‘I know perfectly well who Colin is, dear, but I don’t know what he can have done to make you cry.’ She frowned. ‘I shall go and investigate.’

  ‘Please don’t!’ said Meg, but it was too late.

  Meg watched her leave the kitchen wondering if she could have stopped her. But few people were able to stop Ambrosine when she was on a mission.

  Although they hadn’t any hotel guests booked in for lunch, Meg thought she ought to make something for the staff anyway. They deserved something nice; everyone had worked so hard for the race day.

  She was chopping carrots when Justin came in.

  ‘Colin is getting in an estate agent to have the place valued. I’ve rung my father. They’re can’t get here until the day after tomorrow. Colin wants the estate agent to go round with just him.’

  Meg’s mouth went dry. This was bad news.

  ‘He’s seen so much potential for expansion, as he calls it,’ Justin went on. ‘Realising that the workers’ cottages could be used for renting has given him big ideas.’

  ‘But I thought he wasn’t interested in the hotel,’ said Meg.

  ‘Oh, he’s interested. He wants to develop Nightingale Woods in order to sell it. Half of a much bigger operation will be quite a lot of money.’

  Meg cleared her throat and sniffed, determined not to cry. But she was tired from the race day, still emotional and becoming more and more upset. ‘What about Ambrosine?’ she asked, the catch in her voice annoyingly obvious.

  ‘Of course she’ll have to go. Colin wants to put in a lift so all the old nurseries can become guest accommodation.’

  ‘But isn’t there a moral obligation to give Ambrosine a home? There must have been at some time or she wouldn’t be here now.’

  Justin shrugged. ‘There won’t have been any kind of legal contract. No, make the soup – we’re going to need it.’ His smile was rueful and kind and Meg suddenly wanted … wanted to go to him, and feel his arms around her. She wanted to hold his warm body and feel it next to hers.

  Suddenly, she realised she had fallen in love with him. It was a shock and yet it seemed like something she had always known. She had fought so hard not to become friends with him, she never noticed love creeping up like a vine that entwined itself around her heart and now couldn’t be cut away.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  After lunch, which Meg served but wouldn’t share, pleading a need to go to her bedroom and do something feminine as an excuse, she found herself crossing the hall to overhear Colin being grumpy on the telephone. The office door was open and Colin was sitting in the typist’s chair with his feet on the desk.

  ‘I need someone urgently. I can’t believe you can’t send someone tomorrow if not today.’

  Meg waited, out of sight, unashamed to be eavesdropping. There was a silence while someone on the other end of the telephone was speaking.

  ‘Listen! I need someone who can be discreet and give me a valuation of the property. God damn it! The commission on a place like this would be huge!’

  More silence.

  ‘Then I’ll go elsewhere!’ said Colin and slammed the receiver down.

  Meg moved away quickly. She wished she had someone to talk about it all to, and yearned for the days when she and her friends all lived in Alexandra’s house in London. But even Justin had gone back to Newton-cum-Hardy and, presumably, Laura. And she knew she couldn’t bother Susan or any of the other members of staff with her worries about Colin. She wished that Andrew and her mother would hurry up and come back.

  ‘Meg, sweetie, I should have said earlier, but is it OK if I put my things in Andrew’s room? I need to stay the night here.’ Colin had on his most charming smile as he joined Meg in the kitchen.

  ‘Oh, no, not Andrew’s room!’ she said hurriedly. She didn’t want to mention that this was also her mother’s room in case he didn’t know and it caused problems. ‘But we’re not often full during the week. I’ll ask Cherry to put you in the nicest room that’s available. Ah, here she is!’

  Meg guessed that Cherry had seen Colin pursue her to the kitchen and, like the loyal friend she was, had followed to rescue her. None of the women cared for Colin. They didn’t talk about it, but they had all experienced his casual touching, patronising manner and general sense that he could do what he liked and it was their job to put up with it.

  Cherry put him in the room that Basil had had. ‘I said that the hotel critic had stayed there and he knew what a good review he’d given us. I did mention that the bell didn’t work. If he knew it did, he’d having us running up and down the stairs like we had nothing else to do!’

