We are thrilled to share an exclusive extract from the new festival novel of romance, fresh starts, and second chances, The Christmas Cottage. Coming out 24th October.
1
Imogen
It began as a casual conversation and Imogen wasn’t quite sure at what point things had started to go so wrong. It wasn’t her fault. At least, not all her fault. She’d wanted to be friendly, that was all. To form a bond with her colleagues. That wasn’t a crime, was it? It was almost a requirement of open plan offices. They created an atmosphere of familiarity. Sitting side by side and across from the people you worked with encouraged confidences and chat, and allowed for the gradual absorption of tiny granules of information that you didn’t even realize you’d overheard. It was intimacy by osmosis.
“Hey, Imogen.” Anya glanced at her across the desk. She was a makeup addict and spent at least half an hour of every day extolling the virtues of her latest find. Today her eyelids glittered like an ornament on a Christmas tree. “Did you see the email from the boss? She’s planning a ‘bring your dog to work day’ the week before Christmas.”
“I saw the email.” Her day had gone downhill from there. Bonding with her colleagues was important, but she liked to keep her work life and her homelife separate. “Did you get the costings for those venues, Anya? I have to send that proposal to Rosalind to check before it goes to the client at lunchtime.”
Pets, clothes, makeup, diets, travel, food, movies, books, bad dates and irritating clients. That covered the bulk of the conversation that bounced around the office.
“Just waiting on the last two. Isn’t it a brilliant idea?
Every dog wears a festive outfit and Rosalind picks the winner. All for charity. It will be so much fun. I’m wondering whether I can persuade my little Cocoa to wear antlers. Generally he hates having his head touched, so maybe not. But we get to dress up too. I bought a new sparkly highlighter on Saturday. Perfect for Christmas. There was a discount if you bought two, so I got one for you too.” She passed it
across the desk to Imogen.
“That’s for me?” She took it, surprised and touched. “Why?”
“Just because.” Anya shrugged and grinned. “Call it a thank you for helping me out of that sticky client situation last week. Also, you have great cheekbones and it will look good on you.”
Imogen felt an unexpected sting in her throat. She remembered her first day at the company when Anya had presented her with a frosted cupcake and a pen that glowed in the dark. You’re going to be working late so you’ll need this. It was hard to believe she’d been here for almost a year. She’d started her new job a few days before Christmas and had barely got started before the office had closed for the
festive break. “I love it, thank you.” She checked the time and felt a flash of panic. She didn’t miss deadlines. Not ever. And this one was too close for comfort. She wanted to call and get the costings herself, but she was Anya’s manager and was supposed to be helping her develop, so she needed to stop
doing things herself. The restraint almost killed her. It was so much easier and safer to do it herself. At least then she could be confident it would be done on time, with no mistakes.
“Will you chase those venues urgently? Those are the last numbers I need to finish this.”
“Sure, I’ll do it now. I saw a lipstick that would look great on you, Imogen. Maybe we could go shopping together one lunchtime. And if you’re looking for doggy outfits, I saw a cute red Santa coat on the internet that would look great on a golden retriever. Or do you already have something in mind?” Anya was more interested in the idea of everyone bringing their dogs to work than she was in doing actual
work. “You will be bringing Midas, won’t you?” Realizing there was no chance of getting those costings
until she finished the dog conversation, Imogen glanced at the photograph on her desk.
Huge brown eyes gazed back at her and she felt a sudden pang.
Bring your dog to work day. She touched the photo with the tips of her fingers. “I’m not sure if I’ll be able to bring him.” She definitely wouldn’t be bringing him, but she still had to work out how best to present that fact to her colleagues without alienating them. And then she had a brain wave. “He’s not been well. The vet has kept him for a few nights.”
“What? No! Midas is ill? And you didn’t tell us?” Anya put her pen down and looked at Janie. “Janie, did you know Midas was ill?”
Janie glanced at them, her ponytail swinging across her back. She was a fitness fanatic and used the gym for an hour every morning when everyone else was still asleep. Occasionally she paced up and down the office just to get her step count up.
“Midas is ill?” Janie rejected a client phone call and focused on Imogen. “That’s awful. What happened? Was it the dog walker’s fault? Did she let him eat something he shouldn’t have eaten?”
