‘Oh,’ Amy said, crestfallen. At that point, she hadn’t even knownherselfhow she felt.
‘Can I ask you something?’ she went on. ‘I think I already know the answer, but I’d like to be sure. RomFest– Sam’s involvement in it– it’s personal, isn’t it? It’s his money he’s investing, not the estate’s.’ Amy couldn’t put her finger on precisely when she’d come to this realisation; it was as if it had always been there, sitting just beneath the surface of her consciousness, waiting for her to notice and raise it up.
Meg nodded her head, looking torn. Amy could tell she was breaking her word to Sam even by confirming what Amy had already figured out.
‘And the plan is to put the profits back into the estate, right?’ Amy continued. ‘Even though that’s not where the capital came from. It’s to save the houses that were going to be sold. Prevent Barbara and Dave, and the other affected villagers, from having to move. Isn’t it?’
‘That’s about right, yes,’ Meg said reluctantly. ‘Sam managed to convince my father to let him trial letting out the grounds at his own risk, on the basis that he’d stump up some cash for renovations if it worked. The money Sam’s put into RomFest is his inheritance from our maternal grandparents. I spent my share on this cottage. The pub deal has helped with saving the houses, too– it means there’s a bit more cash sloshing around for my parents, at least for now, and you know that’s all they care about.’
Amy shook her head in disapproval she didn’t bother trying to hide, then went on. ‘And … when Sam talks about preserving the Hall– he doesn’t mean that in the same way your parents do, does he?’
Again, Meg looked strained at having to confirm or deny Amy’s speculations. ‘No. It’s a question of not letting the place fall apart, rather than having any desire to live in it. He and I obviously talk about it, and I know he’ll involve me in any decision he makes even though he won’t technicallyhaveto as sole heir … It may be that we can open up the house to tourists and keep a wing for the family; it may be that the whole thing goes into state ownership. But he doesn’t want it to crumble away to nothing– neither of us does. It’s a beautiful building. It shouldn’t be rotting in private when it could be enjoyed by the public. But Amy,’ Meg said seriously, ‘you should talk to Sam about all this.’
‘You’re right,’ Amy said. ‘I do need to talk to him– about a lot of things, though I’ve no idea how or where to start. All this stuff, though. About the Hall, the estate, Barb and Dave’s house … About whether Sam’s intentions were good … I should have ignored my stupid, misguided assumptions and listened to what my gut– myheart– has been trying to tell me all along. I should never have needed to ask.’
Chapter 27
While there was no longer any question over Amy’s feelings towards Sam– she had finally accepted she was full-on, crazy-obsessed,epicallyin love with him, and probably always had been– several other mysteries remained.
The first was why, if Sam had feelings for Amy, Tilly had been seen coming and going from the Hall so often lately. The idea that they’d simply been enjoying a casual fling for old times’ sake made Amy feel sick, her jealousy so strong she worried it might corrode her stomach lining. It also tarnished Sam’s halo somewhat, though Amy was loath to admit it.
The second mystery was how on earth Hugh had discovered Amy and Sam had previously been entangled. The list of likely informants wasn’t long– in fact, the only person Amy could think of who had something resembling the full Sam and Amy story was Meg, and there was no way she’d shared it on the sly.
Thoughts of Hugh inevitably brought Amy back to the thorny issue of her ongoing employment at H-K. It was now clear to her that leaving London to set up a sub-office in a different part of the country hadn’t put enough distance between the two of them– that in all likelihood, she was going to have to move on. The injustice of this stung her, and her gorge rose every time she imagined giving up the position she’d worked so hard for, because the alternative was never knowing what dick move Hugh might pull next. She couldn’t trust him to let her go with grace, not because he particularly cared about her but because he resented her agency over her own life– her refusal to fall in with his plans. As Nisha might have said, the situation ‘sucked hard’– but there was no point in complaining about how unfair it all was.
