Snowed In

  Snowed In

  by Rhoda Baxter

  A Trewton Royd novella

  © Rhoda Baxter, 2017. All rights reserved.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Welcome

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Preview of Belonging – the next book in the series

  Other Books by Rhoda Baxter

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Welcome

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  Enjoy Snowed In.

  Rhoda

  Chapter 1

  Tracey woke up from her exhausted half-doze when the car stopped. The driver, Bob, turned around in his seat. “We’re here, miss.”

  She sat up and peered through the sleet splattering on the car windows. The Trewton Arms glowed through the murk. The pub in her memory, with its mass of climbing roses and warm Yorkshire stone, looked very different to the rain-dashed building she was looking at now. Perhaps this was a bad idea.

  “I’ll bring the umbrella round, miss.” Bob undid his seatbelt, took a deep breath as though bracing himself and dived out into the sleet. A blast of cold air rushed in before the door slammed. There was a cold snap predicted. It was always colder out here in the country than in London. Bad. Bad idea.

  She pulled on her coat while she waited for Bob to find the umbrella and come round the side of the car for her. If she’d stayed in London, she would have been out... hiding by the pot plants at a party. The very thought drained her. There had been enough of that in the months leading up to the sale. She couldn’t face another minute of that. Not right now. She wondered if it was an option to just spend the next two weeks sitting in this warm car. Her bladder complained. No. Maybe not then.

  As soon as she stepped out, the wind smacked her around the face, throwing sleet into her eyes, despite the golfing umbrella that Bob was holding over her. He had rammed his chauffeur’s hat down on his head so that the wind didn’t blow it off. They ran across the rain slick gravel to the big front porch. Bob put his hand on the door to open it for her. She stopped him.

  “I’ll... be okay from here,” she said. “Could you bring my bags to the porch? Please.”

  She couldn’t see Bob’s face clearly under the shadow of his hat, but she knew he would be puzzled. His wasn’t the sort of firm that dropped their clients off in sleet-swept porches. On the other hand, his firm must not be the sort that argued with a customer either, because he merely nodded and dashed off again to get her bags.

  “Are you sure I can’t help you further, miss?” Bob looked at the wooden door.

  “Yes, Bob. I’ll be fine. Thank you, though.” It would have been easier to get him to carry her bags in for her, but turning up with a driver in a suit, who carried her bags for her, would only raise eyebrows around here. Her aunt had been adamant that she’d come to the station to pick her up, but Tracey had wriggled out of it by phoning first thing to say her train was delayed and she’d call when she got nearer. She hadn’t taken the train in months. Being driven by limo was the one luxury she had taken up as soon as she had the chance.

  Bob nodded. “I’ll see you in a couple of weeks then, miss.” Another dubious glance at the door. “If you need me to come pick you up sooner, just... call me. I’ll come whenever, even if I have to come myself.”

  “I will.” She shivered. She wasn’t wearing enough layers. The car had been so warm, she’d forgotten about the real world. “You have a good Christmas, Bob.”

  The professional mask he always wore slipped a bit. He gave her a warm smile. “You too Miss Tracey. You take some time and recharge, eh? You’ve been working too hard.” He touched his hat, a little salute. “Merry Christmas.” He ran back into the sleet and disappeared. Tracey picked up one of her bags and pushed open the door.

  It was like stepping back in time. The same wooden floor, too old and pockmarked to be polished. The tables and chairs were laid out in exactly the same way. The same pictures and odd ‘pub stuff’ hanging on the wall. It smelled different though. Previously, she’d always been in the summer, when it smelled faintly of furniture polish and, if she was lucky, roses from the garden outside. Tonight it smelled of pine trees. She stepped further in and spotted the source of the pine smell. A huge tree took up the whole of the corner where the quiz machine used to be. Peering at it, she could see the quiz machine, hidden behind it.

  Three men sat at the bar. They were older now, but she knew exactly who they were. All three turned to look at her as she walked in. Instantly, she was a child again. “Is... is Angie in?”

  “One second, love.” One of the men stood up, leaned against the bar and shouted. “Ange! Customer.” He gave her a friendly nod. “She’ll be right out.” He glanced behind her and she knew he’d clocked her bags. He’d have put her down as a tourist.

  Tracey pushed her hood back. “Hello Mr Penworthy.”

  Before he could speak again, a woman came rushing out of the door that led to the kitchen. Her aunt Angie looked a little older than Tracey remembered, but really, hadn’t changed.

  “Tracey, love! I’ve been waiting for you to call. I were getting worried.” The big smile that had marked the start of all her summer holidays beamed at Tracey. Angie hugged her, wet raincoat and all. “Oh. It’s good to see you again, love. Welcome back.”

  All at once, she was exhausted. She wanted to drop her head on her aunt’s shoulder and let the tension flow out of her. This place, where memories were held. In this place, she might finally be able to relax. Maybe even sleep.

  “Oh, you look done in,” said Angie. Her gaze flicked to Tracey’s hair, but she didn’t comment. She turned to the men sitting at the bar, who were all pretending they weren’t watching. “It’s our Tracey,” she announced. “You remember her. Used to come here for summers.”