“No, nothing like that.” Maybe illness hadn’t been the best way to go. She should have played along and then found a reason for Midas to be absent on the day. He stepped on something and he has to rest his paw. “It’s not important. Look, if you could get the last of those costings that would be great, because I need to finish this document and the deadline is—”
“Of course it’s important! This is your dog we’re talking about. What is more important than that? The client can wait.”
“The client can’t wait,” Imogen said. “We’re in a competitive business. There are new events companies springing up every day. It’s important that we exceed expectations.”
“We will. We’ll do a great job on the event itself. We always do, particularly with you in charge. But this is just a proposal. No one is going to die if it’s a few hours late. You can pause for two minutes, Imogen,” Anya said. “You worked over the weekend supervising those events, and you didn’t take a day off on Monday. You work too hard.”
Too hard? There was no such thing as too hard. She loved her job. Her job was everything. She was a
natural multitasker and handled twice as many accounts as everyone else. She did whatever it took to win business and keep the client, and she did that through experience, attention to detail, creativity and sheer hard work. She was good at what she did. And that wasn’t only her opinion. In her previous company she’d moved up to the lofty heights of management so quickly a jealous colleague had left an
oxygen mask on her desk. But now she had a team of six to manage, and occasionally she wished she could just do all the work herself rather than delegate. Anya, in particular, seemed to feel no particular
sense of urgency about anything. She was generous and kind, but maddeningly slow to complete tasks. She told everyone that work-life balance was essential to her, but Imogen rarely saw her focus on the work side of that equation. It was like trying to run a race with six weights attached
to her waist. She was going to have to speak to Anya. There was no avoiding it. She needed to have a “conversation” about commitment and goals. Managing Anya would take her away from doing actual client work, which meant she’d be working longer hours.
Work-life balance? There was no balance for Imogen, but she didn’t mind. This was her choice.
“The deadline is lunchtime, Anya. We can do this!”
“Relax, Imogen. You’re going to get white hair and wrinkles before your time. You have so much energy you make me want to lie down. It will get done. It always does.” Anya dismissed the deadline, and Imogen felt her stress levels ratchet up another notch. It did get done, but only because she invariably ended up
doing it herself. She really liked Anya, which made it even harder. “Anya—”
“I know. You’re stressed. And I understand why.”
“You do?” Hearing that came as a relief. Maybe Anya was more aware of work pressures than she’d thought.
“Of course. How can you be calm when your lovely Midas is ill? I can’t believe you’ve been keeping this to
yourself. I’d be totally freaking out.”
Midas?
“I—”
“What does the vet say? When will they let him out? You must be worried sick. It’s okay to be honest. We’re a team. We’re here to support each other. You’re allowed to be human, Imogen. We can cover for you if needed. We can do your work.”
Imogen blinked. Anya didn’t seem able to do her own work, let alone anyone else’s but this probably wasn’t the time to point that out.
“Well I—”
“Anya’s right,” Janie said. “You don’t have to hold it in. I mean, this is Midas. He’s your baby.” She reached across the desk and picked up the photo Imogen kept on her desk.
“Look at that face. Poor boy. I’m sure Rosalind would give you time off if you explained. She was amazing when Buster had that lump on his leg. I suppose because she’s a dog lover herself. She gets it.”
“That’s why I love this place,” Anya said. “Everyone is so human. The last place I worked no one talked about anything personal. It was like working with a bunch of robots. Nightmare.”
A place where no one talked about anything personal? Imogen was starting to wonder if that might be preferable. She loved her colleagues, but she would have loved them even more if they shared her work ethic. But there was no denying that her colleagues were good people, even if most of the time they seemed to fit work around their personal life. Janie looked close to tears as she held the photo of Midas,
and Imogen reached across and gently removed it from her fingers.
“I’d rather not talk about it.” She placed the photograph back on her desk, next to the one of her family. In her last job they’d had a hot desk system, and no one had been allowed to display a single personal item. RPQ Events was a very different place. There were plants and a fish tank, and people were encouraged to personalize their workstations. Anya’s computer was framed by fairy lights, and no one seemed to mind. Glancing around her on her first day, Imogen had seen everything from fluffy mascots to family photos. She’d stared at her stark, empty desk and decided she needed to do something about it.
