Heart in the Right Home: Heart, #2

By Lisa Hill

Book two in the Heart series.

Can the path of true love ever run smooth?

Wedding bells are chiming in the village of Clunderton, but will it be happy-ever-afters all around? Rebecca Cavendish thinks not. All she's feeling is shame and remorse since her affair with property mogul, Edward Hardwicke, whilst in another corner of the village, Louise Edwards is slowly coming to the conclusion she might not be in love with husband, Johnnie, anymore.

Meanwhile, Lottie Hardwicke is resisting the urge to do what she does best…interfere. When Edward's son, James, turns up announcing Hardwickes' intentions to develop land on the outskirts of the village into residential homes, and Edward makes a further shocking announcement, a divide begins to set hold amongst the villagers, perhaps more monumental than the country being torn apart by Brexit…

Will Lottie refrain? Or will she cave-in to that need to interfere, and ensure everyone ends up with their heart in the right home?

• Language: English
• Publisher: BLKDOG Publishing
• Release date: Dec 18, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215983850

Book preview

For my mother, Marcia, who after many attempts has finally ‘Dunroamin’ and firmly has her heart in the right home.

Chapter One

‘O kay?’ Lottie asked , aware it was the hundredth time she’d asked Jude the exact same question this morning.

Jude drew a deep breath and nodded, looking like a rabbit in the headlights. A very beautiful, Disney-princess-type, bunny in the headlights.

‘Are we going in yet, Mummy?’ Emily asked, swishing her chiffon bridesmaid dress like she was wearing a hula-hoop, scattering the petals from her basket everywhere. The petals she was meant to be scattering down the aisle. ‘Oops.’

‘Emily!’ Jude hissed.

Lottie raised her hands in the air. ‘Don’t panic!’ she said, reaching down to pick up the rose petals, which was difficult in a slinky Jessica-Rabbit-style bridesmaid dress with a split half-way up her thigh. She breathed in as much as possible, fearing the zip in the back would give way any second. She’d lost over a stone for this momentous occasion and still the dress, with its built-in bodice, felt like it was permanently deflating her lungs.

The inner door to the chapel creaked open. Lottie looked up, mid-bend, feeling more like Bambi on ice than demure Matron of Honour.

‘I won’t ask,’ Jack, Lottie’s father, said, turning his attention to Jude. ‘Alright there Jude?’ he said, in that soft, Somerset burr of his.

‘Bit nervous,’ Jude whispered.

‘But ready?’

‘Yes,’ Jude nodded vigorously.

‘Good. You look beautiful by the way. I’ll let the organist know and then I’ll be back to walk you down.’ He winked and disappeared.

‘I notice he didn’t say anything about how I looked,’ Lottie snorted, standing back up, all petals now gathered back into Emily’s basket.

Jude rolled her eyes. ‘Am I not allowed one day in the limelight?’

‘This wedding has turned you into a total bridezilla.’

Jude glared and went to lob her bouquet at Lottie before bursting out laughing.

‘Nerves gone now?’

‘You are a pain in the backside sometimes, Lottie Hardwicke.’

‘Haven’t I been the perfect Matron of Honour?’

‘Only because it involves interfering.’

‘I prefer the term organising.’

Beyond the chapel doors at Clunderton Hall, Mendelssohn’s Wedding March started flowing through the organ pipes.

‘Oooh, this is it!’ Lottie said, squeezing Jude’s arm.

‘Can I hold your hand, Mummy?’ Jacob asked, quietly.

Jude bent down. ‘Do you remember, sweetie, that we said you would hold Emily’s hand and Evie’s Grampy Jack would walk me down the aisle?

‘Okay?’ Jack asked, reappearing again and closing the Chapel door behind him.

Jacob’s bottom lip came jutting out and those big cow eyes of his started to well. Lottie could envisage this unfolding into a messy, six-year-old meltdown. She could see the creeping blush spreading up Jude’s chest towards her neck and knew she had to act fast.

