Chapter Two

The funeral was awful. It was quiet, barely thirty people standing together outside, so few that Lexie had felt the need to hunch over and make herself as small as possible. Her dad hadn't been religious so there was no church, and the ceremony took place in a woodland burial ground, where you could hear the rustle of animals brave enough to venture out in the cold. Despite the shelter of the trees, icy wind bit at her fingertips, making them numb. The rain held off, but the air was still damp enough to feel suffocating, like everything was too close. And it had been stupid to wear heels. They were only small black ones, ones she'd found hidden in the back of her wardrobe at her mum's house, but still—they sank into the soft ground underneath her, meaning she had to shift position every few minutes. Then it felt like something was wrong with her because she was worrying about her heels in the mud rather than the fact that her dad was dead.

Her dad was dead. He'd died of a cancer that she hadn't even known he'd had. A cancer he'd been battling for six months. Liver cancer. She tried repeating it over and over, but still it didn't feel real. Or if it did feel real, then it was somehow separate to her. She tried to listen to the celebrant's words as she talked about what a loss this was, about how Richard had been a force of nature, how he'd added vibrancy to those around him, how he would be hugely missed. Lexie couldn't match the person she'd known to the person who was being described. Who had given the celebrant these words to say?

She wondered if it had been Rachel. Rachel, who was all grown up, a proper adult now. She was still young, really—what was she, twenty-two? But the last time Lexie had seen her, she'd still only been a teenager. She had the same dark curls as Lexie and their dad, and without that, Lexie wasn't 100 percent sure she'd have recognized her half sister—who was now getting up in front of everyone and speaking about what a wonderful father he'd been. She told a story of her twenty-first birthday, and how Richard had surprised her with a dinner party. Rachel broke down halfway through the story and couldn't finish, the piece of paper shaking in her hands, until the celebrant went up and laid a comforting hand on her shoulder.

Where is Rachel's mum? Lexie wondered, as her own mum gripped her hand in silent comfort. She'd expected her stepmother—if you can call a woman Lexie had barely ever interacted with by that title—to be by Rachel's side. But instead it was a friend of Rachel's, about her own age—a tall girl with near-black hair—who went over to Rachel, helped her to step back into the crowd. And through all this, Lexie was trying to match what Rachel was saying to the father she'd known. Thinking of her own twenty-first birthday, and how that had been the final straw, the moment she'd decided to give up and cut her dad out of her life completely.

So yes, the funeral was awful. But the wake was worse. It was held in Bath, where her dad had been living—in a dull function room in a middle-of-the-range hotel where everything was white with the exception of the beige carpet. A few Christmas decorations had been put up, with a small tree in the corner and a line of snowflakes—more tasteful than the ones Lexie had done with Bree—hanging along the double doors that led to a courtyard outside. Lexie hated places like this—one of a chain, with a blandness that was impossible to escape. She'd never had much money to stay anywhere fancy, but when she had the choice she tried to stay at places that were part of the local community, and that were independently owned and run. It wasn't always possible, of course, but she always thought you got a better sense of the area that way, and she liked supporting small businesses.

Lexie's mum squeezed her shoulder. "Are you OK, love?"

Lexie nodded. Thank God for her mum. She didn't know what she'd do without her, standing in this room, trying to pay respects to a man she felt she barely knew, whose memory was tainted by disappointment. Her mum hadn't needed to come—they'd been divorced for over twenty years—but Lexie suspected she'd done it for her sake. What must it be like, for her? She must have loved him, once. Loved him enough to marry him. Loved him enough to cry in her room, over and over, when she thought Lexie couldn't hear, after he'd left.

"Are you?" Lexie asked, and her mum smiled her reassurance. She had such a pretty smile, all soft and warm. It felt unfair, that Lexie had gotten more of her dad's looks than her mum's—her dad's dark curls, murky brown eyes. Her mum's frame was somewhat similar to hers, but her features were gentler, her hair a straight honey blond—dyed for years now to stay the same as her natural color, and she had a soft, heart-shaped face that immediately made her look kind—whereas Lexie was all angles, with a too-large forehead.

"I have to go to the bathroom," her mum said. "Will you be OK for a minute?"

"Of course." Because what was she supposed to say— No, Mum, don't leave me ? So she watched her head away, already feeling hot around the collar of her high-necked black dress—one of the only black dresses she owned, one that she hadn't worn since her stint working in an office in London, which had lasted a little over eight months. She helped herself to a sausage roll—comfort food, she supposed—then headed to the small bar and ordered a glass of red.

