The Christmas Holiday

by Sophie Claire

Genres: Women's Fiction; Contemporary Romance

Synopsis

Can a trip away lead you home?

After a bad break-up, eternal optimist Evie Miller has moved to the small village of Willowbrook to finally pursue her dream of opening a craft shop. Unfortunately, with money worries and an ex-boyfriend determined to track her down, her fresh start isn't going entirely to plan.

Jake Hartwood is also looking to escape his past. Haunted by the loss of his wife, he's determined not to get close to anyone again – and the last thing he wants is to be celebrating this December.

Hoping to avoid the festivities, Evie and Jake arrange to escape Christmas together as friends in Provence. But will the magic of the season change things between them?

And what happens if one of them starts to feel something more?

(P)2019 Hodder & Stoughton Limited

Release date: September 19, 2019

Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton

Print pages: 384

Sample

London, three years ago

‘Is there anyone we can call for you?’

Natasha blinked. The nurse smiled kindly. Her eyes were the rich blue of hyacinths, filled with concern and pity.

‘Your husband maybe?’ The nurse looked at the ring on her left hand.

‘I left him a message. He’s abroad.’

‘A family member?’

She shook her head.

‘You’re going to need a D and C. Dilation and curettage. It’s a minor operation, but necessary. Do you understand, Natasha?’

She nodded. The baby was gone. Her heart folded up on itself and she squeezed her eyes shut against the pain.

Afterwards, she lay staring at the white ceiling. The fluorescent lights tinged everything violet. Losing the baby still felt too enormous, too violent to think about so she turned her mind to Luc instead. She had to come up with a plan. What would happen when he came? Would he even come at all? His work was so important, after all, she thought bitterly. She knew she ranked very low down in his life and he’d only married her for the baby. She held her left hand up and the platinum ring was a silver blur that swam and swayed. She blinked hard. When he’d proposed she’d hoped it would be the start of something new, that he’d put his freedom-loving days behind him, and they’d work to become a family. She’d hoped they’d both share the same goal, and the baby would bring them together. She’d hoped so hard.

The nurse came back. ‘Did you have a name for the baby?’ she asked gently.

Natasha nodded. She hadn’t discussed it with Luc – they were barely talking – but it was certain in her mind. ‘Hope. Her name was Hope.’

Now Hope had died there was nothing left, no reason for her to stay. The pain was crushing, intense.

The sound of quick heavy footsteps in the corridor made them both look up. There were raised voices, then Luc appeared, breathless. She was surprised.

‘I came as fast as I could,’ he said.

Her heartbeat picked up at the sight of him. His dark hair, his treacle-dark eyes. She wondered if she’d ever stop loving him. He doesn’t love you, though.

He stayed with her as she drifted off, welcoming the anaesthetic of sleep. He was still there when she woke up and the nurses told her she could be discharged. He took her back to his penthouse, and she didn’t have the energy to argue.

Back at his flat, he looked worried, he couldn’t do enough for her. It was as if he was speaking to her through a funnel, his words were muffled and distant. ‘Are you hungry?’ he asked, ‘What can I get you?’

She shook her head. Too little, too late, she thought. This wasn’t the man he’d been the last few weeks. Since she’d told him about the baby resentment had filled this big flat, pressing against the glass walls.

He left the room, she heard the front door shut, and a memory came back of when she’d left her great aunt’s house at sixteen. She’d made a promise to herself then that she’d never allow herself to be in that situation again: unwanted, resented. A plan was assembling in her mind.

It didn’t take long to pack her clothes, toothbrush, and the tiny framed photograph of her parents. She was waiting by the door, ready to leave when he came back from the shops.

‘What are you doing?’ He stared at her.

He had a pint of milk in his hand. She looked at that. ‘I’m going home.’

She thanked her lucky stars that she’d kept the lease for her bedsit these last two months. Perhaps a part of her had always known it would end this way.

‘But you’ve only just come out of hospital. You can’t go.’

