The Hotel at Honeymoon Station : A totally heartwarming romance about new beginnings Read online

  The Hotel at Honeymoon Station

  A totally heartwarming romance about new beginnings

  Tilly Tennant

  Books by Tilly Tennant

  The Hotel at Honeymoon Station

  The Little Orchard on the Lane

  The Time of My Life

  The Spring of Second Chances

  Once Upon a Winter

  Cathy’s Christmas Kitchen

  Worth Waiting For

  The Waffle House on the Pier

  The Break Up

  The Garden on Sparrow Street

  Hattie’s Home for Broken Hearts

  The Mill on Magnolia Lane

  The Christmas Wish

  The Summer Getaway

  The Summer of Secrets

  An Unforgettable Christmas Series

  A Very Vintage Christmas

  A Cosy Candlelit Christmas

  From Italy with Love Series

  Rome is Where the Heart is

  A Wedding in Italy

  Honeybourne Series

  The Little Village Bakery

  Christmas at the Little Village Bakery

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The Little Village Bakery

  Hear More from Tilly Tennant

  Books by Tilly Tennant

  A Letter from Tilly

  The Little Orchard on the Lane

  The Time of My Life

  The Spring of Second Chances

  Once Upon a Winter

  Cathy's Christmas Kitchen

  Worth Waiting For

  The Waffle House on the Pier

  The Break Up

  The Garden on Sparrow Street

  Hattie’s Home for Broken Hearts

  The Mill on Magnolia Lane

  The Christmas Wish

  The Summer Getaway

  The Summer of Secrets

  A Very Vintage Christmas

  A Cosy Candlelit Christmas

  Rome is Where the Heart is

  A Wedding in Italy

  Christmas at the Little Village Bakery

  Acknowledgements

  *

  In memory of Storm Constantine

  Chapter One

  Elise was going to love this.

  Emma fixed the bunting to a hook she’d just knocked into a fence post, and the thought made her simultaneously happier and yet sadder than she could remember being in a long time. The sad bit she’d do her best to hide. Her younger sister had worked hard and she deserved this glorious, golden, once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. She’d been more diligent than the other students, had gone out of her way to display knowledge way beyond her course, had proved her passion, her hard work and her indispensability, and, as a reward, she’d been chosen out of her cohort of fellow post-graduates to take the final space on a research team as a paid intern. She’d be gone for a year at least, maybe longer, and while Emma would miss her she wasn’t going to let Elise get caught up in that grief.

  There was another part to her sadness too, a part that felt far more selfish and unreasonable. As she toiled in the spring sunshine, hanging bunting, positioning garden chairs, tables and parasols, dusting plastic picnic-ware and making various other party preparations, she was forced to reflect on how, at the moment she was about to say goodbye to her little sister, she would also be forced to recognise her own shortcomings. She wasn’t going to let Elise see that either. If she dared let any of those bitter thoughts slip, Elise would try to reassure her that life had cut them a different stack of cards, and that Emma shouldn’t see the static nature of her existence as failure. But, in the end, Emma couldn’t view her distinct lack of achievement, or even ambition, as anything else. Elise – eight years her junior at twenty-two – was destined for great things. Emma… not so much.

  She was shaken from her reverie by the sound of Aunt Patricia’s voice, and perhaps that was a good thing. Today was not the day for maudlin thoughts.

  ‘Done over there yet?’ she called from the far side of the garden where she was busy setting a table that they’d moved to the shade of a cluster of maple trees. It was early in the season and not yet the furnace-like temperatures of a midsummer day, but it was still warm and bright enough to be uncomfortable sitting for long in the glare of the sun.

  ‘Nearly,’ Emma said, shaking off her melancholy.

  Patricia raised her eyebrows, giving Emma a look that never failed to remind her of her mother. Patricia’s hair was a soft grey, almost white, but it suited her. Her skin was fair and her eyes green-grey, and her movements were always delicate, like a ballet dancer’s, even when carrying out the heaviest chore.

  Emma had supposed, over the years, that had her mum still been alive, her ginger hair would have been turning white now too, and her movements would have been elegant and considered like her twin’s, her grey-green eyes shining with the same kindness. Her mum and aunt weren’t identical, but they were so alike people said they might as well have been. No matter how many years she’d been gone, Emma would always look at her aunt and see the echoes of a mother she’d lost at the age of eight – a mother Elise had never even known.

  At eight months pregnant a collision with a car had put her into a coma she’d never come out of, and Elise had been born by caesarean, into a world where everyone had overcompensated to make up for her tragic beginnings. In her darker, less charitable moments, Emma would blame that for the fact she had failed while Elise flew, but in reality she knew that wasn’t fair. Elise had suffered in different ways. She had never known her mum, but she had still suffered a loss as tragic as Emma’s.