  There was a murmur of ‘it never is’ and ‘been a while’ and the men turned back to their pints, apparently not bothered. Tracey smiled. The news of her return would be round the village by daybreak.

  Angie led her through the bar and into the office, still talking. “How are your mum and dad?”

  “They’re travelling round the world at the moment,” said Tracey.

  Angie sniffed. “How lovely. It’s alright for some.” Angie poked around in a drawer and pulled out a key. “Here we go. You know the drill, love. This is the key to your room and this is the key to the main door, in case you’re out late.”

  “I doubt I’ll be going out,” said Tracey.

  But Angie was already off, rattling off information about the pub and where Tracey’s uncle was and something about a Christmas party.

  Tracey nodded, trying to find a pause in which to respond.

  “I’ve made up your old room in the top,” said Angie, coming to a halt. “You remember where it is.”

  “I remember,” said Tracey. The comment was a reminder of how long it had been. “I’m sorry I haven’t been more often Aunty Angie—”

  Angie stopped and gave her another smile. “You’re here now, love,” she said. “That’s what’s important.” She put a warm hand to the side of Tracey’s face, just like she had done when she was child. “You really do look tired. How about you get yourself some sleep. We’ll catch up proper tomorrow.”

  Th
e urge to throw herself at her aunt returned. Her eyes hurt, like she was about to cry. Get a grip.

  “I’ll give you a hand with them bags,” said Angie. She bustled Tracey through the bar again, telling the men at the bar that she’d only be a minute.

  Tracey’s bags weren’t heavy, but they were big. There were enough clothes in there for nearly fortnight in rural Yorkshire. A big mass of woollens.

  They took one each and started up the wooden steps, which were so worn over the years that they bowed in the middle.

  They were a few steps up when the pub door opened again, letting in a gust of freezing air. A man entered, huddled up against the weather. He pushed his collar down from his face and removed his fogged up glasses.

  It took a couple of seconds for the silence to register. The pub had gone quiet when Tracey had walked in, but the punters had gone back to chatting fairly soon. But with this man, it seemed to go on for a tiny bit too long.

  He was dressed in a long dark coat that was wet from the sleet outside. Something about the neat haircut and rimless glasses hinted at someone who worked in a city. He was tall and, even to Tracey’s cynical eye, very attractive. He was also clearly Asian. He rubbed the fog off his glasses, replaced them on his nose and looked around. His gaze rested on the men at the bar, all watching him. Annoyance registered on his face for a second before he seemed to gather himself inward and his expression relaxed into neutral.

  “Hello,” he said, pleasantly. “I’m looking for the landlady...?”

  “Oh, that’s me.” Angie dropped the bag she was holding and bustled past Tracey. “Can I help you love?”

  “My name’s Vinnie Fonseka. I’ve rented Rose cottage.”

  “Yes. Of course. Come with me.” Angie turned to look up towards Tracey. “Will you be able to find your way?”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  Vinnie seemed to notice her for the first time. He gave her a small nod before he followed Angie, his wet coat slapping around his legs as he walked. She realised for the first time that she had been staring at him too.

  Tracey resumed her journey to her room. The room was up in the eaves, past the few rooms that Angie and Phil used. Tracey sat on the springy bed and looked around to see if there were any changes. She’d remembered the room as being a lot bigger, but seeing it with adult eyes, she realised it was small. The single bed was under the eaves and took up one side of the room. Next to it was an alcove that led to a window that stood proud in the roof. The walls of the alcove were lined with shallow shelves full of paperbacks. The other side of the room was taken up by a white wardrobe.

  It was tiny and shabby compared to her room at her parents' house, yet she knew it so much better than her parents' house.

  She walked over to the window and peered out through the middle of the curtains. It was too dark to see much, but she knew that below her was the beer garden. Beyond that beyond there was was a lane and then a steep field, which used to have sheep on it. If she stood to one side and peered hard, she could see the road that led up to the row of weavers cottages on the top of the hill.

  There was a shriek of wind and snow buffeted against the window pane. She let the curtain drop and turned back into the room. Small it may be, but it was also warm and snug and... homely. More homely than either of her ‘homes’ really. Her shoulders unknotted, just a little. Homely. That was what she needed right now. Somewhere homely with lots of tea and comfy places to sit and read.

  Tracey sighed and flopped back onto the bed. Not such a bad idea after all.

  Chapter 2

  The sleet had turned to snow and was coming down in earnest now. Vinnie could only just see the road through the swirling white in his headlights. Top of the hill. The car was just about managing to keep in second gear. He was going to have to switch to first any minute. Some hill. Thank goodness he’d remembered to throw his walking boots and waterproof into the car before he left. A red pillar box appeared by the side of the road. Right. Must be near.

  “You have arrived at your destination,” the satnav informed him in her clear Irish voice.

  Okay then. There were two cars parked by the road. He eased in and parked just ahead of them. The landlady had said it was the last cottage in the row. Green door, she’d said, but he’d be lucky to see that in this weather.

