Copyright

Published by AVON

A Division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

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London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins 2018

Copyright © Faith Bleasdale 2018

Cover design © Debbie Clement 2018

Cover illustrations © Shutterstock.com

Faith Bleasdale asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008287276

Ebook Edition © January 2018 ISBN: 9780008259808

Version: 2017-12-20

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Keep Reading…

About the Publisher

Dedication

For my mum who has spent so much of her life rescuing animals

Chapter 1

‘Wow, Meadowbrook,’ Harriet Singer breathed, as she smoothed her black Prada jacket and stepped out of the car onto the driveway of Meadowbrook Manor, her childhood home. She watched the driver take her cases out of the boot and she paid him, tipping him heavily. He’d met her at Heathrow and driven her all the way to Somerset. Thankfully, he had sensed her mood and hadn’t tried to make polite conversation, so she’d been able to spend the journey with her own tortured thoughts.

As he drove off, she turned her attention back to the house. Even at thirty-seven years old, the sight of it made her feel like a little girl again. The late May sun served as a spotlight for the house – an imposing Georgian manor which looked like a giant doll’s house. She breathed in the sweet air as she stared at it; impressive, grand, full of memories of her childhood. She hadn’t been here in years but Meadowbrook still felt like a family member. Silently, she greeted it and told it she had missed it. She was almost surprised to find just how much she had.

Her father had passed away a week ago. It was a shock to her and to her three siblings, but as she recently discovered, not so much to him. He had heart problems, and for some reason had chosen not to share this information with his children. Harriet was the oldest of the Singers living in New York, working for a big investment bank, so coming home had taken a few days to organise. Dumbfounded, she had booked a flight, delegated any outstanding work and, still unsure of how she was feeling, boarded a plane. Just in time for his funeral.

Confusion wrapped itself around her like a shawl. She had been away for so long, her life had changed, she was more city slicker nowadays, not a country girl anymore. But seeing Meadowbrook made her think of that child she used to be and she wondered, how on earth it had come to this? Why had she stayed away for so long? And why had only a death, the death of her only remaining parent, brought her back?

She shivered and pulled her jacket tighter around her. She was cold, despite the fact the weather was mild, she felt her bones chill with what she could only identify as fear.

As she prepared to greet her family again, she tried to calm herself. Her three siblings were almost like strangers to her. It had been five years since she had seen them – at her youngest sister, Pippa’s wedding – and they only kept in touch by email sporadically. Her father was her only link, she Skyped him weekly from her New York apartment, and they chatted for ages. God, it hit her, that would never happen again. But the worst thing was that the Singer siblings, once so close, were now fractured; she didn’t know them anymore, not like when they were children. Not only that but they didn’t know her anymore either.

She shuddered again as she made her way to the imposing black front door. Meadowbrook was waiting for her, and now Harriet was going to set foot inside for the first time in five years, to quickly shower, change and then attend her father’s funeral.

Harriet found herself once again standing in front of the house. They had returned from the local church where Andrew Singer’s – her father’s – funeral had been attended by most of the village of Parker’s Hollow. It had been organised by the elder of her brothers, Gus, and Gwen, the family’s housekeeper, to her father’s precise wishes. Had he organised the sunny day too? she wondered with a wry smile. Although thinking about it, he probably would have wanted rain, hail, thunder; for the sky to be as upset as the mourners were.

Andrew Singer was a successful businessman, he’d built a tax consultancy from nothing and sold it for a ridiculous amount – floating it on the stock exchange and making millions. He was a man who always knew what he wanted. He had also been a single parent for most of their lives; their mother had been killed in a car accident when Harriet was only nine, so he had brought up his four children alone, with the help of Gwen, a series of nannies and, for most of the Singer siblings, boarding school. His exacting standards, his success, his ambition was something each of his children had been indoctrinated with to some extent. But he was also a loving father, refusing to marry again because he loved their mother too much, and he was always there for his children, even when they were adults, right until now when they had to bury him.

Her father had specified a big service – the church was standing room only – where his children all shared memories of him and the congregation sang his favourite hymns. It was followed by a burial where he was laid to rest next to their mother. Naturally, instructions had been left for an elaborate headstone to be erected in due course. Her parents would dominate the graveyard, just as her father wanted; the lord and lady of Meadowbrook Manor. Not that he was a lord of course, but a self-made man, who had come from nothing to own one of the most beautiful houses in the Mendips. And not only that, but he was devoted to Meadowbrook and Parker’s Hollow, so it was somehow extreme but fitting.