‘I am.’

‘Why?’

She blinked. Her head was fuzzy, the room tilted left, then right. She put her hand out and touched the wall to steady herself. He doesn’t love you, she reminded herself silently.

‘You’re not strong enough—’ he began.

‘Because it’s over. The pregnancy was a mistake. We only married because of the baby, and now …’ She couldn’t stay where she wasn’t wanted. Self-preservation kicked in and she lifted her head, she looked him in the eye. ‘Now we can both get on with our lives.’

He didn’t argue. He didn’t say anything at all. His silence sliced through her, killing any doubts she’d still carried.

The intercom buzzed. Her taxi had arrived. She bent to pick up her case. Tears welled, salty and hot. She wished she wasn’t so weak, she wished she didn’t love him so much, so fiercely and completely.

‘I’ll take that,’ he said nodding at her suitcase.

Their hands collided. He snatched the case away from her and she mumbled something about divorce papers, then left.

He didn’t try to stop her. Far from it. He saw her to the taxi, he lifted her luggage into the boot, then stood back, hands in his pocket, his mouth a flat line, and watched as the taxi drove away.

He didn’t love her, he never had. And that was why she had to go.

Present day

Natasha was slicing the thorns off a marshmallow-pink rose when he came in. The door chimed and she glanced up, ready to smile, then froze. The flower in her hand was forgotten and she stared, because there, in her shop, was Luc.

Her heart thumped hard. The shop flooded with cold air, as if it were the middle of winter, not this bright June afternoon. His tall figure and broad shoulders filled the door and his dark eyes fixed on her, but gave nothing away. She swallowed, feeling a sharp twist in her chest, and glanced at the back room. But of course Debbie had already gone home, so she was alone.

‘Natasha,’ he said, stepping forward and closing the door. ‘Good to see you.’

The sound of his voice was as unsettling as an earthquake. Deep. Sure of himself.

‘Luc,’ she said. She couldn’t disguise her shock. It had been – how long? – three years since she’d last seen him. ‘Why are you here?’

He didn’t answer immediately but glanced around her tiny shop, taking in his surroundings. She followed his gaze from the sunflowers to the gerberas, and for a moment she hoped this might be an accident. That, by some bizarre coincidence, he’d arrived in this tiny village and had walked in here to buy a bouquet. But then he turned back to look at her and his eyes, the colour of molten chocolate, fixed on her with such a fierce look of determination that she knew it was no accident. Her fingers gripped the rose a little tighter.

‘You could at least pretend to look pleased to see me,’ he said.

He was right, she thought. She might feel like she’d just been plunged back in time to a dark place of violent emotions, but she didn’t want him to know how much he was affecting her. Not when, in the past, he’d been so cool with her.

Pretend, she told herself; act as if you’re totally indifferent to him.

‘I’m just – just surprised, that’s all. I wasn’t expecting you. You should have called.’ As she spoke, she noticed that he’d changed. The details were subtle; small lines around his eyes, a few greys at his temples. He was still good-looking though, she noted grudgingly. And he looked effortlessly stylish, even in a simple cream jumper and jeans. She suddenly felt self-conscious. No doubt he would disapprove of her new, quirky style; he’d think her outfit was eccentric and too bright, not sophisticated like him. She fought the urge to hide her fingernails, painted pale blue with tiny daisies, telling herself it didn’t matter what he thought. She might have tried to please him in the past, but those days were over.

‘There wasn’t time,’ he said and looked at the flower in her hand, but there was an uncharacteristically distant look in his eyes. ‘It was quicker to come straight here.’

Natasha frowned. Really? How much time would it have taken to call her from the train or the car or however he’d arrived?

‘Don’t tell me, you urgently need a bunch of flowers?’

He shook his head and the corner of his mouth tilted, almost a smile and impossibly sexy. She was certain that no woman could look at him and not feel a little weak in the legs.

‘No. Not flowers. I need you.’

