Making Your Mind Up

by Jill Mansell

  As far as the under-eleven population of Hestacombe was concerned, Tyler realized, he was undoubtedly Public Enemy Number One.

  Off to a good start.

  * * *

  Lottie was hard at work on the computer in the office when she heard the crunch of tires on gravel outside heralding Tyler Klein’s arrival. Glad of the break from processing bookings, she picked up her bottle of orange soda and went outside to greet him.

  “Giving the suit a miss today then.” Leaning against the open door of the annex, just across the drive from Hestacombe House, she watched him emerge from the car. He was wearing a pink-striped shirt and faded jeans, and there was no denying that as new bosses went, he was pretty damn gorgeous.

  Which could be fantastic, or it could turn out to be a complete disaster. Only time would tell.

  “I hate suits. I’ve had to wear them for the last twelve years.” Tyler Klein’s dark eyes glittered as he shook Lottie’s hand. “From now on, if you catch me in a suit you’ll know I’m either on my way to a wedding or a funeral.”

  Lottie winced at the mention of the word funeral. It wasn’t his fault; he didn’t know Freddie was ill. His handshake was firm, but not knuckle-crunchingly so. And there was that aftershave again, making you want to keep breathing it in, even when your lungs were telling you it was time to breathe out.

  “So, looks like we’re going to be working together. Freddie’s spending the day in Cheltenham, but he said you wanted to see how things are run around here.” She checked her watch. “Teacher’s Cottage is being cleaned before the next guests arrive. Shall I show you what we do to get it ready?”

  Tyler shrugged and nodded. “You’re the boss. Fire away.”

  “Actually, you’re the boss.” Lottie closed the door of the office behind her. “And I just hope you don’t fire me.”

  * * *

  Teacher’s Cottage was a four-bedded Grade II listed property in its own magical gardens. Lottie introduced Tyler to Liz, the cleaner, as she was leaving, then showed him over the cottage.

  “We leave fresh food in the fridge. And a homemade cake on the kitchen table to welcome the new arrivals. Fresh flowers in the living room and bedrooms. Magazines and books are always going walkabout so we replace them regularly.”

  “Speaking of going walkabout, I guess I owe your two an apology.” Tyler pulled a face. “I found out who made off with your clothes.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I finally believed them.” As she spoke Lottie was busily straightening pictures on the walls, plumping up cushions, and reangling the coffee table. The pictures were already straight and the cushions plumped, but there was no harm in letting your new boss know how efficient and hardworking you were. “Who did it?”

  “Two young boys.” Tyler wasn’t about to tell her their names. “They won’t be doing it again.”

  “Ben and Harry Jenkins then.” Entertained by the expression on his face, Lottie said, “This isn’t New York. Everyone knows everyone. Their mum helps out here sometimes with the cleaning. Can I ask you a question?”

  Tyler spread his hands. “Anything you like.”

  “Are you actually going to be living here, running the business yourself? Or will you be popping down here every couple weeks to keep an eye on your investment?”

  “Living right here running the business.” Keeping a straight face, evidently amused by the unfamiliar expression, Tyler said, “Where would I be popping down here from?”

  “I don’t know. London, I suppose. Or New York. You work in banking.” Lottie hadn’t been able to figure it out for the life of her. “It’s a bit of a switch, isn’t it? I thought maybe you’d carry on doing that and just kind of dabble in this on your days off.”

  “Because you don’t think I could cope with it full time?”

  “Because it’s not going to be as lucrative as being a financial highflier, wheeler-dealing on the stock exchange, trading zillions of shares and buying companies and stuff.” Aware that her grasp of the financial markets was tenuous to say the least, Lottie hurriedly bent down to straighten the magazines on the coffee table, yet again. “And if you’re rich enough to be able to afford to buy all these vacation homes, isn’t it going to be a bit weird, living in Fox Cottage? I mean, you must be used to so much better, a penthouse apartment overlooking Central Park or something. And working here isn’t going to be at all what you’re used to.” Lottie felt obliged to warn him. “What will you do when a guest rings you up at three o’clock in the morning to tell you that a pipe’s burst and water’s pouring through the ceiling? Or that one of the drains is blocked? Or when they’ve just found a mouse in the kitchen? You see? How are you going to deal with stuff like that?”

