally,” Sara protested, “but Imogen is family so that gives me probing rights.”

Dorothy was about to contradict her when she saw the glow on Imogen’s face.

She’d been racking her brains for something special she could buy to make Imogen feel part of their family unit, and Sara had managed it with a few intrusive words and one emphatic statement.

Imogen is family.

Dorothy cleared her throat. “Just remember, Imogen,” she said briskly, “that being family gives you the right to tell your well-meaning but interfering aunt to keep her questions and observations to herself.”

Imogen stole another mince pie. “It’s good to have someone to talk to about it.”

“It’s a shame Miles was working today,” Sara said. “But I suppose at least one of you had a lie-in.”

“Not really. I got up at six and made him coffee and a bacon sandwich. It’s cold out there and you know how hungry he gets.” Imogen finished the mince pie. “These are the best, Dorothy. I’d happily eat nothing else for the rest of my life. Do you know how to make boeuf bourguignon? And if so, will you teach me?”

“Yes. But why do you need to make it?”

Imogen blushed. “Because yesterday when we were talking about our favorite foods, Miles mentioned that he loves it. I’m cooking him dinner tomorrow and I thought I’d surprise him. And I hope you don’t mind, but I invited him to the play tonight and he said yes. He said he’d help with Benson.”

Dorothy stared at her. “Miles is coming to the school play? Are you sure?”

Sara was laughing. “Oh, Imogen, Imogen—”

“What? Should I not have invited him?”

“I invite him every year,” Dorothy said, “particularly if they want to borrow animals. He always refuses.”

“In the past he has found himself either dodging amorous mothers or questions about pets,” Sara said dryly. “He probably thinks that if he’s with you, he has protection.”

“I do have a black belt in jujitsu.” Imogen flexed her biceps. “Not that I think he’ll need my protection. He has muscles of his own.”

Sara rested her chin on her palm. “Tell us more, Imogen.”

“Ignore her,” Dorothy advised. “Now back to that casserole. It’s all in the quality of the meat and wine. We could go to the farm shop together to buy all the ingredients, and then we could make it in your kitchen at Holly Cottage.”

“Are you sure you have time?”

“Absolutely. We’ll make extra for the freezer.” Dorothy walked to the kitchen shelves, selected a book and opened it to the right page. “This is the recipe I use, although I adapt it slightly. You’ll see my notes in the margin. You’ll need to make a shopping list.”

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