Harriet was sure that he would have enjoyed the service, although he would possibly be disappointed that no one had tried to throw themselves onto his coffin as it was lowered into the ground. Harriet smiled, which soon turned into a grimace; burying her father next to her mother had been a stark, savage reminder that the Singer siblings were now orphans. And she would miss her father dreadfully, just as soon as she was able to accept that he was gone.

Although she had been there, seen the coffin, watched it going into the ground, it still didn’t feel real. Although usually logic-driven, she felt as if the surrounding air was filled with disbelief, clinging to her. Yes, her father was gone, but when would it feel so?

Watching the others in church and at the graveside, she felt she came up short. Yes she looked the part, the grieving oldest daughter, black designer dress, Louboutin heels, Armani jacket, but although she was carrying a Chanel clutch full of tissues, she had needed none of them. Others – friends, neighbours, the postman – had shed tears, she – his daughter – had not. Her eyes remained resolutely dry and she resented them for it. Thankfully her oversized sunglasses hid the fact. It was as if her heart felt everything but that didn’t translate to her eyes.

She felt herself stumble slightly in her heels and instinctively she reached out and grabbed the nearest arm; her brother Gus’s. Surprise flickered in his eyes, before she regained her balance and they walked across the drive to the front door. She glanced behind her to see her other brother, Freddie, and her youngest sister, Pippa, just inches behind them. The front door loomed in front of her, and for a moment she felt something akin to panic.

‘Right,’ she turned to Gus, Freddie and Pippa, ‘shall we go in?’

Harriet was the oldest; Gus – Angus – was thirty-five, Freddie was thirty-two and Pippa was the baby, about to turn thirty. Being the older sibling was a role she had taken seriously, especially after her mother died. But in adulthood, she had neglected that role; instead throwing herself into her career in London and then New York, opening up a distance between them that contained more than just miles. She told herself her siblings didn’t need her as much, and vice versa, although now, being with them, she felt guilt prodding her like a hot poker.

Harriet turned the large brass handle and pushed the door open. Of course it wasn’t locked, the house was expecting them. Meadowbrook had always been a house that seemed to own the family rather than vice versa. Her father’s dream home, it had been the only house Harriet had lived in before she left for university. But for ten years she had been living and working in New York and they had become estranged, along with the rest of her family.

When her father bought Meadowbrook it was as a wedding present for him and their mother, Victoria. Before they stepped inside it had been renovated. Money being no object, he had poured it into the house, using interior designers, the best materials; it had always been an amazing house both inside and out. Her father had updated rooms throughout their childhood as well, and Meadowbrook was such a part of him, Harriet could barely think of the house and her father as not being together. She was unsure how she would feel staying here without him. Wrong didn’t begin to cover it.

As she heard her heels echo on the chequered tiled floor, gazing as she always had as a child at the huge chandelier that commanded the impressive entrance hall, she turned and looked at her brothers and sister.

‘So, we made it. Now, shall we fortify with a drink before the hordes arrive?’ Harriet tried a smile but she feared it would be more like a scowl. She also hated how formal she sounded to her own ears. She was with her family yet it felt as if she was with strangers.

‘Good idea,’ Freddie said, breaking away and heading for their father’s study. Or what was his study, Harriet thought, wondering if she would get used to thinking of him in the past tense anytime soon.

‘Um, OK, Mark’s driving some of the villagers who didn’t have a car.’ Pippa’s eyes clouded; as the baby of the family she was probably feeling their father’s loss more keenly than the others. Pippa had always worn her heart on her sleeve, not like her older sister. For Harriet, emotions were something she tried to avoid like cheap shoes. Harriet knew she should give her a hug, but she could only manage a slightly weak pat on the arm.

‘Where’s Fleur?’ Harriet asked, having only just noticed her twelve-year-old niece’s absence.

‘Her mother felt it better to take her home. She felt going to the funeral was enough.’ Gus’s eyes strayed to his shiny black shoes. ‘She was so upset …’ His voice broke.

She knew she should offer some comfort, but she was at a loss where to start with each of them.