Come on, Imogen, show us your family, Janie had said cheerfully, and Anya had nodded agreement. Do you have any pets? We’re all animal lovers here. Even Danny. He’ll tell you he bought the rabbits for his daughters, but don’t believe him for a second. She’d never had a personal photo on her desk before, but
here the absence of it drew attention so she’d done the same. She’d appreciated how welcoming they were and wanted to be part of the team, so she’d carefully selected one photo of Midas and one family photo taken at Christmas. Everyone was huddled together, laughing for the camera as they struggled not to lose their footing in the snow. Imogen loved that photo. Everyone looked so happy.
“We’re here for you, Imogen,” Janie reached across and rubbed Imogen’s shoulder in a show of solidarity. “You’re so brave and strong. It must be awful not having your furry friend there to greet you when you get home. I’m sure you miss him horribly. We had no idea you were going through this. You seem so normal. Honestly, you’re amazing, although I’m sure it helps having such a close family.”
Imogen started to panic. She found personal conversations like this really unsettling. Any moment now they’d be suggesting grief counseling. She needed to shut this down before it went any further.
“I do miss him, but he’s in good hands and I’m sure he’ll soon be home. If you could get those costs, I’d be able to send this through to the client by lunchtime.”
“Working on it now. What’s wrong with him?”
“What’s wrong with who?”
“Midas.” Anya’s eyes were wide with sympathy. “Nothing serious, I hope. I don’t know how you can concentrate on work when he’s ill.”
“They’re not sure what’s wrong,” Imogen said. “They’re running tests.”
This was the problem with working in an open plan office.
People wanted detail. Much of her time was spent out and about with clients at their offices, visiting venues or supervising events, but eventually she had to return to her desk, and that meant being cocooned with her colleagues. And it wasn’t that she didn’t like them, because she did. She liked them a great deal, but there was a fine line between fitting in and being welded together. If someone wanted to talk, then she was always willing to listen, but sometimes the level of information became too much (close physical proximity didn’t seem to be the moderating influence it should have been). Take Janie for example. Because Janie never bothered to leave her desk when taking a personal call, Imogen knew
that Janie lived with her mother, had one sister who was married and that she was currently dating two different men so that she had backup in the event that one of them ghosted her (Janie’s father had walked out when she was ten, leaving her with a perpetual mistrust of the opposite sex).
Then there was Peter. Peter was head of tech, and he sat to her left. He’d been with the company for six months, yet despite this relatively short acquaintance she knew he had an appointment with his doctor on Friday to talk about a part of his body Imogen tried never to picture in a colleague. She knew his girlfriend wanted them to move in together, and she knew Pete had no intention of doing that because
she’d heard him on the phone to his landlord renewing his rental for another year.
And there was Danny, another account manager, who spent a large part of the day arranging gym sessions and after-work drinks so that he could arrive home after his wife had put their four-year-old twins to bed. Yes, he had rabbits, but judging from the conversation, he’d never contributed to their care. That was his wife’s responsibility (and his wife seemed to have a great number of responsibilities).
Imogen filed all the things she heard into a compartment in her brain labeled things I wish I didn’t know and tried to forget about them. The thing she found less easy to handle was the fact that they wanted to know about her too. She was a private person and, given the choice, she would have revealed nothing about her personal life, but she wanted to fit in. She wanted people to like her. So she did what everyone else did and put photos on her desk. She chatted. And the chat requirement was about to escalate because they were heading into the worst month of the year for team bonding activities. December.
Imogen knew that the “bring your dog to work” day would just be the start of many Christmas celebrations. There would be the office Christmas lunch, the Secret Santa, the charity quiz night (which one of the following is not one of Santa’s reindeer?). The list was endless and, although her colleagues knew a few things about her, the one thing they didn’t know was that she dreaded Christmas. Last year had been easy because she’d only joined a few days before, but this year promised to be more of a trial.
“At least you’ll have time off with him over Christmas.” Janie flashed her a smile. “Only thirty-six sleeps to go. We’re spending Christmas with my sister this year. I can’t wait. She has a bigger house and a bigger TV. How about you, Imogen? Please tell me you are taking time off. The office closed for a week last year but still you sent emails on Christmas Day. I mean, who does that?”
“I’d just joined the company. I was keen.” That wasn’t really the reason, but it worked well enough as an excuse. “I didn’t expect you to look at them. But with the office closed and clients enjoying the holidays, it seemed like the perfect time to catch up. I wanted to be able to hit the ground running in January.”
“But it was your holiday too. Why weren’t you just hanging out with your family?”