  “OK, OK.” Tyler held up both hands. “The thing about asking a million questions is you have to stop occasionally to let other people answer.”

  “Sorry. I’m just nosy. And I talk too much.” To prove that she was, nevertheless, an exemplary employee, Lottie fiddled with the flower arrangement on the table, tweaking the sweet peas and artfully reorganizing the ferns.

  “And you think I’m some clueless wanker-banker type who wouldn’t know a monkey wrench from a plunger. Look, leave those flowers alone, Freddie’s already told me you’re indispensable.” Leading the way through to the kitchen, Tyler began briskly inspecting the cupboards. “But I’m not actually that hopeless. I’m not afraid of hard physical work either. Or mice. But if there are any emergencies I really can’t handle myself, I’ll do what any normal person would do and call in an expert.”

  Had she offended him by suggesting, more or less, that he wasn’t up to the job?

  “I didn’t think you were a namby-pamby wanker-banker,” Lottie protested. “I’m just wondering why you don’t want to be a banker anymore.”

  Having thoroughly investigated the kitchen, Tyler leaned back against the granite work top, hands thrust casually into his jeans pockets.

  “OK. Let me tell you what it’s like. We’re talking high-pressure lifestyle here. Up at five every morning, off to the gym before work, then twelve hours in the office. Nonstop meetings, business rivals stabbing you in the back, having to make decisions that could make or break people’s businesses—even their lives. Then wondering if you’ve made the right decision, dealing with the fallout when it all goes wrong. I’m telling you, it takes over your world. You think you’re thriving on the pressure, but you’re not. Nothing matters except making the next deal, the next million. You turn into a machine.” He paused, then said flatly, “And it can end up killing you.”

  The look in his dark eyes was bleak. Oh Jesus, thought Lottie, not you too.

  Chapter 9

  “Shall I tell you what happened?” said Tyler.

  Mutely Lottie nodded.

  “It killed my best friend.”

  Oh. That was OK then. Well, not OK, obviously…

  “His name was Curtis Segal,” Tyler went on. “We’d known each other since we were six years old, grew up on the same street. We were closer than brothers. During college vacations we worked together on a ranch in Wyoming. After college we ended up going into the same business. Curtis was on a roll, getting promotion after promotion at his company, raking the money in and never getting enough sleep. But he was a fit guy. You never think anything bad’s going to happen, do you, when you’re in your thirties? Until Curtis had a major presentation one day—not the biggest he’d ever handled, but still pretty important. And he told his secretary he had a pain in his left arm five minutes before the presentation was due to begin. She wanted to call the company doctor in to see him but Curtis wouldn’t let her do it, because everyone was up there in the boardroom waiting for him to make that all-important presentation.”

  Silence. Tyler was still leaning against the work top, lost in thought. Finally he continued. “So he went up there and made it. Well, half of it. Then he collapsed and
died, right there on the floor of the boardroom. The paramedics worked on him for forty minutes, but it was no good. He was gone. And guess what happened after that?”

  “What?” said Lottie.

  “His company lost the account. The other guys decided they didn’t want to do business with the kind of bank where their top executives keel over and drop dead on you. You know what else?”

  “What?”

  “The CEO couldn’t even make the funeral. He had other potential clients to wine and dine, out on Long Island. Very important potential clients, of course. He wouldn’t have missed Curtis’s funeral for just any old kind. And as he pointed out when I spoke to him afterward, he had sent a three-thousand-dollar wreath.”

  His eyes were narrowed with disgust. Lottie’s heart went out to Tyler. But since she could hardly fling her arms around him she said, “When did this happen?”

  “Five months ago. That’s when I realized it could have been me. More to the point, it could be me next. And I made my decision just like that.” Tyler clicked his fingers. “The day after Curtis’s funeral I handed in my notice. Everyone told me I was mad. But I knew I was doing the right thing; there had to be more to life than slogging your guts out on Wall Street. I flew out to Wyoming, visited the ranch where we’d worked years before, and thought about doing that again. It’s an incredible place: just mountains, wide-open spaces, and sky. But it wasn’t the same without Curtis.” Tyler paused. “Then I went to visit my parents and they were showing me all their vacation photos. They’re so in love with this place, you have no idea.” He relaxed visibly. “My mother kept saying I should come over to England, take a long vacation and see the sights.”