She put the rose down What did he mean, he needed her? And why did her mind instantly fill with heated images? Memories of him and her. Naked.

She shook her head, feeling dizzy, struggling to think straight. ‘Me? What on earth would you need me for?’

‘I need your help.’

As he held her gaze steadily, she realised he was being serious and a spike of emotion shot through her, something between fear and anger. ‘Luc, I’m your ex-wife. We’re not usually top of the list for being keen to help.’

‘I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t necessary. Besides, I have faith in you to help, ex-wife or not.’

Did he now? She eyed him suspiciously: was he saying she was a pushover? But then she noticed he looked pale, and now she wondered if the lines around his eyes were signs of ageing or of something else – strain possibly, tiredness? Though she tried to prevent it, she felt a tug of concern. ‘What’s wrong, Luc? What’s happened?’

A look flashed through his eyes: preoccupied, pained.

‘You’re not on the run from the police, are you?’ she joked, but it was feeble, and she wished she hadn’t said anything. She was just nervous, rattled by his unexpected appearance here, by the desperation etched into his handsome features.

‘Is there somewhere we could talk?’ he asked.

She glanced at the clock. ‘I suppose I could close a little early …’ Then she threw him a stern warning look. ‘But whatever you’ve got to say, you’ll have to say it here.’

‘OK.’ He was so quick to accept that she knew something was seriously wrong and anxiety needled her more strongly than ever. He might be her ex-husband but that didn’t prevent her from feeling sympathy for him. It just made her incredibly wary.

She locked the shop door, flipped the sign to ‘closed’, and dropped the roses she’d been trimming into a bucket of water. Then she returned to stand behind the counter. She felt safer with a bit of space between them. It seemed incredible that after three years apart he still had the power to make her feel so on edge.

‘So what’s the problem?’ she asked, trying to sound detached and efficient, though her hands were unsteady as she swept up the thorns and leaves and cuttings scattered across the counter.

‘My father is ill,’ he said. ‘Very ill, in fact.’

She stopped tidying and looked up. ‘Oh Luc, I’m sorry.’

She’d never met his parents, not even when they were married, but her heart went out to him.

‘He collapsed, it’s his heart, and the next few weeks – days – are critical.’

She nodded cautiously, unclear how this had anything to do with her or how she could help.

Luc ran his tongue across his lips. ‘I’ve just been to visit. All the family are there …’ He swallowed again, then met her gaze. Steadily. ‘But he was asking for you.’

‘Me?’ She laughed, a nervous and high-pitched sound. ‘Why me? I’ve never even met him before.’

A flush of colour filled her cheeks and she turned to deposit the cuttings in a bin behind the counter, then briskly dusted off her hands.

‘Exactly.’ He picked up a half-clipped leaf she’d missed and absently rolled it between his fingers. ‘He was unhappy when he learned that we got married without inviting anyone. Now he’s asking that we spend some time with him. In France.’

‘We? I don’t understand.’

‘You and me,’ he said.

She frowned, and her tone was sharp. ‘There is no “you and me” anymore. Anyway, why on earth would he want me to—?’

‘Because he believes we’re still married.’

There was a long pause. In the street outside a car rumbled past. Natasha blinked, not sure she’d heard properly, but the words settled around her like a handful of rose petals fluttering to the ground. He believes we’re still married.

After three years? Why? She’d assumed his family didn’t know about her: Luc certainly hadn’t told them about his marriage at the time. He’d behaved as if he were ashamed of it. Of her.

Confusion made her head spin, and she felt a sharp point of irritation too. Let’s face it, what did any of this have to do with her?

‘Why on earth would he believe that, Luc?’

He ducked his head and looked away. When he’d appeared in her shop she’d thought Luc didn’t look quite himself, but this was something new: the man who was never anything but one hundred per cent certain of himself now looked sheepish.

He said quietly; ‘I haven’t told him about the divorce.’

