“And this one is yours.” He hands me a set of keys and hangs back, letting me go first. I open the door and step inside. The door opens into the living room, where there’s a large couch and a woodburner. I investigate and find a dining room as well as a decent sized kitchen. It’s larger than Pete’s tiny cottage and definitely nicer than my Manchester flat. The floors are all hardwood with cosy rugs adding colour and warmth.
“It is furnished, but feel free to change it. We can move stuff out. I’m sure you have your own things,” Gabriel says trailing after me. Surprisingly little really. I have no attachment to most of my furniture and a lot of it would look out of place in this setting. Apart from my clothes, a few pictures and keepsakes, and my books, I probably won’t want much. Except for my Eames chair. I paid a lot for that and I love it.
“It’s fine. Perfect, really. Thank you,” I say coming down the stairs after discovering two bedrooms and a modern bathroom with a large shower on the upper level. I return to the kitchen to check out what appliances I’ll want to bring with me as well. My coffee machine and my large four slice toaster for a start. Then I spy the basket on the counter.
“Oh, my mother sent you a few things to get you started,” Gabriel says.
“That’s lovely, how is Mim?” I find it easy to slip into the familiar name she likes being called.
“She’s good and looking forward to seeing you again. In fact, she insisted I invite you to dinner tonight.”
“I’m not sure I’m ready for that. I’ve only just arrived back.” I hesitate.
“You want me to tell her no?” Gabriel makes a jokey grimace face and I laugh. Mim is kind but she’s also quite formidable. Once she’s made up her mind there’s very little you can do to dissuade her, and you can’t help but obey. I think it comes from being part of the aristocracy. I know where Gabriel gets it from, and as if to prove the point he says, “Please Charley.” And I know I won’t refuse.
CHAPTER TEN
GABRIEL
I can’t help the sharp intake of breath I take as Charley is shown into the drawing room before dinner. He looks incredible in black trousers, light grey shirt, and a soft blue jumper that matches the colour of his eyes perfectly.
“Charley!” I say a bit too loudly, trying to cover up that my brain and body stalled looking at him. I can feel my sister’s sharp eyes on me as I cross the room quickly. I get close enough to catch his scent. He smells of pine forests and promises, and I want to hug him, revel in that earthy, soft warmth, but instead I gesture towards where my mother is standing by the hearth. As he moves forward, I begin to place my hand on his lower back but then snatch it away again, not sure if he’d be alright with it. Damn this is confusing. I take a deep breath to stop my sigh from leaking out.
“Mim, you look radiant as always,” Charley says with easy charm, and my mother draws him into a hug, the lucky woman.
“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Charley, we’ve missed you at our table. But I hope that will change now and you’ll be a frequent guest.” She stands back, holding onto his forearms and looking up at him. “I always knew you’d turn into a very handsome man.” My mother is always forthright, but never rude like some forward people can be.
“Thank you.” Charley turns a delicious shade of rose pink under his freckles and my heart speeds up a little. She releases him with a smile and he turns towards Imogen, a tiny frown showing on his face.
“Is this Immy?”
“Aww surely you recognise me,” she says, walking over to him, and he smiles.
“Hardly, you’re not fifteen any more.” He pulls a quizzical face. “Can I still call you Immy, or do you prefer Imogen now?”
“My friends still call me Immy, so yes, you can. As long as you promise not to pull my pigtails any more.” She laughs, her sleek bobbed hair swaying slightly.
“As I recall, I only did it once, and that was when I was thirteen and you were about ten and deserved it.” His eyes twinkle as he laughs.
“Then time has treated our memories very differently. It is good to see you again, come here.” She too hugs him, and a settled feeling fills my chest. Contentment that my family have welcomed him like he’s hardly been away. He smiles at me over her shoulder and I swallow. It’s just me he’s still awkward with. But that’s understandable, my family didn’t hurt him.
“This is Oliver, my husband.” She leads him over to Oliver and introduces them. “We run a holiday business, renting out our own villas in Spain as well as acting as agents for a few other owners in the area.” Oliver offers his hand to Charley, who shakes it, and Oliver puts his arm across Immy’s shoulders. I’ll always be grateful to Oliver for stepping in and buying our villa when I needed to sell it. It started his business and it’s how he met Immy. I’m also glad the villa has stayed within the family and I can still use it occasionally.
Philips appears and announces that dinner is ready. My mother likes to uphold some traditions and I go over to her, offering my arm so I can escort her in. This doesn’t happen every day, rarely at all, family dinners are much more informal, but as Charley’s a guest, my mother wanted to make the effort.
I show my mother to her seat at the head of the table. By rights that’s where I should sit, and when we have enough people to fill the table, which seats twelve, I usually take the end opposite her. But I know she prefers being at the head where she can keep an eye on everything, and as there are only five of us, I’m happy to sit to her left. I’ve put Charley next to me, with Immy and Oliver opposite.
Philips serves the soup and we start. We talk about Immy and Oliver’s business, with Charley asking lots of questions. After the bowls are cleared and the main course served, talk turns to the centre.
“How are the plans for opening going?” Oliver asks, and I glance at Charley to see if he wants to answer. He nods at me and begins to explain, very positively I’m pleased to see.
“The only problem I have is making sure we get enough promotion. We need to find a marketing person.”
“What about Oscar?” Oliver sits back slightly, aiming the question at me.
“Who’s Oscar?” Charley swings his head between us, looking confused.
“Oliver’s brother,” I reply and turn back to Oliver. “Is he in marketing? I thought he was a showjumper.”
