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

by Sophie Claire

  ‘I love the idea of my customers kissing under the mistletoe. How much do I owe you?’ She reached under the counter for her purse.

  ‘Nothing. They’re a gift,’ said Natasha. ‘Like I said, I made a batch, and it’s good advertising for my shop if people see them around the village.’

  ‘Well, I’ll be sure to tell—’ The phone began to ring. Evie excused herself and picked it up. ‘The Button Hole. How can I help you?’

  ‘It’s me.’

  The sound of his voice made her still. ‘Tim!’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘How did you get this number?’

  Her skin prickled with goose-bumps. She hated him knowing where she was. This was her new life and her shop. It represented the fresh start she’d made when she’d left him.

  ‘That doesn’t matter. What matters is you and me. Can we meet?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Please. Give me the chance to—’

  ‘No!’

  In an instant he switched from cajoling to belligerent. ‘When are you going to see sense?’

  Her teeth clenched. He was still making out that she was the silly girl who’d made yet another mistake.

  Well, she hadn’t. The only mistake she’d made had been to trust him. To believe him when he’d said he loved her and wanted to marry her. ‘Tim, our relationship is over. You need to face up to that and stop calling me.’

  ‘I know about your shop, Evelyn.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I know you’re up to your eyeballs in debt, and you haven’t made a penny in profit.’

  The back of her neck prickled. He didn’t give her time to respond.

  ‘It’s only a matter of time until it goes down the drain and then you’ll rethink. That shop is just another of your hare-brained fantasies. You can’t run a business. You’re hopeless – you break everything you touch. This will end in disaster, and you know it.’

  Her hand shook. She didn’t know what to say, so she slammed the receiver down instead.

  Natasha was watching with concern. ‘Are you okay?’

  Evie’s face was burning, anger and hurt simmering. After all he’d said and done, how could Tim still have the cheek to suggest she would come back to him? As if! It was only now that she’d spent a few months away from him that she realised how much he’d chipped away at her self-esteem. Constantly critical of small things – her hair, her clothes, her hobbies – he’d made her doubt everything about herself. She’d lived as if she were treading on eggshells, worried that she’d drop something and break it, or say the wrong thing and earn his disapproval.

  But his words echoed in her head. It’s only a matter of time until it goes down the drain … You’re hopeless …

  ‘Was that your ex?’ asked Natasha.

  ‘He just won’t take no for an answer.’

  ‘Surely he’s got the message now. You were very clear.’

  Evie shook her head and twisted the end of her ponytail around her fingers as she tried to ignore the feeling of dread that crawled up her spine. ‘Tim isn’t a good loser.’

  She was worried that that wasn’t the last she’d hear from him.

  Evie had the key in her pocket but rang the doorbell anyway. If she’d learned anything from her previous visit, it was that Jake Hartwood didn’t like unexpected visitors.

  Smoke’s barking grew louder, and the wide oak door swung open. The dog pushed forward, wagging his tail excitedly, and rubbed his head against her knee. Evie bent to pet him.

  ‘Oh. It’s you.’

  She thought she detected a hint of irony in Jake Hartwood’s tone, but his dark eyes were as unreadable as ever. She straightened up. ‘Yes, me,’ she said. ‘Like pizza delivery – only curtains.’

  Jake didn’t respond. Not even a smile. Okay, it had been a feeble joke, but couldn’t he have pretended to find it funny out of politeness? No. After spending the evening with him, she knew he didn’t do politeness or social niceties. Her pulse was rapid-firing, though she couldn’t think why. It must be nerves. He made an imposing figure, filling the doorway and dressed in black jeans with a navy sweater. His chin was still dark with stubble, but his eyes weren’t bloodshot, and he was almost good-looking – although he scowled too much, and she couldn’t forget how rude he’d been last time they met.

  Smoke was turning circles around her, periodically pausing for her to stroke him. She chuckled at the dog’s uninhibited friendliness. ‘I thought you’d be at work – that’s why I came in the day. I didn’t want to disturb you.’

  ‘I’m working from home.’ His words were clipped.

  ‘Ah.’ It was evident he wasn’t happy at the intrusion, but she pulled her shoulders back and did her best not be intimidated by his brusque manner. ‘I must admit, I was a bit worried about coming back here, but I see you’ve had the drive cleared – that makes life a lot easier.’

  The sterner he looked, the faster the words came spilling out of her mouth in a nervous stream of chatter. ‘Oh, and thanks for having my car towed last week, by the way. The chap delivered it right to my door, and he said you’d paid for the repairs, too. It was really very kind of you.’

  Too late she remembered what he’d said to her that night: You talk too much.

  He shrugged. ‘It was nothing.’

