The Christmas Holiday: The perfect heart-warming read full of festive magic Read online

  The dog followed him.

  ‘You coming?’ Jake asked.

  The dog looked back at Evie, hesitated, then made his choice and trotted back to her side.

  ‘Suit yourself,’ said Jake, and closed the door behind him.

  Evie frowned at the half-empty bottle of whisky. Clearly the man could hold his drink. Or maybe she’d sobered him up with her unexpected intrusion into his evening.

  ‘A doctor, eh, Smoke?’ she said quietly. ‘Who knew?’

  She looked around the room. Next to his chair, in the corner, were a dog’s bed, a lead, and a ball, which had been well chewed.

  He returned a little later with a shop-bought bag of ice cubes, which he’d twisted shut and wrapped in a scarf. ‘Hold this against the swelling for as long as you can bear it,’ he told her.

  He hadn’t moved in yet and there was no central heating in this place, yet he’d come with ice cubes, whisky, and a bed for his dog. Curious.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said, placing the icy plastic against her ankle. ‘So, if you’re not a doctor any more, what do you do now?’

  ‘I run a wine-importing business,’ he said dismissively.

  He didn’t sound excited by it, and Evie would have thought being a doctor was much more rewarding, but they obviously didn’t share the same values. Despite his gentle touch, she couldn’t imagine that helping people and caring for the sick would come naturally to him.

  She shifted a little in her chair, uncomfortable with the silence. They couldn’t sit here all evening without speaking. She looked around the room and thought of all the newly refurbished rooms in this grand house.

  ‘Did you inherit this place?’ she asked.

  ‘Inherit? Why do you think that?’

  ‘Because it’s a big house and … you’re young.’

  ‘Not that young. And, no, I didn’t inherit.’ He picked up his drink and took a sip, but he didn’t seem to enjoy it. He grimaced as he swallowed and put it down again.

  ‘Do you drink this much every night?’

  ‘No!’ he said fiercely, but his anger was instantly transformed into an expression so wretchedly sad it almost made her feel sorry for him – until she reminded herself of how rude he had been. Her sympathy drained away.

  ‘Listen, it’s been lovely speaking to you, but do you mind if I curl up somewhere for the night?’ She nodded towards the door. Even an unheated bedroom would be preferable to staying here with him. ‘Only I’ve got a lot to do tomorrow. If I can just catch a few hours’ sleep, I’ll get up early and, hopefully, be out of your hair all the sooner.’

  With any luck the snow would have melted by morning.

  He frowned. ‘I’m afraid the beds aren’t due for delivery until next week.’

  ‘A bare mattress will do.’

  ‘You don’t understand. There’s nothing upstairs but empty rooms.’

  ‘There are no beds in the house at all?’

  ‘Not a single one.’ He took another swig.

  ‘So why are you here? Where were you planning to sleep?’

  ‘I wasn’t.’

  She waited for him to go on. He swirled the last of the whisky in his glass, and his forehead became knotted as if some battle was raging inside him.

  ‘I came here to … escape,’ he muttered.

  ‘And drink?’

  He looked up. ‘You really disapprove of the whisky, don’t you?’

  ‘I disapprove of people who drink so much they become unpleasant company.’ Although for all she knew he might be unpleasant sober, too. She absently stroked the dog as she spoke. ‘If you carry on at this rate, you’ll still be drunk in the morning. Either that or dead of alcohol poisoning.’

  He laughed bitterly. ‘Roll on the morning.’

  She hugged herself, disturbed by the look in his eye and the prospect of sharing the study with him all night, no possible escape from his sharp tongue and red-eyed sarcasm. She was finding it difficult to look on the bright side now. What if he carried on drinking? He clearly found her irritating. What if his patience snapped and he throttled her for saying something too upbeat? Her spine stiffened. No one even knew she was here.

  ‘You’re right, I should stop drinking.’ He sighed, interrupting her chain of alarming thoughts. She watched in surprise as he tossed the rest of the whisky on the fire, making the flames flare, then subside. ‘It wasn’t helping anyway.’

  Evie frowned. ‘Helping what?’

  He ignored her question and raked a hand through his hair. ‘How about I make us both a coffee? Or hot chocolate. I seem to remember I saw some in the kitchen. Heidi takes it with her everywhere she goes.’