Had it been Rachel and Jody, Rachel's mum, who organized this? She risked a quick glance around. Rachel was in the corner, with the black-haired friend she'd brought along, surrounded by people offering her condolences, but Lexie still couldn't see Jody anywhere. She knew that Richard had left Jody too, a few years ago—so perhaps Jody wasn't quite as forgiving as Lexie's own mum, despite the fact that she'd been married to Richard for longer. What had made Richard leave her, in the end? Had he just gotten bored, like with his first family?

She should go over and talk to Rachel, she knew she should. They'd exchanged a brief hello earlier, an awkward hug, but they hadn't really spoken. She should be polite, ask if she was OK, ask what she was doing these days. Was she still in Wales? Lexie had absolutely no idea. And fine, OK, it wasn't Rachel's fault that her dad had decided to go and have another family—Rachel had been caught in the crossfire of that. But it didn't make it easy, and Lexie wasn't sure she was emotionally ready enough to have the kind of conversation that would be expected of her right now. Besides, Rachel had avoided eye contact with her, too. There was a seven-year age gap between them—a gap that had made it obvious that Richard had been cheating on Lexie's mum before he'd actually left—and it had meant they'd never gotten close, the handful of times they'd been shoved together, because as kids that age gap had felt huge. And even though they were both adults now, what did you say to someone who was technically your sister, but who you barely knew at all? What did you say at the funeral of a man who had technically been a father to both of you, but who had arguably only been a dad to one of you?

Lexie gripped her wineglass tighter, trying to bite back the rush of hot fury that rose up seemingly out of nowhere. Then there was guilt, squirming in her stomach. Guilt that she wasn't a better person, that she couldn't get through today without feeling angry at her dad, that she couldn't try to be a real sister to Rachel. She felt tears sting the backs of her eyes, tried to blink them away. Really, she'd lost her dad years ago, so there was no reason to be crying now. She shouldn't be here. She should have stayed in Austria, with the girls and her friends.

She felt her phone vibrate in her handbag by her side. A message from Fran, one of the few people from home she had remained good friends with after she left for university at eighteen—and made it her mission to keep on the move ever since.

Hope you're doing ok. Call me after if you want to chat. Xx

Lexie let out a shaky breath. For some reason the message made her want to cry even more. She and Fran had gone to the same secondary school in Frome, near Bath, where Lexie had grown up—where she and her mum had stayed, even after Richard had left for his new family. Fran lived in Bath now and had offered to come today. She'd said she remembered meeting Richard a few times when they were teenagers. But it would have felt weird, bringing a friend along to her dad's funeral. Still, she should make time for a coffee with Fran before she flew back to Austria.

Lexie glanced around for her mum as she sipped her wine—seriously, how long did it take to go to the bathroom? Her eyes skimmed over a woman with deliberately gray hair, cut into a sleek bob. She saw Lexie looking, even as Lexie tried to look away before that moment of eye contact. She was talking to a tall man with dark brown hair, but shoved her empty glass in his hand and made a beeline for Lexie.

Lexie felt panic rise. She'd so far done well to avoid the condolences, to avoid any real acknowledgment that she was a family member. When she'd overheard someone saying, "But didn't he have two daughters?" she'd swiftly walked in the other direction. But now here was this woman, walking very purposefully toward her. And the room was small enough that she couldn't get lost in a crowd, and there was no one here she wanted to jump into a conversation with, so despite a frantic glance around, Lexie was standing stock-still when the woman reached her. She had very distinct pale green eyes, eyes that gave Lexie an appraising look, scanning her from head to toe in a way that made her feel self-conscious, wondering if the tiny ladder in her tights was noticeable, if she should have tried to clean the mud off her heels. The woman was in a black dress—of course—and heeled boots that had somehow avoided the mud from the cemetery. She had on bright red lipstick, and her eyebrows were in a perfect arch that must have taken some time to perfect. Lexie cast around in her memory, trying to place her.

"You won't know me," she said by way of introduction.

"Ah…"

"You're Lexie, though." The woman smiled—a smile that managed somehow to be both efficient and warm.

She wasn't sure what she could say to that other than "Yes."

"I worked with your father."

"Oh. OK." She had on sailboat earrings, Lexie noticed. Amid all the black, this woman was wearing bright, big sailboat earrings.

" You're a bit older than the photos he has of you, but I could spot you anywhere." She gave Lexie another look up and down, as if double-checking. The sailboats bounced with the movement. "You age very well."

"Um…Thanks." Here it was—the condolences. Though—her dad had photos of her? She somehow doubted that, and with that doubt came an immediate suspicion of this woman.

"It's not a compliment, it's a fact. I was Richard's PA. Have been since he started the company."

