Mac dozed in the chair opposite. Kate was just thinking she could blow off her date with Richard tonight and stay here, when her phone vibrated.
HELP! it read. It was from Matt.
Kate groaned. She considered ignoring the message. She’d seen a packet of crumpets in her dad’s cupboard and had earmarked them for a hot buttery treat later. She glanced out the window. It was still snowing. Her dad snuffled in his sleep. She was so comfy.
The phone vibrated again.
PLEEEEAAAAASSSEEEEEE!
Kate puffed out in annoyance. Her dreams of a lazy afternoon popped like the champagne cork in the old movie.
On my way, she texted back, and reluctantly heaved herself out of the armchair.
* * *
• • • • •
Laura called just as Kate was pulling her coat and boots on. She was on her lunch break and from the way she was talking—a mile a minute and slightly high-pitched—Kate guessed she was busy at the manor too. She wanted to know what she was wearing to her date with Richard.
“I haven’t thought about it yet,” said Kate. “I’m going to be pushed for time, though; now I’ve got to help Matt.”
“Huh!” said Laura. “Sucker! At least I’m getting paid to be stressed.”
“Eurgh,” moaned Kate. “What’s wrong with me? I hate that I can’t just say no whenever he’s in trouble.”
“Funny,” said Laura. “That’s exactly what he said to me about you!”
* * *
• • • • •
There was no point taking the car; if it was as busy up there as she anticipated, it would be a nightmare to park and if the snow kept up, she’d get a lift back with Matt in the van.
The cold air invigorated her and she felt her energy rising again after her afternoon slump. A humming snake of cars wound the lanes to the manor. Kate kept close in to the hedgerows.
Bronze-and-maroon-feathered pheasants bobbed up above the long grass of the fields, their claret heads bright against the snow. They flew like heavy cushions being thrown and landed just as ungracefully. Every now and again one would flap too close to the road and Kate winced. They didn’t seem to be the cleverest of birds.
Snippets of Christmas music from car stereos whipped past her and Kate smiled to herself. She loved Christmas. Of all the holidays, Christmas was the one that replenished her soul and made her feel the most hopeful.
She saw smoke curl out of the tall chimneys above the tree line, long before the manor itself came into view. Round the next bend the path became gravel, forking off left and right for visitor parking and coach parties. From there, signposted paths led to the back of the manor, with its gardens and fountains and, for the next two days, the Christmas market.
Straight ahead was the long walk that led to the front of Blexford Manor. It was quieter here; only a few brave souls had chosen to walk in the snow. The path was wide enough for three cars, though it was only open to pedestrians most days. On either side were neatly cut lawns that ran to the edges of a pine forest. On quiet days wild deer meandered out from the trees to catch the sun on the lawn. But not today.
An ornate fountain—a later addition—with five scantily clad stone maidens holding a wide rimmed bowl above their heads stood before the manor, acting as both an opulent first impression and a sort of high-class roundabout.
The manor itself was an imposing building. The glass of the many leaded windows looked black against the pale stone and brick walls—the brickwork being the height of modernity for the time. One large gabled wing protruded from the center of the building, with another two at either end. And between these, several smaller coped gablets gave the impression of many long thin buildings having been squeezed together to form one big one.
Blexford Manor lent itself to every Jane Austen–esque fantasy Kate could imagine. The sheer romance of the architecture never failed to take her breath away, especially today with the gray clouds as moody backdrop and the snowflakes sticking to the slate roofs. Kate took out her camera and snapped some shots before heading round to the gardens.
She found Matt warming his hands by an electric fire in his allotted wooden hut, between serving customers. The coffee machine, which was usually housed in a closed trailer in the café garden—a throwback to when Matt used to work the festival scene before the café became so busy—was steaming happily on a heavy-duty butcher block.
“How on earth did you get that machine in here?” asked Kate.
“Sheer bloody-mindedness!” grinned Matt. “I may have sacrificed a couple of vertebrae in the process.”
“Never mind,” said Kate. “You’ve got more. I’m just going to have a quick look round and I’ll be with you.”
“Right you are,” said Matt. He nodded and waved as a man in a green tweed jacket bent over the counter and inspected a bag of Carla’s festive fudge.
The courtyard had been transformed overnight into a winter grotto, with rows of fairy-lit wooden huts standing side by side, selling everything from mulled wine and roasted chestnuts to stone-carved garden ornaments and Fair Isle jumpers.
Last year there had been a snow machine churning out snowflakes to help with the ambience; this year it wasn’t necessary. The hut roofs were thickly white and though health and safety decreed that the courtyard be salted, the snow lay everywhere else it could; ceramic geese with blue bow ties wore snowy caps, as did the clay frogs and the laughing animatronic Santa, whose mirth shook the flakes from his shoulders, only for them to resettle a moment later. The branches of the conifers in beribboned pots drooped under the weight of their white blanketing.
Kate wandered the narrow lanes between the huts and soaked in the noises and smells. A Christmas market wasn’t like a mall, where people went on a determined mission to attack their Christmas shopping, ticking off lists and snarling in queues. A Christmas market was a meandering affair, a gentle seeking of gift possibilities, melding pleasure with purchase.