  She couldn’t fathom his sudden change in attitude, but she was still a little cold and a warm drink was tempting. ‘A hot chocolate would be nice, thanks.’

  He threw a couple more logs on the fire. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’ He looked at the dog and patted his thigh. ‘Come on, Smoke.’

  The dog opened one eye to look at him but didn’t move from Evie’s side.

  Jake glared at the Dalmatian. ‘Suit yourself.’

  When he’d gone, closing the door behind him, Evie reached down and scratched between Smoke’s ears. ‘Sensible choice,’ she told him. ‘Why go out into the cold with him when you can stay here with me?’

  The dog got to his feet and trotted to his bed. Evie pulled out her phone and typed a message to her friend Natasha: Got snowed in delivering curtains to the Old Hall. Stuck here with a very rude man who claims to be Jake Hartwood. Letting you know just in case my corpse is found in the morning. He’s not friendly at all.

  He could be wanted by the police, for all she knew, though when he returned with a tray of hot drinks and biscuits, it was difficult to keep hold of that thought. He placed a mug of hot chocolate on the small table beside her chair and took a black coffee for himself.

  He glanced at Smoke and did a double-take. ‘Did you move that?’ He pointed to Smoke’s bed, which had been dragged from the corner of the room to her side.

  ‘No.’ She giggled. ‘He must have done it while I was texting.’

  He threw a sharp look at his dog, but Smoke ignored him and closed his eyes.

  ‘Maybe he wanted to be near the fire,’ Evie suggested.

  ‘Maybe,’ he said flatly, and handed her half a packet of biscuits.

  ‘Ooh, Hobnobs!’ she said. ‘My favourite.’

  His brows lifted. ‘They might be stale – the decorators left them. They also left milk, but that’s definitely gone off.’

  ‘And you didn’t seize the opportunity to poison me with it?’

  He didn’t deign to answer that, but she thought he almost smiled. She offered the biscuits back to him, but he shook his head. Evie shrugged and helped herself to another.

  ‘You seem hungry,’ he said.

  She stopped chewing. Should you be eating that? had been Tim’s favourite question. Whenever he caught her tucking into anything tasty, he used to give her a look that made her want to shrivel up. She knew she was carrying a few extra pounds, but how gloomy would life be if all you ate was salad? Yet Jake’s look wasn’t so much disapproving as faintly curious. As if he were watching the monkeys at the zoo. Her chin went up all the same. ‘I’m starving. I worked late into the evening to finish your curtains.’ Not that he’d appreciate that. And, to be fair, why should he? He probably couldn’t give two hoots when his curtains arrived. ‘I was going to eat when I got home – leftover lasagne,’ she added wistfully, salivating at the thought.

  ‘I’m afraid I have no food to offer you.’

  ‘Not a problem. These are fine,’ she said, holding up a biscuit before she bit into it. You might even lose a little weight from missing a meal. She quashed the memory of Tim’s cutting words.

  ‘So, you make curtains for a living?’ he asked, after a long pause.

  ‘I have a patchwork and quilting shop. The curtains are a sideline to pay the bills while my shop gets off the ground.’

  ‘Pa
tchwork and quilting?’

  ‘I sell quilts, fabric, thread – everything you need for quilt-making.’

  ‘What kind of quilts?’ He looked bemused.

  ‘The kind you might have on a bed – if you had any – or use as a throw. Patchwork.’

  Understanding made his eyes brighten and it occurred to her that he might be good-looking if he didn’t frown so much.

  ‘We could do with one or two of those to keep warm right now,’ he muttered.

  She thought it was perfectly warm with the fire burning, but she didn’t say so. Instead she said, ‘Perhaps when your beds arrive I could interest you in buying some.’ It was cheeky, but what was there to lose?

  ‘Speak to Heidi. She’s dealing with the refurb.’

  Evie frowned. ‘You mean you didn’t choose any of it?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘Not even the colours?’

  He curled his long fingers around his mug of coffee. ‘That kind of detail doesn’t interest me in the slightest.’

