Page 63 of The Holiday Cottage

Imogen

Imogen stumbled through the snow. Her eyes stung, and she wasn’t sure if it was the cold or tears. She was going with the cold. Shenever cried. Even when her mother had publicly announced that Imogen was the worst thing that had happened to her, Imogen hadn’t cried. But surely crying right now would be understandable.

Dorothy was her grandmother. Dorothy!

It didn’t make sense. None of it made sense.

Dorothy, whom she’d worked with for almost two years and trusted, had lied to her. Not for one minute had Imogen suspected she was hiding such a big secret.

But why would she have suspected?

Who would ever think that a person would be hiding something like that?

It felt worse because she didn’t usually allow herself to get close to anyone. She was cautious. She kept her real self hidden behind the persona she’d created. She considered herself pretty much invulnerable. She wrapped and padded her feelings and then encased them in solid steel so that no one could get to them. She didn’t give people the ability to hurt her, but Dorothy had hurt her.

She’d trusted Dorothy, and it turned out that all this time she’d been keeping a huge secret.

Lying. Was it lying? Maybe not exactly, but it amounted to the same thing.

All those meetings they’d had together, all the laughter they’d shared, and it turned out that all along this woman who Imogen had liked and admired more than anyone she knew, wasn’t who she seemed.

She’d sneaked her way into Imogen’s affections by not being honest about who she was. She’d obviously known that if she told the truth, Imogen would want nothing to do with her. What other possible explanation was there?

She’d thought Dorothy respected her work, but maybe it wasn’t that. Would she have moved her business to RPQ if it hadn’t been for their relationship?

She felt betrayed and shaken. What was real? What was true?

Was Dorothy in contact with Tina?

The ground gave way beneath her, literally this time, and she yelped with shock as she slithered down a short bank and into a ditch. Her feet broke though the thin layer of snow and ice and she lost her balance and sat down hard in the freezing water of the stream she hadn’t even known was there.

Shocked, she didn’t move, but then she felt icy water seeping through her boots and her clothes.

Great. Just great.

She scrambled to her feet and squelched her way up the bank to the other side. She’d been so upset and deep in her own thoughts she hadn’t noticed that she’d gradually veered toward the edge of the field.

And now she was soaked as well as miserable, which just proved that life had a grim sense of humor.

Shivering, she looked around her and tried to work out where she was, but it was snowing hard now and there were no landmarks visible, just trees, fields and snow. She’d walkedmuchfarther than she’d thought, and there was no sign of the cottage.

Follow the church spire, Dorothy had said, but where was the church spire?

You can see it from everywhere.

Not when it was snowing, apparently.

She didn’t even have her phone because she’d fled the house without remembering to grab her coat and bag.

For a brief moment, anxiety swamped misery. She was freezing cold and she had no idea where she was. Storming off across the fields had been another of her less than brilliant ideas, not quite as bad as Midas the fake dog, but pretty close.

She hadn’t been thinking of anything except the fact that Dorothy was her grandmother, and that she’d hidden that fact.

There was so much she needed to digest. Rosalind had let her keep her job, but there was no way Imogen was going to be able to work with Dorothy now. What would happen?

It was too much. Toobig.

Shivering, her survival instincts kicked in and she forced herself to concentrate on the moment. If she didn’t get herself somewhere warm and dry, the next thing that would happen would be hypothermia.

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