Margaret managed a smile.
‘And look at how much support we’ve had in the past few weeks – that’s not about me,’ she went on. ‘That’s about you. The standing you’ve got in the community. If people didn’t care about you, and want your business to pull through, they wouldn’t bother. Donald was obviously very important to Longhampton, but you are as well, Margaret.’
As Libby carried on talking, a brighter energy was rising through her. It wasn’t just that it was true, everything she was saying, but she felt better for saying it, better for channelling something happy and honest and positive, and seeing the grateful recognition dawning in Margaret’s face.
‘This could be the start of a new chapter for you, now I’m covering the fried-egg duties,’ she went on. ‘You’re a wonderful organiser, and a networker, and a fantastic hostess – all those qualities are still inside you; the town’s your oyster.’
‘Maybe . . .’
‘And you’ll never stop being a mother.’ Libby paused, unsure whether she should tell Margaret about her meeting with Jason, and her frustration with him. She didn’t want their tentative new understanding to be spoiled with a row about Prince Jason.
‘I don’t know.’ Margaret’s face stopped brightening and she looked sad. ‘I did my best, but . . .’
‘Luke and Jason will always need you. They miss their dad. That’s why they want to support you. It’s not because they think you’re not capable or you need help – they want to do what he’d have done. Jason and Luke.’
‘I do love them,’ she said ‘My little boys.’
Their gazes locked, and Libby wondered if Margaret might be coming round to opening her heart to Luke, at the same time as opening her eyes to Jason, with all his faults and gifts. Donald must have tried in his own gentle manner, but until Margaret saw it of her own accord, how equally flawed and perfect her sons were, neither of them would get beyond the teenage boys they still were in so many ways.
This was about Margaret forgiving herself first, Libby realised. That’s what had led to Luke doubting his own ability to love and stand by a woman, and left Jason terrified of letting her down. Margaret projecting her own fears about herself.
‘They’re good men, and they both love you,’ said Libby. ‘Exactly the same.’
‘I know. I might not show it well, but I do. I love them both.’ There was a long pause; then Margaret added, ‘And you.’ She held out her hand to Libby. ‘It’s been so hard, these past few weeks. Feeling I might lose you too. The daughter I always wanted.’
‘Oh, Margaret.’ Hot tears rushed into her eyes: Libby hadn’t expected that.
Margaret nodded. ‘I know people say no woman’s ever good enough for a mother’s son, but I couldn’t have wished for a better daughter-in-law, Elizabeth. You’re kind, and patient, and you’ve stood by Jason, after he . . .’
Libby held her breath.
Margaret seemed to be bracing herself. ‘After he let you down like that. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about what you said. It was foolish of me to dismiss it. And selfish – I love Jason very much, and I suppose I see a lot of his father in him. It’s not easy for me to see his bad points, but . . . His not calling me is very poor. I’m disappointed in him, and I never, ever thought I’d say that.’
‘I saw him today,’ said Libby, unable to bear it. ‘I met him outside Oxford to talk.’
Margaret’s face lit up. ‘Did you? How is he? Is he all right?’
‘He’s fine, but . . .’ No, he wasn’t fine. No white lies. Libby started again. ‘Jason has never had to deal with failure until now. He doesn’t see it as an unavoidable part of life – he sees it as a reflection on himself. He’s let us down; he’s let himself down; he’s not the infallible creature he was brought up to believe he was. He thinks he’s not worth loving if he’s not perfect.’ Libby let a tiny pause sink in; Margaret didn’t reply.
‘This is a turning point for him,’ she went on. ‘If he can drag himself up and start again, then he’ll conquer the world. If he carries on thinking his whole identity is based on being perfect, then we’re all in trouble.’
‘You think it’s my fault?’ There was a hint of defensiveness in Margaret’s voice, but Libby didn’t blame her.
‘I think you’re the only person who can make him see how unconditionally he’s loved,’ she said. ‘Whether he realises what’s at stake and chooses to sort himself out is really up to Jason.’
