From the author of global bestseller THE GIRL IN THE LETTER, a gripping, powerful and heartbreaking new novel of two families and the devastating secret that binds them...
'A hugely addictive story...full of twists, turns, class divides, betrayal and deceit ****' Heat magazine
'Emily Gunnis weaves a gripping story' Woman & Home
'One of the best books I've read this year! I adored every single page! A gripping and emotional mystery. If you love Kate Morton then Emily Gunnis is the author for you *****' Real reader review
'Spellbindingly good! Heartbreak, intrigue, mystery. I was totally engrossed from start to finish *****' Real reader review __________
1969 On New Year's Eve, while the Hiltons of Yew Tree Manor prepare to host the party of the season, their little girl disappears. Suspicion falls on Bobby James, a young farmhand and the last person to see Alice before she vanished. Bobby protests his innocence, but he is sent away. Alice is never found.
Present day Architect Willow James is working on a development at Yew Tree when she discovers the land holds a secret. As she begins to dig deep into the past, she uncovers a web of injustice. And when another child goes missing, Willow knows the only way to stop history repeating itself is to right a terrible wrong.
For decades the fates of the Hilton and James families have been entwined in the grounds of Yew Tree Manor. It all began with a midwife's secret, long buried but if uncovered could save them from the bitter tragedy that binds them. And prove the key that will free them all...
ARE YOU READY TO DISCOVER THE MIDWIFE'S SECRET?
'Gripping. A great read to curl up with for the afternoon' Fabulous magazine 'A multi-generational, fast-paced tale of two families terrible secret, ideal for fans of Adele Parks and Lesley Pearse' Candis magazine 'The perfect kind of read for cosying up on the sofa with now the nights are closing in' Brown Flopsy's Book Burrow blog 'This novel will tug at your heart. A gripping, heartwrenching story of love, loyalty and family secrets. Reminded me of Kate Morton and Eve Chase *****' Fictionophile blog 'I loved this book. It's absorbing and full of the kind of emotions that will make you angry and sad at the same time' Bookchatter@cookiebiscuit 'One of my favourites this year' Beauty Balm blog 'The story was stunning and heartbreaking. I went to bed at 2am! Can't wait for the next book *****' 'Wow! What a powerful book. This had me hooked from the start. The story spans generations and tells of lies, grief and secrets. It was extremely well written and had you guessing right to the end. Loved the characters and couldn't put this book down. *****' 'A real heart-pounder! It had intrigue, suspense and lots of twists and turns!! Definitely some jaw-dropping moments! I highly recommend reading this book! *****'
Your favourite authors adore Emily Gunnis's bestselling novels:
'Compelling, twisty, heart-wrenching... A novel that stays with you. I was gripped' Sophie Kinsella 'Utterly gripping, taut and powerful. An emotionally charged, compulsive, moving novel *****' Adele Parks 'A great book, truly hard to put down. Fast paced, brilliantly plotted and desperately sad at times - all hallmarks of a bestseller' Lesley Pearse 'A truly brilliant and moving read. I loved it' Karen Hamilton 'Captivating and suspenseful' Jessica Fellowes 'Loss, betrayal and a decades-old secret... BRILLIANT'Heat magazine
(P) 2021 Headline Publishing Group Ltd
Release date:
October 28, 2021
Publisher:
Headline
Print pages:
384
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Vanessa Hilton stood at the mouth of the woods linking Yew Tree Manor to The Vicarage and looked down across the fields at the derelict house, the winter-morning sun sparkling behind it.
The developers had already cordoned it off with red and white tape and a huge yellow crane stood alongside a wrecking ball, waiting to strike the walls of the listed building that her son Leo still didn’t yet have permission to knock down.
She could see a couple of men in hard hats with clipboards pointing up at the roof and walking round the outside of the house, clearly plotting and planning its downfall. The Vicarage was at the centre of the area that Leo had told her was to be cleared to build ten detached houses. No doubt it would make everyone a great deal of money, but she couldn’t remember anyone asking her consent for it to happen. Or perhaps they had and she had forgotten. To her, the developers looked like sharks circling their prey, their desperation to be rid of the old house all too apparent.
Vanessa looked down at her black leather shoes, which were soaked through, and realised her feet had gone numb. She wasn’t wearing the right footwear for walking; she couldn’t remember why she had left the house. Maybe she had just come outside to see her granddaughter, Sienna. Maybe she had wanted to get away from the men in the house packing up her life’s belongings.
