Fiona Harper - Saying Yes to the Millionaire

‘Nah. Don’t think so, my little Fern. Even if you were tempted, you’d cave in when I handed you the cheque and you’d confess all, wouldn’t you?’

‘No!’ What kind of sap did her flatmate think she was? But, then again…She buried her head in her hands, her shoulder-length blonde hair swinging forward to hide her face. ‘Oh, all right. Yes, I would.’

‘If there’s one person in this crazy world who is guaranteed to do the right thing, the sensible thing, it’s you.’

Fern picked up the dessert menu and stared at it. ‘And that’s exactly why I’m not going to take any part in your crazy scheme.’

‘Really? I mean, really?’ Lisette dipped the menu down with the tip of one of her fingers so she could look into Fern’s eyes. ‘Think of it as another sponsored event. I’m sponsoring you to prise yourself from your rut for one week. Just one week. You can do that, can’t you? For charity?’ She batted her eyelids, a completely ridiculous gesture, but somehow it always worked on Fern.

Drat that woman! After living with her for three years, she knew exactly where Fern’s weak points were. And raising money to prevent any more children going through the pain and sickness that her brother had endured before his death, to stop any more families being left with a large gaping hole that could never be filled, was something she couldn’t walk away from.

‘I can walk away at any time?’

Lisette shrugged. ‘You can. But you won’t get the money. It’ll be up to you.’

Fern picked up a wineglass and sloshed back the rest of the contents. ‘Okay. Yes. I’ll do it.’ For Ryan. Here’s to you, big brother, she thought as she swallowed the Chardonnay.

Lisette clapped her hands and rubbed them together with glee. ‘I’m going to make sure you have the most exciting week of your life!’

Fern reached for the wine bottle and poured herself another glass. That was exactly what she’d been afraid of.

‘Sorry, Callum. You’re going to have to take the New York meeting on your own.’ Josh stuck his head through the doorway into the living room and spotted his father dozing on the sofa with the paper over his face. He nudged the door closed and lowered his voice. ‘My dad is getting better—slowly—but I’m going to stick around for at least another fortnight.’

While his business partner lamented that he was going to miss a vital appointment with the head of an exclusive hotel chain, Josh wandered from the hallway into the kitchen and stared out of the window into the garden. Callum would cope fine without him; he was such a worrier. Personally, Josh was more disappointed at abandoning the trip he’d had planned after New York—a planned visit to one of his pet projects.

Recently One Life Travel had opened a non-profit making arm that organised charity expeditions. Want to walk the Great Wall of China to help save the whales? Or canoe up the Amazon to raise funds to fight heart disease? Then the new One Life Expeditions was the place to go.

The Amazon. He sighed. He’d been really looking forward to a spot of canoeing. He’d planned to join one of the latest expeditions to personally see if the company was getting it right—if the guides were good, the equipment safe, the staff knowledgeable.

This hands-on personal touch, a rigid policy of road-testing absolutely everything, was why what had started as a simple website offering good advice and cheap deals for backpackers had mushroomed into an award-winning travel corporation. They were in the business of offering once-in-a-lifetime trips, whether that be cheap flights and even cheaper hostels for the backpackers, or exclusive individually tailored trips with five-star elegance for a more discerning clientele.

He could see his mother kneeling on the lawn, planting petunias. His parents’ garden was beautiful, no doubt about that. But it was too…tame. And too small. No chance of running into snakes on the bowling green lawn or piranhas in the fish pond, more’s the pity.

‘It’ll be fine. Take Sara with you,’ he told Callum. His PA was so efficient it would almost be as if he were there in person. ‘She knows the deal inside out. I’ll call you in a week and give you an update.’

He said his goodbyes and left the cordless phone on the kitchen counter. Mum would nag him about that in a minute.

It seemed odd being back in this house, even sleeping in his old bedroom rather than in his own house on the other side of town. Nothing had changed here. Oh, there were different kitchen cabinets and a new three-piece suite, but the atmosphere, the essence of the place was the same. Comforting and stifling all at the same time.

Of course, Mum was delighted to have him here. She hardly let him out of her sight. But maybe that was to be expected. Nowadays he only really made it home for big celebrations, like dad’s sixtieth—had that really been six months ago?—and Christmas dinner. Well, most Christmas dinners. Last December he’d been left stranded in Nepal after a trek through the Himalayan foothills, his flight cancelled.

It was good to see his parents again, but he’d rather it had been under different circumstances. Six weeks ago, he’d got a frantic call from his mother letting him know that his father was undergoing emergency heart surgery. He’d flown straight home. It had been touch and go for a few days, but Dad was pulling through.

He didn’t want to think about the ten-hour flight home. It had been the first time in years that he hadn’t enjoyed the rush of take-off. All he’d been able to think about was how little he’d seen his parents in the last few months and how awful it would be if…

He shook his head and stepped through the open back door and walked towards his mother, leaving that thought behind in the bright and cheery kitchen. His feet were itchy. He wanted to be here for his father but, at the same time, now that Dad was on the mend he was starting to feel like a spare part.

Mum was now standing on the lawn, hands on hips, surveying her handiwork.

‘They look nice, Mum.’

She turned and looked at him, her face screwed up against the bright sunshine. ‘Not very exotic, I know, but I like them. It makes the place feel like home.’

Josh smiled back at her and his gaze drifted down the garden. It was a good-sized plot for a semi-detached house of this size, stretching back more than a hundred feet. A big garden, in London suburb terms. It looked lighter, somehow. The bottom of the garden had always seemed so shady in his childhood memories.

And then he realised something was missing.

‘Mum? What happened to the old apple tree?’

She wiped her hands on the front of her old gardening jeans and walked over to stand by his side. ‘We had some heavy winds this spring. Eighty mile an hour gusts at times.’ She shrugged. ‘Woke up the next morning to find most of the apple tree in next door’s garden.’

He instantly set off walking towards where the apple tree had once been. Only a stump was left. Suddenly he felt angry. That tree had been a huge part of his childhood. He and Ryan, the boy next door and his best friend, had spent more time in its branches during the summer months than they had with their feet on the earth. If he’d known the last time he’d been here that it would be the last time he’d see it, he would have…dunno…said a prayer or something.

He didn’t like graveyards. They were way too permanent. And he hadn’t been to visit the small marble headstone in St Mark’s churchyard, not even on the day of Ryan’s funeral. Instead, he’d come here to the apple tree. He’d climbed up into the highest branches and sat silently with his legs swinging. If only…

If only he’d realised that summer, when he’d been thirteen and Ryan had been fourteen, that it would be their last one together. He would have made sure they finished the tree-house they’d been planning to build in those old branches, not just left it as a few planks nailed in strategic places.