Freddie headed to their father’s old-fashioned drinks trolley as soon as they entered the study. It was definitely her father’s room. His personality stamped on every inch, from the huge imposing mahogany desk that had dominated the room forever – Harriet vaguely remembered when she couldn’t even see over the top – to the large wooden backed chair that she used to love spinning in until she was dizzy. The art on the wall, all landscapes – her father believed paintings should be only of landscapes, people or fruit – were achingly familiar. As were the antiques that he had carefully chosen, an old floor-to-ceiling map, a ship, a globe. Strange objects that had captivated her as a child; her father rarely travelled and he hated the sea. She glanced across at Gus, who was transfixed by the wall, and she wondered if he was thinking the same. Perhaps reliving their childhood, even just in their heads, would help them find their relationship with each other again.

‘Right, well, I think we should drink the very good stuff,’ Freddie announced in his usual dramatic way, selecting a bottle of expensive whisky.

‘I suppose I better go and see if Gwen is OK,’ Harriet said. The housekeeper kept a low profile, Harriet had barely seen her after the service.

‘Can you get ice as well, please, Harry?’ Freddie thrust an ice bucket at her.

‘I’ll get the ice, Harry can chat to Gwen,’ Gus said, sensibly, taking the bucket from her.

They walked across the large hallway to the kitchen at the back of the house. The aroma of food hit them as soon as they entered. People, strangers, wearing black and white uniforms whirled around the large kitchen, unwrapping food, plating it up, polishing glasses.

‘Harriet.’ Gwen emerged from behind the crowd. ‘Are you OK, love?’ The closest thing Harriet had had to a mother figure growing up, she let Gwen hug her and Harriet was surprised by the warmth of the embrace. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been hugged like that.

Gwen had been the family housekeeper for years. She’d arrived at Meadowbrook as a young single mother, shortly after their own mother had been killed, and she had never left. She was part of the family; her father’s companion in a way, although nothing romantic had ever happened between them. Just as her father maintained their mother was the only woman he would ever love, Gwen was the same about her son Connor’s father, Thomas, who had been taken far too young by cancer.

‘I was checking you were all right, actually.’ Harriet even at nine had liked to think she didn’t need anyone to take care of her. That was the character of her childhood, the oldest of four motherless children, she took her responsibilities seriously and along the way she had somehow forgotten to let anyone take care of her.

‘And I’m on ice duty. Freddie wants to drink all Father’s expensive whisky before the guests arrive,’ Gus laughed dryly, as he shuffled from foot to foot. He was wearing a smart black suit but Harriet couldn’t help but see him as the distraught nine-year-old who begged her not to go to boarding school. To her he would always be that boy. It had broken her heart to leave them when she was eleven, but her father insisted. Boarding school would be the making of her, he said, and wouldn’t listen to her pleas to let her stay at home with her siblings. Gus had followed two years later – a different school. Her father held old-fashioned ideas about education and was unmovable on the topic.

‘Here, I’ll get the ice.’ Connor, Gwen’s son, appeared, took the ice bucket and went to fill it. Although she had spoken to Connor at the church, seeing him, properly seeing him, now gave her a jolt. She immediately felt jittery and uncomfortable in his presence. Again, they used to be so close, he was her best friend growing up, but she hadn’t seen him for so long that familiarity had definitely faded. It was as if standing in front of her was a man she knew so well, but also a stranger. One that she wanted to reach out to but who made her feel unsure of herself.

‘Thanks, Connor,’ Gus said, taking the filled ice bucket from him.

‘Connor!’ Harriet breezed, collecting herself, a smile plastered to her face. ‘It’s been so long,’ she said, hoping her voice wasn’t as squeaky as she suspected.

‘Harry, you look exactly the same as you did ten years ago,’ he teased, wrapping his eyes around her. She disentangled herself from him as rapidly as she could without being offensive.

‘You git, I’ve aged horribly,’ she giggled. Goodness, that was the first time she had giggled in a long time. Connor had always had that effect on her. He was two years older than her, and she had adored him as a child, followed him around like a shadow. Well, the less said about that …

‘It’s really lovely to see you, Harry,’ he enthused.

‘So, you came back to Meadowbrook?’ Harriet said. She felt shy, awkward. Like the time she first got braces and refused to smile, lest Connor see them. That hadn’t turned out well of course.

‘You are the only one of the Singers I haven’t seen, and I’ve been back for three years, Harry.’ He shook his head reproachfully. ‘Living in one of the cottages, but anyway, I’ll fill you in later.’

