“All right. If you’re sure, then we should call the daughters.” His voice was strangled. “Is there a phone number, Ms. Mitchell?”
Would Samantha have changed her number?
She hadn’t called, so Gayle had no way of knowing. She’d been waiting for both of them to call her and apologize. Days had melted into weeks and then months. Shame flooded through her. What did it say about a mother when her own children didn’t want to make contact?
If she admitted the truth, would her judgmental staff and the medical team decide she wasn’t worth saving?
Instead of answering, she moaned.
That caused more consternation among the people gathered around her.
“She’s struggling to speak—can we find out her daughter’s number?”
“I’m searching...” Rochelle tapped away on her phone. “One of her daughters is called Samantha.”
Gayle gasped as the EMT and his assistant transferred her to a gurney.
Cole was searching, too. “There’s a Samantha Mitchell in New Jersey. Comedian. No way.”
Was he implying that she didn’t have a sense of humor? That laughter didn’t figure in her DNA?
“There’s a Samantha Mitchell in Chicago...a Samantha Mitchell, dog walker, in Ohio. Samantha Mitchell, CEO of a bespoke travel company in Boston...” He looked up as Gayle made a sound. “That’s her? She runs a travel company?”
Boston? Samantha had moved cities? It wasn’t enough not to speak to her mother—she clearly didn’t want to risk running into her on the street.
Gayle tried to ignore the pain. She was willing to be the bigger person. Kids disappointed you. It was a fact of life. She would forgive and move on. She wanted to do that. She wanted them in her life. Their relationship never should have reached this point.
And CEO!
Through the ashes of her misery, Gayle discovered a glowing ember of pride. You go, girl.
Whether Samantha admitted it or not, there was plenty of her mother in her.
As they wheeled her through the office to the elevator, she caught a glimpse of the shocked faces of her staff, who had never once seen GM vulnerable in all the time they’d worked at Mitchell and Associates.
But she felt vulnerable now. Not because of the head injury, and not even because of the photos that the wretched photographer had taken of her unfortunate accident, nor the prospect of headlines as painful as the injury itself.
No, she felt vulnerable because someone was about to contact Samantha.
And there was every possibility that her daughter wouldn’t even take the call.
Samantha
“I suggest a European tour, focusing on the Christmas
markets. Not only will you be steeped in holiday spirit, which is what you want, but you can buy all your gifts at the same time. It will be perfect.”
Shoes off, hair caught in a messy bun, Samantha scrolled through the itinerary her team had prepared.
“Start in Prague. You will never forget Wenceslas Square. At Christmas it’s filled with pretty wooden huts selling handcrafted goods and delicious treats—you have to try the warm gingerbread—and they always have an incredible tree. You’ll sip mulled wine while you watch the ice-skaters, and there will probably be choirs singing in the background. It’s gloriously festive!”
Skillfully she painted a picture. She talked about the smell of baked apples in the famous markets of Cologne, the scent of Christmas spices in Vienna and the beautiful medieval streets of Tallinn, Estonia.
“That horse-and-cart ride you dreamed about? We can definitely make that happen. You’ll never want to come home. I’m emailing a plan across to you now. Take a look and let me know what you think. You might prefer to reduce the number of markets and spend a little longer in each place. We can tailor it in any way that works for you.”
She glanced up as her assistant opened her office door, her baby on her hip.
Samantha gave a brief shake of her head. Her staff knew better than to interrupt when she was on a call—especially when that call was to a client as important as Annabelle Wexford. Whoever it was could wait.
She waggled her fingers at the baby and carried on talking.
“It will be fabulous, Annabelle. In Prague, we’ve reserved you a suite with a view of the Charles Bridge. After you’ve enjoyed the markets, you’ll be able to relax and drink in the same view...”
She gave her the full benefit of her research and experience—which was extensive. No one knew more about making the best of the holiday season than she did. She’d been designing bespoke winter vacations for people since she’d graduated. First for a big travel company who