The House of Second Chances: A brilliant feel-good romance (Secrets and Love) by Lauren Westwood

Author:Lauren Westwood [Westwood, Lauren]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-05-08T05:00:00+00:00

~ Daphne du Maurier – Rebecca

- vi –

Letter 6 (Fragment)

A—

God forgive me – I have been such a fool. He means to ruin our plans, but I will not let him! We must play along with this little charade for tonight, but tomorrow—

Chapter Twenty-One

In real life, there are no happy endings – only ups and downs and new beginnings; loose ends, a few laughs, and many tears. This I realise during the course of the next few weeks, which fly past in a blur. Christmas comes and goes (my parents and I exchange gifts of socks and bath smellies), then New Year (my parents lament my poor taste in having jettisoned the most willing Scrabble player they’ve had in years).

As a break from the festivities, I transcribe the letters I found. The hours leading up to the ball and Henry’s cryptic last letter niggle in my head like an itch I can’t quite scratch. I look for clues in the sketchbook as to the identity of the artist, but find none. All I know is that he was most likely Spanish, and was captivated by the image of Arabella Windham in her pink dress.

The keys to Rosemont Hall remain at the office, locked in a desk drawer. Early in January, I ring David Waters (who hasn’t called me since our Scrabble night) and apologise for my behaviour. Admittedly, it’s a relief when it goes to voicemail, but I also experience a tiny flicker of doubt – did I let him go too easily?

Eventually, he rings me at the office. We make the obligatory small talk and harmless flirtations, and I wonder if he’s calling to see if I’ve changed my mind about seeing him again. I almost do change my mind. But then, he asks to speak to Mr Bowen-Knowles. I realise that he’s not pining after me, and didn’t even ring to speak to me at all.

‘Oh, so you want to schedule another round of golf, then?’ I joke to hide my embarrassment.

‘Actually…’ his tone is deadly serious, ‘it’s not a golf round that we’re planning, but the golf course. I’m going to work on some costings. I’d love to get more business opportunities in golf course development.’

‘Just a minute,’ I choke, ‘I’ll see if he’s available.’

In a way, I’m relieved as I transfer the call to my boss. I’m now convinced that I no longer require the services of David Waters on either a personal or a professional level.

Things begin to look up when, a week later, Mr Patel completes on the Glastonbury house. My name goes straight to the top of the sales chart on the door of the disabled loo. The winter days gradually begin to lengthen, and although I have several promising client viewings of ‘character cottages’, ‘charming semis,’ and even a ‘top-notch barn conversion’, I’m not one jot closer to finding anyone to rescue Rosemont Hall.

The long shadow of the meeting with hexagon’s representative hangs over my head. As the days pass, every phone call to the office, every email enquiry, kindles my fears.

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