‘Well, Grampy Jack won’t mind being demoted, will you?’

Jack looked at Jude for affirmation.

Jude exhaled. ‘Ever since I met Lottie, you’ve always been like a dad to me.’

Jack took Jude’s hand and squeezed it. ‘And do you know, you’ve been like a little, surrogate daughter to me? But I’ve given one daughter away and, really, when you think about it, you are Jacob’s to give away to Tom, aren’t you?’

Lottie watched Jude’s eyes well with tears. ‘Look, as much as I hate to break-up this heart-warming moment, Mendelssohn’s March is going to end any second; we all need to quick-march it down that aisle. Not to mention, poor Tom is probably having kittens at the altar!’

Jude scowled, tears diminished, thankfully not affecting her perfectly applied wedding make-up. ‘If I’m Bridezilla, you’re the King Kong of Matrons of Honour.’

‘Okay,’ Lottie said, pushing the doors wide open. She’d let that quip slide seeing it was Jude’s wedding day. ‘Off you go, Dad,’ she said, pushing her hand into the small of Jack’s back. He briskly moved down the edge of the aisle and slipped in to his seat next to Pamela.

‘Ready?’ Lottie asked.

‘Ready.’ Jude beamed.

Jack winked at Tom, who was looking almost ashen at the altar. Tom broke into a grin and some of his colour started to return. Squeezing in next to Pamela Hardwicke, Jack gave her hand a squeeze and the congregation rose to watch Emily scattering her petals, followed by Lottie with Jude and Jacob proceeding gracefully behind, down the red, carpeted aisle towards the altar.

Pamela gasped. ‘Oh, doesn’t Lottie look striking in that dress?’

Jack turned to look down at Pamela. She looked beautiful herself, dressed in a pale pink shift dress with cream bolero jacket, matching kitten heels and hairpiece, all set off by a fuchsia pink clutch bag.

‘Not like you to be so complimentary of Lottie,’ he whispered.

Pamela took his hand and squeezed it. ‘I’ve turned over a new leaf since I’ve been with you.’ She smiled up at him, then catching a glimpse of Jude gliding past in her silk and lace ivory wedding dress added, ‘ohhh, look at Jude! She looks stunning. But, then, with the money Tom’s probably forked out for this wedding, I’m not surprised she looks so demure, it’s probably Chanel or Dior; something wildly expensive.’

‘What was that about turning over a new leaf?’ Jack winked.

‘Please be seated,’ said Reverend Eckersley to the congregation.

‘I’ve always dreamed of a proper wedding,’ Pamela whispered, as they took their seats on the pew.

‘Well, I can’t say it would be as lavish, but we could give it a go, couldn’t we?’

Pamela’s head whipped around, her beautiful, electric blue eyes searching his. ‘Are you serious?’

‘Aye, we could get wed,’ he whispered, as Reverend Eckersley began talking, rendering Pamela silent, whilst her mouth opened and closed like an apoplectic puffer fish.

Rebecca Cavendish leant against the large sash window in Hardwickes’ Harrogate office and let out a long sigh. The early May sunshine warmed her face as she watched the passers-by enjoying their strolls in and out of the town along West Park, all drawn out by the spring weather, completely disinterested in buying a house.

It went one of two ways on a bank holiday weekend. Either house-hunters came out in their droves, with streams of waiting buyers coming through the door, or it was a day, like today, where everyone was far too interested on working on their tan after a long, harsh, winter.

Rebecca sighed again, pulled herself away from the window and turned to face the empty office. The great, big, cream ‘H’ for Hardwickes, was shining like a beacon from its navy-walled backdrop above the disused fireplace and Rebecca’s stomach lurched. It was seven months now since her affair with Edward Hardwicke had abruptly ended. There had been no contact since. She reported into James, now. Edward’s son and Drew’s brother.

It was so depressing.