The spicy Christmas aromas intoxicated Kate’s senses and before she knew what had happened, she had purchased two cups of nonalcoholic mulled wine and a steaming bag of honey-roasted nuts and put dibs on a pair of Christmas embroidered cushions.
There was a queue outside Matt’s hut and Kate could see that his stocks were depleted. She let herself into his hut through a door at the side and put her spoils down on one of the stools.
“Thank you so much for coming!” said Matt. “I really appreciate this.”
He turned briefly to Kate and smiled as he handed change and a bulging paper bag with the Pear Tree Café logo over to a woman in a striped hat and scarf.
“I wasn’t busy,” said Kate.
A woman in a deerstalker hat picked up two jars of brandied fruit and a bag of Kate’s alcoholic truffles. She ordered two gingerbread lattes and while she paid, a man in a matching hat joined her and took possession of her purchases. The woman touched her head to his in an unspoken mark of togetherness, and Kate was caught by such a pang of longing in her rib cage that she almost doubled over.
“That’s the last of your truffles,” said Matt as he turned to make the coffees.
“Really?” said Kate absently.
“Really,” said Matt. “I’ve got more of everything else in the van, but I haven’t been able to get away long enough to get it.”
A young couple bought one of Evelyn’s fruitcakes and a bag of gingerbread men and ordered cinnamon hot chocolates with whipped cream.
“And I’m dying for the toilet,” he hissed in Kate’s direction.
Kate took a swig of her mulled wine.
“Right,” she said. “Finish these orders. Get yourself off to the loo and then replenish your stock. And grab yourself something to eat, while you’re at it.”
“But you can’t make coffee,” said Matt.
“I’ll tell them its gifts only until you get back,�
� said Kate. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to touch your precious machine.”
Matt grinned.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, and, hurling his money belt at Kate, he dashed out of the hut and disappeared among the Christmas shoppers.
Kate tied the belt around her waist and began to serve customers. A gospel choir sang “Carol of the Bells” under the tearoom’s awning and as the afternoon light faded, Victorian-style streetlamps bloomed a golden glow between the snow-capped huts. Laura ran past the hut in her uniform; she ducked her head in as she went by and through a maniacal grin said:
“I haven’t stopped all day. I want to kill absolutely everybody.”
Then she ran off, waving and blowing kisses behind her at Kate as she went.
Kate had sold a good deal more of Matt’s stock and assured several people that coffee would be back on the menu soon by the time he returned. He tottered into the hut with a large wooden crate and a brown bag containing hot crumpets with melted cheese on top.
They unloaded the stock onto the shelves and Kate sat on one of the stools to eat her crumpets while Matt took over serving.
“I’ve been thinking about the business,” said Matt.
“You’re always thinking about the business,” said Kate.
“I wondered about getting the old coffee van up and running again,” he said. “Laura reckons it would go down a storm here at weddings, and the vineyard has offered me a pitch at their food fair next summer. Maybe I could get a spot down the coast road too. What do you think?”
“Sounds good,” said Kate.
“No, I mean, what do you think about doing it with me?” said Matt. “On your days off, I mean. Petula and Carla can handle the café. I thought it might be fun.”
“Oughtn’t you to be asking Sarah to do it with you?” Kate asked.
“Nah,” said Matt. “It’s not really her thing, she’s not quite as outdoorsy as you. Not unless it involves a rooftop bar.” He laughed. “Standing around in a wet field for eight hours isn’t her idea of a good time.”
“Oh, but it’s mine, is it?” said Kate. “I happen to like rooftop bars too, you know.”
“I’ve seen you on your dawn raids of Potters Copse,” said Matt. “Welly deep in mud, camera in hand. Sketchbook out when you think no one’s watching. You love it.”
Kate frowned.
“Think of all the inspiration for your designs,” said Matt. “All that being out with nature but with coffee at your fingertips.”
“You said yourself, I can’t make coffee,” said Kate.
“I’ll teach you,” said Matt. “Or you can take the money while I make the coffee. It’ll be good to have the company. And an extra pair of hands.”
Kate mulled it over. It might be nice, she thought. Weddings at the manor were a notoriously grand affair; she could stand to watch how the other half lived for a day. And there were worse ways to spend her days off than down by the sea. And it would be nice to be with Matt. He certainly never made for dull company; although there was always the risk that he might drive her crazy and she’d end up running him over with the trailer and leaving him for dead . . .
“I’ll think about it,” she said.
* * *
• • • • •
By five o’clock they had sold out of everything, so they flipped the shutters down over the hatch and locked up for the night. It took three trips to carry all the empty crates back to the van. The fair was officially open until six thirty p.m., but already it was beginning to wind down since the snow wasn’t letting up and people were anxious to get home.
It looked like a fairy-tale Christmas village in the dark. The carolers had packed up and left, and their joyous tones were replaced by a CD of Christmas Hits playing over the PA and a cluster of battery-operated singing Santas on a stall near the stables.
“Looks like I’ll be up all night baking,” said Matt. He was so transparent. “Good job I warned Evelyn and Carla to be on standby for more Christmas goodies.”
