The Mills & Boon Christmas Wishes Collection. Maisey Yates
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the chilly autumn day. Red-faced and righting myself, I held out a hand and said breezily, “I’m Clio. And as you can see, I’ve been falling over myself to meet you.” Kill me. Thank God I hadn’t taken her out. I could already imagine the story getting Chinese-whispered around town: Did you hear Clio Winters tried to murder her first client, and it was little old Imelda no less!
Imelda chuckled and shook my hand. “Aren’t you as pretty as a picture? I hope you didn’t ruin those heels. Do you think they come in my size? My life flashed before my eyes but all I could think was, I need a pair of those dancing shoes for the party…” Her eyes twinkled mischievously.
Admonishing myself silently for being a klutz, I dared a quick peek at my trousers; they had somehow remained intact – however, from the pain radiating upwards, my knees hadn’t fared as well. “I’m sure they’d have your size and I think the leopard-print ones would suit you…”
She cocked her head as if contemplating. “I might just have to find some for the party. What do you say, Edgar?” She craned her neck and smiled benignly at her husband.
“They most certainly look like dancing shoes… Could be a new type of workboot, but what would I know?” He glanced at the hole in the deck and then my heels, and raised his eyes to the heavens. I tried to hide a smile and remain professional, but a giggle escaped. It couldn’t be helped – I liked them both instantly.
I stepped forward and shook Edgar’s hand. The speech I’d prepared had flown straight out of my head as I’d toppled into Imelda’s personal space, but I sensed my spiel would have been too formal, too stuffy for these people. Game face on, I cleared my throat and tried to regroup.
Right. Explain yourself, and don’t fall over! “As you can see, Cedarwood is getting a bit of a makeover. It’s a work site at the moment, but soon…”
“It’s just as gorgeous as ever,” Imelda said, her eyes shining. “Can we take a look through?”
“It’s a little noisy what with the…”
“Noise schmoise,” she said, waving me away. “We don’t mind that, do we Edgar?”
I gulped. What if something fell on them, or Edgar tripped and broke a leg? I’d planned on showing them the ballroom from the adjoining outdoor deck and showing my presentation. Not opening myself up for a health and safety lawsuit on the first day.
“We’re as tough as old boots, even if we look a little fragile. Don’t you worry about us,” Imelda said.
If we walked slowly, and carefully, surely it would be OK for a few minutes? Though I’d managed to fall over already…
“So sorry that we’re not fully equipped at the moment. Let me help you lift the chair,” I said, praying I didn’t get a finger caught in the wheel spokes and drop her, or something equally idiotic.
“Help with the chair would be mighty kind,” Edgar said, moving to one side while I took the other. We hefted the surprisingly light Imelda up.
With my back holding open the oak door, Edgar wheeled Imelda into the lobby, the scent of wet paint heavy in the air. Drop sheets were scattered across the floor to catch spills and the sounds of work echoed around the lodge.
“It might look like a big mess at the moment, but trust me, there’s a method to the madness. We have a strict schedule in place.” It was hard to envisage what the lodge would look like with groups of laborers in clusters, drilling, hammering, filing, and edging. Tools were scattered, buckets were littered here and there. Bags of rubbish sat awaiting removal. The couple followed my noisy tread, the wood underfoot making a weird kind of song depending on where we stepped. Squeak, ping, pop, ahh.
Imelda shook her head as if she was mesmerized. “I’m sure you’ve got a handle on it all.” We continued through the expanse of the lobby with its thick American oak pillars, and dusty chandeliers swaying in the breeze, their crystals clinking gently like a song, prisms of colored light dancing on the walls. The mantle of the stone fireplace was missing and it needed a little love, but a fire crackled in the grate, adding to the ambience.
Firelight flickered across the room. Even in its disorderly state the lodge radiated a type of warmth, a feeling of relaxation and expectation of what might be…
“As you can see, I’m trying to keep as much of it original as I can.” I wanted the lodge to keep its old-world charm. “The overall look will remain as it was all those years ago.”
“That’s music to my ears,” Imelda said, beaming. “We worried the lodge might’ve been purchased by a huge consortium and turned into some modern monolith. I’m so glad that’s not the case.”
We continued to a small salon where I narrowly avoided kicking over a bucketful of cleaning equipment. The room was musty, with old brocade curtains clinging to their rusty rails. “Edgar, don’t you remember, we used to play charades in here,” Imelda said, reaching up to grasp her husband’s hand.
“You’ve stayed here before?” I asked, a shiver of excitement running through me. They’d stayed at Cedarwood in its heyday? No one I’d known had actually been inside the lodge, as it had been closed for so long.
Edgar turned Imelda’s chair to face me. “We got married here,” she said dreamily.
I gasped. “You did? That’s incredible!” No wonder they’d been so eager to see the place as it was – warts and all – and could imagine what it would look like in the future.
Her face broke into a smile and I could see the bright-eyed young girl she’d been. “Coming up to fifty years ago I was a blushing bride of twenty-five years old. Edgar was twenty-six. We found each other late in life, or what was deemed late back then. All our friends were already married and had a bunch of babies. We fell in love but there were only a few weeks before Edgar was shipped off to the war.”
“I can’t believe this!” My pulse thrummed, knowing their story ended in Happy Ever After, because here they stood. “What a story, and to have you return to the lodge…” I wanted to hug them, but held myself in check. “How long were you away, Edgar?” I asked, thinking of the young man – as he had been then – being thrust into such a dangerous wartime situation.
He gave Imelda a meaningful glance and said, “Two years, four months, and one day.” He blushed. “Or thereabouts. Thankfully, or not so thankfully depending how you see it, I was shot in the foot and sent home. Never ended up making it back to my platoon, though…”
A ray of sunlight landed on Imelda like a soft spotlight. “Yes, I was lucky and got to keep him safe at home with me.”
They recollected the war, and how they’d missed each other fiercely for the two and a bit years he was away. They talked about the letters they wrote and all the promises they vowed to keep as soon as he returned home.
“Did you keep those promises?” I asked.
“We did,” he said. “You just don’t have an inkling when you’re young how fast those years flick by. Though I’m sure there’ve been plenty of days Imelda has wanted to walk off into the sunset with someone else,” he laughed.
Imelda considered it. “Once or twice I wanted to put your head in the oven, I can’t lie.”
He nodded. “See? Luckily our oven is electric. And we made it through fifty years with lots of talking, lots of communicating as you young folks call it.” He chortled. “When we heard this place had itself a new owner, we knew it was a chance to throw one hell of a party. We like the idea of coming back to where we began.”
They exchanged a glance, a private message in their rheumy eyes. Whatever happened in my life, I vowed right then to wait for the perfect man. I wouldn’t compromise. I wanted the fairy tale that I saw before me. Even if I ran into my old gang of friends in Evergreen and was the only one still single, still utterly without The One at thirty-three. Now was not the time to dwell on it. It didn’t