  He was probably glad to be rid of her car and didn’t want to risk another visit from her – but here she was on his doorstep again. Unfortunately, her visits couldn’t be avoided: after all, he needed curtains and she needed his business.

  Smoke finally stopped and sat beside her. Evie shifted from one foot to the other. When she realised Jake wasn’t going to invite her in, she cut to the chase: ‘I have a couple more pairs of curtains to hang downstairs, and I need to measure up in the bedrooms. Is this a good time?’

  ‘You’ve made two pairs in less than a week?’

  Was he disapproving or admiring? She wasn’t sure. ‘I thought you’d probably want all the decorating done before Christmas – in case you have family coming to stay.’

  ‘Did you? Or am I your only customer?’ he asked.

  Her cheeks fired with heat, but there was no point in denying the truth, humiliating as it was. ‘There is that, too,’ she conceded quietly. ‘Thanks for paying the invoice so soon, by the way.’

  He gave a terse nod but still didn’t move. Conscious that she was paying someone to look after her shop, Evie said, ‘Right, well, I’ll just get on with hanging the curtains, shall I? It won’t take long – providing I don’t get knocked off my stepladder, that is.’

  She was sure his lip almost curled in the faintest suggestion of a smile. ‘I was going out anyway.’ He patted his leg for Smoke to come to him. ‘Time for your walk, Smoke.’

  Was that true, or was he just keen to avoid her? The Dalmatian didn’t move but looked up questioningly at Evie. Jake reached behind the door and produced a lead, but his dog chose to follow her as she scurried to her car to fetch the curtains. She carefully lifted out the soft modern tweed, pale grey shot through with dusky pink and blue.

  ‘So you’ve moved in, then?’ she said, when she returned.

  ‘I have.’

  She accidentally knocked the coat stand as she went past. It wobbled violently. Fortunately, Jake caught it in time and steadied it. ‘Thanks,’ she said, bracing herself for an angry reproach telling her to be more careful – she’d become so used to them with Tim – but it never came.

  Instead he held up the dog’s lead. ‘Come on, Smoke.’

  But the dog pointedly ignored him and trotted after Evie as she headed for the library. Jake hesitated, then followed too.

  ‘Here, let me,’ he said, with a nod to the curtains in her arms.

  She caught the scent of his aftershave as he moved closer and it made her senses tingle. ‘It’s okay, I’ve got it.’

  ‘Your ankle’s better, then?’ he asked, as she hurried on.

  ‘Much better, thanks. Oh – you’ve had the plaster repaired!’ She stopped outside the dining
room.

  The curtain rail had been put back up, her curtains too, and the room was filled with furniture. Yet, despite the expensive sideboard, the glittering mirrors and paintings, it still didn’t feel homely – far from it. It looked like the home of a wealthy but lonely man, she thought, with a strange little tug at her heart.

  ‘Yes,’ said Jake, and stopped beside her. Smoke trotted around them both in figures of eight.

  ‘Are you happy with the curtains?’

  ‘They’re satisfactory.’

  Her head whipped round to look at him. ‘Just satisfactory?’ She felt a lurch of disappointment when she’d taken so much care over them and, quite frankly, was proud of the results.

  ‘I mean they hang vertically and close when I draw them in the evening.’ His mouth remained flat, but his eyes glinted with humour.

  Evie felt a rush of relief and laughed. She told herself to ignore the sparking sensation in her blood. She wasn’t sure what had caused it.

  ‘And the move all went smoothly, I heard,’ she said, continuing down the hall towards the library.

  His brow pulled into a sharp frown. ‘You heard? How? There was no one here but me and the removal people.’

  He pushed the door open for her and motioned for her to go ahead. Evie glanced around her. The tall shelves had been filled with books, and the room was dotted with armchairs covered with the same tweed fabric as the curtains in her arms. It looked beautiful – if a little bare. A couple of rugs was what it needed, and a little lived-in clutter.

  ‘Oh, everyone in the village has been talking about you.’ She grinned, as she laid the curtains over one of the armchairs. ‘Mostly they want to know if you’re going to keep up the tradition of hosting a Christmas ball.’

  She suspected she knew the answer. Hospitality was definitely not among Jake Hartwood’s strengths.

  ‘What tradition?’

  ‘Every year the Old Hall’s owners hold a ball for the village. There’s been a ball here every Christmas for the last two hundred years, so I’m told.’

  ‘Has there really?’ he said flatly.

  She turned and faced him. ‘So will you?’

  ‘Will I what?’

  ‘Be hosting the ball?’

  He made a rough sound, which might have been laughter. ‘Definitely not.’

  She bit her lip to stop herself smiling. The more horrified he looked, the more mischievous she felt. ‘Oh, that’s a shame. Everyone will be so disappointed.’