Harriet opened and closed her mouth, goldfish-like, at Gus, who shrugged, and with his newly filled ice bucket headed out. And as she turned to follow him, she felt such a gulf between her life and her life. How had this happened? All her siblings had been part of Meadowbrook and only she had not. How and why had she let that happen?

‘Connor, Gwen, come join us,’ Harriet said, recovering, determined to resume control, of herself mainly.

‘Yes, it’ll be nice to toast your father, just the family,’ Gwen said, her voice catching as if on a rusty nail. Harriet felt her grief. It was all around her. In her siblings, in Gwen and Connor. She knew it was there, but even though she hurt inside, she was angry that she couldn’t see it in herself.

‘Goodness, how long does it take to get ice,’ Freddie cried, grabbing the ice bucket from Gus, as they returned to the study, and organising drinks for everyone. Finally, everyone had a very large, expensive whisky in their hands.

‘I propose a toast, to the old man,’ Freddie said, with a grin. They all drank.

‘And to his children,’ Gwen added. ‘He’d be very proud of you all today.’

Would he though? Harriet was pretty sure that he wouldn’t be proud of her in the slightest.

Chapter 2

‘Thank you for coming,’ Freddie said for the millionth time as people began to leave the wake. Pippa pinched him. ‘Ow. What?’ he asked, glaring at her.

‘It’s Mark, Pippa’s husband,’ Mark pointed out, shaking his head.

‘Oh goodness I didn’t recognise you.’ Freddie was slurring his words and Harriet knew he had put away enough whisky to render him almost blind. Freddie had always liked a drink, he was almost expelled from school for trying to brew his own vodka from potatoes when he was thirteen, but he excused it as part of his job as a party organiser in some of the hottest clubs.

Mark smiled, patiently. ‘I was in the pew with you in the church,’ he pointed out. He had his arm around Pippa, Harriet noticed with a pang of something akin to envy; he had been by her side for the whole of the wake. Although Harriet hadn’t had much of a chance to talk to Mark, she was grateful for him being there for her sister. Sad that she didn’t have anyone but happy Pippa did.

‘Oh, I’m sure you were, dear brother-in-law,’ Freddie said, pleasantly. ‘But unfortunately you have one of those forgettable faces.’

Harriet gaped at Mark, who looked a little red-faced, but then, to everyone’s relief, he laughed. Harriet let herself relax, and Pippa giggled. Freddie was a terror, but so lovable. She’d almost forgotten.

Her relationship with Gus over the years was distant, and Freddie was well, Freddie. Pippa had kept in touch via email but those emails didn’t tell the story of what was really going on, nor did Harriet’s replies. Harriet felt as if her siblings were out of her reach in many ways. Being back at home with them, having to say goodbye to her father, it hit her how much she actually missed them. How she should have tried harder to keep them together. How much she wished her father was still here to tell her how.

Thank goodness the wake was winding down – if Harriet had to smile any more, she felt her face would split in two. Her feet were killing her, she hadn’t anticipated how much standing she would have to do, but it had definitely been an event. The Singers didn’t have any other family; her father had been an only child, her mother’s family was pretty much an unknown quantity, but the villagers had shown up in full. It seemed as if most of Parker’s Hollow had come to her father’s send-off and it was clear, touchingly clear, that her father was a very popular man.

Either that or the village had heard about his wine collection.

Impulsively Harriet grabbed Pippa’s hand.

‘Come with me,’ she said, dragging her away as Mark was being cornered by one of the village’s older ladies.

Harriet ushered Pippa into the study, where she sat down and started spinning in her father’s chair. She felt dizzy and a little nauseous, so it possibly wasn’t her best idea. Pippa sat on the desk, cross-legged, taking up most of the available space. It was a scene from their childhood. But Pippa was no longer a child, she was a woman, a married grown-up. A stunning grown-up woman.

Harriet didn’t think she was beautiful like her younger sister. Pippa looked like their late mother with her white-blonde hair, blue eyes and slender figure. Harriet took after their father more. She had dark hair, was taller than Pip and her features were even, some would say striking, but not ethereal like Pippa’s.

‘I miss him,’ Harriet said, simply.

Pippa’s eyes filled with tears, but Harriet remained dry-eyed. She wanted to cry for her father, but it was as if the tap of tears had been turned firmly off. Not that Harriet was much of a crier. She had cried a lot when she was a child, well she probably had; she assumed she did. But after her mother died, she realised that she was the oldest and that meant she had to behave as such. She had to look out for her brothers and sister and suddenly tears didn’t seem to have much of a place in her life. Harriet had become so good at shutting off her feelings, she wasn’t sure how to conjure them up anymore.