There was a long pause. ‘Haven’t told him?’ she repeated incredulously.

He shook his head.

Luc wasn’t a man to hide from the truth. He was bold and strong, with a core of steel. A core she’d once been sure was impossible to penetrate. ‘Why not?’

His shoulders went back, his chin went up, and when he looked at her now there was a hardness in his brown eyes which warned her this was not safe territory. ‘It’s complicated. This isn’t the time to go into it.’

Fine. Two could play at that game, she thought, raising emotional barriers of her own. Because she desperately needed them. She hung up her apron and ran her palms over the skirt of her dress, smoothing out the rosebud patterned cotton. She adjusted the small red scarf around her neck and touched her hair band: everything was in place, yet she felt ruffled. Irrational though it might be, seeing him made her feel vulnerable, like she had been when they were married, made her feel scared that the pain of that dark time in her life might return. But of course it wouldn’t; she had to remember that.

‘Well it sounds like it’s time to have an honest conversation with your father,’ she said briskly, then turned and lifted her jacket off the hook behind the door, hoping he’d get the hint and leave, vanish back out of her life as suddenly as he’d appeared.

‘Natasha—’ he said, but she just walked right past him, keys jangling in her hand, and held the door open for him.

She shook her head. ‘No way. I’m not getting involved in this.’

Reluctantly, he moved past her and stopped in the street outside. With his skin the colour of caramel and his glossy dark hair, he looked as conspicuous in this English country village as an exotic flower.

‘I wouldn’t ask you if I had any alternative.’

‘I’m sure you wouldn’t. There’s a reason why we got divorced.’ She locked the door.

‘It’s just two weeks—’

‘No!’ she said. Then, more calmly; ‘I don’t owe you anything, Luc.’

‘I know you don’t. That’s why I’m asking – appealing to you.’

She could see the desperation, the worry in his eyes, and guilt stabbed at her because he’d come here clearly counting on her help. Then her friend drove past them and waved. It was Suzie, on her way home from the village primary school, and seeing her was a reminder of all Natasha held dear. She’d built a life for herself here and she was happy. As she waved back, she contrasted that with the dark turmoil she’d lived through when she was married to Luc, and her instinct for self-preservation kicked in.

‘No,’ she said firmly, and began to walk quickly, taking a left off the High Street because it would be quieter on the back roads. She’d seen Suzie’s eyes widen with curiosity at the sight of Luc, and Natasha didn’t want anyone else to see her with him. ‘It would be a lie. I won’t do it.’

‘My father is seriously ill and this is his wish – what am I supposed to tell him?’

‘How about you tell him the truth?’

It wasn’t far to her flat, just a couple of hundred yards, but today it seemed like miles. Her sandals tapped quickly along the pavement, but her pace didn’t seem to bother him and it irritated her that he kept up effortlessly with his long strides.

‘That our marriage lasted three months and we applied for a divorce as soon as was legally possible?’ His tone was biting. Vicious. ‘The truth would kill him. He’s hanging on to life by a thread.’

She tried to ignore the guilt which she knew he’d intended her to feel. ‘Then stall. Play for time. Tell him … I’m travelling.’

‘How do you think I’ve explained your absence until now?’ He sighed and raked the hair back from his eyes. ‘We don’t know how long he has left. He wants to meet you.’

She stopped beside a red letterbox and planted her hands on her hips. ‘Why?’

‘He wants to know who I married. He wants to see for himself that I am happy.’

She snorted. ‘Well that’s asking the impossible! Even if I came with you to France, we couldn’t pretend to be a happily married couple if we tried.’

‘We could.’ His tone was resolute, his expression determined.

And a shiver touched her spine because Luc was renowned for his determination. What he wanted, he always got. Like a bulldozer, once on course, he was difficult to block.

Turning, she set off again. How did he manage to make her feel so churned up? For heaven’s sake, shouldn’t their divorce have made her immune to him?