  “So you ended up coming over here and buying the sights. By the way,” Lottie added, “I like your parents. They’re great.”

  Tyler nodded and smiled. “Crazy as larks, the pair of them. Or heartwarmingly eccentric, as you Brits would say. But yes, I guess I am buying the sights. I knew I liked this country. A few years back I was over here working for the London-based branch of our bank. Pretty intensive and only for six months, but it was enough to make me realize that here was somewhere I’d be happy to live. Then I spoke to my mother a couple weeks ago. She was telling me they’d booked one of the cottages here for next Easter and happened to mention that Freddie was thinking of selling the business. Then two minutes later she said wouldn’t it be great if I bought it, because then she and my father could come and stay for free.”

  Lottie sensed his genuine fondness for his mother as he shook his head with good-natured amusement. “Thank your lucky stars she didn’t have her heart set on the Taj Mahal,” she said.

  “That’s what I said. I asked her if she wouldn’t prefer me to buy Blenheim Palace.” Tyler rolled his eyes. “But that evening I took a look at your website, purely out of curiosity, and all of a sudden it occurred to me that I could do it, that it might be just the change I needed. It’s a fantastic place—my parents had already vouched for that. And if the price was fair, there’d be no risk. With properties like these…well, you can’t go wrong. That’s when I picked up the phone and called Freddie.” He paused and shrugged. “That was less than two weeks ago. And now here I am. Beats Wall Street hands down.”

  Lottie marveled at Tyler’s ability to make such a life-changing decision and to act upon it. He’d bought eight vacation homes, just like that. She’d spent longer choosing a new winter coat.

  Aloud she said, “You make it all sound so easy. Didn’t you have to be interrogated by immigration?”

  Tyler said drily, “The British Consulate couldn’t wait to grant me the visa, once they heard how much money I was planning to invest.”

  Hell, he must be loaded. And if after a few years he got bored, presumably he’d just sell the business and move on again. Maybe try an Australian sheep farm next.

  Curious, Lottie said, “Are you sure Fox Cottage is going to be OK for you?”

  “Hey, I’m no namby-pamby.” Tyler clearly found the unfamiliar expression hilarious. “Besides, it’s only for a few months. I can handle that.”

  So, a few months. Disappointment settled over Lottie like a sheet over a parrot’s cage. She gave herself a mental shake. “And after that?”

  “Didn’t Freddie tell you? He’s planning to move out of Hestacombe House after Christmas. If I’m interested, I can buy it from him then.”

  This time Lottie’s heart turned over. She still hadn’t been able to come to terms with the thought that Freddie was dying. Planning to move out.

  “You don’t look exactly thrilled,” Tyler observed.

  “No, it’s not that.” He didn’t know; he didn’t know, and she couldn’t tell him. “I just hadn’t—”

  Lottie was saved from further awkwardness by the sound of a car pulling up outside. Relieved, she checked her watch. “Oh, that’ll be the Harrisons.”

  Tyler sauntered after her out of the cottage. The doors of a maroon minivan were flung open and Glynis and Duncan Harrison and their five boisterous children spilled out.

  “Here she is, waiting to welcome us,” Glynis exclaimed with delight. The Harrisons had been coming to Teacher’s Cottage for the last ten years. “Hello, Lottie love, you’re looking well!” She enveloped Lottie in a rib-crushing, violet-scented hug. “Ooh, it’s so lovely to be back.”

  “It’s lovely to have you back.” Lottie meant it; she’d grown fond of so many of her clients. “Good journey?”

  “Construction on the M5 and the kids trying to murder each other in the backseats, but we’re used to that by now. And who’s this then?” Releasing Lottie in order to give Tyler an appreciative once-over, Glynis said, “Got yourself a new fellow at last, love? I say, well done.” Eager to be introduced, she stuck out her hand and beamed up at Tyler. “I was only saying to Duncan on the way down—wasn’t I, Duncan?—it’s about time Lottie found herself a nice young man.”