  Evie stared at him, unable to hide her shock. Her shop was an Aladdin’s cave of colours and patterns. Each time she began a new quilt she delighted in perusing the shelves, running her fingers over the different fabrics, choosing which colour combinations and designs to use. A warm autumnal palette, or fresh citrusy shades, a dainty flowery effect for a more romantic feel, or white with modern colour blocks … The possibilities were endless. She couldn’t imagine moving into a house of this size and leaving someone else to choose the décor.

  ‘What if she chooses a pattern you hate?’

  ‘I wouldn’t have a strong opinion about something so trivial. It’s only curtains and wallpaper, after all.’

  Trivial? Only curtains and wallpaper? This was his home. She ran her gaze over his black pullover and jeans. A long navy overcoat hung on the back of the door. He clearly wasn’t into bright colours. Her curiosity was piqued. What must the world look like to somebody like him? Where she saw beautiful colours and patterns, what did he see? Nothing? Shades of grey?

  ‘What’s it called?’ he asked.

  Evie blinked.

  ‘Your shop – what’s its name?’

  ‘Oh. The Button Hole.’

  She thought he might smirk, but he simply nodded. She didn’t tell him she had big wooden door handles in the shape of giant buttons, and fabric-covered buttons suspended from the ceiling inside in a colourful display. She regarded them as fun and quirky, but she felt certain he would look down his nose at them.

  ‘And you live in the village?’

  Evie smiled. ‘Yes. Round the corner from the shop on Love Lane.’

  ‘Seriously? Love Lane?’

  She nodded. ‘It’s the cutest little place you’ve ever seen. The lane is too narrow for cars to drive along so it’s really quiet, and the houses are pretty little terraced cottages built from sandstone with slate roofs.’

  ‘You live cheek by jowl with your neighbours?’ He looked horrified.

  ‘I have the friendliest neighbours – old Dorothy on one side, and a retired fireman, George, on the other.’

  He looked at her as if she was speaking a language he didn’t understand. But, then, he’d chosen to live by himself up here on a hill in this cavernous place.

  Then again, she thought suddenly, she didn’t know that he lived alone. Perhaps he had a partner – or even a family – and he’d just come here to check on the refurbishment before they all moved in.

  ‘So why did you move here?’ she asked.

  A shutter dropped over his eyes and she had the feeling she’d said something wrong.

  ‘I’m making a new start,’ he said, without any of the excitement or anticipation that a new start usually prompted.

  Evie was willing to bet her shop that he was getting divorced. If so, her sympathies were definitely with his ex. No one could live with him. He was draining the oxygen from the room with his dour outlook. ‘It’s a big place.’ She’d fitted curtains in four reception rooms so far, and she reckoned there must be at least six bedrooms upstairs. ‘Is it just you moving in, or do you have a family?’

  ‘Just me.’ He glanced at the dog, now asleep beside her. ‘And Smoke.’

  She jumped as her phone trilled in her lap and a message popped up on the screen. It was Natasha: The Old Hall? Jake is a friend of Luc’s! Hope he’s looking after you. Stay warm. x

  Evie’s shoulders dropped with relief. He might be sour as a lemon, but he was unlikely to be wanted by the police if he was a friend of Luc’s. ‘You know Luc Duval?’ she asked, looking up at Jake.

  ‘Yes. Why?’

  ‘His wife Natasha is a good friend of mine.’

  He looked annoyed rather than pleased to learn of this connection. ‘I chose this place because it’s quiet, and I hoped I’d be left alone to mind my own business,’ he muttered.

  ‘Ha! That’s never going to happen. Everybody knows everybody in Willowbrook, and we all look out for each other. It’s a lovely village with a really close-knit community.’

  ‘Oh, great.’ He closed his eyes as if the news pained him. ‘Luc forgot to mention that.’

  His curt, disdainful attitude was exactly like Tim’s. Yet she liked Luc and trusted his judgement. Maybe there was more to Jake Hartwood, if you knew him.

  She drained the last of her hot chocolate and adjusted the ice pack, which was beginning to melt. The pain in her ankle had eased, and she was thankful because she couldn’t afford to pay someone to mind the shop while she was laid up at home. ‘Can I take this off now? It’s so cold.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How do you know Luc?’ she asked, and rolled her sock back on. It felt warm and soft, and she wiggled her toes.