  ‘Looks pretty good,’ Patricia said, coming over. ‘You’ve got an eye for this kind of thing – I always said so.’

  Emma smiled. ‘Oh I don’t know about that…’

  ‘You don’t give yourself enough credit. Didn’t you have balloons to sort too?’

  ‘Over in that box.’ Emma indicated a trestle table still groaning with things in boxes and bags they needed to put out before her dad brought Elise over under the pretence of having a quiet family farewell dinner. Elise had said no surprise parties, which meant that this party might not be much of a surprise considering she’d spotted the possibility of it happening. But it wasn’t every day your brilliant baby sister got the chance of a lifetime to study a largely unknown volcano in Iceland with a renowned professor and a team of eminent scientists, and if Emma couldn’t throw a surprise party to celebrate that, she didn’t know what she could throw one for. Of course, studying a volcano in Iceland wasn’t everyone’s idea of a dream opportunity, but for Elise it represented all she’d been working towards since first settin
g foot on the university campus.

  Emma’s mind went back to the day Elise had come over to her house with the news. She’d never seen her sister so excited – in fact, she didn’t think she’d seen anyone look that excited about anything before. She cared not a jot that she’d have to spend a year in a village (more of a hamlet, really) whose name she couldn’t pronounce and whose only source of electricity and heating was geothermal energy produced by magma under the ground they’d built their houses on. In fact, she absolutely loved that the village had a name she couldn’t pronounce and that it was heated by molten magma, but then, Elise would. Emma had pondered what might happen if that magma ever came to the surface, and at the thought of that her sister had gone into near-raptures.

  Elise had always been the curious one, the adventurous one, the child filled with wonder at the world. Emma had happily taken on the mantle of responsibility and stoic practicality to indulge that wonder, often giving up her own school trips and outings so their dad could afford to pay for Elise’s. She’d pretended she hadn’t wanted to go so that nobody would feel guilty, and she’d do it all over again if she had to. If anything, their celebration today and the reasons for it were reward for that sacrifice. Elise was off to start the realisation of her dreams and Emma couldn’t be happier for her – her little sister had been robbed of any memories of a mother and it was the least she was owed.

  ‘I suppose I’d better get some blown up,’ Emma said. ‘We’re running out of time.’

  Patricia cast a glance at the box. ‘It’ll take you ages – I thought Dougie was coming to help us.’

  Emma’s whole body tensed at the mention of her boyfriend. ‘So did I. I’ve called him three times but he’s not answering his phone. If he’s too busy to help set up that’s fine, but I don’t want him to rock up late and spoil Elise’s surprise.’

  ‘Do you want to take a quick trip to the lake to see if he’s there?’

  ‘No – there isn’t time,’ Emma replied, though that wasn’t the real reason she didn’t want to go. She already knew he’d be there and she knew that catching him there would provoke the kind of almighty row that would completely ruin the day. For herself, she didn’t really care, but for Elise’s sake that could not be allowed to happen. ‘I swear he’s at that fishing lake more than he’s home these days. I ought to suggest he gets engaged to a passing carp – they see more of him than I do.’

  ‘I rather think a carp might struggle to take the vacuum cleaner round your house.’

  ‘Hmm,’ Emma said. ‘Me too, and if you’re saying what I think you’re saying then you might be right.’

  ‘What do you think I’m saying?’

  Emma gave a small smile. She could speak frankly to her aunt, who’d always treated her with respect and as an equal, even when she’d been very young. Growing up, Emma had appreciated that and she still did – now more than ever, if only because Patricia had become one of her most important confidantes and counsellors. But even so, there were some things even her aunt couldn’t help her sort out.

  ‘That he’s only marrying me because I look after him and more or less let him do whatever he likes?’

  Patricia frowned. ‘If you know this, I don’t understand why you don’t do something about it. Knowing that can’t make you happy.’

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Tell him.’

  ‘I have,’ Emma said wearily. ‘More times than I can count.’

  ‘Then you haven’t told him in a way that makes him take you seriously.’

  ‘He doesn’t take anything seriously – that’s the problem.’

  ‘And you love this man? Sometimes I wonder, Emma…’

  ‘Well they do say love is blind,’ Emma said wryly. ‘They must have forgotten to mention the part where it’s stupid as well.’

  ‘If I were you I’d tell him to buck his ideas up or it’s the end of the line. An ultimatum is the only way.’

  ‘It’s not that easy.’

  ‘It’s not that hard.’