She felt tired trying to remember all the time. The doctor had told her to be patient with herself. That it would be harder to recall people’s names and words on the tip of her tongue, but that the distant past would stay perfectly intact in her mind; the things she wanted to forget she remembered, and the things she wanted to remember she forgot.
She supposed she must have spoken to her family about selling the estate, but she couldn’t remember the conversation, just a sick feeling of it all happening around her, of the tide going out and not being able to stop it. Conversations out of her control, removal men coming and going, architects brimming with ideas holding meetings in the kitchen. A feeling of powerlessness and worry that followed her around like a shadow, starting every day with a niggling feeling of unease and slowly taking over every part of her so that, by bedtime, she could barely breathe for fear of what she couldn’t remember. She had to leave, she knew that. But she couldn’t recall why.
‘Mum! Are you out here?’ She could hear Leo calling her, but she chose to ignore him. The house was so full, so bursting with activity, people bustling about, plotting her removal. She felt like a spider being dusted out of the door on a broom, everyone being polite and kind to her face, offering her endless cups of tea, but quite obviously wanting to be rid of her and a lifetime’s belongings as quickly and efficiently as possible. She kept asking Leo where they were moving to, but she could never remember the answer.
She turned and started walking back through the woods, the trees overhead forming an arch. The same ash trees Alice must have passed under the night she went missing. On cold, windy days like this they always rustled, as if they were whispering. Trying to tell her something. If only she could ask them what they had seen of her daughter that night. Where she had gone when she vanished into the snow. They would have watched her bumping into their neighbour’s son, Bobby, the last person to see Alice before she vanished. Bobby James. Even now with her mind a constant fog, it was a name and a face she knew she would never forget.
What had happened to Alice after that? Nearly fifty years later, she was no closer to solving the mystery. She only knew what the boy had told the police: that her six-year-old daughter had gone running after her puppy towards The Vicarage. Never to be seen again.
Vanessa took one more look back at the old house, possibly for the last time. She remembered that the planning meeting was the following day – Leo had talked about it that morning – and if they got the go-ahead, she knew they wouldn’t waste any time tearing it down.
Looking down at the frail building in the morning sun, she had doubted it would take much force. Nobody had lived in The Vicarage since the night of Alfie James’s accident – the same night Alice had disappeared. That had been nearly fifty years ago, and over that time, the once pretty house had gradually deteriorated into a state of complete decay. It now attracted only teenagers and travellers, who would light bonfires in the empty downstairs as they huddled together, the smashed windows and the broken front door providing little protection against the wind or rain.
She herself hadn’t been inside for decades; it brought back too many memories of a night she had spent a lifetime trying to forget. For the first ten years after Alice went missing, she would go over and over in her mind every second of the run-up to her daughter’s disappearance: what she hadn’t seen or noticed; what she had failed to do to keep her safe. It had slowly driven her mad. Now she couldn’t bear to think of it at all. She had given up torturing herself. Instead she chose to remember Alice in the grounds of Yew Tree Manor. On her long walks she would picture the little girl up ahead in her favourite red coat, asking endless questions, laughing, skipping, jumping. She felt in the depths of her heart that Alice still existed somewhere, in another world, another place. It was just a place Vanessa wasn’t allowed to visit. Yet.
She should have been as glad as Leo that they were knocking The Vicarage down. The house was a constant reminder of the James family, who came into their lives as the First World War ended, and had been inextricably bound to them – by tragedy – ever since.
But somehow the thought of the place being torn down made her sadder than she could comprehend. It was a brutal stamp on the passing of time, a plaster being torn off, the world moving on while she remained frozen in time.
As she reached the other side of the woods, Yew Tree Manor came into sight, and Sienna, her seven-year-old granddaughter, hurtled towards her on her red bicycle. She was so like Alice, it was almost too much to bear. Not just her long blonde hair, but her fearlessness and inquisitiveness; the sparkle of mischief in her blue eyes.
‘Hi, Grandma,’ she called. ‘Daddy’s been looking for you.’
‘Has he?’ said Vanessa. ‘Be careful, darling, it’s icy. And haven’t you got school today?’
‘Yes, Mummy’s just getting dressed,’ the little girl replied as she peddled off down the drive.
Vanessa let out a heavy sigh and exhaustion suddenly took hold. Realising from her heavy legs that she must have been out for too long, she made her way back to the house. As she walked in through the door and laid her gloves down, she could hear Leo on the phone in his study, talking quietly.