He blew out a long breath. ‘Listen, if there’s something you want – anything – I will pay for it. In return for your time.’

She flinched and glared at him. ‘You always thought money was what motivated me, didn’t you? Well you were wrong, Luc. Then and now. I have everything I need already.’

She thought of her shop and the friends she’d made here in the village. She was part of this community now; she belonged. There was only one thing which might possibly make things even more perfect, but she wasn’t about to tell her ex, whom she hadn’t seen for three years, about that. It was nothing to do with him, her private dream. Her fingers automatically reached inside her pocket, checking for her phone as she thought of the call she was expecting.

‘Then you’re lucky,’ he said flatly.

They reached her flat and she stopped. ‘Yes, I am. Or maybe I don’t want for much. Not the things money can buy, anyway.’

She marched up the steps to her door on the first floor, thinking she was settled now, but it hadn’t always been like this. After their brief marriage, it had taken her months to get her life back on track. He had no right to come barging into her life, demanding favours of her. She owed him nothing. Nothing at all.

She opened the door and turned to face him one last time. ‘I’m not doing it, Luc.’

‘Natasha –’

Shaking her head, she waved away his protest. ‘I’m very sorry about your father – and for what you’re going through right now, but I can’t help you.’

She went in and was tempted to say goodbye then push the door firmly shut on him and the tornado of emotions which was spinning through her – but he reached his arm out, holding the door open.

‘Wait,’ he said. ‘Aren’t you going to invite me in?’

She couldn’t believe he’d even ask. And the thought of his tall figure filling her tiny flat, of being alone with him in such a private place made her skin tingle. It went against the grain to be so rude, but to let him in would be too … intimate. She shook her head. ‘No.’

‘I’ve come all this way – and we haven’t seen each other in a long time. Let me buy you dinner, at least.’

‘So we can catch up?’ she asked dryly. ‘Reminisce on old times?’

‘So we can catch up, yes.’

She realised how bitter she sounded and regretted her words. She shouldn’t be so affected by him; after all, she had long since got over him, hadn’t she? She looked at her watch. He had driven a long way to get here, and it would be rude to send him packing without so much as offering him a cup of tea.

‘We could go to the pub,’ she said. ‘The Dog and Partridge is just down the road. They do good food.’ She’d hoped they wouldn’t be seen, but perhaps being surrounded by other people would calm her jittery nerves and the tingling in her blood which had started the moment he’d walked into the shop.

He nodded. ‘Sounds good.’

‘But don’t think this is another chance to persuade me,’ she warned as they set off again, ‘because I won’t change my mind.’

‘I just want to eat and spend a little time with you,’ he said quietly.

Thankfully the Dog and Partridge was busy and, maybe it was silly, but she was reassured to see friendly faces all around. Gary the landlord greeted her and, when he cast Luc a curious look, Natasha introduced him. ‘This is Luc. He’s –’ she hesitated, ‘– an old friend.’

‘Friend?’ Luc shot her a fierce look. ‘We were married.’

Her cheeks burned as Gary, wide-eyed, turned to her and said; ‘I didn’t know you’d been married before. You dark horse.’

‘Yes, well. We all make mistakes,’ she said, darting Luc a sideways glance. But his expression remained grim. This wasn’t the time to make jokes, she told herself; not when he was clearly worried sick about his father.

They got their drinks and ordered food, and Luc produced his wallet. He handed Gary a couple of notes, but Natasha shook her head.

‘I’m perfectly capable of buying my own drink,’ she said, pulling out her purse.

Her ears still stung as she remembered how, just after their wedding, he’d told her, I suppose you’ll want your own credit card now you’re my wife. From the moment they’d been married he’d behaved as if she were some kind of parasite, out to leach him of his wealth.

‘No,’ said Luc. ‘This was my idea.’

‘Tell you what. We’ll each buy our own.’

His nose wrinkled in disgust. ‘And have to split the bill in half? I don’t think so.’