  ‘Well done, Cherry. You’re doing such a brilliant job.’

  They exchanged anxious smiles. ‘Let’s hope it hasn’t all been a waste of time,’ said Cherry, ‘and the hotel has to be sold after all.’

  ‘It won’t be a waste of time,’ said Meg firmly. ‘We’re going to finish the summer season flying high. We’ll have the play. Every bed will be slept in and paid for. All the actors and audience and other people here will enjoy themselves. It’ll be utterly exhausting—’

  ‘But we’ll love doing it!’ Cherry finished for her.

  ‘We will!’ said Meg, wishing she could be more certain about the future of Nightingale Woods.

  It was lovely to see her mother two days later. Meg had watched from the upstairs window to see when the car was winding up the hill through the morning mist and was there on the doorstep when it arrived. It was still early and there were a few breakfast guests, but Susan and Cherry had undertaken to deal with them, so Meg was free to greet her mother.

  ‘You’ll have missed your mum,’ Susan had said. ‘A lot has gone on since she and Mr Nightingale went to France.

  Mother and daughter embraced on the steps of the hotel until Andrew hustled them inside. ‘I know you two are pleased to see each other, but can we get through the door first?’

  Meg and Louise continued their hug in the hall. ‘Are you OK, sweetie?’ Louise murmured. ‘This isn’t like you!’

  ‘I’m fine!’ Meg murmured back, very close to tears. ‘It’s just been really busy, that’s all.’ She swallowed and let go of her mother. ‘Now, let me get you some coffee or something. Have you had breakfast? Did you sleep all right on the ferry? Was it a calm crossing?’

  ‘We’d love coffee,’ said Andrew. ‘We had a continental breakfast on the ferry, but I wouldn’t say no to something more substantial. Is the drawing room free? Could we have it in there?’

  Colin joined them at the same time that Meg brought in their breakfast. She had been hoping to hear how they’d been getting on, but seeing Colin come into the room changed her mind.

  ‘Could you get me some coffee?’ asked Colin. ‘Oh, and some toast? Thank you.’

  As Meg turned to go, she asked herself why she was so offended by his manner. Looking after people was her job. She shouldn’t mind if they asked her for things.

  ‘I couldn’t beg a pot of tea, could I?’ asked her mother. ‘It know it’s an awful cliché but really, you can’t get a decent pot of tea in France. And bring a cup for yourself, please.’

  When Meg came back with the tea, Cherry having brought in the coffee and toast for Colin, she said, ‘Why don’t we take this up to your room, Mum? We can drink it there and you can tell me everything.’

  They sat together at the little table in the window in Andrew’s room, and after Louise had exclaimed at the flowers, the perfectly ironed bed linen and the matching linen towels that had been hiding in an airing cupboard for many years, she poured the tea.

  ‘Darling,’ she said, studying her daughter. ‘Are you all right? You don’t seem your usual calm self.’

  Meg exhaled. ‘It’s just that so much has been going on and Colin is behaving as if he owns the place.’

  ‘Well, he doesn’t. No one does yet. And Andrew is still in charge. Don’t worry.’

  ‘There have been changes – you and Andrew do know about them – but Colin seems very excited by them.’

  ‘Is that bad?’

  ‘Mum, how well do you know him?’

  ‘We’ve only just met—’

  ‘He’s horrible,’ said Meg. ‘He’s touchy-feely, he only seems to think about money and he wants to get the hotel valued so he can sell it.’

  ‘It can’t be sold until the will is sorted out and who knows how long that will take,’ said Louise. ‘There’s a third person in the will who can’t be traced. I think they’ll have to be declared dead or something before anything changes, and that could take years.’

  Meg sipped her tea and felt a bit calmer. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Quite sure. It must have been very worrying for you with all this happening, but we’re here now, and I’m sure Andrew will be able to sort everything out and explain it all to Colin.’

  ‘I do hope so. But apart from that, we have been amazingly busy.’

  ‘Andrew told me. There are now rooms with bathrooms, and you’re doing up all those workers’ cottages – who’d have thought of that?’