For what must have been the thousandth time, Amy cursed herself for getting involved with a man so strongly and inextricably connected to the firm that the end of their relationship could only ever mean her exiting it altogether. More than anything, she was gutted at the prospect of saying goodbye to Torch: an imprint she’d set up from nothing with a list of authors she’d hand-picked for their talent, tenacity and capacity to entertain. For all her initial reluctance to take on the project, she was proud of it and deeply reluctant to give it up– and the writers she’d forged relationships with.
Amy’s most recent conversation with Carolyn had been uncomfortable: a one-to-one during which Amy described Hugh’s demented performance at Rowton Hall and explained that, post-RomFest, she would have to begin searching for another job. Amy was open to roles in a variety of locations, and said she hoped Carolyn could see her reasons for needing to leave.
Carolyn, in typically clipped and unemotional style, had said, ‘I understand. But I strongly suggest you do nothing further until you and I have spoken again on this subject– forces you’re unaware of are in flux, and might well solve your problem. Under no circumstances will I accept your notice, and you mustnottry to hand your resignation to anyone else.’ Amy had no idea what Carolyn was up to. Nor was she inclined to try and find out. However, she agreed not to contact any recruiters immediately– not least because with RomFest so close, she didn’t have the time to deal with them.
On the night before the festival Kit arrived in Rowton, flush with the excitement of seeing Amy, his big move to Brighton and the prospect of meeting Philippa Fotheringham in real life. He’d come armed with two bottles of crémant, which Amy pointed out he’d mostly need to drink by himself. On a day when she’d be co-hosting and co-ordinating a major live event, not to mention dancing a waltz in public, the last thing she needed was a hangover.
After Kit had cooed over her costume and poured her the single glass of fizz she’d decided to allow herself, he said: ‘Ames, what’s going on? You look well, and you’re saying all the stuff I’d expect you to the evening before such a big day, but you’re not yourself. The lights are on but no one’s home. Or maybe someone is, but they’re screaming hysterically into a pillow.’
‘Brace yourself,’ Amy said, deciding not to sugar-coat anything she was about to say and feeling grateful she didn’t need to. ‘Since we last spoke properly, Hugh has revealed himself as a total psycho, Sam and I have fallen out in a way that I think might be irreparableandI’ve realised I am utterly and completely in love with him.’
‘Okaaay,’ Kit said, slurping from his flute. ‘One thing at a time. Walk me through all this– tell me what’s been happening and don’t leave anything out.’
Amy did as she was told, her voice rising with rage as she ranted about Hugh’s sudden appearance at Rowton Hall and then growing hoarse with tears as she described how comprehensively she’d convinced herself Sam was someone she couldn’t even like, let alone love– only to discover she’d been catastrophically wrong.
‘Oh God, Amy,’ Kit said, draining his second glass of fizz. ‘First, I cannot BELIEVE you never told me you’d copped off with him as a teenager. Major points deduction for withholding that information. Second, you weren’t joking– it’s a fine fucking mess you’ve got yourself into. I’m not so sure it’s beyond fixing, though– not if you don’t want it to be.’
‘Really?’ Amy asked. ‘Because I honestly have no idea where to start.’
‘Don’t you?’ Kit said, arching an eyebrow in disbelief and pouring the last of the first bottle of crémant into his glass.
Amy put her head in her hands, sighed and then straightened up to look Kit in the eye. ‘I need to tell him how I feel,’ she admitted.
‘And then some,’ Kit said. ‘Tell him, paint him a picture … Throw everything and the kitchen sink at it. Create an interpretive dance routine that leaves him in no doubt you’re hot for his mind as well as his body.’
‘There’s already more than enough dancing in my immediate future,’ Amy reminded him.
‘Good point.’
‘Also, he’s refused to speak to me one-to-one since the row, even via email if he can help it. And he must have been avoiding me in the village– it’s unusual for me not to run into him at the pub, the bakery or the shop,’ Amy said glumly. ‘It’s been more than a week.’
‘Well, he’s not going to be able to avoid you tomorrow, is he?’ Kit said. ‘And what better place to make a confession of true love than a festival designed to celebrate it?’