Her chin went up. ‘Then I’ll leave now. I pay my own way, Luc. I don’t want anything from you.’

His phone rang and he scrabbled to answer it. ‘Excuse me,’ he said, his accent suddenly pronounced. ‘This might be important.’

He walked away, his phone to his ear, and Natasha handed a note to Gary, who was still a little wide-eyed from watching them.

‘He really presses your buttons, doesn’t he? I’ve never seen you like this before, Natasha.’

She blushed. Luc didn’t bring out the best in her. But then, how many ex-husbands did? ‘He’s only here because he wants my help,’ she said. Then added quietly, ‘But he’s not going to get it.’

She carried their drinks over to a small table beside the window and sat down, then checked her own phone. There were no missed calls, but she was expecting a call so she left it out on the table because the pub was noisy, and she couldn’t be sure she’d hear if it rang. A few moments later, Luc joined her.

‘Everything all right?’ she asked, taking a sip of her lemonade.

He nodded. ‘That was my sister. She’s at the hospital – there’s been no change.’

He lifted the pint of beer to his lips and his throat worked as he swallowed. His coffee-brown eyes were clouded as he gazed out of the window, his mind evidently elsewhere.

 

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Evie had a bad feeling about the place. Or perhaps it was simply the chill in the air as she hurried from her car to the Old Hall, carrying her heavy load. The forecast tonight was snow. She prayed it would wait until she’d finished what she was there to do and had driven back down the hill to the village. It should take her an hour, tops, and once she was home in her little cottage, it could snow as much as it liked: she’d be tucked up in bed with a warm quilt and a hot-water bottle. Tomorrow she’d email her invoice. The sooner she collected payment, the happier her bank manager would be. Maybe he’d even stop breathing down her neck.

She unlocked the door of the big house and flicked on the lights, accidentally knocking the coat stand. She caught it before it toppled, then scurried on towards the dining room. Two chandeliers lit it, and she saw her reflection in the tall, naked windows – her red coat was a beacon glowing brightly in the doorway. Carefully, Evie laid the curtain she’d made on the grand dining table. She flicked her long plait over her shoulder, then went back to her car. Floor-length, in a burgundy and gold damask that caught the light, the curtains would look perfect in that room, but they were so heavy she had to carry them in one at a time, all four of them.

As she scuttled back from her car for the last time, the first snowflakes began to fall. She smiled as they tickled her cheeks, but quickened her pace and closed the solid oak door, shutting out the icy air. Not that it was much warmer inside the huge empty house: her breath left a thin cloud in the air as she marched along the corridor. Perhaps the place would come to life once the new owner moved in.

Her foot caught something hard and she stumbled. A metal doorstop lay on its side. With her toe, she pushed it under the dining-room door to prop it open. She put her heavy parcel down with the others, stopped and listened.

Funny. She’d thought she’d heard barking.

But, of course, that couldn’t be. Hers was the only car on the drive, and when she’d arrived the house had been in darkness. The owner wasn’t due to move in for another week.

Evie brushed aside the thought and carried her stepladder to the window. It squeaked loudly as she unfolded it. She unwrapped the first curtain from its plastic cover, lifted it expertly over her shoulder, and climbed up to the highest step. These windows were tall, and it was a balancing act as she supported the weight of the fabric with one hand and hooked the curtain with the other. She had finished one and was starting on the second when she heard barking again – louder this time. Perched on the stepladder, she stilled. It wasn’t the tinny yap of a small dog, but a deep, loud bark.

Her heart thumped. What if a guard dog was patrolling?

Surely not. She’d been given a key by the owner’s PA, and tradespeople had been coming and going for weeks now.

Still, the owner might assume she would only seek access during the day. She looked at her watch. It was nine thirty now.

She heard footsteps approaching and the deep tones of a male voice. The dog’s bark made her jump this time, and she heard the scrabble of paws as an animal – several, perhaps? – raced down the corridor. Frozen, she w. . .