  ‘Well, Alexandra is doing it in France and having the play here means we need as much accommodation as we can sort out. Of course, not everyone has to stay with us, but it’s all extra income.’

  ‘How will guests manage about meals if they’re in the cottages?’ asked Louise.

  ‘We thought – Susan and me, that is – that guests could book in for meals at the hotel – it’ll probably just be dinner, or possibly tea – and have their other meals in the cottages. We could do breakfast hampers if required. A continental breakfast of course. Not bacon and eggs.’

  ‘Oh, Meggy, you have been such a breath of fresh air for the hotel. I am so glad I asked you to come!’

  ‘I’ve loved it,’ Meg said. ‘I just hope it doesn’t all have to be sold.’

  ‘No need to worry about that just yet!’ said Louise triumphantly. ‘Until we find this third person in the will – and no one has ever heard of them – nothing can be sold. And as I said, it could take years.’

  While this was something of a relief, Meg’s conscience pricked her. ‘But what will happen to Colin? Is that really fair to him?’

  Louise frowned. ‘I gathered from Andrew – more from what he hasn’t said than from what he has – that his relationship with Colin is sticky. Colin is older, but Andrew is the executor. Colin has never been good with money. Andrew hinted he may have been a gambler. That’s probably why Andrew’s father left Andrew in charge. And because Andrew loves the hotel, of course.’

  Meg felt emotional all over again. She didn’t know how to reply, so instead she said, ‘Do come down when you’re ready. Everyone is dying to see you. Do you want me to help you unpack?’

  ‘Darling! I’ve been doing my own unpacking since I was six.’

  Meg laughed. ‘I have had to unpack for guests sometimes. I’ve added it to the list of things I have experience of.’

  ‘Good for you. Go and tell Susan I’ll be down shortly. I have missed you all!’

  It was decided, by everyone except Meg, that Justin would cook dinner that evening. Louise insisted that Meg put on a dress, brush her hair and even consider wearing a bit of mascara and eyeliner. And having decided that she would, Meg found herself cheering up. Although the kitchen was where she felt at home, coming out of it, being a girl and not a cooking machine, was pleasant.

  Or so she tried to tell herself. In fact, she felt somewhat disenfranchised. She’d been the pivot around which Nightingale Woods spun, and now, suddenly, the owner was back, her mother was back and she was just Louise’s helpful daughter, who currently had nothing to do.

  She decided to have a walk in the garden, otherwise she might have to make polite conversation and she wasn’t in the mood. She was too emotionally attached to Nightingale Woods, she felt. She should be able to see it as just another job, something to write on her CV, but she knew it would always be more than that. And not just because she had apparently – inexplicably – fallen in love with the son of the owner. There was some other link that made her feel connected to it all.

  She had reached the part of the garden where the play was to be put on. It was at the far end of the vast walled garden at the opposite end to the house. It had possibly been a tennis court in past times and although the surface was all weeds now, it was still level. There was a fig tree growing against the wall behind the old tennis court and now its emergent leaves reached like little green hands towards the sky. There was a seat that faced the view where now she sat down.

  It was a lovely spot and Meg was imagining the play being performed with the old wall as a backdrop. She was wondering why the fig tree was outside the walled garden and not in when someone called her name. It was Ambrosine.

  ‘Hello, Meg dear. You’ve found one of my favourite spots.’

  Meg got up hastily. ‘Do you want to sit here? Have some time on your own?’

  ‘By no means. Please don’t move. We can sit together.’

  Meg sat down again and Ambrosine sat next to her.

  Neither of them felt the need to speak for a few moments; then Meg said, ‘Can you imagine a play being put on here?’

  ‘I rather think I can,’ said Ambrosine. ‘This is where I come when I want to think about things that aren’t logical and probably aren’t possible, but are desirable, nevertheless.’

  ‘I usually just sit by the back door if I want a break, but it’s even nicer here,’ said Meg.

  ‘It’s nicer because being a little bit away from the house people are unlikely to find you – although, of course, I found you,’ Ambrosine added with a laugh.

  ‘I was pleased to be found,’ said Meg.