Talking of James, he was on her tail for April’s sales figures and there was no time like the present, when the office was so quiet. Rich, one of the negotiators, was out on viewings and Rachel - Lottie’s replacement on Saturdays since Lottie and Drew had both left Hardwickes to open their rival estate agents, HG1- had asked for the weekend off, leaving Rebecca on office cover. She quickly checked no-one was about to come up the steps to the offices before nipping upstairs to the kitchen to make a coffee. Despite the bitter winter, April’s figures had been good, thanks to Easter being late this year. She wouldn’t have any fears of remonstration from Edward via James.

Edward. She sighed again as she filled up the coffee filter. She truly had been in love with him. Okay, so he was married and that was wrong but when Jack had cottoned on and confronted her and Edward, it was because he was in love with Pamela! Now Pamela and Jack were living together, Edward had hot-footed it back down south to live with James apparently, and he hadn’t even given a reason why they couldn’t carry on their relationship. Drew didn’t work for Hardwickes anymore, so why couldn’t her and Edward have moved in together? Tears welled in her eyes again as she switched the machine on to percolate. The problem with affairs was they tainted everything. She was lucky to still have a job but working for Hardwickes meant a constant, painful, reminder of Edward. Plus, everywhere she went, there were HG1’s boards; she frequently bumped into Lottie and Drew on viewings. The flat reminded her of Edward everywhere she turned; some of his suits were still hanging in her wardrobe. The staff all knew about the affair and it had been hard holding her head up high. She was thick-skinned, but still it hurt. And to top it all Lottie had let slip that Tom Thorpe and Jude, were getting married today.

‘Pah!’ Rebecca said out loud as the percolator stopped glugging. ‘Even a girl nearly ten years younger than me is getting married for the second time today and she has two kids! I’ve got no baggage, my ovaries are on the brink of retiring, and here I am; no man and holding on to my career by the skin of my teeth!’ She was practically shouting as she took the glass filter jug and poured her coffee into a cup.

‘Exactly how old are you, these days?’

‘Arrggh!’ Rebecca spilled the jug of hot coffee over the kitchen work surface. She turned clutching her chest with her free hand to see James Hardwicke, as dashingly handsome as ever, standing in the doorway.

He grinned, looking effortlessly suave in his crisp, pale-blue, Ralph Lauren shirt, sleeves folded back to reveal his tanned forearms, expensive looking jeans, faded at the knees, and a pair of aviator sunglasses resting on his thick, clean-cut, conker brown hair.

Knowing he had heard everything she’d just said, Rebecca’s stare hardened. ‘It’s rude to ask a lady her age.’

James looked behind him and back again. ‘What lady?’ he said, winking before giving that cheeky grin he had always had, inherited from his father.

‘I was going to offer you a coffee, but if you’re going to be rude, I’ll just take mine and get on with those sales figures you wanted.’ She busied herself adding a spoonful of sugar to her coffee, conscious of him watching her every move. She pushed past him and stopped on the landing before descending the stairs. ‘Do you know what James, I always knew you liked a joke but that was a low move, even for you.’ And with that she turned on her heel and marched down the stairs, silently fuming, guilt ridden at where her actions with Edward had left her.

Chapter Two

James Hardwicke watched Rebecca’s pert little bottom wiggle down the stairs in her perfectly fitting pencil skirt, her dark ponytail swishing angrily in time. He inwardly sighed at the thought that this was going to be more of an uphill struggle than he had initially thought. Grabbing a mug of the freshly brewed coffee, much appreciated after the gruelling three-and-a-half hour drive up north on a Bank Holiday weekend, he slowly took the stairs back down to face the dragon in its lair.

He walked through the archway of the old Georgian building into the sales room and watched Rebecca, now wearing her glasses, looking most officious and even more attractive – if that was possible – studiously tapping away at her keyboard.

She didn’t look up.

James drew out a chair opposite Rebecca’s desk and plonked himself and his mug down. He watched her fingers pause over the keyboard as her gaze fell on the coffee, which had sploshed over the rim and onto her desk, before she returned to typing.