‘Me too. I still think he’s going to walk in any minute. It’s funny isn’t it, how long it’s been since we’ve all been together.’ Pippa sighed. ‘I mean, it’s been years since I’ve spent any proper time with you.’

‘I know, it’s my fault. I mean, being in New York. I didn’t even come home for Christmas. I hadn’t seen Dad since your wedding. I Skyped him every week, but I didn’t come and visit. And now he’s gone.’ Harriet swung the chair violently. The guilt was strangling her.

‘We didn’t know he was going to die,’ Pippa said quietly.

Harriet nodded. No, they had no idea that he was dying, and she knew if she had she would have rushed back to see him. But what sort of daughter did that make her? One who would only fly across the ocean to say goodbye? It didn’t make her feel any better about herself.

‘Pip, shall we go to the summer house?’ Harriet asked. She had no other ideas of how to reconnect with her siblings, but the summer house was somewhere they all spent time together when they were children. She wanted to find some of the closeness they used to have, which at the moment felt as if it was out of reach.

‘Yes please,’ Pippa replied, wiping tears from her cheeks.

‘What do you think Dad would make of this?’ Freddie asked later as the sky darkened and the four of them sat on comfy floral sofas in the summer house, their childhood den, drinking champagne straight from the bottle.

‘That we are a bunch of delinquents but at least the champagne is vintage,’ Harriet laughed.

‘He certainly thought I was a delinquent,’ Freddie said, laughing sadly. No one argued. Freddie was tall, over six foot, with blond hair and blue eyes, like Pippa he took after their mother. He was so good-looking that often women – and sometimes men – threw themselves at him.

‘But would he think we were OK?’ Gus asked. ‘I mean, would he, like Gwen said, be proud of us?’ Gus sounded so downcast, Harriet wished she knew how to reach out to him. Gus looked more like her than the others. Dark hair, as tall as Freddie, but with features which as he got older more resembled their father. He was good-looking but his face so full of sorrow that it was hard to see how attractive he used to be.

‘He loved us all, I know that,’ Pippa said fiercely. ‘I know he was hard on you guys, but he did love us all.’ It was clear that Pippa felt guilty that she had had an easier time of it than her siblings. It was as if their father used up all his expectations on the older ones and let Pippa do pretty much what she wanted, including not going to boarding school.

‘He did. I know he did. He might have been a bit unorthodox as a parent sometimes,’ Harriet said, swigging from the bottle again, ‘but I agree with Pip, he loved us.’

‘I will miss the old bugger,’ Freddie said, and she saw his eyes fill with watery tears. She wanted to reach across and hug him but she still didn’t know how.

‘Me too.’ Gus looked forlorn.

‘Let’s drink to that,’ Harriet said, needing to lift everyone’s spirits, including her own. ‘Our wonderful father, the old bugger, may he rest in peace.’

‘Either that or haunt us all for eternity,’ Freddie finished.

Chapter 3

Harriet felt her hangover taunting her before she was ready to wake up. Her head was pounding, her mouth dry and, as she tried to process the events of the previous day, she wanted to vomit. Bury father, be polite to strangers at his wake, attempt to bond with siblings. Cry? No, her eyes were still resolutely dry.

It had been bittersweet spending time with her brothers and sister yesterday. They had got drunk, yes, and they had also talked, or at least tried to. It was still slightly awkward between them, they were all lost in their own thoughts about their father, but it was progress of sorts. There had been no terrible row, but they had all drifted and it felt as if she was in the company of three polite strangers – or two polite strangers and Freddie. Harriet knew that she had to ensure her siblings didn’t drift apart again, and she had to find a way for them all to reconnect. Keeping the family together would be her priority even when she was back in New York. After all, now that her father was gone, she was head of the family.

The summer house party had ended when Mark and Gwen arrived, asking if they wanted anything to eat. Pippa had got up, stumbled, so Mark had said he would take her back to the house for a lie-down. He practically had to carry her as they all went back up to the house where leftover food from the wake served as supper.