Lexie nodded slowly, not sure where this was going. Shouldn't there have been a "sorry for your loss" by now? She hoped she didn't get asked any questions about the company her dad owned—this woman looked like she might be about to quiz her on something. But she knew nothing about it—other than the fact that there was a company, which her dad had started around five years ago, when he'd left his second family and moved to Bath. It had something to do with travel, but that was the extent of her knowledge.

"This is an awful time," the woman continued. "I know that. And I know I'm this strange woman accosting you at your dad's funeral, but I don't really see a way around it."

"I'm sorry, I don't really—"

"You need to come to your dad's office the day after tomorrow. There's a meeting and you need to be there."

Lexie stared at the woman, waiting for her to say something more. When she didn't, Lexie spoke. "But why on earth would I need to be there?"

"I can't explain now. It would take too long and it's not the time or the place. But it will affect you and several others, so best to do it all together at once."

Lexie waited for her to elaborate, but she didn't. "I'm sorry," she said, making sure her voice was polite, apologetic, "but I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."

"No. I imagine not." The woman's face softened, those green eyes filling with such obvious sympathy, it made Lexie's throat close. "I'm the one who's sorry. Really, I am. But it will make a lot more sense when you come to the office. Do you know where it is?"

"Ah…"

"No matter, I have the address." She fished in her handbag—a bright red one that, like the earrings, stood out against the black—and handed Lexie a card.

Angela Wilson

Personal Assistant

R&L Travel

See the world through celebration.

So that was the name of her dad's company, then. She frowned. It was a bland name, she decided. And the slogan—it didn't make any sense. Then she looked at the first line. Angela. It was only then that Lexie realized that the woman hadn't actually introduced herself by name.

"You'll be there?" Angela prompted. "The day after tomorrow, eleven a.m. "

"I really don't—"

"Everything will become clear in the meeting, I promise you." Angela offered her another warm smile, her eyes creasing at the corners. "See you there. And it was nice to finally meet you, Lexie."

Lexie watched Angela walk away, not really sure how she'd ended up agreeing to something without actually agreeing. She would just have to make an excuse. Feign a contagious illness or something. She finished her wine, put the glass down on the bar, and saw her mum finally heading over to her.

Lexie looked down again at the card in her hand. "Do you know someone called Angela Wilson?" she asked as her mum drew near.

"Ange? I think she's your dad's PA, isn't she? Or was," she added after a beat. She rubbed Lexie's arm in a soothing gesture. "How are you doing, Lex?"

"I'm…God, I don't know." Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Rachel moving a little closer. Soon, they'd be right next to each other. But Rachel wasn't looking her way—Lexie suspected she wanted to avoid the awkward conversation, too.

"Mum, I think I'm going to go home. I've got a bit of a headache." It wasn't a lie—she could feel the pressure, a tight band around her head.

"OK, love, I'll drive you."

"No, you—"

Her mum gave her a look. "Lexie, you're staying at my house—how else are you going to get back to Frome? Besides, I think I'm done, too." She glanced around and Lexie wondered again how her mum had the strength to get through this with grace and dignity. "Let me just say goodbye to one or two people and I'll meet you outside, OK?"

Lexie obeyed, feeling relieved to have an instruction to follow. She slipped her coat on, headed out of the function room. As she was walking through the doorway, concentrating on her feet so that she didn't make eye contact with anyone, she felt a solid body slam into hers. She stumbled a little, felt a hand catch her arm to steady her.

She looked up. It was the man she'd seen talking to Angela earlier—dark hair, a strong jawline with the beginnings of stubble, and a faint scar through one eyebrow.

"I'm so sorry." His voice was deep, with a slight rough edge. "I wasn't looking where I…"

His eyes met hers. They were a darker brown than her own eyes, with an amber glow in the center that made her think of hot coals glowing orange in a fire.

His hand dropped from her arm and his eyebrows pulled together in a frown. "You're leaving?" he asked, and she swore she heard disapproval in his voice. Maybe he knew who she was—one of Richard's daughters, bailing on the funeral.

"I, er…" She cleared her throat, told herself to stop being ridiculous. This stranger had no right to judge her. "Yeah. So if you don't mind…" Lexie gestured to the doorway, indicating that he was in her way.

He gave her a curt nod, then stepped aside so she could pass.

She walked away quickly, hugging her coat to her. Before she turned the corner that led to the hotel lobby, she risked a quick glance behind her. The stranger was turning away, but she swore she caught the edge of a scowl he'd been shooting in her direction. Seriously? What was wrong with this guy? She told herself to shake it off as she stepped out of the hotel into the cold, damp air to wait for her mum. Tried to tell herself that she was being silly, that she was imagining the disapproval in his voice. It was just her being self-conscious, that was all. She was sure of it.