  Wishing he’d had the foresight to put his waterproof coat on, rather than just flinging it in the boot, he turned up his collar again and wrapped a scarf around his throat before venturing out. The flashlight on his phone showed his that Rose Cottage was indeed, only a few yards away.

  “Idyllic getaway,” he muttered to himself and he slipped and slid his way up the path. “Romantic cosy nest.” What a load of crap. He found the key, opened up and practically fell in. His glasses instantly steamed up.

  Cursing, he leaned on the door to shut it and felt along the wall for the light switch. The heating had clearly been put on ahead of his getting there. He felt warmth against his face. Aha. Light switch. He rubbed his glasses on his scarf and put them back on.

  He was standing at the bottom of the stairs. The place smelled faintly cinnamony. He went through, flicking on lights. The living room had a couple of big sofas in it and a small table and chairs tucked in at the back. There was, as advertised, a wood burning fire, with a neat pile of logs next to it. The kitchen was miniscule. He tramped up the stairs. Bathroom. Bedroom and a cupboard with a bed in it that qualified as the second bedroom. All very tastefully decorated in pastels and flowery prints and all spotlessly clean. He leaned against the doorframe of the bedroom and stared at the tidy double bed. It looked... feminine. These places were decorated with an eye to attracting women to come and stay, right? Or idiots like him who thought they’d impress a woman by booking a ‘cosy cottage in the Yorkshire Dales’.

  Sadness welled up and punched a hole in the glacier of anger that had powered him up to now. He had done some stupid things in his time, but this was up in the top five. He should have cancelled the booking. He’d have got most of his money back. But no, he had to be mister hardarse and say ‘well, I’m going anyway.’

  On the other hand, it had to be better than going home to his parents’ house - where his mother would fuss - he wasn’t ready for the all-enveloping sympathy yet. And it was definitely better than being in the flat all by himself, looking at all the spaces left by the things she’d taken away.

  Vinnie sighed and headed back downstairs. He should get his stuff in from the car before it froze to the inside of the boot. Stepping outside in his office shoes, he nearly landed on his backside. The first things to get out would have to be those boots.

  Chapter 3

  Tracey was the only one there at breakfast, so she got the full force of Angie’s chatter along with her full English breakfast. She switched off after a bit and retreated into her own thoughts. She felt strange ... almost leaden after a night’s sleep. She had been woken up at 4am by the absence of noise. It was silent in her room, apart from the wail from the wind. No trains rattling past, no cars, no neighbours rolling home at ungodly hours. None of the everyday noises of people living their daily lives. It had felt eerie.

  She rubbed her eyes. They felt hot and dry again. When she had failed to get back to sleep, she’d turned to the stack of paperbacks and selected one at random. She’d read all of these books, her grandmother’s romance novel collection, in her teens, when there was nothing else to do. They had allowed her to escape the world and be someone else. Someone willowy and elegant and worthy of being loved. Now, ten years on, Tracey was a little more cynical and the stories took a little longer to work their soothing magic, but soothe they did. Even though she knew exactly how it was going to end, she couldn’t wait to get back to it. She hadn’t read a book for pleasure in years. How could she have forgotten?

  A silence made her aware that Angie had stopped talking. She focused, with some difficulty, on her aunt, who was standing at the end of the table.

  “Um... sorry, Aunty Angi
e, I didn’t catch that,” she said. Hopefully it wasn’t obvious that she hadn’t been listening.

  “What are your plans for the week?” said Angie. “You planning to do some shopping? If you want to go into Huddersfield or summat, I’m sure someone from the village can drop you off at the station.”

  She’d forgotten this. People in Trewton Royd were so informal. Farmers would give you a lift into the next town. The village bakery let you have a bun and trusted that you’d pop back with the money as soon as you’d been to the cash point. After years of London, this familiarity felt somehow intrusive. Tracey realised she was clutching her fork too tightly now, as though she was expecting Angie to grab it off her. She forced her fingers to relax.

  “I was just going to spend the time relaxing,” she said. “You know, have a proper break. I’ll probably just hang around the village and read.”

  Angie nodded. “A lot of people do that. Not normally at Christmas, mind, but other times. Things been difficult at work, then?”

  She wondered what to tell her. The months running up to the takeover had been stressful, but that handover hadn’t fully completed until a few days ago. She wasn’t sure what was going to happen now. She and her business partner, Giselle, had been retained only for six months, with an option to extend their contracts if the handover suffered any delays. Luckily, they didn’t have a lot of staff to move around - she didn’t think she could’ve coped with having to make people redundant. The only person in the company who hadn’t had shares in it was Sally, who was PA to both Tracey and Giselle, and they’d been able to take Sally with them. But what happened now? There would be discussions about the future of their app and she and Giselle has no say in it. “A bit stressful, yes,” she said. “We ... er ... had a lot on.”

  “Things are okay though? With your work?”

  Tracey nearly laughed. She and Giselle had made two million pounds each from the sale. It didn’t feel real though, not yet. “Yes. Fine. Just... been busy.”