Her mum, who was holding on to Jackson’s arm, threw her a pleading look. She loved Jackson – Amelia knew that, even if she didn’t understand why. Yes she was still heartbroken that she’d left her dad, but this break wasn’t about Amelia. This was about her mum’s happiness – a happiness that would be cut short long before it should have been.

‘Sounds fine by me,’ Amelia said, and a lump rose in her throat as her mum smiled and mouthed, ‘Thank you.’

She let out a sigh, and looked away. How the hell was she – or any of them – going to get through the next few days?

Chapter 6

A Year Ago

Ruth

Ruth stood behind an antique reception desk, inquisitive grey eyes, like marbles, fixed on the couple entering. The woman looked familiar, though she couldn’t fathom why, but then Ruth had met so many people over the years – visitors to Drummondale House.

‘Good morning.’ She moulded her face into a welcoming smile, without showing her teeth. She didn’t like her teeth – far too small, her mother always said. ‘Welcome to Drummondale House.’

‘Hey there.’ The man was American, and exceptionally handsome. His face lit up in a smile. ‘I’m Jackson Cromwell, and this is my partner Caroline Taylor.’

Ruth’s guests fascinated her. The anticipation of discovering more about their lives was her only pleasure outside of cooking. They always arrived smiling because they were on holiday, hiding their faults and flaws, their quirks, and deepest troubles. But what was beneath their façades intrigued her. It was like finding hidden treasure when it revealed itself – always a delight to see that they were never quite as happy below their holiday sheen. No happier than she was.

Ruth had been here all her life. Her mother had owned this small part of the Drummondale estate, and her father before her.

‘Your great-grandfather won the land in a poker game from George Collis,’ her mother told her once. And now it was hers – a sizeable piece of land right smack bang in the middle of the Drummondale House estate. Her mother had used the land as a camping retreat until her death thirty-five years ago. She’d been an untrusting woman. ‘Ruth,’ she would say, ‘keep your eye on everyone you meet, and trust no one. Nobody’s really your friend.’ And Ruth followed her mother’s advice always. Apart from that one summer when she was seventeen, when he said he loved her – and she’d believed him.

‘It’s stunning here,’ Jackson continued, looking through the window, forcing Ruth from her memory. She couldn’t help staring at him. There was something about him that drew her in.

‘Aye, it is. A beautiful part of the country,’ she said.

‘He’s been on TV and on the Broadway stage.’ It was Caroline. ‘He did really well in the US.’