About the Author

LOTTIE PHILLIPS worked as a teacher before turning her hand to fiction. She was brought up in Africa and the Middle East and then – as an adult – travelled extensively before moving to London and finally settling in the Cotswolds with her young son. When she’s not writing, you will find her scouring interior design magazines and shops, striving towards the distant dream of being a domestic goddess or having a glass of wine with country music turned up loud. As a child, she always had her nose in a book and, in particular, Nancy Drew. Sunshine at Daisy’s Guesthouse is her second romantic comedy but she also writes psychological thrillers under the pseudonym Louise Stone. Readers can find Lottie Phillips, otherwise known as Charlie Phillips, on Twitter @writercharlie or at www.writercharlie.com

Also by Lottie Phillips

The Little Cottage in the Country

Sunshine at Daisy’s Guesthouse

LOTTIE PHILLIPS

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2018

Lottie Philips asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

E-book Edition © August 2018 ISBN: 978-0-00-818994-5

Version: 2018-08-06

Table of Contents

Cover

About the Author

Also by Lottie Phillips

Title Page

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Acknowledgements

Extract

Dear Reader

Advert

About the Publisher

To my Dream Team, thank you

Prologue

Amsterdam, 1997

Daisy adjusted the focus on the camera and zoomed in. He was waving his hands about as if to say ‘ta-dah, look at us, in Amsterdam, without a care in the world’. He made her laugh when he tried to be the joker. He wasn’t a joker at all, he was quiet, reserved, and serious, but her heart soared at his efforts to always make her happy, and she clicked the shutter over and over again, as if wanting to impress this moment on her mind forever.

‘Beautiful lady, what are you doing standing over there?’ He smiled at her and then, much to her horror, and in a very un-Hugh-like manner, he gestured to a man busy making his way to work, his briefcase in one hand. ‘Isn’t she one of the most gorgeous women you’ve ever set eyes on?’

The man grumbled, looked momentarily in her direction and gave a small smile and a nod.

‘Hugh!’ she shrieked, dying internally of embarrassment whilst also secretly enjoying the attention.

‘Well,’ he called over the cobbled street to her. ‘They all need to know!’ He paused, fumbled in his pocket. ‘You think that was embarrassing, wait for this!’

Her heart quickened. What was he doing?

He stopped, looking briefly serious and said more quietly, ‘Daisy, come over to this side.’

He brushed his foppish fringe out of the way with his free hand, the other remaining firmly in his pocket. ‘Curtains’ he had told her gravely, ‘they’re called curtains.’ She knew he was dying to cut them off but, again, he wanted to fit in with her friends.

‘How can a hairstyle be called curtains?’ he’d asked the day before. ‘I mean that’s a house furnishing, not a haircut.’ She had kissed him all over, inhaling deeply the scent of Ralph Lauren Polo and told him he should have the haircut he wanted. Eventually, he agreed; post-Amsterdam, he would visit his favourite barber and get rid of said house furnishings.

She watched him steadily now, refusing to go over to his side, teasing him. She swallowed a laugh as he shuffled from side to side impatiently in his Skechers. Skechers had been another display that he was a ‘man of the time’. The fact that they were still alarmingly white and new made them even more conspicuous. They didn’t suit him and he hated wearing them but as he told her, ‘I don’t want you to think I’m just some boring finance guy who wears chinos and boat shoes.’ Even though they both agreed that he was in fact all of the above. Maybe not boring, just well behaved. Daisy, on the other hand, was a party animal that flitted between the gym, clubbing – she had to show Hugh ‘big box, little box’ – and the odd lecture. Why exactly she had chosen French, she had no idea – and as she had pointed out to her main lecturer, her classmates were French; where was le justice in that?

‘Excuse moi, uhh…’ She had paused, given herself time to think with the old ‘uhh’ trick and said, ‘Mes amis…’

Her lecturer had cut in, smiling kindly. ‘Just speak English.’

‘OK,’ she agreed. ‘My classmates are all French, where’s the justice in that?’

Mr Faron smiled. ‘Why did you choose French?’

Truthful answer: she thought she might finish the three years as a cultured, thin, beautiful, long-fingered, cigarette-smoking woman who rattled off the language to her sexy French friends.

‘I want to go into business with the French,’ was what she had actually said.

What her teacher didn’t understand was that she came from the back end of beyond, in other words a farm in Gloucestershire, and she had never really had a penny to her name. So she had wanted to better herself.

It was partly the reason she had fallen for Hugh. He was intelligent, very serious and could talk about stocks and shares and GDP something or other in his sleep; actually, come to think of it, Daisy knew he actually did talk about those things in his sleep.

She brought herself back to the now, and after a moment or two more of watching Hugh, she couldn’t bear it any longer. Why did he look so nervous?