“I was.” Imogen moved the photo of Midas next to the family photo. “But there were a few hours in the day when everyone was either watching a movie, or sleeping off too much food, so I opened my laptop.” And she didn’t want to think about it. She really didn’t.
“You’re obsessed,” Anya said. “Don’t take your laptop this year, then you won’t be tempted. It was a bit startling to turn on my computer on January 2 and find fifty-six emails from you waiting in my inbox.”
“I like to end the year with everything tidy,” Imogen said. “I still spent plenty of time with family, don’t worry.” Janie sat back and shook her head. “I don’t know how you do it all. You hardly ever come out with us after work because you’re either babysitting your niece and nephew or you’re visiting your grandmother. You have a dog. You do everything for everyone, and still handle an inhuman workload.
And you never take time off. How many holiday days are you carrying forward into next year?”
“Er—I don’t know. Most of them I think.”
“Exactly! Would you slow down? You make the rest of us feel inadequate.”
“You’re all great,” Imogen said. “We’re a brilliant team.”
“We are, but if you’re not careful you’re going to burn out. You’ve been working every weekend, so you deserve a good break. Your family home looks like a dreamy place to spend Christmas. That gorgeous big house. All that countryside. Midas must love it. Are you excited?”
Christmas, Christmas, Christmas. As far as her colleagues were concerned, it was never too soon to talk about Christmas. It made her want to scream. This year the conversation had started in July (July! What
was wrong with people?) when Anya had indulged in a Christmas movie marathon over the weekend and proceeded to talk about it for several weeks after. In October, Janie had returned from a trip to the supermarket to buy a salad and pointed out that the shelves were already lined with Christmas decorations and Christmas chocolate. She’d placed her plastic-looking salad on her desk, along with a garishly wrapped chocolate Santa.
“I normally avoid chocolate, but Christmas is the exception,” she’d told them happily as she’d stripped the Santa of its red foil and bitten off the head. “How about you, Imogen?”
Imogen had focused on her computer screen and hoped they’d lose interest.
“I refuse to think about Christmas in October. It’s too soon.” It was okay to say that, wasn’t it? Plenty of people refused to think about Christmas in October. A month later, when someone had asked her about plans for the office Christmas party, she’d said the same thing.
“I refuse to talk about Christmas in November. It’s too soon.”
But next week it would be December and Imogen would have run out of viable excuses. Decorations glittered in shop windows. Christmas music boomed relentless cheer over loudspeakers.
She could no longer avoid the topic. She’d have this one conversation and hopefully that would
be it for a while.
“I’ll be going home, yes. It will be chaos as usual. You know how it is. Big noisy family gathering. Tree too big for the room. Log fire. Uncle George singing out of tune. I’ll be spending most of my time trying to stop the nieces and nephews squeezing the presents and making sure my mother isn’t burning the turkey.” That was enough information to keep them happy, surely? “We really need that costing, Anya.”
“I’m on it. Oh, and I forgot to tell you that Dorothy Rutherford called for you earlier. You were on the phone to that tech guy from the lighting company.”
Imogen felt her breathing quicken. “You forgot? Dorothy Rutherford is an important client, Anya. When she calls, I stop what I’m doing and take her call. If I’m on with another client, then I call her right back when I’m done.”
“She was fine about it. She loves you. We all know you’re the reason she gave us the business. She wanted to carry on working with you when you left your last place. You can do no wrong. Also, you’re the only one of us who genuinely loves her alcohol-free wine.”
“I don’t mind it,” Janie protested. “It’s a refreshing drink. But it’s not—you know—alcohol. It doesn’t give me the buzz I need on a Friday night. I know those bubbles aren’t going to give me the headache I need the morning after.”
“Just Friday?” Anya grinned. “What about the other nights of the week?”
“Those too. It’s the first thing I do when I get home. My Mum and I open a bottle and share it. That’s why I go to the gym every morning. I’d have more willpower if I lived on my own. You’re so lucky to be able to afford your own place, Imogen.”
Imogen waited for a break in the conversation. “What did Dorothy want?”
“She wanted to talk to you about the proposal you sent. Sounds as if she wants to go ahead with everything you suggested. She was impressed. She asked for a bespoke and original concept and you gave her one. The outdoor festival, complete with a stage and tents and the works. Like a rock concert. She thinks it’s a perfect way to showcase their products to customers and have a party for locals at the same time. And she loved the idea of fireworks and the drone display. This will be a huge piece of business, Imogen. Congratulations. You turned a virtually impossible brief into reality. We should celebrate—” She grinned at Janie. “Fancy a glass of nonalcoholic wine?”