And that’s the most important job of all right now, she wanted to add, but didn’t. Maybe Margaret wouldn’t want to do that. It was, after all, as good as admitting that her parenting had failed with Jason as much as with Luke.
‘I love him,’ she said. ‘More than anything in the world. But you’re his mum.’
They sat in the quiet office, surrounded by paintings and filing cabinets and knick-knacks given by long-forgotten guests. It was the last room Libby planned to renovate, and although it was a lot tidier than it had been in Donald’s day, in appearance it was still the closest to the old hotel.
‘And you?’ Margaret looked at her over the desk, more briskly than she had in a long while. They were looking at each other in a different way suddenly. ‘What if Jason doesn’t come back?’
The question was left wide open, and Libby could hear various different shades in it. Stay? . . . Go? . . . Divorce? . . . Run the hotel with Margaret?
Libby didn’t know the answer. ‘Let’s just see,’ she said, with a brave smile.
Margaret’s answering smile was sad, but it wasn’t as defeated as Libby had feared.
Chapter Thirty
The week between Tara Brady’s visit and the open day to relaunch the Swan passed more quickly than any Alice had spent in the hotel so far. She was busy from the moment she arrived until she left for the day, organising the weekend’s party and starting to take bookings for the new bedrooms now the website was live and attracting attention. Each phone call took ages because Libby couldn’t stop herself describing every available option to make sure the guest booked the perfect room.
‘You might like room eight,’ she’d say enthusiastically. ‘It has a beautiful view of the garden. But room three has the rainfall shower head, and a feature bath, so if it’s a romantic weekend . . .’
It all felt very real now. A half-page ad had gone into the Longhampton paper, with one of the new photos of reception next to Doris’s old snap of the same, announcing that there would be an informal open afternoon on Saturday, and all were welcome to see the new-look Swan. Alice had sent out specially targeted emails and updated the website with chatty news. She had a proper job title: head receptionist, with responsibilities for social media. (Translation: she ran @LordBobOfficial’s Twitter account.) Even though it was just her and Libby in the office – Margaret had left for her sister’s for a few days on Wednesday ‘to think about things’ – the atmosphere never felt stressed or panicky.
All in all, Alice was really happy. The only fly in the ointment was that Gethin wasn’t.
Even Libby commented wryly on Gethin’s new habit of collecting her and Fido on the dot of five o’clock, a compromise they’d reached about her continuing to work at the hotel when she’d ‘promised him’ she wouldn’t. He’d started sulking whenever she mentioned work; he’d even queried whether she’d given him enough notice to make the open day on Saturday.
Alice had noticed Gethin was fidgety about plans; their supermarket deliveries were already marked on his kitchen wall-planner, and he hated last-minute changes to anything.
‘I take it you haven’t told him yet,’ said Libby, as they sat in the office on Friday afternoon, folding fliers as a gentle July breeze floated through the open windows, drifting the scent of roses in from the garden.
‘Told him what?’ There was a lot Alice hadn’t told Gethin about: the cells slowly knitting into a baby inside her, her worries that
she wasn’t the person he’d fallen in love with, her growing doubts about him. The way her thoughts still kept straying towards Luke. She’d had to delete Luke’s number from her phone to stop the constant temptation to call him.
Libby gave her a look. ‘Alice, you have to tell him soon. He’s going to notice. And he needs to know.’
She let out a long breath. ‘Sorry. It’s just . . . hard to make it feel real. When I’m there, it’s like I’m in a different world. The one I was in before the accident.’
‘That sounds a bit weird.’
Alice struggled to put it into words. ‘It is. It feels like Gethin knows a different version of me, and I’m trying so hard to be that person that I can’t go forwards, if you know what I mean. I’m always second-guessing myself.’
Libby seemed surprised. ‘But you are who you are. Were you really so different?’
