Page 51 of The Holiday Cottage

She abandoned her suitcase and explored the cottage. The place was flooded with natural light, something that was lacking in her home in London.

There was a stylish living room with oak beams and windows that overlooked a walled garden, now covered in snow. Deep, comfortable sofas faced each other across a low coffee table stacked with books, but the focus of the room was an inglenook fireplace that was home to a wood burning stove. She imagined curling up in the evening in front of that fire, snuggled under one of the warm throws with a book. Leading off from the living room was a pretty kitchen. The cabinets were painted a soft creamy shade, there was a small kitchen island and everywhere she looked there were stylish hints of country living. In a corner nook by a window there was a dining table that overlooked the fields beyond.

There was a door on the far side of the kitchen and she opened it, expecting a storage cupboard.

“Oh—” She stared and then smiled, because the door led to a cozy den with a large flat-screen TV and an enormous modular sofa that encouraged the occupants to sprawl. Two of the walls were exposed stone, and the third was covered in well-stocked bookshelves.

She could happily have spent the entire holiday in this room alone, but she still had the upstairs to explore, so she headed back through the kitchen and up the stairs, feeling considerably more cheerful.

How lucky was she that Dorothy had offered this to her? How completely perfect.

She opened the door to the master bedroom. It had a vaulted ceiling and views across the countryside. Across snowy fields she could see a church spire. Presumably that was the village Dorothy had mentioned.

The bed was large and draped in pale shades of duck-egg blue. She was so tired after a run of sleepless nights that she had to stop herself from sliding between those sheets and closing her eyes. There was a bathroom tucked into the eaves and a small second bedroom, which had a desk facing across the garden.

The place was small, but luxurious and infinitely welcoming. She could see why it was popular with the influencer generation.

“Imogen?”

Dorothy’s voice carried upstairs, and Imogen took a last wistful look at the bed and headed back down the stairs to the front door.

Dorothy was standing in the doorway, wrapped up in a thick coat and a warm scarf. She was clutching a cake tin and by her side was a spaniel, who bounded across to Imogen, tail wagging.

Delighted, she stooped to pet him, comforted by his enthusiasm and the warmth of his greeting. “Aren’t you gorgeous?”

Dorothy looked interested. “This is Bailey. You like dogs? Do you have one of your own?”

Imogen straightened. “I do like dogs, and no, I don’t have one.” She wasn’t going there again. From now on it was the truth all the way.

She’d called the woman from Facebook and explained that it was all a big mix-up. Fortunately, the woman hadn’t questioned her too closely on how her dog had featured in the “missing dog” post. Janie had been messaging her, and Imogen had told her that it was all a misunderstanding and that she’d explain when she saw them next.

Exactly what explanation she was going to give was something she had yet to figure out.

She felt Bailey nudge her leg with his nose, and for a moment she wished he was hers.

Dorothy tugged off her boots and left them on the doorstep. “How was your journey? The roads are pretty icy around here. They clear the main roads first when there is a snowfall, and we’re often last.”

“It was fine, thank you. I only arrived about ten minutes ago.”

“And you’ve looked around? Is everything all right for you?”

“It’s gorgeous, Dorothy. I can’t believe you’re letting me stay here.” It was something she’d wondered about frequently over the past few days. She and Dorothy had always got on well, but still—lending her a cottage?

Why?

Dorothy was obviously more generous than even Imogen had thought, although she did intend to pay her, obviously.

“It’s my pleasure, Imogen. I brought you a cake I baked earlier.” She held out the tin. “Shall we have a cup of tea and I can tell you a little about the place? There’s a local map in the file in the living room, but it’s almost easier if I point out of the window.”

Imogen made tea, finding her way around the kitchen under Dorothy’s direction, and then they sat at the table together.

“The village is worth a visit.” Dorothy stirred sugar into her tea. “It dates back to Roman times and it’s pretty, with some interesting shops. It’s an easy walk from here. Even with snow on the ground the footpath should be easy to find. It leads straight across the fields. You’ll see the church spire in the distance. It’s visible from everywhere. Use that as a landmark to guide you.”

“It’s so cozy and comfortable here I might not step out of the front door for my entire stay.” Imogen leaned down to stroke Bailey.

“I should have said that if there is someone you want to invite—” Dorothy picked up her mug “—a friend—someone special—please go ahead. Treat the place as your own.”

Who would she invite?

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