He had had a crush on Rebecca Cavendish ever since Drew had brought her back from university one weekend, near-on twenty years ago. Drew and Rebecca’s friendship was borne out of her passion for property. Even then she had been career driven, desperate to meet the family who owned a national chain of estate agents. James, being two years older than Drew, had completed uni and had taken his first job in Hardwickes, as Branch Manager of their Cirencester office, still living with their parents in Oxford. James’ breath had almost caught in the back of his throat when the tall, toned and tanned nineteen-year-old Rebecca had walked through the kitchen door, her bare midriff showing between a tied-at-the-waist pink shirt and immaculately white jeans. But James was pretty sure Drew had had some sort of crush on Rebecca and had therefore just admired her from afar. By the time Drew and Rebecca finished uni and both came to work for Hardwickes, James had been with Sam. Or was it Libby? He couldn’t really remember. The longest stretch he’d ever done in any relationship was about four years and his and Rebecca’s timing was always, well, a bit off. Quite frequently she’d just met someone when he was breaking up with someone or vice versa. Plus, they were both career driven, so work always came first, which was most probably why they had so many failed relationships between them. Then he’d gone to work up north and by some cruel twist of fate, when he’d asked to be posted back south, to be nearer to her, Drew took over the running the northern branches and asked Rebecca to come and manage the Harrogate office. It had felt like being taking out by the scrum half on the rugby pitch. And so, he’d started up another doomed relationship in Oxford and Rebecca had...

Well, without putting it mildly, she’d shagged his dad.

‘Are you going to sit there staring at me all day? You could always make yourself useful and do some phoning out for me.’ She appraised him over the rim of her spectacles, looking smoulderingly furious.

‘Thirty-nine.’

‘Pardon?’

‘You’re thirty-nine, I remember now, it was silly to forget really, seeing you’re the same age as Drew.’

Rebecca exhaled and returned to her monitor.

‘I’m forty-one now. Neither of us is getting any younger.’

‘Thank you, Sherlock, I’m well aware that I am thundering towards a big birthday without you reminding me.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, pulling the lead out of the back of her monitor to get her attention.

‘What did you do that for?’ Her Windsor, cut-glass accent, sounded as frightfully posh as it ever had.

‘So I can speak to you. I’m sorry, it was insensitive to suggest you are anything but a lady, Rebecca Cavendish.’

There was a whisper of a smile on the corner of her lips. She dropped her gaze. ‘I’ve only got myself to blame.’

‘Dad?’

Rebecca nodded. ‘How is he?’ she asked, her brow furrowing as she continued to look down at her keyboard.

‘Oh, you know, as cantankerous and dictator-like as ever. That’s why I’m here actually. As soon as the opportunity arose, I grabbed it with both hands.’ 

She looked up. ‘You’re taking over as Regional Director?’

‘I will be, but all you Branch Managers are doing so well, we could cope without a Regional Director. You know Dad, he’s always got irons in more than one fire.’

‘Oh?’ That piqued her interest.

‘Yes, he’s acquired some land.’

‘Really?’ She finally detached herself from the keyboard and rested her elbows on the desk.

‘Yes, in Clunderton actually, which is where I’m off to next.’

Rebecca frowned. ‘So, why did you call in here then?’

‘To ask you out to dinner tonight.’

‘Oh, that’s very kind of you, but...’ she trailed off, recoiling back into her chair.

‘Come on, live a little! I’m staying in a hotel on The Stray; it doesn’t need to be anything formal. I notice there’s a new Italian opened at the bottom of Parliament Street.’ 

‘I’ve already got plans,’ she said, drumming her perfectly manicured nails on the desk.

Utter bollocks. Although there was little point in arguing with her, not if he wanted to finally win her over. He would just have to hope it wasn’t plans with another man.

‘New chap?’

‘Pah!’ She tilted her head back and laughed. ‘No thank you, I am done with men!’ 

‘A girlfriend?’ James knew Rebecca had never had many close girlfriends. She was high maintenance, he could admit that. In lots of ways she reminded him of his mother.

