The sound of the doorbell startled her, but it shouldn’t have done because a glance at her watch told her it was 7 p.m. and her daughter was never late.
She would have liked a little more time to compose herself, but that wasn’t an option. Fortunately, she’d had decades of experience making sure the way she looked didn’t reflect the way she felt. She knew how to appear cool and collected even when on the inside she was fierce and fighting.
Alexandra put her glass down carefully, took a moment to smooth her hair and steady herself before sliding her feet back into her shoes and walking through the house to open the door.
Abby stood there and Alexandra felt emotion tighten in her chest.
Her daughter. Her family.
Looking at her now she felt not one single regret about the decisions she’d made. She’d given none of her baggage to her daughter. She’d left it behind and built a new life.
Abby had changed into a white linen dress, and she was clutching a bottle of wine and a small white box tied with a blue bow.
She looked poised and elegant and thankfully untouched by the grimmer side of life.
“It feels strange doing this on a Monday when our usual routine is Friday. As it’s going to be our last evening together for a while before I head off to Cornwall for the summer, I brought wine and dessert.” Abby stepped inside and sniffed the air. “Something smells good. You’ve been cooking.”
Occasionally they went out for dinner, but tonight Alexandra hadn’t been able to trust her emotions sufficiently tostep out in public. She’d needed the sanctuary of her own home and garden.
“It’s just chicken.” Just chicken, but the herbs were fresh from her garden, and the olive oil and garlic had come from her favourite Italian store two blocks away. Normally cooking soothed her, but this evening she barely remembered throwing it all together. It had done nothing for her stress levels. “I have to mix a dressing and then we can eat.”
“I’ll mix the dressing. You’ve been working all day too, you shouldn’t do all the cooking.”
Abby took the wine and the box through to the kitchen and pulled out plates and cutlery.
Then she rooted through the cupboards and found what she needed for a dressing.
They worked together seamlessly, as they had for all the years Abby had lived at home. It was a familiar routine, and one Alexandra still missed even though Abby had been living in her own apartment for years.
Abby mixed oil and vinegar, added a little mustard and ground pepper. “I must admit I was shocked when you decided to send me to Cornwall. I never would have expected you to go in that direction. I thought you’d sell. I’d love you to talk me through your thinking.”
Alexandra reached for water glasses from the cupboard.
Invariably during the evenings they spent together they talked about work, but tonight she didn’t want to. She had no intention of explaining her decision.
“The hotel is in the perfect location.” She put water glasses on a tray and added napkins. “If I was looking at it now, I’d consider it a perfect addition to our portfolio. I think the disappointing performance of the last few years merits further investigation. And you’re the person to do it.”
“Thank you. I’m excited.” Abby dipped a salad leaf intothe dressing and tasted it. “Tell me everything. The more detail the better.”
Alexandra’s mouth dried. “Everything? I’m not sure I know what you mean.”
“Weather, what clothes I should pack, what the people are like, any strange local customs I need to know about—”
Alexandra relaxed slightly. Abby was asking her about the place, not the past.
Since when had she been this jumpy?
“The weather is changeable so pack layers. And as for customs—remember jam, then cream.”
“Excuse me?”
“A Cornish cream tea. A fresh scone, sliced in half and topped with jam and then clotted cream. The order matters.”
She tipped olives into a bowl and added the bowl to the tray.
“You remember that detail from when you were there?”
“I served hundreds of cream teas to guests over the summers I worked at the hotel. Probably thousands.” She’d had blisters on her feet from walking at speed between the sunny sea view terrace and the kitchen. She’d done battle with wasps who were attracted to the jam, and squirming toddlers bored from sitting. Her face had ached from smiling. Her head had ached from lack of sleep because she’d been working three jobs at the time. Her stomach had ached from anxiety and stress and beneath it all had been anger.