  ‘And what were you thinking about, if I may ask?’

  ‘I was thinking – or rather wondering – why I feel so connected to Nightingale Woods. It’s not my family home or anything, it should just be another job. But it’s more than that and I don’t know why.’

  ‘I think it has a certain magic that gets under your skin,’ said Ambrosine, who didn’t seem at all surprised at what Meg had said. ‘I felt it the moment I came here.’ She paused. ‘Did you know that if you come at the right time of year you can hear nightingales sing? Of course the wood used to be much bigger, but the nightingales still come.’

  ‘I’d love to hear them.’

  ‘You’ve missed your chance for this year,’ said Ambrosine, ‘but next year, if you’re here in April or May, then you’ll hear them. They don’t only sing at night, you know,’ she went on, ‘but because not many other birds sing at night, they’re more audible.’ She laughed. ‘And of course, a lot more romantic! Titania speaks of them in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, you know. “Philomel with melody, sing in our sweet lullaby.”’

  Meg cleared her throat, horridly aware that she was near tears again. ‘I don’t think I will be here next year,’ she said bleakly.

  Ambrosine took a breath. ‘Then we must arrange it so that you are!’ she said briskly. ‘Now I’d better go. I’m meeting my colonel and he’s tiresomely punctual.’

  Meg was seated next to Andrew at the dining-room table that evening. Justin was in the kitchen (her kitchen) cooking dinner and had summoned them to the table and then gone to fetch the starter. Susan and Cherry had gone home and Meg was desperate to go and see what Justin was up to but she’d been ordered to sit down and stay still.

  Andrew and Colin were also seated, arguing gently over a childhood memory.

  Louise said, ‘It’s a shame Ambrosine couldn’t be here. She’s so much part of the family.’

  Colin looked up. ‘Oh, the old lady who lives here? Sweet of you to see her like that, Louise.’ He obviously didn’t find it sweet; irritating, rather.

  ‘She’s having dinner with her colonel,’ said Meg. ‘Do you think they’re courting? Or are they “just good friends”?’

  Before anyone had time to answer, the door opened and Laura came in. She was looking lovely, thought Meg. Her hair was done up and her cheeks were slightly flushed. She was wearing a simple sheath dress that showed off her slim figure. Meg couldn’t help noticing, though, that her arms were just a bit stringy and her knees were a little knobbly.

  The two men got up instantly.

  ‘So sorry I’m late!’ Laura said gaily. ‘Couldn’t get away. Now, where am I sitting?’

  Meg had laid the table and had no idea she was coming. She got up now. ‘Why don’t you sit here? I’ll get another place setting.’

  ‘Oh no. I think Justin will expect me to be at his side!’ She gave a tinkling laugh. ‘You know what you men are like!’

  Her coy look was received with a knowing laugh from Colin and an inscrutable raise of the eyebrows from Andrew.

  Justin came in with a tray. ‘Oh. Laura? You’re here!’

  ‘Yes! So sorry I’m late. I couldn’t get away. I’m going to tuck myself in here, next to you. Meg? If you could get another place setting?’

  Laura managed to make it sound as if she hadn’t already offered to do that, thought Meg, getting up and going to the sideboard. Really it was easier when she was just the cook and not a guest; she knew where she was then.

  Having cooked a delicious, simple dinner without apparently breaking a sweat, Justin came and joined the party when they moved to the sitting room. Andrew produced a bottle of cognac and Louise found suitable glasses. Every time Meg had got up to do anything, she was flapped at by her mother until she sat back down again.

  Colin lit up a large cigar and Meg and Louise exchanged a glance, conveying concern about how they’d get the smell out of the curtains afterwards. ‘That was an excellent bit of grub,’ he said to Justin. ‘You can do a bit of cooking, I gather.’

  Laura gave her tinkling laugh but Meg could tell that Colin’s remark had obviously made her a bit anxious for some reason. ‘I’m sure you know, Colin – you don’t mind if I call you that? We’re practically family! – Justin is a very well-regarded chef. Raoul de Dijon picked him to be his chef. Although Justin heads a team, which means he is more than just an employee.’