  Lottie opened her mouth to explain but Tyler beat her to it. Greeting Glynis with a warm handshake and a wicked smile, he drawled, “Tyler Klein. Good to meet you. And I couldn’t agree with you more about Lottie. It’s definitely time she found herself the right man.”

  Chapter 10

  Cressida was running a bath when her cell phone launched into its jaunty tune. Locating it under the pile of clothes she’d just discarded on the bed, she made her way back through to the bathroom to choose which bubble bath to add to the gushing water.

  “Cressida? Hi, it’s Sacha.”

  “Hi, Sacha. How are you?” As if she didn’t already know the answer to that question.

  “Oh, busy busy. Rushed off my feet as usual. What’s that noise in the background?”

  “I’m running a bath.” Reaching over, Cressida selected the bottle of Marks & Spencer’s Florentyna and shook a generous dollop under the taps. Then another dollop for good measure.

  “Lucky you! Having a lovely relaxing bath at five o’clock in the afternoon,” Sacha exclaimed. “I wish I could do that. Now listen, Robert’s stuck in a meeting in Bristol and I’m up to my ears with clients. God only knows what time we’re going to be able to get away. OK if Jojo comes over to you?”

  It wasn’t the first time Sacha had asked this. Not even the three hundredth time. Sacha appeared to spend her life bobbing around in a sea of clients, only the top half of her head visible—although, naturally, her neat blond hair remained immaculate.

  “No problem.” Cressida swirled the bathwater with her free hand, generating foam. “That’s fine. I’ll give her something to eat and she can help me in the garden later. What time will you be over to pick her up?”

  “Well, the thing is, I’m being pressured to take the new clients out to dinner so I don’t know how late it might be. And Robert thinks he may not be back before midnight, so…”

  “How about if Jojo stays the night with me? Would that be easier?” Cressida wondered wh
at Sacha would do if she told her she wasn’t able to take Jojo. One day she must try it, see what happened. Sacha would rather chop off her own arms than miss out on the opportunity to woo her precious clients and make yet another spectacular sale.

  Actually, it might be fun.

  “Cress, you’re a star!” Having gotten what she needed, Sacha put on her I’m-in-such-a-hurry voice. “That’s great; I’ll give Jojo a ring and let her know. Well, it’s chaos here so—”

  “You’d better get back to them,” Cressida said helpfully.

  “I really must. And you can get back to your bath! Ciao!”

  Cressida switched off the phone. Was it just her, or was everyone else driven nuts by the annoying way Sacha trilled Ciao! at the end of every phone conversation? Whatever possessed a woman who’d been born and bred in Bootle to say Ciao? Maybe it was something that was drummed into you on training courses when you were learning to become a hotshot, high-flying photocopier saleswoman.

  Oh well, who cared? At least she had Jojo tonight. She’d put up with as many Ciaos as Sacha could throw at her for that.

  Lying back in the bath, Cressida ran her hand lightly over the familiar silver scar traversing her stomach. How different might her life have been had that scar never needed to be made? She closed her eyes and imagined herself, twenty-three again and still happily married to Robert. Both of them had been so excited by the prospect of the baby that although they knew it was far too soon, they had been unable to resist rushing out and buying all kinds of baby paraphernalia. It had been the most joyful shopping spree of Cressida’s life. To be a mother was all she’d ever wanted.

  Back at home that evening surrounded by onesies, tiny knitted hats, a satin-lined Moses basket and a musical mobile that played nursery rhymes, Cressida had begun to experience the first excruciating knifelike pains in her stomach. She had crawled on all fours to the phone, petrified and plunged into icy panic, and tried to contact Robert, who was out playing cricket for his works team. Unable to reach him, she had been on the verge of dialing 911 when the pain had intensified and everything had turned black. When Robert finally arrived home at ten o’clock that night, he found her unconscious and barely breathing on the bathroom floor. An ambulance rushed Cressida to the hospital, where emergency surgery was carried out to save her life. The pregnancy had been ectopic, and her fallopian tube had ruptured. The degree of hemorrhaging was so severe that a total hysterectomy had been the only option.