  ‘We met years ago through a mutual friend. When I first set up my business Luc was very generous with his time and advice.’

  She yawned. Maybe it was the heat of the fire, or the fact that she’d stayed up late last night making his curtains and then worked a long day today. ‘Remind me what you do again,’ she asked sleepily.

  He shot her a sharp look. ‘I told you – I import wine.’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ She stifled a yawn. ‘It sounds very dull, but I suppose if you like drinking that must help,’ she said, glancing at the whisky bottle.

  He pressed his lips flat. ‘You don’t have to keep this up all night, you know.’

  ‘Keep what up?’

  ‘The pointless chatter. It’s late and you talk too much.’

  Pointless chatter? She talked too much? The cheek of him! ‘And you’re rude!’ she fired back, stung by his words. How did he manage to make her feel so small? She’d only been making conversation – surely that was better than sitting here, two strangers, in silence.

  ‘True.’

  His acknowledgement was so unexpected, she blinked, then smiled. ‘Yes.’

  The corners of his lips lifted. ‘Well, at least we agree on something.’ His tone softened a fraction. ‘Why don’t you try to get some sleep? You look tired.’

  ‘Thanks a lot. You really know how to flatter a girl, don’t you?’ Her eyelids did feel heavy, though.

  ‘I tell it like it is. That’s all.’

  She yawned. ‘Didn’t your mother teach you that sometimes it’s kinder not to say anything at all?’

  ‘Go to sleep. I’ll keep the fire burning.’

  ‘You’re not going to sleep too?’

  He shrugged as if he couldn’t care less either way.

  She sank back into the armchair and yawned again. Well, fine, he could have it his way. She’d quite like to close her eyes and pretend she wasn’t here. ‘This chair is so comfortable. Did Heidi choose these too?’

  ‘The furniture that you see came with the house. The previous owners were downsizing so they left a few bits and pieces they couldn’t take with them.’

  ‘But no beds. Shame.’

  He got up and placed a few more logs on the fire, then picked up the poker and prodded the base. The flames danced and t
wisted hypnotically. Evie closed her eyes. Tomorrow was Suzie’s birthday, she thought drowsily. In a few hours she’d be in the pub with her and Natasha, and the prospect of seeing her friends was comforting …

  A sudden thought made her open one eye. ‘I left my car keys in the ignition.’

  He was still stoking the fire but glanced over his shoulder at her. ‘Don’t worry about that now, Pollyanna. Your car isn’t going anywhere tonight.’

  ‘Stop calling me that. Anyway, I’m not worried; just saying …’

  Her eyes drifted shut again. Smoke was snoring quietly beside her, and the sound was very soothing. ‘Goodnight, Mr Arctic,’ she murmured.

  ‘What did you call me?’ Jake turned to look at her, but she was fast asleep, her breathing deep and regular.

  Mr Arctic. He chuckled softly to himself. She wasn’t far wrong.

  Satisfied that the fire was burning steadily, he returned to his seat. Evie’s plait was draped over one shoulder. Her hair was thick, a warm chestnut colour woven through with streaks of honey. In that scarlet coat, she was a splash of brightness in the dark room. Shapely, too, and, despite her protests, she’d been light to carry. He supposed some men might call her pretty. But she smiled too much, and her inane, cheerful chatter riled him.

  In contrast, he lovingly pictured Maria as he’d seen her so many times, seated by the window playing the violin. Tall and slim, she’d had a natural grace that he’d found mesmerising. He remembered sweeping her long dark hair away from her face. He could still feel the porcelain smoothness of her skin and see the love in her eyes. It made his chest pinch.

  He’d come here to be alone with his grief. He was fed up with sympathy, with concerned family and friends turning up on his doorstep and inviting themselves in – for what? To keep him company? To distract him from the significance of the date? To cheer him up? He winced. They didn’t understand that the pain was inescapable and that their prattling didn’t distract him, just grated on his frayed nerves.

  So he’d driven here on an impulse. He wasn’t officially moving in until next week so he’d expected to have the place to himself. He’d settled the dog, then cracked open the whisky, drinking each glass quickly, hoping this would be the one that would send him into oblivion, wiping from his mind the memories and the deep cleft in his chest where his heart had once beaten – before grief had shrivelled it to a dried husk.