She wrinkled her nose. ‘More of a work thing.’

‘Oh, perhaps I should come—’

‘So!’ Rebecca deftly interrupted. ‘What’s this land all about?’

‘Dad wants to build some houses and a few amenities.’

‘That won’t go down well with the busybodies of Clunderton. Or that perfect couple who run the village stores; they won’t welcome any competition.’

‘You know Dad, he always knows someone, who knows someone. He’s pretty confident he’ll get permission for around one hundred dwellings and two or three commercial blocks.’

Rebecca raised her eyebrows. ‘Impressive. Where’s the land?’

‘To the north of that cul-de-sac, opposite the school, Rosefields, is it?’

Rebecca frowned. ‘That land’s adjacent to Clunderton Hall, isn’t it?’

‘Yep,’ James grinned. ‘Fancy gate-crashing a wedding?’

Rebecca’s hand shot straight to her mouth before they both burst out giggling. ‘And come face-to-face with your Mum too? Not on your life!’

Chapter Three

The piano tinkled, champagne flutes chinked, and guests quaffed and giggled, whilst Louise Edwards shifted her blouse sleeves further up her forearms and wiped dripping sweat from her brow.

She paused from plating up the desserts in the little makeshift kitchen, an off-shoot of the main marquee in the grounds of Clunderton Hall, and watched through the tunnel connecting the two to see Johnnie, her husband, in his chef’s whites, laughing and joking with Hilary Preston-Jones – the local Leader of the WI, Chair of the Parish Council and all-round busy body – as he necked back champagne.

Charming.

Ever since they had agreed to do the catering for this wedding, Johnnie had had his head so far up his own arse, Louise wondered if he could actually remember he had a wife and two daughters; the ones keeping this show on the road.

‘Are those plates ready to go, Mum?’ Megan, their eldest daughter, asked, looking effortlessly chic and calm without a bead of sweat on her.

‘Let me get this batch plated up and then they can go out together.’

‘Okay, only these quenelles are beginning to lose their egg shape.’

‘Oh, heck!’ Louise sped up. ‘You take those then, that’s a table’s worth, and Cerys can take these as soon as she gets back.’

She could swing for Johnnie. He had promised her, faithfully, that this gig was not too big for them. Johnnie and Louise ran the local Village Stores together. They had done for the past seven years, when Johnnie, who was eight years older than Louise, had hit forty and decided that he had had enough of the rat race in London and wanted a different pace of life. What this had actually entailed was them selling their Pimlico townhouse and moving two hundred miles up the M1 to take over the running of a run-down, dilapidated Post-Office-cum-Corner-Shop. But by buying the cottage next door, they had converted the two properties, living in a spacious flat upstairs, whilst the downstairs comprised the Village Stores, Post Office and an extension at the back, which was Louise’s domain; the tearooms.

She admired Johnnie for everything he had achieved, she really did, but there were days when she really missed her old, boring life; being a London housewife where the most challenging event of the day was two loads of washing on top of getting the girls to gymnastics after school.

Life had changed a lot.

‘Those ready to go, Mum?’ Cerys appeared at the serving pass, ready to take another tray of pecan shortbreads served with raspberries, clotted cream mousse, raspberry jus and a garnish of mint leaves.

Louise looked up at her youngest daughter and smiled. My, how she was growing. Blossoming in fact. She was about to embark on her GCSE exams and Megan on her A-Levels. The house was fraught with tension - most of it revision stress - but also the feuding between Johnnie and Louise; she had felt the girls could do with revising this weekend and not catering a wedding.

‘Yes, thanks love,’ Louise said, pushing the tray towards Cerys. ‘Phew, just one more to go!’ she said, sounding brighter than she felt.

‘Need a hand?’ The smooth Scottish accent of Duncan Campbell, the landlord of the Clunderton Arms, asked.

