Page 32 of A Winter Wish

Lexie stared out the window while Fran stirred her Creme Egg latte—it was Easter in a couple of weeks, and the café had gone mad on the theme. Easter was supposed to signal spring, though, wasn’t it? Outside, Bath felt distinctly un-springlike. It was cold and gray, and the sky held that pale glow that sometimes meant snow was on its way. Despite that, it was still beautiful. From here Lexie could see the River Avon running beneath Pulteney Bridge, the majestic buttermilk limestone bridge that was an iconic feature of the city. But Lexie scowled at the city, even in all its Georgian splendor.

“Seen something terrible in the water?” Fran asked.

Lexie tapped her fingers on her knee. “It’s annoying,” she said, ignoring Fran. “I feel like I’ve made the decision now—I’ve come back, I’m going to stay until the company sells, and because Ange is helping me, I actually stand a chance at finding my feet. But I just know he’s going to come back and ruin all that.”

“ ‘Ruin’ is a strong word,” Fran said diplomatically.

Lexie turned to her friend, picked up her oat-milk latte. As a teenager, Fran used to resolutely dye the tips of her hair purple, but the lawyer in her had stopped the habit and now her long, dark, and slightly bushy hair sat around her shoulders. Lexie also remembered her favoring ripped jeans and T-shirts with band slogans—often bands Lexie had never heard of—but now, even though it was a Saturday, she was dressed in what Lexie thought of as “adult work clothes”—black jeans, a smart top, and a blazer. Still, despite the difference in appearance, she was the same Fran. And unlike a lot of their old school friends, who all seemed so sorted, with husbands and houses and children and dogs, Fran didn’t make Lexie feel completely left behind. Yes, Fran had a career, which Lexie didn’t have, and yes, she had bought a flat, but those things didn’t seem like such a big barrier. It was probably because, unlike a lot of her other friends, Fran never seemed to judge Lexie for how she chose to spend her life. She didn’t make Lexie feel inferior, or like it was a phase she should have outgrown by now. That was just one of the many brilliant things about her.

“He doesn’t want me there,” Lexie insisted.

“You don’t want him there either.”

“Only because he’s making things difficult. If he’d just help to, I don’t know, find some kind of balance, then we could crack on with work, turn a profit, and—”

“Sell the company.”

“Exactly.”

“Which he doesn’t want to do.”

“Well no, but—”

“And you are refusing to see his side of it.”

Lexie turned her scowl on her coffee. Around them, the sound of coffee beans grinding swelled over the laughter and chatter. “As my friend, aren’t you supposed to be automatically on my side in situations like this? Because you’re not doing a great job at it.”

“I’m just saying, it must be hard for both of you.”

“Well, he doesn’t have to be such a dick about it,” Lexie grumbled. “It’s not my fault Richard left me half his stupid company.”

“It’s not Theo’s fault, either.”

“Is this how you are in divorce negotiations—all diplomatic and shit? Because I’d think that would make you a terrible lawyer.”

Fran didn’t give in. “I’m just pointing out the obvious.”

Lexie tapped her fingers on her knee again, unable to stop twitching. “What do I do if he just refuses to sell the company?”

“Would it be that bad to keep it? I know you’re doing this so you can sell it—but is there a chance you might actually enjoy it? You seemed to have a good time in France, after all.”

Lexie’s mind immediately went to that hotel corridor, before she shoved the memory aside. “It doesn’t fit with my life,” she said firmly, choosing not to discuss France or anything that may have happened there. “And it’s my dad’s company, Fran.”

“I know. Which he left to you.” Fran had experienced the highs and lows of Lexie’s relationship with Richard firsthand. She’d met him when Richard had taken Lexie and Fran on a Saturday adventure, over to a nearby woodland, with cliffs that you could climb up if you were feeling brave. Lexie had been so excited. She’d been desperate to show Richard off—she’d hated him for not being around, yet she’d still been proud to introduce him to her best friend. He’d been brilliant that day, dealing with the two of them when they’d been at that awkward age between children and teenagers, making the whole thing feel like a cool adventure—then taking them to the pub later, chatting with them like they were all equals. But Fran had seen the other side, too. She’d seen Lexie trying to hide her tears when he canceled on her last-minute, had been there to deal with the fallout at her twenty-first birthday. And throughout it all, Fran had been firmly on Lexie’s side, changing her opinion of Richard along with Lexie herself—until now, apparently.

“He left it to me without speaking to me about it,” Lexie pointed out. “And that’s so not the point.”

“Did he try to talk to you about it? Before he died?”

“No!” Lexie exclaimed, even though the word “died” sent something hard shooting to her stomach. It was stupid. She’d been at his funeral, for God’s sake—and it had been months now. But she still didn’t like hearing that word out loud.

“He never called or anything?” Fran pressed.

Lexie shook her head. She didn’t want to think about it. Talking about his company was one thing—it felt practical, and she’d managed to start thinking of it as one step removed. The truth was, her dad had tried to get in touch a few times in the last couple of years. And they’d had one disastrous meet-up, just under a year ago. She’d agreed to meet him for a coffee when she was home visiting her mum—had come to see him in Bath. He’d tried to tell her he was sorry for how he’d been, for not being there for her more when she was growing up, but the apology had felt uncomfortable, and like it was too little, too late—and she’d ended up snapping at him and leaving, coffee only half drunk. And now, she understood why he’d been trying to build a bridge. He’d wanted to connect while he still had time, and she hadn’t let him get that far.

“He can’t actually just refuse to sell it,” Fran said. Like she knew where Lexie’s brain had gone—and knew not to push it any further. “The contract makes that clear—it’s not a unilateral decision. Legally, I suppose he could find a way to buy you out? Or to prove that you haven’t fulfilled your side of the contract?”

Would he do that? She’d caught a brief flash of another side of him in France. But she still knew nothing about him, really. For all she knew, he could be that callous, that harsh. Unbidden, a memory of the feel of his lips on hers flashed through her. She’d dismissed it, was actively not thinking about it. But had that been part of a bigger plan, too?