The Christmas Sisters: The Sunday Times top ten feel-good and romantic bestseller!. Sarah Morgan

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      Beth extracted the princess outfit from Melly’s hand with a shake of her head. Melly already had a closetful of princess outfits. Jason would go insane if she bought another one, especially this close to Christmas.

      “Have you heard of Glow PR?” Kelly ignored the reference to family. “The team is young, dynamic and making a name for themselves. They’re looking for someone with your profile.”

      What exactly was her profile?

      She was a wife, a mother, a cook, a cabdriver, a cleaner, a play leader and a personal assistant. She could clean spaghetti sauce off the walls and recite all of Ruby’s picture books without lifting them from the shelf.

      On the wall next to her was a mirror surrounded by enough pink and glitter to satisfy the most demanding wannabe princess. The mirror might look like something out of a child’s fairy tale, but there was nothing fairy tale about the reflection staring back at Beth.

      She had dark hair, and her few early attempts to dye it a lighter shade had convinced her that some people were meant to be brunette. Right now she had perfectly coordinated dark patches under her eyes, as if nature was determined to emphasize how tired she was.

      Beth had once thought she knew everything there was to know about beauty and how to achieve a certain look, but she knew now that the best beauty product wasn’t a face cream or an eye balm—it was an undisturbed night’s sleep, and unfortunately that didn’t come in jars.

      “Mommy—” Ruby tugged at her coat “—can I play with your phone?”

      Whatever Beth had, Ruby wanted.

      She shook her head and pointed to the fire truck, hoping to distract her younger daughter.

      Ruby wanted to be a firefighter, but Beth thought she’d be better suited to being in sales. She was only four years old but could talk a person into submission within minutes.

      “Ms. McBride?”

      “I’m here.” The words came out of her mouth, pushing aside the words she’d intended to say. I’m a stay-at-home mom now. Thanks for calling, but I’m not interested.

      She was interested.

      “The company is headquartered right here on Sixth Avenue, but they have a diverse network and a bicoastal presence.”

       A bicoastal presence.

      Bethany’s imagination flew first-class to the West Coast. Today, a toy store. Tomorrow, Beverly Hills. Hollywood. Champagne. A world of long lunches, business meetings where people actually listened to what she was saying, glamorous parties and being able to use the bathroom without company.

      “Mommy? I want the fire truck.”

      Beth’s brain was still luxuriating in Beverly Hills. “Tell me more.”

      “They’re growing fast and they’re ready to expand their team. They’d like to talk to you.”

      “Me?” She bit her tongue. She shouldn’t have said that. She should be projecting confidence, but confidence had turned out to be a nonrenewable resource. Her children had stripped hers away, one sticky finger at a time.

      “You have the experience,” Kelly said, “the media contacts and the creativity.”

      Had, Beth thought.

      “It’s been a while since I was in the business.” Seven years to be exact.

      “Corinna Ladbrooke asked for you specifically.”

      “Corinna?” Hearing her old boss’s name stirred up a tangle of feelings. “She’s moved company?”

      “She’s the one behind Glow. Let me know when you have an opening. I can arrange for you to meet everyone.”

      Corinna wanted her? They’d worked together closely, but Beth had heard nothing from her since she’d left to have children.

      Corinna wasn’t interested in children. She didn’t have them herself, didn’t want them, and if any of her staff were foolish enough to stray into the realms of motherhood, Corinna chose to ignore it.

      Ruby started to whine and Beth stooped to pick her up with one arm, automatically checking that her daughter was still holding Bugsy. Nothing parted Ruby from her favorite soft toy and Beth was careful not to lose it.

      Would she worry less about the children if she had a job?

      She was too anxious—she knew that. She was terrified of something bad happening to them.

      “Kelly, I’m going to need to call you back when I’ve taken a look at my schedule.” It sounded more impressive than it was. These days her “schedule” included ferrying the girls to ballet class, art class and Mandarin immersion.

      “Do it soon.” The phone went dead and Beth stood for a moment, her head still in fantasy land and her arm in the dead zone. How was it that children seemed to increase in weight the longer you held them? She put Ruby down.

      “Time to go home.”

      “Fire truck!” Ruby’s wail was more piercing than any siren. “You promised.”

      Melly was rifling through the dress-up clothes. “If I can’t be a princess, I want to be a superhero.”

      I want to be a superhero, too, Beth thought.

      A good mother would have refused and proffered a clear explanation for her decision. The children would then have left the store feeling chastened and with a greater understanding of the value of money and the concept of delayed gratification, as well as behavior and reward.

      Beth wasn’t that mother. She caved and bought both the fire truck and another dress-up outfit.

      Loaded down with two happy children, an armful of parcels and a nagging feeling of maternal failure, Beth stepped out of the store onto the street.

      To see Manhattan in December was to see it at its wintry best. The dazzle of lights in the store windows and the crisp bite of the winter air mingled together to create an atmosphere that drew people from around the globe. The sidewalks were crowded, the population of Midtown swollen by visitors unable to resist the appeal of Fifth Avenue in the festive season.

      Beth loved Manhattan. After she’d graduated, she’d worked for a PR company in London. When they’d transferred her to their New York office, she’d felt as if she’d made it, as if simply being in Manhattan conferred a certain status. When she’d first arrived, she’d been torn between euphoria and terror. She’d walk briskly down streets with familiar names—Fifth Avenue, Forty-second Street, Broadway—trying to look as if she belonged. It was fortunate she’d been living and working in London prior to the move, otherwise the contrast between the noise levels of New York City and her home in the remote Scottish Highlands would have blown both her mind and her eardrums.

      Every day she’d walk down Fifth Avenue on her way to work feeling as if she was on a film set. The excitement of it СКАЧАТЬ