‘Hmmm?’ Louise turned around to see him standing there, reassured to see he looked as hot and flustered as she did. ‘Oh, um, do you mind?’ she asked, touched that someone was offering her help. ‘Haven’t you got drinks to serve?’

‘All under control with my staff. What do you want me to do?’

‘Well, if I quenelle the mousse you could drizzle the jus on; it’s in this bottle look, it just needs to have a bit of artistic flair.’

‘I grew up in the Gorbals of Glasgow, I’m not sure we were blessed with an artistic gene.’

‘I’ve tried some of your desserts in the pub, Duncan, don’t fool me that you can’t make it look pretty.’

‘Well, I’ll try my best.’

Louise knew Duncan had a chef at the pub, but he often knocked up the desserts himself to assist the skeleton kitchen staff he employed.

Louise sighed. ‘I thought this would be fun.’

Where had that come from?

‘Aye, well, you know what it’s like in catering; everyone else has the fun, you’re just there to provide it.’

She was sorely tempted to complain about Johnnie but thought better of it. The village was a hot bed of gossip. Poor Lottie had been an outcast after photos of a lunch date with Tom had appeared in a national newspaper last year, when they literally were just having lunch together.

‘I’m just glad I’m not the only one who looks hot, it’s roasting in here. The girls seem unaffected; I was beginning to think I was going through the change but I’m only forty-one!’

Duncan laughed. ‘It does seem a little over the top to have the connection between the marquees covered-up, but Tom’s got a tunnel from the chapel to the marquee too. To be fair I’ve seen a couple of drones and he was determined no-one saw Jude’s wedding dress as they’ve sold the pictures to Hi! Magazine. How the other half live, eh?’

Louise stopped what she was doing and thought again about her life in London, where she didn’t get up at five in the morning to make fresh scones for the tearooms and wasn’t mopping floors at seven in the evening, every day, before ascending the stairs to start on that night’s dinner for the family.

‘Indeed,’ she said, quietly.

‘Jack,’ Pamela said, in hushed tones. She’d been fidgeting in her seat all through the wedding breakfast like an excited five-year-old.

‘Yes, and yes.’ Jack said. ‘But you are not to mention it to anyone here today. It’s Tom and Jude’s day, not ours.’

‘Ohhh!’ She embraced him in her usual Chanel scented hug. ‘Thank you, but you will do it properly too, won’t you, down on one knee?’

Jack grinned as they pulled away from each other. Fifteen months ago, this sort of pushy behaviour from her would have completely pushed his buttons, but a lot had changed since then. Then, Pamela was just Lottie’s interfering mother-in-law. Now she was his best friend. He wasn’t sure if she’d changed or he had really, but either way, the result was a happy one.

‘I will,’ he said in hushed tones. ‘We’ll go and choose a ring and do it properly, all in good time, but you have to promise me one thing.’

The smile on Pamela’s face fell. ‘What?’

‘You let me tell Lottie.’ Thankfully, it hadn’t come as a surprise to Lottie when Jack had announced his intentions to leave Church End – his little cottage, annexed to Church Cottage where Lottie and Drew lived – to go and live with Pamela in the Old Rectory. Lottie had been preoccupied with helping Pamela’s mother, Audrey, move out of her retirement home, in Harrogate, and into Jack’s cottage. In fact, given the less than harmonious history between his beloved daughter and her mother-in-law, it had been Jack who had been left surprised at how well Lottie had taken the news. Exactly how well she was going to take the news that her mother-in-law was soon to become her step-mother was another matter entirely.

‘Well, that’s a relief, I can go along with that.’ She pointed a finger at Jack. ‘As long as you don’t drag your heels over telling her!’

‘I think you’ve had too much champagne, my love.’ He winked at his beautiful bride-to-be.

‘Perhaps the fizz has loosened my tongue, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. I thought you were going to insist I contacted Edward.’

Ah, the elephant in the room.

‘I thought that went without saying?’ Jack said, squeezing her hand. ‘You can’t marry me until you’re divorced.’

