Sunshine at Daisy’s Guesthouse: A heartwarming summer romance to escape with in 2018!. Lottie Phillips
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let you know about keys and breakfast and so on…’ Lisa wasn’t really listening but Daisy could see from the new lock on the door and sheath of keys hanging from Lisa’s pocket, her friends had all the details under control.
She decided to head down to Hugh’s office. She had told everyone the room was off limits so she knew she could gather her thoughts there.
She smiled at them as she turned on her heels and went down stairs. Alarmed, she thought she heard voices coming from Hugh’s office and picked up her pace as she made her way towards the familiar oak door. That couldn’t be right; she had told them to stay away.
She pushed it open and, to her horror, James and Tom were sat on the leather chesterfield in the corner, papers adorning the coffee table. They didn’t even notice her, they were laughing so hard about something – she thought she heard snippets of Dallas storylines – that it was only when she was stood over them, they stopped.
‘Hey, Daisy, everything OK?’ Tom said.
Her body was rigid with anger, her fists in tight balls at her side. ‘I told you,’ she said in a heated whisper, ‘to stay out of this room.’ Her voice caught and tears began to cascade down her cheeks.
James immediately leapt up, his face ashen. ‘Oh shit, I’m so sorry, Daisy, I completely forgot.’
Tom nodded, shuffling the papers together. ‘Yes, we forgot. It was my idea. I guess I wasn’t thinking.’ He paused. ‘The door was open…’
James started, ‘We had a key—’
‘I’ve got the only key…’ She shook her head, distress fizzing at edges of her thoughts. ‘Get out,’ Daisy breathed quietly, her voice strangled with emotion. ‘Get out.’
They moved past her. Tom tried to put his hand on her arm and she shook him off.
‘Just go.’
Once the door had been firmly shut behind them, she collapsed onto the sofa sobbing. She felt as if she was losing her connection with Hugh, like he was slipping from her grasp and with every person in her house and every person moving about Hugh’s space, she would lose sight of him altogether.
They had moved Hugh’s favourite bowl from Indonesia to the side as well as the the drinks mat that Daisy knew he kept on the left-hand side of the table. Hugh would lie across the sofa, cup in easy reach, stop reading and admire the oak tree outside as its leaves changed from season to season. Quite often she would bring him a fresh coffee late at night, when he was working on figures for a client, and find him asleep, his specs dangling from one hand, the quiet purring of sleep as his chest rose and fell.
She placed her hand on the cool leather now and wished more than ever that she could feel Hugh’s warmth, his life.
Daisy rose from the sofa, put the bowl back as it was, realigned the mat and went to sit at his desk. She’d actually never sat there when he was alive. She knew it was his space and he needed that but now, she would do anything to feel close to him, and so she sat there and wept.
She hoped their guest, Bob (and Barbara), wouldn’t hear her. He had been invited to a boutique B&B, not a wake.
That was when she noticed it; she had never seen it before. A box. A steel metal box, the kind you might file important papers in, under the desk. She bent down to retrieve it but it was too heavy to pick up, so instead she crouched on her hands and knees to see if it would open.
It was locked shut, requiring a small key. Hugh had never mentioned such a box and surely, of all the people in the world, he would have told her its contents. She needed to get inside but, without a key, she would have to smash the lock and that felt like sacrilege.
She sat up again, her brows furrowed, and felt a twinge of guilt at even contemplating breaking into it. It was Hugh’s box and she was sure that whatever was inside couldn’t have been that important. Maybe it was information for some high profile clients.
Daisy looked at it one last time and decided to forget she had even come upon it. It was no more her business now than when Hugh was alive.
She pushed her shoulders back, checked the room had been fully restored to how it had been and looked at the ceiling.
‘Sorry, Hugh. They weren’t meant to come in here. It won’t happen again.’ She cocked her head to the side and gave the ceiling a wry smile. ‘Love you.’
She left quietly, glancing at the leather Chesterfield and whispered, ‘I’ll bring you a coffee later.’
Shutting the door, she barely noticed James sat on the stairs. He shot to his feet when she came out.
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