She woke up in her childhood bedroom, although at first it seemed alien. When each child turned twenty-one, the rooms had been redecorated one by one, starting of course with Harriet’s. Her father said it would always be her room but a grown-up version, suitable for her becoming an adult. It had been transformed, a beautiful king-size bed with a fabric headboard, the bed linen matched the curtains and the room was painted a pale blue. She had kept her dressing table, which once belonged to her mother, but that was the only thing left from her childhood. It was a gorgeous room, with an en suite bathroom, but she had barely spent time in it. As she stretched out in bed, she was hit with another bolt of regret. She wished she had visited more, she knew she would feel remorse for not seeing her father – in person rather than on a computer screen – before he died, for the rest of her life. She wished the house hadn’t become a stranger to her and she wished she hadn’t let her relationship with her siblings drift the way it had. But she also knew that all these thoughts weren’t going to do her any good. Self-pity wasn’t something that Harriet usually entertained; she wasn’t going to start now.

As she slowly sat up, she noticed she was only half undressed. Which meant she had committed the cardinal sin of not taking her make-up off. But then it wasn’t every day you buried your last remaining parent, so surely she was allowed this one sinful night? She wondered what time it was in New York. She wondered what the markets were doing, what her trading floor was up to? But then she realised it would be shut, quiet, sleeping right now. As she should be.

She assumed she was suffering from jet lag, as it was only five in the morning, either that or too much alcohol. Harriet liked a drink; her lifestyle allowed for the odd bottle of wine, or a few cocktails at the weekend, but she rarely got drunk. It was one of her many control issues. She had always been charged with being a control freak; she had only a flimsy argument against that accusation.

She reached into her still unpacked suitcase – another unusual thing, normally when she went anywhere the first thing she did was unpack and hang up her clothes – and rummaged for her gym clothes. She pulled them on and made her way downstairs.

The house was quiet as she went to the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of water and then made her way to the basement which her father had converted into a gym and swimming pool. She smiled at the memory of him doing it. It was an ambitious move, turning a dusty basement into a state-of-the-art fitness centre, and they’d all been over the moon at the idea of having a swimming pool. Gosh, she never fully realised quite how spoilt they were. They had had parties there as teenagers; weekends at Meadowbrook Manor were very popular among her friends. Her father liked having the house full, he said it gave the place life, and kept him young.

Andrew also said it was his way of taking good care of himself. He swam every day, and she replayed the pride in his voice when he told her: ‘Fifty lengths at least every day, Harry. I’m in tip-top condition.’ She felt her heart hurt as she heard his words. Because he was only seventy and for a man who ruled the world as he ruled his world, it was far too young to die.

Feeling angry, suddenly – angry, tired, and fed up – she made her way to the treadmill and started pounding as hard as she could. She wanted to outrun the hangover, she wanted to outrun the grief that was beginning to chase her and she wanted to outrun the feelings that were creeping into her. But she knew she would never really outrun any of it. She put her music on as loudly as she could bear and kept running.

It was nine by the time she had taken a long shower and made it downstairs to the dining room where a full breakfast was laid out waiting for them. Her father had probably studied Upstairs, Downstairs, when he first became rich, because breakfast was always laid out, buffet-style, in heated silver dishes on the sideboard in the dining room. According to Gwen, she did it even when it was just him. Harriet felt a pang at the vision of her father sat on his own at the huge dining table, eating a breakfast fit for a king. Not to mention poor Gwen who would have probably been happier serving Coco Pops and toast, but no, there was a full English – fried bread, toast, eggs, even kippers. He was a big fan of kippers.

Gus was sitting at the table, with a newspaper, Pippa was sitting opposite, Mark next to her. Harriet smiled at each of them.

‘No sign of Freddie?’ she asked, trying to sound breezy as she went to fill her plate. She was glad of the full English, goodness knows her hangover needed it. The treadmill had dulled it a bit but it was still there.

‘Probably still in bed,’ Gus replied.

‘Can I pour you some coffee?’ Pippa asked, picking up a silver coffee pot. No sign of a hangover on her face.

‘I’ll do it,’ Mark cut in before Harriet had a chance to reply. ‘So … does anyone know what the plan is?’ Mark asked as he leant across the table to pour Harriet’s coffee.

She tried to weigh him up, as she had no idea what he was like. He was older – ten years older than Pippa – but handsome and well dressed. Conservative. Pippa, who had always been quite bohemian growing up, hair flying wildly behind her, barefoot if she could, had definitely changed. She was wearing slacks and a blouse, something the old Pippa would never have owned, and her hair was perfectly done up in a chignon. She sported a full face of make-up and expensive pearls at her neck. But then what did Harriet expect? They had all morphed into adulthood, and she was different now, of course they all were.