Passing the full-length antique gold mirror that had been unscrewed from the wall and was propped up at her feet, she realised that the elderly lady with the stooped shoulders, frail frame and wispy light grey hair was her. She stopped and turned to face her reflection, despite desperately wanting to turn away.
She had never been a classic beauty, but she was good at making the best of what she had: fine features, and a wide smile that never failed to get her what she wanted. Megawatt, Richard had called it; it never failed to stop his heart, like a lightning bolt, he had told her the night they met.
She had always been tall; ‘Stick’, her father had nicknamed her, because of her long, sun-kissed legs and arms, which she vividly remembered wrapping around his back as he gave her piggybacks on long walks. His interest in her, as an only child, had given her an unshakeable self-belief and an endless supply of positivity that had never stalled – until the night Alice disappeared.
Her thick long blonde hair was now thin, almost white, and cut to her jaw in an effort to hide its insubstantial state. Her skin was pale, almost translucent, and her collarbones were visible under her shirt. She stared into the mirror, her green eyes frowning back at her; in her youth they had been likened to sparkling emeralds, but now they seemed more like cloudy beer bottles. Old age is cruel, Vanessa, her mother had warned, but as a young woman it had seemed other-worldly in its distance from her, yet now suddenly it had arrived.
‘The planning meeting is tomorrow. Thanks, yup, I’ll let you know as soon as we hear. No, I don’t foresee any problems; the head of planning is minded to approve it, which means it’s as good as done.’ Vanessa could hear the stress in her son’s voice through the half-open door.
He looked up and saw her, and within moments he had finished the call and appeared in the hallway, flustered and frowning. ‘Are you okay, Mum?’ he said slightly breathlessly.
‘I’m fine, darling, thank you.’ She took off her jacket and hung it on the coat stand. It was overflowing with garments, and as she hooked hers on, another one fell down.
‘This thing is about to topple over,’ she sighed. ‘It would be nice if Helen tidied up occasionally.’
‘Sorry, Mum, I’ll do that.’ Leo scrabbled to pick up the coat at his feet.
‘You’ve got enough to do,’ Vanessa told him. ‘I don’t know how you manage it all, I really don’t.’
‘I’m all right, Mum.’ He frowned gently. ‘I didn’t know where you’d gone. You’ve been out for ages. I walked to the edge of the wood, but I couldn’t see you.’
Vanessa smiled up at him. Leo was tall, like his father, and despite hurtling towards his sixtieth birthday, he still had a thick head of fair hair, which was now falling in front of his smiling green eyes. He had Richard’s rugged handsome looks, and weather-beaten skin from a life lived outside, but there the similarity between father and son ended. Richard had been a hugely confident man, a bad-tempered bull, attacking life and everyone in it with very little regard for the chaos he left in his wake. Leo, on the other hand, was a born worrier, fretting about what people – mostly his father – thought of him and taking everything to heart. He had spent most of his adult life trying to unpick the mess that Richard had made of the guides, but recently she knew he’d come to the end of the road. Selling up was now their only choice, and one that left him feeling as if he had failed.
‘I just wanted to be alone,’ Vanessa said. ‘You mustn’t worry so much about me. You’ve got enough on your plate; you’re going to make yourself ill.’
‘I’m fine. I’ve got the final meeting at the village hall this morning, and I wanted to make sure you’re okay before I go.’
Vanessa’s gaze ran around the hallway: the overloaded coat stand, the piles of walking boots covered in mud, the mound of dog leads, hats and gloves on the grubby black and white tiled floor. Leo was always working, either on the farm or in endless meetings with architects and planning officials. Whereas Helen, his wife, just seemed to flutter around all day, like a bird with a broken wing, making her presence known, fussing over things that didn’t need her attention, and seemingly ignoring the things that did. The house was always a tip, and its upkeep neglected. She cooked for Sienna, but rarely for Leo, and while Sienna was immaculate, Leo always looked a mess. Helen ran Sienna’s life like a naval ship, yet Yew Tree, the house that Vanessa had cherished all her life, was clearly of no interest to her. It broke Vanessa’s heart every day that Helen so obviously couldn’t wait to be rid of it, presumably to get her hands on the money.
As if conjured up by Vanessa’s thoughts, Helen appeared in the hallway, making her jump.
