Free The Angel Tree by Lucinda Riley

to be a good comedian,’ said Greta defensively.
    ‘Yes, well, not quite what one would have chosen for one’s only son, but he’s dreamt about the bright lights since he was a small boy. Lord knows where he gets it from. There
aren’t many performers in his father’s family or mine,’ sniffed LJ. ‘I did wonder whether his stint in the army might change his mind, but no. Eight months ago he was
relieved of his duties. He came home and told me he was off to London to try his luck on the stage.’
    ‘Well, if it’s any comfort, he’s doing extremely well. Everyone at the Windmill thinks he’ll go far.’
    ‘It is indeed a comfort. When you have your little one in a few months’ time you’ll understand the agony of being a parent. Even if I had other plans for David when he was
younger, I’m just grateful he lived through the war to pursue his dreams. My main concern now is that he’s happy.’ LJ yawned suddenly. ‘Excuse me. After last night’s
debacle with the ewe, I’m exhausted. I’m sorry to throw you out, but I have to be up early to milk the cows. Will you be all right to make your own way home?’
    ‘I’ll be fine,’ promised Greta.
    ‘Good. I’ll pop in to see you whenever I can and, if you need anything, I’m always around somewhere.’
    LJ walked into the hall and retrieved Greta’s coat from the banister. She stooped down and picked up a pair of wellington boots.
    ‘Here, take these. They’ll probably be far too big for you, but those town shoes you’re wearing won’t last you more than a few days here.’
    Greta put on her coat and took the wellingtons. ‘Thank you so much for supper. It really is good of you to look after me like this.’
    ‘I’ve always been a sucker for my darling David.’ LJ’s face softened as she relit Greta’s hurricane lamp and handed it to her. ‘You’ll understand what I
mean soon enough.’ She indicated Greta’s stomach. ‘Goodnight, Greta.’
    ‘Goodnight.’
    LJ stood at the door and watched the girl make her way carefully down the path. She shut the door, deep in thought, and went to sit in her favourite armchair by the fire,
trying to work out why she was filled with unease.
    When David had telephoned her and told her he wanted Greta to come and stay in his cottage, LJ had heard the warmth in his voice when he spoke about her. Maybe he was hoping that Greta’s
gratitude would spill over into something more, that she would one day reciprocate his feelings. Greta seemed a nice enough sort of girl, but LJ could see that she wasn’t in love with her
son.
    As she climbed the stairs to bed LJ prayed that her precious David wouldn’t regret his kind-hearted action.
    She had a strong feeling that the arrival of Greta at Marchmont was going to have an effect on David’s destiny. And, for some reason she could not fathom, on her own, too.

6
    After a week of living at Marchmont and with Christmas approaching, Greta knew that in the months to come, boredom would be her greatest enemy. Introspection had never been
something that appealed to her; in truth, it frightened her. The thought of having hour after hour to contemplate her life and the mess she had made of it was not one she relished. But here, with
nothing to do but read books – several of which were classics by Charles Dickens and Thomas Hardy, whose tales of tragedy only served to mirror her own misery – Greta found herself
watching the clock and willing the time to pass.
    She spent hours thinking about Max, where he was, what he was doing. She even contemplated getting in touch with Whitehall and trying to trace him, but there seemed little point. Max
wouldn’t want her now.
    She missed him. Not the presents, nor the life she could have had, but the man himself. His soft Southern drawl, his laughter, the gentleness of his touch as he’d made love to her . .
.
    In the afternoons she’d taken to going for a long walk, just to get out of the cottage. She would walk past