LITMIR.BIZ

       Chapter 1

      ‘Wow, Meadowbrook,’ Harriet Singer breathed, as she smoothed her black Prada jacket and stepped out of the car onto the driveway of Meadowbrook Manor, her childhood home. She watched the driver take her cases out of the boot and she paid him, tipping him heavily. He’d met her at Heathrow and driven her all the way to Somerset. Thankfully, he had sensed her mood and hadn’t tried to make polite conversation, so she’d been able to spend the journey with her own tortured thoughts.

      As he drove off, she turned her attention back to the house. Even at thirty-seven years old, the sight of it made her feel like a little girl again. The late May sun served as a spotlight for the house – an imposing Georgian manor which looked like a giant doll’s house. She breathed in the sweet air as she stared at it; impressive, grand, full of memories of her childhood. She hadn’t been here in years but Meadowbrook still felt like a family member. Silently, she greeted it and told it she had missed it. She was almost surprised to find just how much she had.

      Her father had passed away a week ago. It was a shock to her and to her three siblings, but as she recently discovered, not so much to him. He had heart problems, and for some reason had chosen not to share this information with his children. Harriet was the oldest of the Singers living in New York, working for a big investment bank, so coming home had taken a few days to organise. Dumbfounded, she had booked a flight, delegated any outstanding work and, still unsure of how she was feeling, boarded a plane. Just in time for his funeral.

      Confusion wrapped itself around her like a shawl. She had been away for so long, her life had changed, she was more city slicker nowadays, not a country girl anymore. But seeing Meadowbrook made her think of that child she used to be and she wondered, how on earth it had come to this? Why had she stayed away for so long? And why had only a death, the death of her only remaining parent, brought her back?

      She shivered and pulled her jacket tighter around her. She was cold, despite the fact the weather was mild, she felt her bones chill with what she could only identify as fear.

      As she prepared to greet her family again, she tried to calm herself. Her three siblings were almost like strangers to her. It had been five years since she had seen them – at her youngest sister, Pippa’s wedding – and they only kept in touch by email sporadically. Her father was her only link, she Skyped him weekly from her New York apartment, and they chatted for ages. God, it hit her, that would never happen again. But the worst thing was that the Singer siblings, once so close, were now fractured; she didn’t know them anymore, not like when they were children. Not only that but they didn’t know her anymore either.

      She shuddered again as she made her way to the imposing black front door. Meadowbrook was waiting for her, and now Harriet was going to set foot inside for the first time in five years, to quickly shower, change and then attend her father’s funeral.

      Harriet found herself once again standing in front of the house. They had returned from the local church where Andrew Singer’s – her father’s – funeral had been attended by most of the village of Parker’s Hollow. It had been organised by the elder of her brothers, Gus, and Gwen, the family’s housekeeper, to her father’s precise wishes. Had he organised the sunny day too? she wondered with a wry smile. Although thinking about it, he probably would have wanted rain, hail, thunder; for the sky to be as upset as the mourners were.

      Andrew Singer was a successful businessman, he’d built a tax consultancy from nothing and sold it for a ridiculous amount – floating it on the stock exchange and making millions. He was a man who always knew what he wanted. He had also been a single parent for most of their lives; their mother had been killed in a car accident when Harriet was only nine, so he had brought up his four children alone, with the help of Gwen, a series of nannies and, for most of the Singer siblings, boarding school. His exacting standards, his success, his ambition was something each of his children had been indoctrinated with to some extent. But he was also a loving father, refusing to marry again because he loved their mother too much, and he was always there for his children, even when they were adults, right until now when they had to bury him.

      Her father had specified a big service – the church was standing room only – where his children all shared memories of him and the congregation sang his favourite hymns. It was followed by a burial where he was laid to rest next to their mother. Naturally, instructions had been left for an elaborate headstone to be erected in due course. Her parents would dominate the graveyard, just as her father wanted; the lord and lady of Meadowbrook Manor. Not that he was a lord of course, but a self-made man, who had come from nothing to own one of the most beautiful houses in the Mendips. And not only that, but he was devoted to Meadowbrook and Parker’s Hollow, so it was somehow extreme but fitting.

      Harriet was sure that he would have enjoyed the service, although he would possibly be disappointed that no one had tried to throw themselves onto his coffin as it was lowered into the ground. Harriet smiled, which soon turned into a grimace; burying her father next to her mother had been a stark, savage reminder that the Singer siblings were now orphans. And she would miss her father dreadfully, just as soon as she was able to accept that he was gone.

      Although she had been there, seen the coffin, watched it going into the ground, it still didn’t feel real. Although usually logic-driven, she felt as if the surrounding air was filled with disbelief, clinging to her. Yes, her father was gone, but when would it feel so?

      Watching the others in church and at the graveside, she felt she came up short. Yes she looked the part, the grieving oldest daughter, black designer dress, Louboutin heels, Armani jacket, but although she was carrying a Chanel clutch full of tissues, she had needed none of them. Others – friends, neighbours, the postman – had shed tears, she – his daughter – had not. Her eyes remained resolutely dry and she resented them for it. Thankfully her oversized sunglasses hid the fact. It was as if her heart felt everything but that didn’t translate to her eyes.

      She felt herself stumble slightly in her heels and instinctively she reached out and grabbed the nearest arm; her brother Gus’s. Surprise flickered in his eyes, before she regained her balance and they walked across the drive to the front door. She glanced behind her to see her other brother, Freddie, and her youngest sister, Pippa, just inches behind them. The front door loomed in front of her, and for a moment she felt something akin to panic.

      ‘Right,’ she turned to Gus, Freddie and Pippa, ‘shall we go in?’

      Harriet was the oldest; Gus – Angus – was thirty-five, Freddie was thirty-two and Pippa was the baby, about to turn thirty. Being the older sibling was a role she had taken seriously, especially after her mother died. But in adulthood, she had neglected that role; instead throwing herself into her career in London and then New York, opening up a distance between them that contained more than just miles. She told herself her siblings didn’t need her as much, and vice versa, although now, being with them, she felt

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