‘What plan?’ Harriet asked, stirring her coffee and hoping it might make her feel better.

‘Well, unfortunately I need to get back to Cheltenham, to work …’ Mark started. He was incredibly attentive to his wife.

‘The will’s being read today,’ Gus said, without looking up from the paper. ‘Pip needs to be here for that.’

‘Darling, you can go home and I’ll get someone to drive me after,’ Pippa offered, touching her husband on the arm.

‘No, darling, you need my support. I’ll stay here. I’ll juggle a few things.’ He kissed his wife on the cheek.

‘But I don’t want to put you out?’

‘Pippa, I’m staying, that’s that. You need me.’

‘Oh there you are!’ Freddie, looking utterly dishevelled, appeared at the door, interrupting any further debate.

‘Fred, are you all right?’ Harriet asked.

‘I think so, although I need to throw up.’

Harriet wasn’t sure who was the most surprised as he did just that, all over the dining room floor.

‘I’m going for a walk around the garden if anyone fancies it. Goodness knows, I need some fresh air,’ Harriet announced after breakfast was finished. Gwen had not only cleaned up after Freddie but she’d also brushed away any offers of help to clear up after breakfast. Harriet had learnt from an early age that it was best not to argue with Gwen. She was very much in charge of the house, and although that meant clearing up after everyone, she liked it that way. If Harriet so much as tried to move a plate, Gwen seemed to appear from nowhere and snatch it away.

Gwen used to live in a cottage on the estate, which was still hers as far as Harriet was aware, but she had moved into the house after Pippa left home. It always gladdened Harriet to think of her father having Gwen there to take care of him. She wondered what she would do now.

‘I’ll come,’ Pippa said. ‘I’m sure Mark will welcome some peace.’ She smiled.

‘Well I could come—’ Mark started.

‘Really, no need, you do some work, I want to catch up with the others anyway,’ Pippa said.

‘I’m in. Shall I try to get Freddie or leave him?’ Gus asked.

‘No, get him, if he’s cleaned himself up.’

As Gus went to see if Freddie was going to join them, Harriet felt her spirits lift a little. They were all together and she was slowly remembering how much she loved her siblings. She wondered if their father was watching them now. Of course she didn’t believe in all that life after death stuff, but she liked the idea that he was.

The four of them stood by the back door – Mark had gone off to do some work. Harriet was wearing her gym trainers, the only flat shoes she owned, jeans and a light sweater. Pippa pulled on a pair of wellingtons that she kept at the house, Gus was wearing trainers and Freddie, a pair of ratty Converse.

‘Shall we go survey the land?’ Freddie asked, looking a bit the worse for wear but sounding like someone from Downton Abbey.

‘Sure, let’s do it,’ Harriet laughed. ‘Or at least the top gardens, Pip said that Dad had done a great job with them lately.’

‘He has, they’re really beautiful.’

‘All we’re missing is a gun and a dog,’ Gus said, cracking a rare – for him – joke.

Harriet had forgotten how beautiful Meadowbrook Manor was, as they set off. They headed towards the sprawling gardens, out of the back door, which were even more spectacular than she remembered; perfect lawns, lush greenery and the most beautiful flower beds. As she looked to the horizon, the garden, which seemed to stretch for miles, was awash with colour. Meadowbrook Manor spanned acres and acres in total, but the garden was separated by a tall hedge, where her father had secret doors installed so they could get through to the fields, meadows, and woods beyond. As there were public footpaths running across the land in places, he wanted the gardens defined so he didn’t find people wandering around them. He was quite welcoming, but he didn’t like the idea of people he hadn’t invited in his private space.

‘Wow the air here is so different from New York, I’d forgotten,’ she said, breathing deeply. The warm air, the slight breeze rippling through, was helping her head settle a bit.

‘I wish you were nearer,’ Pippa said, linking arms with her sister. ‘I miss you.’ Pippa found affection so easy, Harriet envied that too.

‘I’m sorry I’m not better at keeping in touch, just so busy. I should have come home more.’ She felt the inadequacy of her words.

‘It must be hard being such a success,’ Gus said.

