Making Your Mind Up Read Free Page B

occasion.”
    Lottie rolled her eyes in despair. “It’s certainly a special occasion now. The day your assistant spattered Château Margaux whatever-it-is all over your terrace. You’d have been better leaving it in the cellar for another ten years.”
    â€œYes, well. Maybe I don’t want to. Anyway, you haven’t asked me yet why this is a special occasion.”
    â€œGo on then, tell me.”
    Freddie sat back and blew a perfect, practiced smoke ring. “I’m selling the business.”
    Startled, Lottie said, “Is this another joke?”
    â€œNo.” He shook his head.
    â€œBut why?”
    â€œI’m sixty-four. People retire at my age, don’t they? It’s time to hand over and do the kind of things I want to do. Plus, the right buyer happened to come along. Don’t worry, your job’s safe.” His eyes twinkling, Freddie said, “In fact, I think the two of you might get on extremely well.”
    Since this was Hestacombe and not some bustling city metropolis, it didn’t take a genius to work it out.
    â€œThe American guy,” said Lottie, exhaling slowly. “The one in the suit.”
    â€œThe very same.” Nodding, Freddie said slyly, “Don’t try to pretend you can’t remember his name.”
    â€œTyler Klein.” Freddie was right; when strangers were that good-looking, their names simply didn’t slip your mind. “We met down at the lake this afternoon.”
    â€œHe did happen to mention it.” Entertained, Freddie took another puff of his cigar. “Interesting encounter, by the sound of things.”
    â€œYou could say that. So what’s going to happen, exactly? Is he buying everything? Are you moving away? Oh, Freddie, I can’t imagine this place without you.”
    Lottie meant it. Freddie and Mary Masterson had moved to Hestacombe House twenty-two years ago. Freddie had caught her stealing apples from his orchard when she was nine years old, the same age Ruby was now. He was part of the village and they would all miss him if he was no longer around.
    Plus, he was a great boss.
    â€œI’m not selling this house. Just the business.”
    Relieved, Lottie said, “Oh well, that’s not so bad then. So you’ll still be here. It won’t really be that different after all.”
    Hestacombe Vacation Cottages had been built up by Freddie and Mary into a successful concern over the years; eight original properties, painstakingly renovated, were either dotted around the lakeside or, for greater seclusion, tucked away in the woods. Guests, many of them devoted regulars, rented the ravishingly pretty homes for anything between a couple of nights and a month at a time, safe in the knowledge that their every whim would be catered to while they enjoyed their break away from it all in the heart of the Cotswolds.
    â€œHere, drink your drink.” Freddie pushed the glass back across the table toward her. “Tyler Klein’s a good man. Everything’ll be fine.” With a twinkle in his eye he added, “You’ll be in safe hands.”
    Now there was a mental image to conjure with.
    This time, taking a girlie sip, Lottie did her utmost to appreciate the expensiveness of the Château Margaux. It was nice, of course it was, but she’d still never have known. “So where will he be living?”
    â€œFox Cottage. We only have to rejig a few bookings. As long as the guests are moved into something better they won’t mind.”
    Fox Cottage, their most recent acquisition, had spent the last three months being extensively redesigned. By some miracle the work had been completed ahead of schedule. It was one of their smaller properties, the second floor now knocked through to make just one huge bedroom with floor-to-ceiling windows affording a stupendous view over the lake.
    â€œNot very big.” Innocently Lottie said, “Won’t his wife find it