The Truth About Hope. Kate James

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СКАЧАТЬ his face when she’d seen him that last time. When she’d told him there was nothing left in Canyon Creek for her. In some respects that was true. Her father had made all the arrangements to settle her mother’s estate, what there was of it, and sell their small house and its contents. She was on her way to her father’s with nothing more than a few suitcases and no idea what lay ahead.

      Usually she looked forward to summer. Being out of school, working with her mother at the garden center where she was a manager and being with Luke. But now the months without classes stretched unnervingly ahead of her.

      The plane was soaring higher, shrouded in dense white clouds. She put in earplugs, laid her head back against the seat and closed her eyes—until she suddenly jolted awake. Confused, she glanced outside and saw that they were on the ground and the tarmac was rushing past at an alarming speed. She clasped the armrests to steady herself and wondered where they were. Hadn’t they just taken off? Checking her watch, she was surprised to find that she’d been asleep for over three hours.

      The plane slowed and pivoted, and the terminal building came into view; they were at the gate in minutes.

      As soon as the flight attendant announced that it was safe to do so, Hope gathered her belongings. Having been seated in business class, she was among the first passengers to deplane. She made her way to the baggage carousel, searching for her father.

      There was no tall, slender, silver-haired man that she could see. A hint of panic shot through her. Then she noticed a man in a dark blue suit walking toward her. Surely this wasn’t her father. He couldn’t be. He was shorter than she’d imagined, had a stockier build, and his hair was thick and black. Most significantly, he couldn’t have been much older than thirty.

      But he was definitely headed in her direction. She took an involuntary step back as he reached her.

      He swept his gaze over her. “Are you Ms. Hope Wilson?”

      She wanted to take another step back but resisted. “Yes.”

      He nodded. “I’m Mr. Wilson’s chauffeur, Morris. I’ll take you to his home.”

      “Oh” was all she could say. It came out as a squeal. Here she was, leaving her life behind, and her father couldn’t meet her himself? She didn’t think she could’ve been more disappointed, but she’d been wrong. And the chauffeur hadn’t said “your father.” Or “your home.” She hadn’t realized that she’d nurtured some small kernel of hope that maybe—just maybe—her father wouldn’t be as bad as she dreaded. That he’d welcome her and they’d be able to find some common ground.

      Instead, he’d sent his chauffeur. Hope had an overwhelming urge to run back up the bridge, back on the plane. But that wouldn’t have accomplished anything.

      With a sinking heart, she knew her only option was to go with this Mr. Morris, to a house that wouldn’t be her home, to a man who’d be a father to her in name only.

      She wouldn’t let them see her pain and disappointment. She straightened her spine. “Thank you, Mr. Morris,” she said with as much dignity as she could muster.

      “It’s just Morris, miss,” he clarified, as he took her backpack and arranged for a porter to carry the rest of her luggage to the sleek, silver limousine waiting at the curb.

      Soon they were driving through a residential area with gated properties, pristine lawns, tall hedges and sprawling gardens. As Morris signaled a turn into one of the entrances, Hope shifted forward to get a better look. Black wrought-iron gates opened smoothly to let them pass and they drove along a textured concrete surface intersecting areas of brilliant green, perfectly trimmed turf. Rows of towering palm trees marched along on either side. As they rounded a curve and the house came into view, Hope sucked in a breath. It wasn’t a house. It was a mansion.

      Grand and imposing, it had turrets and balconies and iron railings. The walls were warm, butternut-yellow stucco, the roof deep-red clay tile and the wood of the doors, shutters and trim a rich coffee brown. Flowering shrubs abounded. Although it was just early evening, lights glowed cheerful and inviting.

      Morris pulled up adjacent to a set of wide stone stairs leading to the front portico and ornately carved double doors.

      Hope was so stunned by the magnificent mansion her father called home that she sat motionless, even when Morris held the car door for her.

      “Miss,” he prompted, and she glanced up, having almost forgotten he was there.

      She exited the car, grateful for the hand he offered. She moved toward the trunk, but Morris forestalled her. “I’ll take care of your luggage. You go on in.”

      Hope climbed the steps, and before she reached the landing, the door opened. A woman in her early thirties, with a pleasant, serene face, shoulder-length brown hair and wearing a pale blue uniform, stood in the entryway. A small smile curved her lips and she seemed to curtsy, more a bob of her head. “Welcome to Glencastle, Miss Hope. I’m Priscilla. We’re happy to have you here.”

      Those simple words pierced Hope’s heart. If only her father was glad to have her, things might’ve been tolerable. But she didn’t believe it for a moment. If he’d been happy, why wouldn’t he have met her at the airport or at least greeted her here?

      She forced herself to be more positive. Maybe there was a good reason for his absence. He was an important businessman. Maybe he had an unavoidable meeting. “When will my father be home?” she asked timidly.

      “He is home, miss. Come in, please.” Priscilla gestured for Hope to enter the vestibule and left the door open for Morris, who was right behind them with some of Hope’s luggage.

      Hope’s heart sank further. Her father was home and didn’t consider it important enough to meet her? “Will you take me to him?” she asked, unsure of herself.

      “That’s not possible. He’s busy right now. You’ll see him later, as he made sure he’d be dining at home, since this is your first night here. Well, come with me. I’ll take you to your rooms.”

      Hope followed Priscilla up an elaborate circular staircase. An enormous chandelier hung overhead, dripping with sparkling crystals, and paintings with bold slashes of color decorated the curved walls. Priscilla led her down a hall and through a doorway.

      “These will be your rooms,” Priscilla announced. “If there is anything that’s not to your liking, please let me know and I’ll take care of it.”

      Hope hugged her backpack tightly to her chest and entered the enormous room. Or rather, suite of rooms. There was a sitting area with a large flat-screen TV and sound system, an alcove with a desk, and a large bedroom, with an adjoining bathroom. Morris must have taken another stairway, as two of her suitcases were already inside, next to the corridor leading to the bedroom.

      “Would you like me to unpack for you?” Priscilla offered.

      “Oh, no, thank you.” Hope managed a smile, grateful for this small offer of kindness. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to rest for a while.”

      Priscilla nodded. “I should’ve realized you’d be tired. You’ve been traveling, and it must all be very difficult for you. Can I get you anything?”

      “A cold drink would be nice, thank you.”

      “Of course. СКАЧАТЬ