‘Hey, Gus, I hear your business isn’t so shabby,’ Harriet replied, light-heartedly. Gus had always suffered from an inferiority complex. It was unfounded, of course. She often thought it must be hard to be the child in between her, always competitive and desperate to achieve, and Freddie who just charmed his way through life. She looked at Gus and, not for the first time, wondered who he actually was, or what he wanted in life. He seemed so, well, just so disappointed.

‘It’s hardly cutting edge. A successful, yes, but plainly dull insurance company in Bristol. Insurance, I mean who ever thought they wanted to work in insurance?’ He laughed, but it sounded hollow.

‘I certainly never did,’ Freddie unhelpfully replied.

‘Everyone needs insurance,’ Harriet pointed out.

‘Pah. Look at me, I’m divorced, with a job I hate, a daughter who I barely know how to communicate with. It’s not what Dad planned for my life that’s for sure,’ Gus added.

She wanted to tell him that her life wasn’t perfect either, far from it in fact. Yes, she was successful, money not an object, but her personal life … well that was a mess. But she couldn’t find the words.

Gosh, she felt so responsible for them all again. Although she knew she would have to go back to New York she suddenly didn’t feel like rushing back. She had taken immediate compassionate leave, but there had been no duration specified. She knew she would need to speak to him; her boss and also her lover. The shameful secret she hadn’t shared with any of her family, that she was sleeping with Zach, boss and married man. She didn’t like to think too much about the wrongs and rights. It was what it was, after all.

They all stood, instead, and admired the rose garden which was filled with beautiful buds, looking as if they were desperate to explode into colour. ‘Who does the garden here anyway?’ Gus asked suddenly. ‘It looks so gorgeous, like those gardens you see at the Chelsea Flower Show.’

‘Didn’t old Jed die years ago?’ Harriet said, bringing herself back to the conversation. Jed had been their gardener and lived in one of the three cottages on the estate, alongside Gwen’s and what was now Connor’s. He’d been part of Meadowbrook, and insisted on working well into his old age, and when he died, their father was devastated. He loved the old gardener, they all did. Gus, she suddenly remembered, used to trail around after him helping in the garden when he was a kid.

‘There’s a lady now,’ Pippa said. ‘She’s a fancy garden designer and has a team who work on it, but also the village gets involved.’ Pippa gestured to the gorgeous space they were all looking at.

‘Right, come on, let’s go and walk, that should blow the hangover away before we have to hear the will.’ Harriet strode off, feeling purposeful.

‘What do you think he’s done? I mean, I know there’s a lot of money but—’ Gus looked uncomfortable, probably because their father used to say that talking about money was common and Gus hated anyone thinking he was greedy.

‘Oh, knowing Dad, he’s left it all to some home for wayward hamsters,’ Freddie laughed. Their father had an animal sanctuary on part of Meadowbrook land, Connor and he had opened it three years ago when Connor first came back. Harriet had heard plenty about it from her father, but she didn’t pay too much attention. But it wasn’t unlikely that the money would go to it, she laughed, to herself. Freddie pulled out a hip flask and took a slug.

‘Freddie, didn’t you have enough last night?’ Harriet chastised, shaking her head.

‘Hair of the dog.’

‘Fred, you don’t want to be pissed when the will’s being read,’ Gus said.

‘I probably do, especially if he’s left everything to the hamsters.’ Freddie drained his hip flask. Harriet couldn’t help but giggle. Yes, her brother was a bit wild, which made Gus’s sensible, slightly dull manner seem even more pronounced, but he was funny with it.

Chalk and cheese, yet thick as thieves. Harriet heard her father’s voice. She looked around, of course it was madness, to think he was there, but their dad had always said that about her brothers and she felt warm as she replayed the phrase in her head.

‘Right, well perhaps we ought to walk a bit quicker, David will be here soon.’ Harriet changed the subject and hustled her siblings on.

‘Harriet, I’m so pleased that you are still as bossy as I remember,’ Freddie quipped.

‘I’m not bossy, Fred, I’m just trying to get you organised.’ Harriet tried not to feel offended but she remembered how she used to be called bossy, bossyboots, or ‘yes boss’ as a child, often preceded by a swear word as they got older. Apparently, she always told them what to do and they were too scared to argue with her.

‘Gosh, you used to boss us about something rotten,’ Pippa said.

‘I’m afraid you did, Harry,’ Gus finished.

‘Right, well then let’s finish this walk and then get your arses back to the house.’ A smile curled at Harriet’s lips.

‘Yes, boss,’ Gus replied and he grinned back at her.

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