‘Lottie.’ Jude sidled up to Lottie carrying a champagne flute, looking more concerned than Lottie felt a woman who had just married a minted, A-list celebrity really should.

‘What’s wrong?’ Lottie asked, taking a swig of her Bolly.

‘Oh, nothing,’ Jude said, voice also full of concern.

‘Yes, there is.’ Lottie narrowed her eyes. ‘Spill.’

‘Well, it’s probably nothing but there’s a chap at the gate insisting he’s family to the bride but he hasn’t got an invite, so security won’t let him in. What if it’s Phil?’

Lottie rolled her eyes and handed her champagne flute over to Jude. ‘If it’s Phil, security won’t need their muscle power to get rid of him; I’m more than capable of kicking his arse into next week. I’ll go.’

‘Thank you,’ Jude said, looking relieved.

‘Go and enjoy your new husband.’ Lottie kissed Jude on the cheek before slinking off in her heels and dress, with a split practically up to her unmentionables, towards the marquee entrance.

Spotting a golf buggy under a tree she headed straight for it; there was no way she was breaking an ankle in these killer heels attempting to walk near-on half-a-mile down the winding driveway of Clunderton Hall to the arched entrance. ‘Bloody Phil,’ she muttered, trying to figure out how to get the buggy to move back and forwards. She discovered the throttle and began to trundle off down the windy, tree-lined driveway. Tom had hired a few buggies to make it easier for the security staff to get around the grounds. Philandering Phil - as Lottie loved to refer to him – was Jude’s ex-husband and father to Jacob and Emily. He was also a total pain the arse, the cause of much hurt and grief – financially and emotionally – for Jude but then, if he hadn’t managed to make himself bankrupt – repossessing Jude’s home in the process – then Jude may not have ended up working for Tom and love might never have blossomed. Lottie didn’t have a clue why he’d be at the gates trying to cadge an invite but what other plausible reason was there for someone claiming to be part of the bride’s family?

‘Oh. My. God.’ Lottie took her foot off the accelerator as she neared the hedge and saw the figure pointing his phone at her and laughing fit to burst.

‘Come on old lady, give us a smile! I’m going to edit this up with the Benny Hill theme tune!’ James Hardwicke said, before dissolving into laughter.

‘Don’t you dare!’ Lottie tried to dismount the buggy, getting tangled up in her long dress and heels, tripping, Miranda-style, into a crumpled heap of silk on the grass.

‘Pah, ha, ha!’ James continued to laugh.

‘Turn that camera off!’ Lottie struggled to stand up. Composing herself, she wobbled across the lawn, heels now sinking into the soft grass, towards the gaggle of security staff. ‘Excuse me, I know this vagrant looks like paparazzi, but he is in fact, as he claims, family of the bride. Sort of. Either way, could you possibly let him in please?’

The widest guard eyed her cautiously.

‘She’s the Matron of Honour,’ another guard, with a thick Liverpudlian, accent confirmed.

‘All right,’ said the first guard, ‘but we’ll have to search him.’

‘Fine by me,’ James said, appearing and stretching his arms and legs out wide.

‘Okay.’ The guard sniffed. ‘You’re good.’

‘Darling girl,’ James said, embracing Lottie in a big hug.

Lottie liked James. She defied anyone not to. He had Edward’s manicured good looks and charm – yet lacked his dominating and manipulative streak - Drew’s kind heart, and she wasn’t very sure where the wit came from, but he always made her laugh.

‘What are you doing here?’ She almost shrieked, feeling as excited as she sounded. As an only child herself, James was like a fully-fledged, big brother to her and just as mischievous. It was over a year since they’d all seen him.

‘What else would I be up to but no good, sweetie?’

Lottie titled her head. ‘Sounds ominous.’

‘Depends who you are. So, how does one get an invite to the wedding of the year?’

‘That was last year.’

‘Eh?’

‘Harry and Meghan?’

‘Hilarious, as always, Lottie. I meant so I can get in to see Mum and Drew.’