  Emma ran a packing knife along the Sellotape sealing the lid of the box and pulled it open. ‘He knows I’d never chuck him out – that’s why he doesn’t take me seriously.’

  ‘He thinks he knows. Say it like you mean it – call his bluff; pack a suitcase or something.’

  ‘I don’t know…’ Emma let out a sigh. ‘Sometimes I wonder if it’s me. Perhaps I’m too uptight about it all. I knew what I was getting when we moved in together – he’s never been the world’s most driven man, and in that way we’re not so different – we just manifest our lack of ambition differently.’

  ‘There’s a difference between a lack of ambition and downright laziness,’ Patricia said.

  ‘He does what he needs to do… eventually.’

  ‘Like today? How long have you been planning this party?’

  ‘Couple of months.’ Emma looked at her feet, starting to feel like a chastised toddler.

  ‘And how long has he known that he’d have to be here to help?’

  ‘He didn’t have to—’

  ‘You asked him to and he said yes. In my book he’s committed to it and he has an obligation to see that commitment through. He lets you down again and again and you make excuses for him.’

  Emma looked up to see her aunt was regarding her with a keen questioning stare, but she had no convincing response.

  ‘Your uncle will be back shortly,’ Patricia said. ‘Once he’s set the drinks up I’ll ask him to help with the balloons.’

  ‘Dougie will probably be here soon too,’ Emma said quickly, although she didn’t feel that optimistic.

  Patricia raised her eyebrows again, and Emma had to admit that she had a point.

  Patricia’s lawn was dotted with daisies and buttercups, the odd dandelion or coltsfoot poking a shaggy head above the carpet of more delicate flowers. Patricia had always let the first weeds of the season take hold and left mowing the lawn for as long as she could stand – it was important spring food for the bees, she said, and she wouldn’t deprive them of that for the sake of a pristine garden.

  Emma had always liked the way it reminded her of a country meadow – there weren’t so many of them in the little ex-industrial northern town of Wrenwick where she lived. There were some stunning moors on the outskirts of the city, but they were wild and bleak and often obscured with rain or cloud, and there were pockets of man-made greenery here and there, but they were the types of green spaces where you still knew you were in suburbia – houses and blocks of flats showing above the treeline, with concrete paths and council bins every few yards overflowing with uncollected rubbish. It was nice enough to walk there, but you’d never be fooled for a moment that you were in the countryside. A crowd of grateful little bees were exploring Patricia’s flowery larder now, bumbling from plant to plant, settling for a while in the sun before moving on to the next.

  Her aunt Patricia and uncle Dominic had a bigger house than either Emma or her dad, who both lived in turn-of-the-century terraces which had once belonged to a mill owner and which he’d used to house his workers. Patricia and Dominic had a detached house on the outskirts of town, and they often hosted family get-togethers, so it made perfect sense to have their party here. Emma’s dad and Patricia had continued to have a close bond even after the death of Emma’s mum – partly, Emma had always supposed, for the sake of her and Elise, but also because there was genuine affection between Patricia and her brother-in-law. She’d looked out for him after Felicia was gone and had comforted him, never asking for anything in return, despite the fact that she’d also lost her twin sister. She’d taken an incredibly active role in the raising of Emma and Elise and, having no children of her own, had almost become their surrogate mother.

  Emma and her aunt were putting the finishing touches to the table decorations now. Emma had put Dougie firmly out of her mind and her tummy flutters were now at full pelt as the excitement grew about the arrival of her sister. Today had to be perfect, and if it had anything to do wit
h her it would be. While they’d been working, her uncle Dominic had arrived and was bringing crates of beer and wine from his car.

  ‘Don’t worry – I’ve only brought a few bottles of the home brew,’ he said in answer to Patricia’s frown. ‘The rest is all shop-bought.’

  ‘Thank goodness,’ Patricia said under her breath. ‘First sensible thing he’s ever done without having to be told.’

  ‘It isn’t that bad,’ Emma said with a laugh.

  ‘I don’t think it’s that bad either, in all honesty,’ Patricia agreed, ‘but it’s not for everyone, and you can’t just offer naff old home brew at a party – you’ve got to give people proper stuff to drink. If Dom had had his way he’d have been scaling up his shed production to something rivalling Guinness and he’d be trying to force it on everyone.’

  Emma’s reply was cut short as Dominic came back and gave an approving look at the garden. ‘You’ve done a cracking job here, ladies. Need me to do anything?’

  ‘Are the drinks all in?’ Patricia asked.

  ‘Yep. I think that’s all my jobs ticked off.’

  ‘I think we’re nearly done too, aren’t we?’ Emma glanced at her aunt, who nodded agreement. ‘Just the balloons if you don’t mind helping out with those.’