Page 45 of The Holiday Cottage

“I won’t?”

“No, because you won’t be working for the next month. At all. On anything. You won’t be looking at emails and you won’t be taking calls.”

Her sense of relief evaporated. “But—I thought I wasn’t fired.”

Rosalind sighed. “You’re not fired. But although we agree that you’re an asset, there is still the problem that you are overloaded, and I’m not convinced that you’re actually capable of slowing down the way things are at the moment. If we carry on like this, something is going to give, and I don’t want that to be you. So I’m going to do you a favor, although I’ll probably curse myself for it. You’re taking a month off.”

“A month?” She must have misheard that, surely. Rosalind couldn’t possibly have meant a month.

“Yes. You’ve accrued holiday. I’m insisting that you take it.”

“But we’re not allowed to take more than two weeks in one go.” She knew for a fact that Rosalind had refused to give Janie a month off to go to New Zealand in the summer. No one ever took more than two weeks at a time. “Those are the rules.”

Rosalind tapped her pen on the desk. “I make the rules, Imogen. It’s one of the advantages of being the boss. And I’m giving you special permission to take all the leave owing to you.”

“Oh, but it’s fine, Rosalind, and I don’t want—”

“A month, Imogen. I checked with HR. You have taken two days so far this year. It’s not healthy. You’ll take the rest of the holiday now. It will give you time to focus on yourself and family, have a good rest and return refreshed in the new year. Have a wonderful Christmas with that family of yours. Breathe fresh air, go for long walks, bake cookies, do whatever it is you like to do to relax—” she waved a hand vaguely, clearly unsure as to what people did do to relax “—and return to work refreshed. We’ll see you back here in the second week of January and at that point we will sit down and work out how to make your workload more manageable.”

Imogen was appalled. “The second week of January?”

“Yes, and I don’t want to see a single email from you in my inbox before that date.”

This was a nightmare. Christmas was always a difficult time of year for her, and she normally only had to survive a few days. But a month? A whole month of watching other people getting excited, decorating their houses, Christmas shopping, getting ready for the big day. A whole month to sit alone in her tiny apartment, staring at the same walls she stared at all year, dwelling on what had happened with her mother.

“It’s kind of you to offer, but I’d rather work, Rosalind.”

“This is not a negotiation. It’s an order and it’s not open for discussion.” Rosalind stood up, indicating that the meeting was over. “I believe you have lunch with Dorothy today. You’ll keep that meeting as the two of you have such a good relationship, and then you’ll go home afterward. Explain to Dorothy that you are taking leave that is owed to you. If any work issues arise, she can contact me.”

She didn’t want leave. She didn’t want to focus on herself, and she definitely didn’t want to focus on the family she didn’t have. It was going to kill her. This was almost worse than being fired. At least if she’d been fired, she could have filled the time looking for another job. Kept busy. Had a purpose.

The small child in her wanted to blame her mother, but the adult knew that would achieve nothing. Rosalind clearly wasn’t going to budge, so all she could do now was accept it and find a way to fill the next month.

Could life get any worse?

There was a tap on the door, and Imogen glanced up as the door opened and Janie tentatively poked her head round.

Something about her expression made Imogen think that her life was about to get worse.

“Sorry to interrupt, but I have some sort of good news about Midas. As you know, we’ve all been working to track him down.”

Imogen relaxed slightly. She wasn’t worried. You couldn’t track down a dog that didn’t exist.

“And we’ve found him.”

Rosalind raised her eyebrows. “You’ve found Midas? Janie, that’s wonderful news.”

Imogen froze. It wasn’t wonderful news. In fact, it wasn’t possible. She had no idea what was coming next, but it couldn’t be good.

“Yes.” Janie gave a helpless shrug. “But it’s all a bit weird and awkward. A woman phoned. She lives somewhere in Suffolk. How Midas got himself all the way out there I have no idea, although you did always say he was an intelligent dog, Imogen, so maybe he snuck onto a train or something—anyway, this woman says she has Midas.”

“Good work, Janie,” Rosalind said, “although I don’t see why that’s weird or awkward.”

Janie sneaked a look at Imogen. “It’s awkward because she’s claiming that Midas is hers, except that his name isn’t Midas. She calls him Hunter. She recognized the photo we posted and said we stole it from her Facebook page. Which is obviously total nonsense. I told her, it’s the photo Imogen has on her desk, but she insists that Midas-Hunter is her dog. It’s disgusting the lengths some people will go to. Anyway, I took her number and said Imogen would call her back. I’m sure it’s all a misunderstanding. Or maybe you should call the police and let them handle it.”

Imogen couldn’t formulate a response. She’d taken the photo from social media, not thinking for a moment that the decision would come back to bite her. What were the chances? She shouldn’t have told people he’d escaped. She should have just had him put down.But then she would have been a dog murderer.

Rosalind spoke first. “I’m sure there is a simple explanation.”

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