“No thanks. I’d rather have a double espresso. I’ll say this though, I love their packaging. Those bottles are classy. They look like champagne.”
“And their sales are rocketing, so someone is loving it.” Anya rested her chin on her palm. “I wonder if it’s because the marketing is so clever. She has tapped into the whole healthy living trend. Pictures of her estate in the Cotswolds with its vineyard, lots of cool people toasting each other with glasses of Spearcante. I look at the ads and I want to be there, even if there is no alcohol on offer. I wonder
how she came up with that name?”
“I think spearca is from an Old English word meaning spark,” Imogen said and they both stared at her.
“How do you know these things?”
“Dorothy is my client. It’s my job to know as much about her as possible. She hasn’t always been in business. Originally, she read English Literature at Oxford. And then she did Medieval studies, which included Old English and Old Norse. I think she also studied Anglo Saxon prose and poetry.
I guess etymology was part of that.”
Anya frowned. “Isn’t that insects?”
Janie grinned. “That’s entomology. Etymology is the origin of words, and I’d rather talk about that than insects, thank you very much.”
Right now, Imogen didn’t care about the origins of the name. The only thing Imogen cared about was that Dorothy had been kept waiting. Dorothy wasn’t only an important client, but she was Imogen’s favorite client. She was smart, interesting and surprisingly easy to work with. She embraced Imogen’s ideas and rarely reined her in. Dorothy had been running the family vineyard in the Cotswolds for
many years, producing award-winning wines, before deciding to experiment with extracting the alcohol from the wine. She’d been producing no-alcohol wine long before it had become something of a cultural movement, but lately the business had taken off. Imogen had worked with her for several years and found
her enthusiastic, encouraging and supportive. She never whined and complained, which was more than could be said for most of their clients.
“I’ll call her now.”
“No point. She said she’d be tied up for the next couple of hours but she’d call you from the car on her way home.” Imogen managed to hide her frustration. If Dorothy was in a meeting, then it would have to be later and she would have to try not to stress about it. And in the meantime…
“Anya, if you could get those costings now it would mean I could finish this document…” She had a sudden brainwave.
“And then I’ll be able to make the call about Midas.”
“Of course! Anything for Midas.”
“Great. Thanks.” As she’d hoped, the mention of Midas galvanized her colleague into action, and ten minutes later Imogen had all the costings incorporated into the document.
Relieved, she sent it through to Rosalind for final approval and sat back in her chair. Done. Finally. Maybe she should try using Midas as a motivator more often. She felt uncomfortable talking about him at work, but she badly wanted to fit in, and if that required a little personal sacrifice on her part, then fine. She’d do whatever it took, even pretend to be enthusiastic about Christmas. Her colleagues would never know the truth. Soon a giant tree would arrive in the foyer and she’d admire it along with everyone else. Mistletoe would be hung in strategic places, even though office romance was banned (and, as Janie had once pointed out after several glasses of wine that most definitely had retained all its alcohol content,
the number of kissable people in their office was depressingly limited).
And there would be the “bring your dog to work” day. Midas. She sighed and glanced at the photo on her desk. The photographer had captured the exact moment his tail had been suspended in mid wag.
He really was a gorgeous dog. It was just a pity he wasn’t hers.
Also a pity that her Christmas wasn’t going to be a big, noisy family affair. She loved the family photo she’d placed on her desk, but they weren’t her family. She had no idea who they were (although they looked like lovely people). She’d described someone else’s Christmas, not hers. There was no big house in the country. There would be no oversize tree or a log fire. Uncle George wouldn’t be singing out of tune because she didn’t have an uncle called George, or any other uncle. She wasn’t going to have to stop her nieces and nephews squeezing the presents, because she didn’t have nieces or nephews. There would be no games of charades, and no burnt turkey because her mother had never cooked a turkey in her life.
But right now that wasn’t her biggest problem. Her biggest problem was “bring your dog to work” day.
Everyone was expecting to meet Midas, but there was no Midas.
Imogen didn’t have a dog. Imogen didn’t have a loving family.
Imogen had no one. The personal life she’d created for herself was entirely fake.
The Christmas Cottage is out 24th October.
