‘Sorry, sorry.’ She rubbed her wet face against his chest. ‘Tears twice in one night. Personal best for S. Tracy.’ Jake waited until she was calmer, then fetched a shot glass from the minibar. ‘Medicinal cognac. Down with it, darling.’ Sarah drank the mouthful of fiery spirit, and felt better as the warmth spread through her. She coughed a little as she handed Jake the glass. ‘Thank you. Though I hate the stuff—I hate to think of your hotel bill in the morning, too.’ He said something rude about the bill, then got back into bed beside her. ‘Sarah,’ he said firmly, as she curled up against him, ‘if it makes you unhappy, don’t tell me any more.’ She touched a hand to his cheek in gratitude, but shook her head. ‘I want you to know everything, Jake. And I won’t cry again. Promise.’ The story began one bleak January day with a funeral. David Tracy had just gone back from leave to the work he was doing on a hotel construction in Malaysia, and because Sarah had been back in school after the Christmas holidays, and working hard for exams, Anne had left her in Campden Road with her grandmother and made the long journey to Cumbria alone.