‘Hi, Vanessa,’ she said warmly. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.’ Her eyes fell on Vanessa’s shoes. ‘Oh dear, you’re soaked through. You must be freezing. Leo lit the fire in the sitting room if you want to go in there.’
‘Okay, thank you, Helen.’
Vanessa looked at her daughter-in-law for a little too long, as if she were searching for something, some clue as to what really went on behind those piercing blue eyes. She didn’t wish to make the girl uncomfortable, but Helen reminded her of the mouse that had made a habit of coming into her kitchen every night for the best part of a year. It would sit in the corner and watch television with her, keeping her company, until one night it vanished as abruptly as it had arrived. She used to pretend she was watching the screen, but really she was keeping one eye on the creature, trying to fathom it out. It looked so sweet and innocent, yet it was constantly on edge, always ready to dart, its whiskers twitching, and with Helen’s mousy features and fidgety manner, it was hard not to draw comparisons.
Vanessa had never been entirely sure what Leo saw in Helen. She didn’t dislike the girl as such, but there was so little to warm to. She never really showed her true colours, and always seemed to be wary of her own shadow. Leo could have married anyone – every girl he spoke to seemed to melt in his presence, and from the way Vanessa’s friends asked after him, it would seem that any of their daughters would have jumped at the chance to bag him – but he had chosen Helen, someone you couldn’t take much offence to but who couldn’t really hold her own in a conversation. Helen was fifty-three now, yet she still had such a childlike way about her, so that in some ways she seemed more vulnerable than Sienna, who had been a rather unexpected arrival when Helen was in her mid-forties. Helen had a desperate desire to please, a smile always planted firmly on her lips but one that never reached her sad eyes.
‘Did you see Sienna when you were outside?’ Helen said as she walked into the sitting room and Vanessa followed. Helen walked over to the window, moving magazines around pointlessly on a coffee table in the corner; one messy pile to another, Vanessa thought.
‘Yes, she’s having a lovely time on her bicycle. You need to leave for school, though, don’t you?’ said Vanessa, looking at her watch.
‘I think Leo is taking her on the way to his meeting,’ Helen replied.
‘Maybe you should take her, Helen. Leo looks very stressed; his workload never seems to let up.’
Helen smiled weakly and began gathering her daughter’s various bits of paraphernalia strewn around the room and packing them into her rucksack. Sienna was the only thing that seemed to interest Helen, thought Vanessa, watching her. She rarely socialised or saw friends; she and Leo never threw dinner parties or went out to the pub. Her world revolved around Sienna’s after-school clubs and play dates and school work, and she watched her like a hawk, pouring every ounce of energy into her. Sienna didn’t have a single thought that Helen didn’t know about. Helen still slept with her daughter most nights, while Leo slept alone. Richard wouldn’t have put up with it for one night, let alone seven years. Perhaps it was a generational thing, but it had been that way since Sienna was a baby. Vanessa had often wondered if that was the reason Leo was slightly distant with his daughter: Sienna adored her dad, but he always seemed a little bit detached around her and it occurred to her that maybe it was because she had come between him and Helen. He had always said he didn’t want children, then suddenly, at the age of forty-five, Helen had announced that she was pregnant. Leo wasn’t unkind to Sienna, far from it, but he rarely played with her or seemed particularly enamoured or engaged with her, as Richard had been with Alice. But then Helen was so smothering, it was hard for Leo to have Sienna to himself.
It had occurred to Vanessa, in her darker moments, that it was jealousy that drove her irritation with Helen’s obsession with Sienna. She’d thought she and Alice had a wonderful relationship, but the fact of the matter was, Helen would never lose Sienna. Not in a million years. She would never let her out of her sight for long enough. But maybe the reason she watched Sienna like a hawk was because of Alice’s disappearance. Helen saw what the loss of a child did to a mother; the fact was the repercussions of losing Alice lived with all of them at Yew Tree, still to this day, despite nearly fifty years passing.
‘Did you have a nice walk?’ Helen asked, bringing Vanessa back to the present as she looked out of the window at Sienna.
‘Yes, I walked to The Vicarage. They’re all ready to knock it down by the looks of things.’
Helen turned slowly and looked at her, flushing red, but saying nothing.
‘It’s strange to think of that cold, empty shell of a house once so full of life. I have no idea what became of the James family – Nell and Bobby, wasn’t it? Do you know, Leo?’