She jogged over to the other side of the bridge towards Hugh, who went to take her hand, but instead she teasingly dipped down to sniff a display of perfectly formed yellow tulips. As she bent over, she was aware of Hugh’s eyes on her and she pretended to study the flowers. She knew he was undressing her with his eyes. Not much guesswork involved, really, as she wore a crop top and bike shorts. She was lucky, she guessed, that she hadn’t piled the weight on at university – she was, as Hugh affectionately called her, a gym bunny. They had met in their second year; the most unlikely couple, according to her friends. Yet, here they were, at the end of their three-year degrees, in Amsterdam, carefully avoiding the subject of what they planned to do next.

Eventually, she looked up and took a sharp intake of breath; it was as if he had read her mind.

‘Hugh, what are you doing?’

He was down on one knee holding open a box. Inside, lay a simple silver ring with a diamond.

‘Hugh!’ she squealed. ‘What on earth are you doing?’

He still hadn’t spoken, red creeping up his neck.

Finally, he cleared his throat. ‘Daisy, would you do me the greatest honour and become my wife?’

She stood, mouth agog. Her life flashing in front of her. Wasn’t she too young? Hadn’t they only just left university?

She shook her head and his face crumpled but then she grinned; he looked confused. What was she thinking? She loved this man. They could spend the rest of their life together, have children, live happily.

‘Yes,’ she shrieked and hugged him so hard he wobbled and fell onto the pavement. ‘Yes, you silly, funny, beautiful man. I will marry you!’

She had lost all previous inhibitions and smiled at the now small gathering of onlookers who clapped her decision.

Hugh gathered himself, relief written across his features and he took her into a firm embrace, kissing her deeply.

‘We’ll be together forever,’ he whispered and she melted into his arms, as she breathed in the smell of cologne on his skin. She thought she could die happily as long as she was never separated from Hugh.

She had never felt so safe in her life.

Of course, she didn’t know that she would lose Hugh to cancer twenty years later.

Chapter 1

‘I have no idea why I let you talk me into this, Lisa,’ Daisy grumbled as she wiggled to and fro on the small changing-room stool. She had fallen for the Levi’s for Curvy Women bumph and now she would never be able to leave this store again.

No, really. She was officially stuck in the jeans. Oh, she had got as far as below her knees but then her generous size sixteen thighs and bum had decided she was beyond even Levi’s. Great.

‘Lisa, get in here now.’

She could hear giggling on the other side of the curtain and then, ‘Oh, I love them, they’re perfect.’

Daisy, now with a beetroot red face, looked at her sweaty, bloated body in the mirror and rolled her eyes. ‘Lisa, I’m so happy for you that your size ten self fits so wonderfully well in jeans from the normal Levi’s section, but if you wouldn’t mind helping me remove my cargo ship ass from these ones, I’d be so grateful.’

Eventually, Lisa could be heard moving her curtain across and then she shimmied into Daisy’s changing area. Lisa, looking amazing in her straight jeans and bra, took one look at her friend and burst into laughter, quickly righting herself when she saw tears in Daisy’s eyes.

‘Oh, Daisy, I’m sorry.’ She gulped. ‘I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. You’re beautiful.’

‘No.’ Daisy waved it off. ‘It’s all this. I can’t do it. I’ve lost me. Does that make any sense?’

Lisa nodded. ‘I thought it might make you feel better.’ She paused. ‘You know, getting out and going shopping.’ She hung her head. ‘I’m sorry.’

Daisy brushed her tears away and conjured up a smile. She didn’t want to make Lisa feel bad. She knew it had been well over a year, surely she was meant to be feeling better by now? Hugh would have thought up some mathematical equation in which someone’s spouse dies and the point at which they should start to feel normal, even happy.

Lisa sat on the floor now, gently tugging at the jeans, but they wouldn’t budge.

‘You’re going to have to pull harder,’ Daisy instructed, and an image popped into her mind of her mother telling her the very same thing when she had often tried, but failed, to get the cows onto the transporter.

‘I’m like a heffer,’ Daisy said and Lisa bit her lip, trying not to laugh. ‘I’m like a heffer in jeans. Now that would sell. I must remember to phone Levi’s marketing deparment.’ Lisa, now in a leaning-back position, as if readying herself for tug-of-war, pulled harder and harder on the jeans until they eventually broke free, sending Lisa cascading through the curtain and into the seating area (for bored men).

Lisa could be heard apologising to a man for landing at his feet.

‘Bet you thought all your dreams had come true!’ she said in a singsong voice and backed herself through the curtain. She and Daisy both fell about in fits of laughter.

After a few minutes of laughing so hard that they were almost silent except for the odd painful squeak – their stomachs threatening to turn to six-packs from the pain – they got a grip. Well, not quite. Daisy wiped her eyes and realised she was doing a laugh-cry.