‘You’re already in,’ she said. ‘Come on, I’ll give you a lift.’

‘In those heels?’ James looked down at Lottie’s feet.

‘Okay, you drive.’ She scooted into the passenger side of the buggy as James effortlessly started up the cart.

He clearly played way too much golf.

‘What’s so urgent you need to be a wedding crasher?’ Lottie asked, the feeling of excitement beginning to ebb away, replaced with a flow of anxiety. Phil she could have dealt with. James on a mission on behalf of Edward was something else entirely.

James shrugged, concentrating on the driveway ahead in his swanky Ray-Bans. ‘Oh, you know, family stuff.’

‘I am family,’ Lottie managed through gritted teeth. Honestly, nothing ever changed where the Hardwickes were concerned. Not only was Lottie a Hardwicke, Jack was now living with Pamela and yet they still closed ranks!

‘I know, sweetie—’

Why was James calling her sweetie now beginning to grate on her?

‘—I’m going to tell you all together.’

‘At a wedding?’

‘Time waits for no man, Lottie.’

‘Or woman. By which you mean you’re on a mission from Edward.’ Her stomach was churning now. The last thing she needed was James stealing Tom and Jude’s thunder. Which would, of course, be her fault. Inevitably, everything was.

‘Don’t looked so worried, Lotts,’ James said, pulling up on the grass verge in front of the marquee. ‘I promise to be a good boy,’ he winked at her before descending from the cart.

‘You better,’ Lottie said, stalking after him in her heels, looking far more menacing than the security guards had.

Chapter Four

The speeches were in full swing and Louise felt it wasn’t just her pace which was ramping up a gear, but her impatience too. Johnnie was still waxing lyrical with the guests whilst she and the girls rushed around like blue-arsed flies, dishing out small pieces of wedding cake to be enjoyed with the toasts.

It had pained her to watch the cake cut, Louise reflected, as she dashed in between a table of celebrities she vaguely recognised, trying her hardest to appear like she was gracefully placing the fine bone china in front of them, not shoving it under their noses like some harassed school dinner lady. Which was exactly how she felt. She’d made the cake herself. Hours and hours of sketches to meet with Tom and Jude’s approval. They had opted for a five-tier cake to represent the layers of their new family; Tom, Jude, Tom’s daughter, Rori, and Jacob and Emily, Jude’s two children. Jude had been keen to include Tom’s other two grown-up children from his previous marriage, but Tom had insisted it was the five of them, as a nuclear family now. So, Louise had come up with five layers; the foundation layer, reflecting Clunderton Hall, their home, and the countryside surrounding it. The second theme was love, with intricate hearts and iced forget-me-knots, and the third focused on the children, with little figures of them playing in the maze at Clunderton Hall. The fourth reflected both Tom’s and Jude’s careers; hers as a midwife and his as an actor which Louise had found hard to combine. She’d opted for a film set in a hospital, like Casualty, which everyone had laughed at. The top layer was a traditional one of bride and groom, happily nestled together on their wedding day. It had taken Louise so many hours, so much sweat and tears, many trial cakes to get the flavour combinations just right, let alone the time it took to decorate, that she had been at pains to cut it up. It was like cutting the marriage open before it had started; it didn’t seem right, breaking the symbolism of this family apart. She placed the last slice of cake on the table and was about to return to the kitchen to retrieve another tray of sliced cake when she noticed Johnnie stopping to listen to Drew’s Best Man’s speech. She instantly saw red; how dare he just stand there when they were working their backsides off?

‘Excuse me,’ said a voice in hushed tones.

Louise looked down to see a glamorous, fifty-something lady, in a figure-hugging fuchsia pink dress and matching fascinator, looking-up from under her false eyelashes.

‘How can I help?’ Louise asked, marvelling at how she had managed to come back down from incandescent to totally cool in less than six seconds.

‘Are you the lady who made the cake?’

‘I am.’ Louise crouched down, whispering.

‘My dear, it’s a