Kate knew what was coming. Don’t do it, she thought. Say no! She steeled herself to keep her resolve.
“I don’t suppose you could . . .”
“I’ve got a date tonight, remember?” said Kate. “And another one first thing tomorrow morning. I really haven’t got time. I’m sorry.”
Matt looked at her with big amber-flecked eyes and she felt instantly guilty.
“That’s all right,” he said. “It was worth a try.”
That made her feel even worse.
“Couldn’t Sarah help?” she asked.
“She’s staying at her mum’s tonight; the weather’s quite bad there, so she doesn’t want to drive home in the dark,” Matt replied.
“Look,” said Kate. “I’ll give you my truffle recipes.”
Matt screwed his face up and ran his hand through his hair.
“What if I get stuck?” he said.
“You won’t get stuck,” said Kate. “I’ll give you my ingredients as well and if you’re really stumped you can call me.”
Matt grinned.
“But only if you’re really stumped,” she reiterated. “Don’t be calling me just to be a pain in the arse because you know I’m on a date.”
“As if I would,” said Matt, feigning a hurt expression.
“Shut up and drive me home,” said Kate.
* * *
• • • • •
With Matt loaded up with her foolproof truffle recipes and ingredients and on his way home, Kate began the task of getting ready for her date with Richard. She thought about wearing the tea dress she’d worn for their first ill-fated date, but she didn’t want to jinx it.
In the end she settled for a pair of tight dark blue Levi’s, a pair of biker boots—sexy and practical—and a bottle-green jumper with a gold-thread fleck running through it. Her hair was curly from having gone from damp to dry more times than she could mention that day, and so she swept it up and clipped it loosely, letting the shorter bits fall where they liked. A swish of lipstick, a hasty squirt of perfume, and she was off.
It was still snowing, but the roads were clear as she drove to Great Blexley. The Smugglers Arms was an old-fashioned pub. The walls retained their tobacco-yellow hue as a nod to the days when you could smoke in public houses. The velvet-covered chairs and sofas were threadbare on the seats and shiny at the backs, from years of greasy heads being rubbed against them. But the atmosphere was friendly, the landlord didn’t mind if you kept throwing more logs onto the fire, and they served the best hot roast beef sandwiches this side of London.
Kate nervously scanned the low-lit bar. It had occurred to her, as she pulled into the car park, that she didn’t really know anything about Richard, and she felt a sudden trepidation about meeting up with a perfect stranger outside the safety net of the Twelve Dates organization.
As if reading her mind, Laura had rung as she turned off the engine.
“Kate, are you there yet?” she asked.
“I’m about to go in,” said Kate.
“Listen,” said Laura. “Are you sure this is a good idea? I told Ben about it and he went off the wall about how you don’t know him and I realized, he’s right! He could be a maniac! A cannibal!”
“Laura. You’ve got to calm down,” said Kate, sounding braver than she felt. “I traveled around the world on my own. I think I can handle myself. And besides, he’s a businessman; it’s generally considered a poor show to eat the clients.”
“But he’s not exempt from having a cellar full of women in chains!”
“Laura.”
“I know,” said Laura. “I know. You’re a very independent woman. But that doesn’t mean you’re impervious to serial killers.”
Kate laughed off her friend’s concerns, but she promised to keep her phone on, check in every hour, and text if they moved on to a
nywhere else. She also gave her most faithful assurances that she would text when she got home, no matter what time that might be.
* * *
• • • • •
The bar was stuffy. Kate was too hot as soon as she walked in. She unwound her scarf and looked for Richard the potential serial killer.
Richard emerged as though he’d just teleported into the middle of the pub. He was very tall and his black hair caught the lights and reflected streaks of blue like a raven’s wing. The punters parted like the Red Sea as he made his way through the crowded bar. He had a presence that could fill a room, and it wasn’t just the width of his shoulders. A smile broke across his face and Kate felt the room get even hotter as he walked toward her. She tried to blow an errant twist of hair out of her eyes as she wiggled out of her jacket.
Richard held out his hand and Kate shook it. He bent and lightly brushed her cheek with a kiss. He smelled like pine forests and wood smoke. Good God, he smells good. Kate breathed him in; he made her feel tipsy.
“Kate,” He said her name so smoothly she thought her knees would melt. “Thank you for giving me a second chance at a first date.”
Richard placed one of his hands in the small of Kate’s back and led her through the noisy pub, past the kitchen, the toilets, and the back bar. They headed down a darkened corridor and Kate began to wonder if she could dial 999 on her phone through her pocket, when the corridor opened out into an old timber-framed orangery.
Giant ferns brushed the glass roof and arched over their heads like fronded parasols. Orange and lemon trees were strung with fairy lights, and ivy climbed the wooden frames and splayed its leaves against the windowpanes. A wood burner flickered in the corner. And in the middle of the room, flanked by an olive tree, was a table set for two, complete with candles and a rose in a vase.
Kate drew a sharp intake of breath. She allowed herself to be guided to the table and seated. The pale snow drifted against the windows and made shallow banks against the French doors.
The Twelve Dates of Christmas Page 15