Lisa wordlessly took her into a firm hug and stroked her hair. ‘Daisy, I’m sorry. This was a bad idea. I just thought it was time you had some fun.’

‘It has been fun,’ Daisy said. ‘I haven’t laughed like that for months. I’m just a bit of a wreck. One minute laughing, the next minute crying.’ She paused. ‘It’s like being a pregnant woman. I imagine it is, anyway.’

They left the store, Lisa carrying her new jeans, and Daisy grateful for her free-flowing wide leg trousers. Who wanted to be contained in skinnies anyway?

‘Coffee? Cake?’ Daisy suggested.

‘Absolutely.’ Lisa nodded and they headed to one of the mall’s central coffee bars.

‘I’ll get them in,’ Daisy said. ‘You find us a table.’

Daisy eyed up all the cakes, the last hour’s events already being purged from her mind, and she chose a large slice of chocolate for the whippet-like Lisa (life was unfair) and she went for the carrot cake (there had to be at least one or two of her five-a-day in there).

Once they were both ensconced in a corner, Lisa turned to her friend. ‘Listen, I’m worried about you. I don’t think it’s healthy you living alone in that enormous house.’ She softened. ‘I mean… you know, you need to…’

‘Move on?’ Daisy arched a brow.

‘Well, no, not move on. That sounds so harsh. I just mean it might help you to recover if you moved away from the house, sold it perhaps.’ Lisa refused to make eye contact, her gaze fixed on her fork stabbing at the cake.

‘Lisa.’

‘Yes?’ She eventually looked up, like a naughty school child waiting for their punishment.

‘Lisa,’ Daisy repeated, ‘Hugh died over a year ago of cancer. Now, don’t get me wrong, yes, I knew it had been coming for over two years so some might argue I’m not in shock, I should bounce back faster.’ She paused, a lump rising in her throat. ‘Only, it doesn’t work like that.’ A tear slid down her cheek. ‘Knowing he was going to die for two years built the whole thing up in my head.’ She looked at her cake and pushed it away, suddenly losing her appetite. ‘Because after he had been diagnosed and stubbornly refused all treatment, I thought that every day he lived, maybe he wouldn’t die from cancer. I was so angry with him, so angry for refusing treatment. There’s a time and a place for pig-headedness I used to tell him, and that wasn’t it. Sometimes I thought that maybe—’ she gave a short, self-conscious laugh ‘—maybe they had got it wrong. Then, on the other hand, I knew it would get him eventually and so every day he was still here, I realised how much I would miss everything he brings…’ She gave a slight shake to her head, and corrected herself. ‘Brought to my life.’

Lisa nodded, her own eyes welling, and put her fork down. ‘I know, I’m sorry.’

‘So I guess I’m trying to get over three years’ worth of grieving, does that make sense?’ She paused though, knowing she was being untrue to herself. ‘I know that Hugh and I had our problems. We loved each other passionately but he could be controlling.’ She nodded. ‘Like he wanted me all to himself. Which is why…’ She looked at her friend and blushed. ‘Do you think it’s wrong that I feel kind of like I want to move on already? Like I want to meet someone? I’m not sure if I’m allowed to feel like that but I would love to be in a care-free relationship… but then a part of me thinks I shouldn’t be allowed to be happy again, does that make sense?’

‘Yes.’ Lisa nodded. ‘It does, which is why I just thought if you didn’t live in that house, that maybe you could try and build new memories.’

Daisy shifted irritably. ‘I don’t want to build new memories, Lisa. I am very happy with the old ones.’ She bit her lip. ‘Most of them.’ She thought about her twenty-year marriage. ‘It was all-consuming, our marriage, filled with passion but I’ve now woken up to its faults too.’

‘Look, I’m just looking out for you but, of course, you know best.’

‘I know.’ Daisy smiled gratefully. ‘And I’ve thought about it more and more, I think I’m ready to move on. I think I need to move on.’

Daisy looked at the next table. A man and woman had chosen to sit side by side, instead of opposite one another, and they were holding hands, laughing at something on his phone. Their easiness and happiness sent a pain through her heart. She didn’t want to be the woman who grew old, begrudging other people their lives. Her friends had all done so much for her since Hugh closed his eyes for that final time in January last year. He had died at home, and she had luckily been by his side, only because her gut instinct had told her not to go and visit her mother that day. She had been all ready for her bi-weekly coffee with Mum but a feeling of unease had gnawed at her, forcing her to cancel her plans.

Her phone buzzed, snapping her out of her thoughts and she fished it out of her bag. The screen saver was a picture of Hugh in Amsterdam back in 1997, just before he proposed. He had his arms up in a ‘ta-dah’ kind of a way.

She looked up and caught Lisa staring at it. No words were exchanged but she knew what Lisa was thinking. Until she made some changes, she wasn’t going to live her life again. And that probably included uploading a different screensaver. Maybe Lisa would be happier if she put up a picture of a flower or a puppy.