I was in love with Gethin, thought Alice, running her nail down a crease to make it crisp. I wrote him those needy, soppy emails he keeps showing me. They don’t feel like me now. But I did write them.
‘Maybe love makes you a different person. Then when it wears off . . .’
The words hung in the air and Alice hoped she hadn’t put her foot in it. There was still no sign of Jason; Libby hadn’t said whether he’d be at the relaunch or not. She wished there was something she could do, but Libby had her determined, cheerful face on most of the time, and she didn’t like to ask.
‘You’re going ahead, though?’ asked Libby. ‘With the baby?’
Alice nodded. ‘I started this bit of my life like this. I just feel it’s right. He or she’s with me now.’
‘Even if you don’t know if you want Gethin?’ Libby frowned. ‘Are you sure that’s logical? Or sensible? You’ll be tied to him forever.’
‘I can’t explain. I just know it’s right.’ Alice had gone back and forwards over and over her instincts until they were worn smooth; just a flat certainty remained. She wanted the baby. It was cast in her head, a solid fact of her future.
‘Then you definitely have to tell him,’ said Libby, conclusively.
The thought sent a greenish shiver of panic through Alice, and Libby raised an eyebrow. ‘What?’
‘I don’t think he’s going to take it very well,’ said Alice. ‘He already thinks I’m behaving oddly, compared to normal. He thinks I’m still readjusting. Gethin’s very sensitive,’ she added. ‘I . . . I found some anti-depressants in the bedroom. He said he’s been on and off them for a while. I don’t want him to go back on them because of this.’
He hadn’t been lying about how she’d ‘saved’ him from depression, then. It made Alice wonder what else there was to find out.
‘Then you’ll have to tell him in stages.’ Libby’s attitude had reverted to its friendly bossiness. ‘Tell him you’ve got a new job with key responsibilities here, which you have, no lie, and it comes with accommodation. You have to live here during the week.’
The relief that flooded through Alice as Libby said that took her by surprise. ‘He won’t like that . . .’
‘Alice, you’re trying to break up with him, aren’t you?’ She gave her a direct look, and Alice couldn’t deny it. Again, the relief of hearing Libby say it in such a matter-of-fact way was extraordinary.
‘Fine. So then when you’re safely moved out,’ Libby went on, ‘tell him calmly about the baby, and that you hope you can work out a way of co-parenting him or her together. As good friends.’
‘You make that sound so simple,’ said Alice. She was already haunted by Gethin’s face, bewildered and angry; how could she hurt him, his big soft eyes seemed to say, when he was making so much effort, sacrificing so much of his own feelings?
‘But it is simple.’ Libby stopped folding paper and looked at her over the desk. ‘It’s very sad that you had this accident but it’s changed something. You can’t force someone to love you, not if it’s not there. If your memory comes back and you remember Gethin’s the love of your life, then great. But if not . . . Even if you’d married him, you could still leave. Staying isn’t worth anything if one person doesn’t want to be there.’
Alice smiled sadly. ‘I’ll tell him after the open day.’
‘Tell him at the open day,’ said Libby. ‘Then you can stay here. He won’t make a scene, but if he bursts into tears, Margaret can take him off for tea and cake – you know she likes Gethin. Then you won’t have to find the right moment at home, or deal with any embarrassing leaving logistics.’
Alice hoped Libby was right about the lack of big scene. She had a worrying feeling it wasn’t going to be that easy.
Libby didn’t sleep at all on Friday night. She watched the morning of the open house creep around the edges of the curtains – which weren’t as beautifully lined as the ones in the hotel – and checked her phone in case a text from Jason had somehow appeared without her noticing.
It hadn’t.
She blinked and made herself focus on the morning ahead. A lot of people had RSVPed, nearly everyone she’d invited. Margaret’s contacts made up most of the list, but it was nice to recognise her own new friends, as well as Erin and Pete, driving up from London to be their first guests of honour in the ‘honeymoon’ room. Either people were eager to come and see what they’d done or they’d picked a quiet weekend: the local paper was coming, plus various great and good, many of the local traders chivvied along by Gina, all the old staff, Lorcan and his entire building team . . . Luke had generously offered to ‘sort out’ the champagne, and Lorcan’s wife, who it turned out was a caterer, was doing some nibbles. It was shaping up to be a nice day all round.
