Free The Green Hills of Home by Emma Bennet Page A

slightly and
her cheeks were flushed. She couldn’t believe that she had just spoken to her
editor like that. This was a very important man who she was going to have to
work with for months, if not years, had she been too hasty? Too rude? Suddenly
she wondered whether she ought to return and apologise, try to repair some of
the damage she’d done right away. She was close to heading back into the
kitchen; she got as far as the hallway when she forced herself to stop. What
was she doing? She knew, beyond any doubt, that she was in the right. It was
John who’d been rude and unreasonable, and she should not be feeling like she
ought to be the one saying sorry. With renewed resolution Gwen checked her hair
and make-up, grabbed a jumper, and headed out of the front door, only pausing
briefly to say goodbye to Oscar.
     
    As soon as Gwen was out of the
door John crossly began to check, as best he could, the goings on in Black
Horse. As far as was possible to tell, all was running smoothly, but John knew
he’d feel far more on top of things if he were in London. He had so much to
plan and deal with, and attempting to control a temperamental prima donna was
frankly annoying and a waste of his precious time. He really needed to wind
matters up in Wales as quickly as possible so he could get back to the pulse of
things.
    John was still grumpily banging
away on his computer half an hour later when he heard a little whine and looked
down to see Oscar looking up at him pitifully, lead in his mouth. Even in his
aggravated state, John couldn’t resist such an entreaty. The laptop was closed
down and he pulled on a pair of Gwen’s father’s old walking boots - there was
no way his Gucci loafers would survive the mud - and headed out, a very
grateful Oscar by his side.
    Gwen wasn’t sure what to expect
when she returned from the hospital, but remembering how pleased her Mam had
been to see her renewed Gwen’s conviction that she’d been right to insist upon
visiting that evening.
    As she drove home she reiterated
to herself that whatever John said she was going to stand by her decision to
visit her mother. But what if he declared he’d no longer work with her? Would
the publishers drop her completely? Once the thought was in her mind it refused
to shift.
    She had no plan to save the
house, but if she could find a way, and there simply had to be a way, then she
was going to need money, and the only viable route she had to make any decent
money was through her writing. And despite the odds, she had a contract, or at
least had had a contract. Oh god, had she really just messed it all up?
    Had she been too hasty in defying
her editor? She knew her mother would understand if she’d missed one visit, and
she could have still called to speak to her and checked she was all right. A
feeling of dread sank to the bottom of Gwen’s stomach as she frantically tried
to decide what she could do to make amends and stop John from doing something that
could devastate her and her mother’s lives.
     
    After parking the car Gwen
hesitated a little as she opened her front door so as to steady her resolve and
prepare herself for what lay beyond. Despite confirming the presence of John’s
car, Gwen somehow half expected he’d already left.
    Delicious smells hit Gwen’s
nostrils the second she walked in. Well, at least John was still here. The next
test would be whether he’d cooked for her as well as himself.
    Gwen couldn’t believe the sight
that greeted her on entering the kitchen: the table was laid beautifully with
pristine napkins that Gwen recalled her mother using at Christmas; a very good
bottle of red wine was already open and breathing; and at the place she usually
sat there was a beautiful bouquet of yellow roses, wrapped in gorgeous crisp
brown paper and tied with twine.
    "Those are for you"
said John indicating the flowers.
    "They’re beautiful."
    "They’re part of the apology
I owe you."
    "Oh?"
    "I shouldn’t have spoken to
you