‘Listen,’ he said, before she could tell him more about dinner. ‘I was going to call you tonight anyway – I’ve got some good news. Those commissions I was talking about came through, so I should be in the UK from the fourteenth.’

Tara forgot her irritation in the surge of relief that followed his words like a rainbow. Toby was coming back! He’d put everything in perspective. He’d know what to do, how to finesse this odd new situation. ‘That is brilliant. How long are you staying?’

‘A week? Not sure how long I’ll be in Longhampton, though – I’m trying to line up as much work as I can while I’m over. I’ll do my best.’

‘OK, but try, won’t you?’ Tara’s eye was drawn inextricably towards the notebook by the phone, the one with the notes from the estate agent and the solicitor. And the man at the bank who’d ‘run some numbers’ for a mortgage on Toby’s half of the house. ‘There are some things we need to discuss. About Mum.’

No need to mention it now, she thought. It can wait till he gets here. By then I’ll know what’s happening with work. I’ll have a plan.

‘Sure,’ said Toby, and she thought his voice changed slightly. ‘Yeah, there is some stuff we need to talk about.’

She frowned. What did he know? Had he spoken to the solicitor? Or had he read her mind?

‘Like what? About Dad? Is there something you haven’t told me?’ Tara put her glass down. ‘He hasn’t got more children, has he?’

‘No, nothing like that.’ He laughed. ‘Just … It’s a long time since we had a proper chat, that’s all. Nothing that can’t wait until I see you, though. I’ll let you know when I’ve booked flights,’ he carried on, as if he had another call to be getting on to. ‘I’m looking forward to it!’

‘Me too,’ said Tara. She felt warm inside at the thought of a proper chat. Warmer still that Toby had missed talking to her.

She caught sight of herself in the night-time reflection of the bifold doors. The reflected Tara looked as if she was presenting an aspirational cookery programme, in a gorgeously styled kitchen set.

I can’t sell this house, she thought. Not even for a round-the-world voyage of a lifetime.

But it didn’t stop her dreaming of mountain-top lodges, and an endless ballroom where everything was covered in fairy lights and she was waltzing around and around in the comforting arms of a man whose face was always looking over her shoulder, out of sight.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The advert for the Wellness Centre Director job, when it appeared the next morning in Tara’s inbox, sounded significantly more dynamic than the role Jacqueline was currently inhabiting.