There was only one person missing. Jason.
The thought of him sent a spike through Libby’s heart.
She’d texted him again on Wednesday about the party, but hadn’t had a reply. She’d almost texted him another reminder on Friday, but the moment she was about to press ‘send’, Margaret had walked back in from her mini-break, in such a good mood and with such a startlingly flattering new haircut that Libby had been distracted.
She smiled at the mental image of Margaret ‘modelling’ her haircut in the office, patting her shorter, lighter curls with a touch of modest pride. It was a tiny step, but one that Libby hoped meant Margaret was starting to emerge from the shadows of her sadness, not quite as her old self, but a new one. The transformation was partly down to Jason’s Auntie Linda, who had taken Margaret off to her hairdresser in Banbury and insisted on treating her for the launch.
‘No point our hotel looking nice and me looking like a wreck,’ she’d said, and Libby loved her for the ‘our’.
Then when Margaret told her she was thinking about standing for the town council ‘to do something about those awful wind farms up on Wergins Hill’, Libby hugged her, mainly to stop herself cheering.
Margaret hadn’t mentioned their conversation about Jason again. Another £500 had landed in the hotel account, but there had been no message. No text. It was small consolation that Margaret told her she hadn’t heard anything either. What could she do? Was this really it? Didn’t he want to make the effort to restart their life together?
Libby lay back in bed, stared up at the ceiling and let the darkness spread through her. She’d been keeping it at bay with tasks and lists and bright hotel smiles, but once she was alone, her misery seeped through the cracks. Everything about the hotel reminded her of Jason. Their hopes, their plans. Their fresh start, when they honestly believed they were making one. If he wouldn’t come back . . .
I don’t have to leave Longhampton, she thought. But maybe it’d be better to draw a line under this place and start a chapter of my own. She’d found new strengths, new friends, a sense of purpose she hadn’t had till now.
The thought made her so sad.
But first she had to make the hotel work. Libby threw back the duvet and headed for the shower.
The first curious visitors began arriving on the Swan’s gravel drive just after ten, when the trays of mini croissants were circulating the reception.
Alice and Libby – with Lord Bob and Fido – were also circulating, answering questions, passing out cards and information, and feeling justifiably proud of the way everyone walked in, then stood stock still, taking in the transformed entrance. Each member of the gardening club had sent a box of flowers from their gardens for Margaret to arrange, and the cottage-garden scent of sweet peas, roses and peonies filled the air, mingling with the wood polish and newly cleaned carpets, lemon slices and fresh cakes.
Gethin had agreed to come along about lunchtime, as he had ‘things to sort out’. Butterflies were already massing in Alice’s stomach at the thought of the conversation she needed to have with him. Even as she rehearsed it in her head, she wondered if she was making a mistake. He could be so thoughtful, so sweet and sensitive . . . Was she rushing into a decision based on nothing but her weird instincts? And hormones, weren’t they supposed to mess with your head?
If Alice was being completely honest with herself, there was only one person she wanted to see today at the open day, and that was Luke. She wanted to talk to him, even if she didn’t know what she was going to say. A certainty was taking shape, just out of reach of her reasoning, that seeing him would somehow make every loose thought fall into place, like a magnet dropped into iron filings. She couldn’t explain why, but even thinking about him seemed to calm down the swarm of buzzing questions in her mind.
Fido was coping very well with the crowds, although she didn’t have Bob’s experience, and Alice had just shut her in the lounge for a brief moment of quiet time when Libby caught her arm.
‘Gethin’s here,’ she said, and nodded to where Gethin was standing over by a painting of a mournful stag. He wasn’t talking to anyone and was holding a glass of champagne nervously.