It was a text message from James, her and Hugh’s best friend. Her heart lifted. She enjoyed any contact with their oldest and closest friend.

Hi Daisy, hope you’re doing OK. Can I pop by later with something? I think it’s time I gave it to you. Maybe 4ish? J X

She was surprised, having seen James many times since the funeral; she couldn’t imagine what he might want to give her.

‘It’s James,’ Daisy said, and she read the text aloud. ‘He wants to give something to me.’

Lisa snorted and arched a brow. ‘Sorry, I mean, a bit forward, don’t you think?

Daisy giggled. ‘Lisa, your mind belongs in the gutter!’

‘Got you to smile again though.’ She shrugged. ‘Maybe it’s something of Hugh’s. James mentioned before he had some old photos, didn’t he?’

Daisy furrowed her brow. ‘But he says “it’s time I gave it to you”. I mean that does not sound like a bunch of photos, does it?’ She smiled. ‘James was amazing throughout those last years with Hugh, not sure how I would have coped without him. All of you.’

‘Well, let’s get going then as there’s only one way to find out. And Daisy?’ Lisa slid her hand across the table, clasping her friend’s. ‘Listen, we’re all here for you, however you want us to be. OK?’

Daisy smiled. Lisa stood and looked at her watch. ‘I’ll drive you back home then head onto work.’

Chapter 2

Daisy was grateful when they pulled off the M4 and away from the madness of Bristol. There had been a time when she loved nothing more than heading into the city with her friends or Hugh and soaking up the buzz of the cosmopolitan hubbub.

Now she couldn’t cope with it. She wanted to scream at everyone that they were being too noisy, too energetic, too alive. The countryside was quieter, allowed her to think, enabled her to remember Hugh properly, although Lisa believed she needed to make new memories. As she had pointed out, she was just fine with the ones she had. It was all she had, and she didn’t want to let go of them – but was it time?

Lisa drove quickly in her convertible, top down even though it really hadn’t warmed up enough, towards Atworth where Daisy lived – had lived – with Hugh. Hugh had become an incredibly successful banker and bought an enormous manor house on the outskirts of the village. Daisy had never, growing up, imagined she would live and own such a glorious pile with its creamy sandstone walls, and ivy and wisteria creeping ever higher up to the tiled roof. The front garden alone was so picturesque it often took her breath away to this day, with its aged stone benches and cherub spouting water into the lake. It was actually just a big pond but Tom, her other best friend, said it was a lake. He was quite sure of it.

‘A pond, Daisy darling, is the size of the paddling pool we had in our student house, yours could take a rowing boat. Catch my drift?’ To which he fell about laughing at his own wit.

The back garden was sublime. Wild roses and an oak tree that Hugh adored. He would often sit for hours at a time on the weekends (he was rarely around in the week), reading his Financial Times and snoozing. He never knew but Daisy used to watch him and fall in love with him all over again. Hugh had worked so hard to buy the house and to keep her in a lifestyle that her own mother, a farmer’s wife, had thought was too grand for the likes of her daughter.

‘Well, Daisy, don’t forget it’s was me and your father putting our hands up sheep’s asses that allowed you to go to university, you hear? Don’t you ever forget your roots.’ She had a strong Gloucestershire accent – you could almost smell the grass and taste the cheese when you listened to her.

They drove up to the house and Lisa turned the ignition off.

‘I’m afraid I have to go and feed the red-trousered folk of Cirencester.’ She pulled a face. ‘So that should mean an evening of over the top laughter and women claiming the crudités are “so filling, darling, couldn’t eat another morsel”, and then the men will drink their whisky and talk golf and skiing.’ She laughed. ‘It’s a joy.’

Daisy smiled. ‘You know, I feel your luck is about to change.’

Lisa giggled. ‘Why, have you found me some rich banker friend? Because if you have, I don’t even care what he looks like.’ She snorted. ‘You know it’s best to have sex in the dark anyway. You just imagine they’re George Clooney, job done.’

Daisy grinned and got out of the car. ‘You, Lisa Davidson, are my best friend and a gem.’ She paused and indicated the length of Lisa’s body. ‘You have kept in such good shape and look great, Tom is probably one of the best-looking gay men on planet earth, James is just,’ she smiled, ‘lovely… and I’ve… got a good sense of humour.’

‘Good sense of humour?’ Lisa shrieked with laughter. ‘That’s what fat people say when they’re advertising themselves on dating sites.’

About the Author

Also by Lottie Phillips

Sunshine at Daisy’s Guesthouse LOTTIE PHILLIPS

Prologue Amsterdam, 1997

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Sunshine at Daisy’s Guesthouse

LOTTIE PHILLIPS

Prologue

Amsterdam, 1997

Sunshine at Daisy’s Guesthouse: A heartwarming summer romance to escape with in 2018!

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