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Kent’s living situation wasn’t the type of information she thought he would want shared—especially not with his employees.

“So maybe he’s found another investor?” Sophie suggested. “A way of finding the money. That’s what it comes down to, right? Money.”

Something was niggling at Gemma. Something Sophie had said that didn’t sit quite right with her, though it took her a moment longer to realise what it was. Sophie’d said that Gemma had made Kent sentimental, but she was wrong. He had always been sentimental. That was why he wanted to make a profit on the cafe as quickly as possible. That was why he needed money. Because his sentiment lay elsewhere.

Suddenly, she knew exactly what his action was going to be, and she couldn’t let him do it.

“Sophie, you’re in charge of the coffee shop until I get back,” she said, already running for the door.

“What? Why? Where are you going?”

“To put this right.”

“Well, how long are you going to be?”

“As long as it takes,” Gemma said.

It probably wasn’t the most helpful answer, but it was the only one she could give. As she raced out the door, she was already opening her phone and flicking up the map. She had a long drive ahead of her.

CHAPTER 84

According to the Sat Nav, the journey to Hay-on-Wye took just under five hours, but Gemma reasoned that was for normal drivers—drivers whose pulse didn’t hit one hundred and twenty the moment a motorway was mentioned. Drivers who knew where they were going and didn’t second guess themselves at every turn and with every signal and manoeuvre. And so, she figured, it was going to take her at least six hours to get there. The time was currently half-past nine, and factoring in a little break, she figured she could be there around four-thirty to start the hunt for Kent. Realistically, how long could it take to find one house in a village of two thousand people?

She took one mile at a time. First out of Maldon, then onto the M25 around London. After that, she was heading north towards Coventry before turning into mid-Wales. She drove up and down rolling hills, through quaint little villages, and past dozens of country pubs with gorgeous beer gardens that, on another occasion, would have been ideal spots to sit outside and have a drink. But she was on a mission. She was going to Hay-on-Wye to stop the man she loved from making a mistake he would regret forever.

The first time she saw “Hay-on-Wye” appear on a street sign, Gemma let out a squeal of delight. She had already rung Sophie from the service station to say that she was doing fine and would check in later. Then, after grabbing herself a cup of coffee, she kept going.

As she drove into the village, she followed the signs to a car park, which happened to be directly in front of the castle. Allowing herself a deep breath in, Gemma stared at the sight.

“Hay-on-Wye,” she whispered.

The building was magnificent. It was partly restored, and one corner looked as if it was barely standing. The slope of the weathered bricks sagged down towards the grass, and bright green ivy crawled upwards, claiming the windows and every other crack and crevice. On the other side of the castle, the windows were filled with leaded glass and there was not a scrap of ivy to be seen.

Gemma knew from her research that they had only opened the castle to the public a couple of years before, and if she’d had the time, she would have loved to wander around. But today was not the day for it. She needed to find where Kent was, and had very little to go on.

Several shops had already closed, but she could see one or two were open until five. Realising time was against her, Gemma picked up the pace and stepped inside her first bookshop in the town.

The style of the shop reminded Gemma of a library, with its wooden floor and bookshelves arranged in parallel on both sides, cutting into the centre of the room and leaving a small aisle down the middle. It was the kind of place where Gemma could easily imagine spending hours slipping into each corner to see what was on the shelves, but she didn’t have time for that.

“Excuse me,” she said, approaching the counter. “I’m looking for a house.”

“Only sell books here, I’m afraid, love,” the man chuckled.

Gemma smiled politely. “Yes, sorry, I know. It’s just—I’m looking for a house in Hay. I’m not sure where it is exactly, but I know it’s got vines on it. Wisteria.”

“Not sure I can help. Plants aren’t exactly my speciality, love.”

“Right, thank you,” she said.

“You could try Maureen at the bookshop a couple of doors down. She might know.”

“Thank you,” Gemma replied, promptly heading in search of her second bookseller.

There was a good chance Maureen knew where the house was, but unfortunately, there was no way Gemma could ask her, given that she was in the middle of a children’s storytelling session. Children sat on scattered cushions and beanbags, watching in rapt awe as Maureen recounted the tale from the pages in front of her. She was a magnificent storyteller, with lilting accents and animated gestures that had Gemma desperate to listen to more, but she knew she didn’t have time to wait for the story to finish. Not when there were plenty of other people who would want her attention, too.

Gemma’s third bookshop had a guest author in for the day, and a queue snaked its way out the door. Once again, Gemma left without speaking to a single person. She was starting to think she had made a terrible mistake when she stepped inside her fourth bookshop.

“Sorry, I wonder if you could help me,” she said.