‘What, Mum?’ Leo had appeared at the door, frowning. ‘Have you seen my car keys, Helen?’
Helen was still staring at Vanessa. ‘Um, I think they’re on the dining-room table.’
‘Try under the piles of papers and newspapers,’ said Vanessa. ‘It wouldn’t surprise me if Bobby James is in prison. Awful child, set fire to the cowshed. Do you remember, Leo?’
‘Um, yes, vaguely.’ Leo looked over at Helen, who had turned her back to them.
‘Vaguely? I’ll never forget it. Determined to burn those animals alive, he was. Richard only just got there in time.’ Vanessa frowned. ‘Where are you going?’
‘I told you, Mum, it’s the final planning meeting at the village hall. Tomorrow is D-Day.’
Helen walked past them with Sienna’s rucksack.
‘Why don’t you let Helen take Sienna to school?’ Vanessa said to Leo. ‘I can do us a quick fry-up.’
‘I’ll get something after the meeting, Mum. Helen, will you make Mum some breakfast? I’ve got to go or I’ll be late,’ he said, finally finding his keys and dashing out.
Vanessa looked around to see Sienna darting into the room. ‘Bye, Granny!’ she said, launching herself into her grandmother’s arms, her cheeks flushed from the cold.
‘Bye, darling, have a wonderful day.’
‘I’ll see you at the meeting, Helen,’ Leo called out. ‘I’ll save a seat for you.’
Vanessa looked at her daughter-in-law, who seemed to have sunk into one of her moods. She didn’t like to be around Helen when she was silent and brooding; it made her wary of what was going on underneath the surface. She was always acutely aware of the fact that she didn’t quite trust the girl, but she never really knew why and it just left her feeling guilty and rather empty. ‘I think I’m going to have a lie-down,’ Vanessa said. ‘I walked further than I meant to.’
She paused at the bottom of the huge sweeping staircase that curled round to the top of the house. There was a feeling of neglect about the large Georgian manor. The paint on the window next to where she stood was chipped, the carpet on the stairs appeared faded and threadbare, and a number of the tiles under her feet were slightly cracked. The heating was always on low, if at all, so that the house felt constantly cold.
She started slowly up the stairs, each of which was littered with books, items of clothing and newspapers. Her eyes ran along the peeling wallpaper, adorned with various large pieces of artwork and oversized mirrors, until she reached the top, where a photograph of Richard and Leo was propped up against the wall. It was a black and white print of the two of them on a tractor, and she could remember the day exactly. It was July, a hot summer’s afternoon, Leo had been about four, and Richard had put him on his knee so he could steer. Leo had cried the entire time, hating every second of it, and Richard had been impatient with him and ended up smacking him. She had been pregnant with Alice at the time; and with Richard baling in the fields all day, for weeks on end, she decided to take a picnic lunch for them to eat during his break. Leo hadn’t wanted to go and she had known the whole thing would end in tears, but she still went, because she was lonely: the lot of a farmer’s wife.
Like her, Leo hated life on the farm. But unlike her, he didn’t try and hide it. He would cry if he fell, wail if one of the animals chased him or if he got his hands dirty. Alice, in complete contrast, loved it as much as her father. The more terrifying the experience, the better. They adored one another, and Alice would cry if he went off on an adventure without her. As soon as she could walk, she would follow him everywhere, returning from feeding the cows or mending a fence on his shoulders, so caked in mud Vanessa could barely see her face.
‘’Gen, Daddy!’ was her catchphrase whenever he threw her in the air, or onto a high wall, or over a ditch, when she would invariably fall and hurt herself as Vanessa recoiled in horror. But within moments she had brushed herself down and held out her hands. ‘’Gen, Daddy!’
Vanessa reached the door to her bedroom and stopped as she always did to look at the portrait of Alice. A painting she’d had commissioned of her daughter in a red party dress, the one she had been wearing the night she went missing.
‘Mummy, why can’t I wear my dungarees?’ said a high voice. Vanessa looked down to see her little girl’s green eyes looking at her questioningly as she walked towards her along the landing. Alice was dragging the red dress in one hand and a blue satin one in the other, and was wearing dungarees sodden with muddy snow from playing outside. Around her mouth were smudges of what looked like chocolate cake, and her cheeks and fingertips were flushed red from coming into the warm. Vanessa took her daughter’s cold hands and squeezed them inside hers, rubbing them together to warm them up. Alice’s silver link bracelet, which she had bought her for Christmas, with the initial ‘A’ hanging from it, caught the sparkling lights.
