Page 53 of The Holiday Cottage

“I would have suggested that four weeks is a great opportunity for long-haul travel. The Caribbean is great at this time of year.”

“Maybe I should have said that, but there was something about her. She seemed—” Dorothy rubbed her fingers across her forehead. “Why isn’t she spending Christmas with family, Sara?”

Their eyes met and held.

Then Sara looked away, as if she couldn’t bear the question in Dorothy’s eyes. “I don’t know. And that is not our business. She’s a stranger. A stranger.” She enunciated the word carefully. “She’s not your responsibility, Mum.”

“I know that. But—”

“Mum!”

“I’m sorry.” Dorothy had a knot of anxiety in her stomach. “Having her in the cottage shouldn’t interfere with you at all, but I shouldn’t have issued the invitation for lunch. I see that now. I didn’t think it through. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Sara’s expression softened. “I know that.” She crossed the room and hugged her mother and Dorothy hugged her back.

“Forgive me.”

“Forgive you for being kind and generous?” Sara eased away. “It’s who you are, and that is never going to change. But I must admit sometimes I wish you weren’t quite so generous.”

“I’m going to change. I am going to learn to say no. And I think I’m getting better at it. I did say no to Miles the other day when he tried to tempt me with a kitten.”

Sara shook her head, but this time there was laughter in her eyes. “That’s the best you can do? You are a lost cause.”

“Maybe.” Dorothy glanced at the corner of the room. “What’s in the bag you brought?”

“The girls’ clothes for their party later. Ava can’t stay clean for five minutes so if she wore her dress now she’d look like a wreck by the time we get there. She can change before we leave.”

The village Christmas party. She’d forgotten, probably because all the room in her head had been taken up by Imogen. “What fun for them. I roasted a chicken for lunch.” Dorothy opened the oven to check on the chicken. “Doesn’t it smell delicious? Organic, from the farm. It was a gift from Valerie for the casseroles I made her. And I’ve made an apple pie.”

“It does smell good. I brought extra carrots and parsnips, as requested.” Sara opened the bag on the table and then stopped. “What are we going to talk about? This is awkward. I actually feel nervous.”

“She’s very easy to get along with. It will be good for you to have an opportunity to get to know her properly.”

“I don’t want to get to know her properly.” There was a note of panic in Sara’s voice. “What am I supposed to do? What am I supposed to say?”

“Just be your usual kind, welcoming self and leave the rest to me.” But she could see now that this did have the potential to be awkward.

Sara sat down at the kitchen table, her shoulders slumped. “What time is she arriving?”

“Any moment.” Wishing the whole thing was over, Dorothy sprinkled a few extra sprigs of fresh thyme onto the chicken and carefully returned it to the oven. “What time do you have to take the girls to the party in the village?”

“Four o’clock.” Sara looked at her. “I can’t do this.”

Dorothy closed the oven door and straightened. “You don’t have to do anything. Just enjoy lunch.”

“But that’s the point. I can’t enjoy it. I’m so tense and stressed I feel as if I might explode.” Sara’s voice wobbled. “I think I’ll go home, Mum. Tell her I didn’t feel well. Tell her one of the girls was sick. Tell her anything you like, but I’m not staying. I’m sorry, but I can’t do this.” She stood up just as Ava skipped into the room with Bailey at her heels.

“What can’t you do, Mummy?” Ava did a twirl and almost fell over the dog. “You can do anything if you try. That’s what you always say to me. I’m practising my ballet, Nanna. Watch me.”

“I’m watching, sweetie. Move away from Bailey or you’re going to pirouette right into him.” Dorothy was also watching her daughter. She saw Sara pull herself together. Swiftly the emotion was masked with a smile, albeit a strained one.

“We’re not staying for lunch, Ava. I have a headache.” Sara looked so pale and tired it wasn’t a claim anyone was likely to argue with. “Where’s Iris?”

Ava stopped twirling and frowned. “But Nanna made chicken with my favorite potatoes. And you said I have to eat a proper lunch or all the sugar at the party will make me sick.”

“I’ll make you something at home. Iris!”

“But I want chicken.”

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