Inside her bedroom, Vanessa walked slowly over to the window and looked down at the driveway. Sienna was waving at her from the car window. Vanessa waved back as they turned the corner and disappeared, the little girl’s face still fresh in her mind’s eye.
So like Alice, she thought. She was so like Alice, it was almost too much to bear.
Willow
Thursday, 21 December 2017
Willow James’s boot heels echoed loudly as she walked up the wooden steps and across the stage of Kingston village hall, home to hundreds of nativity productions, summer fairs and bingo evenings.
Putting her notes down on the lectern, she hid her shaky hands behind her back and looked down at the sea of faces staring up at her expectantly. She suddenly felt self-conscious about her outfit, having opted for a smarter look than usual: a newly purchased navy blazer and white shirt from Zara, skinny jeans and brown boots. She had blow-dried her dark choppy bob, slapped on her favourite Chanel nude lipstick and gone for smoky make-up as a contrast to her ice-blue eyes. But she was worried she now looked too formal. She had tried very hard to dress casually for the previous meetings with the villagers, in order not to appear too corporate, but she’d felt today that standing up in front of them for the final presentation warranted some war paint.
Peter, the caretaker, had told her proudly that he had put out over a hundred chairs in anticipation of the turn-out, all of which were now filled, with the later arrivals still spilling in through the door. A kind-looking man with white hair and smiling eyes, he had informed her that he had held the position of caretaker for nearly forty years.
As she stood waiting for the cacophony of chatter to die down, she scanned the audience for familiar faces, and spotted her boss, Mike Scott, on his mobile phone. Their client, Leo Hilton – with whom they had been working on the five-million-pound housing development plans for over a year – was just arriving and making his way along the aisle to sit next to him. As usual, Mike was freshly shaven and wearing his signature black polo neck, jeans and long black coat. In contrast, Leo was dressed in a waxed Barbour, mud-covered ankle boots and a baseball cap. On Leo’s other side was an empty seat, which Willow presumed was saved for his wife. Willow had only met Helen a couple of times in passing but she was a quiet woman with fine features, who hadn’t had much involvement in the project.
Two rows back sat Willow’s boyfriend, Charlie, and his parents, Lydia and John. They were beaming at her proudly whilst chatting animatedly to their friends and neighbours in Kingston, where they had lived for over a decade. John gave her an encouraging wink and Lydia waved at her cheerfully.
At last the hall fell quiet, with the exception of a young child screaming determinedly at the back. Willow took a deep breath and forced a smile. ‘Hello, everyone, and thank you all for coming,’ she said. Although she was leaning into the microphone, her voice barely made a dent in the crowded space.
‘We can’t hear you, love,’ shouted a male voice from the back as the gathered villagers began to murmur amongst themselves again. Willow felt her cheeks flush and her butterflies intensify as she looked down at Mike frowning up at her from his seat.
She began fiddling with the microphone, tapping it fruitlessly, until Leo came bounding up onto the stage, wisps of blonde hair escaping from his cap, and turned it on.
‘There you go,’ he said, winking at her.
‘Oh, thank you, Leo,’ said Willow, as a screech of feedback escaped from the microphone. She clocked a row of middle-aged women near the front all gazing at him adoringly as he jumped off the stage and returned to his seat. In every encounter she’d had with him, he seemed to have an extraordinary effect on people, men and women alike. He oozed charm, but not in an obvious way; he was warm, friendly and kind, often remembering tiny details about people’s lives. He was very open about his own imperfections – how he was chaotic, scatty and forgetful, but he was always going out of his way to help. He needed a haircut, and his clothes were often rather threadbare, but he was extremely good-looking, reminding Willow of the cowboys in the Westerns her father used to watch. Sienna clearly adored her father, although Leo never seemed particularly enamoured with her. He wasn’t ever mean, but if she climbed up on his knee during a meeting and asked questions, he rarely engaged with her, or if she skipped along on their site visits, he would tell her to run back to the house. But then what did she know, Willow thought. Her relationship with her own father was certainly not going to win any awards, so she had little to go on.
Willow took a breath and began her speech again. ‘Good morning, and thank you all so much for coming out on this cold December day.’ Her voice boomed as the microphone finally burst into life. ‘It is a great testament to the wonderful community spirit of Kingston, a place I have become well acquainted with over the pas. . .
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