  ‘I’m not opening my house for a village full of strangers to come and get drunk.’

  Well, put like that, he had a point. ‘I’m sure they’d all be well behaved.’

  ‘It’s out of the question. You may as well make it known that I don’t do balls, parties or socialising.’

  ‘What about community spirit, then?’ It sounded like an innocent question, but she held his gaze.

  His eyes narrowed. ‘I don’t do that either. I bought this house for the privacy it affords me.’

  Natasha had said he’d been a recluse since his wife had died, and something inside her softened in sympathy. She knew how hard it was to lose a loved one. Still, it didn’t have to make you prickly and antisocial. ‘No one can live like that,’ she said quietly, ‘in complete isolation.’

  Instantly his features hardened. ‘I can.’

  ‘We all have duties and responsibilities. We all need other people in one way or another.’ She thought of her neighbours: old Dorothy, who was frail and couldn’t get out easily, and George, who was physically strong but lonely living on his own.

  ‘I don’t.’

  A muscle pulsed in his jaw and she knew she should keep quiet. It was none of her business how he lived his life. But the urge to help was too strong. It was in her nature to reach out to others.

  ‘You must do! You have Smoke, for starters.’

  ‘Okay, I have Smoke. I don’t mind his company. He doesn’t ask questions.’ His blue-eyed gaze bored into her. ‘It’s the human, talkative type I avoid.’

  Like her. She got the message.

  He bent to stroke Smoke and clipped his lead on. ‘Come on, boy. Let’s get some fresh air and leave Pollyanna here to get on with her work.’

  He threw her a sharp look and strode off, letting the front door slam behind him.

  Evie stayed in the library and watched his tall figure stride across the lawn into the woods. If only she would hold her tongue around him and remember he was her client. You’re hopeless, you break everything you touch …

  Despite what Natasha said, Jake Hartwood was difficult to warm to. Not just cool but positively icy, and he revealed nothing. Except now and again when he showed flashes of dry humour – or was it sarcasm? – which broke through like unexpected beams of sunlight on a cloudy day.

  Upstairs, she hung the curtains and measured up for the last few bedrooms, humming as she worked, double-checking all her measurements and calculations. Whenever she did this, she remembered her former maths teacher, Mrs Fox, who had handed out exam results saying, ‘Evie Miller, bottom of the class.’ With curtains of this size and quality fabric she couldn’t afford to make any mistakes. Plus, she had the feeling that Jake wouldn’t tolerate any more slip-ups on her part.

  Satisfied that she had all the measurements she needed, she dropped her notebook into her sewing bag, picked up the stepladder, and made her way towards the staircase. As she passed the master bedroom, she paused at the door and looked in, curious to see what the room revealed about its owner now he’d officially moved in. She glanced at her watch. How long had he been gone now? She didn’t want to be here when he returned. Then again, his PA had ordered a couple of quilts for the two main bedrooms. It was unlikely Evie would have time to make them before Christmas, but if she took the measurements and jotted down notes on colour schemes, perhaps she could get started on them over the holidays when the shop was quiet and everyone else was spending time with their families.

  Leaving her stepladder in the hall, she went in and measured the bed. It was enormous, bigger than king-size, with a biscuit-coloured headboard. The room’s colour scheme was chestnut brown and cream, with the odd burst of berry red in a picture or cushion. The overall effect was masculine yet warm. It gave her lots of leeway for choosing colours to use in a quilt. It was also very tidy, she noticed, nothing like her own bedroom at home, which had piles of clothes, hairbrushes and -clips strewn around. Jake Hartwood clearly liked his life very ordered. Beside his bed there were only two objects: an alarm clock and a framed photograph. Evie tiptoed across to take a closer look. A woman with dark hair in a neat, super-elegant chignon smiled at the camera. Her skin was tanned and smooth, and her stylish navy silk dress and pearl earrings screamed sophistication. She was beautiful – and so, so young.

  Just like Zara. Evie inhaled deeply as she fought off her own jagged memories of grief.

  A dog’s bark made her jump and through the window she saw Smoke bounding up the hill, Jake following. She checked her watch. She’d better scarper before he found her in here and she met with another of his disapproving glares. She snatched up her tape measure and sewing bag and hurried out of the room.

  Jake rounded the corner of the house and just glimpsed Evie pushing her stepladder into the back of her car, then rushing to get in and driving away. She had left in a hurry. Coincidence? Or had she seen him coming?

  Frowning, he stamped the snow off his boots and went inside. He didn’t have the patience for niceties any more: he was short-tempered, intolerant and blunt. Normally he didn’t care. So why did he find himself hounded by guilt, yet again, over the wounded look his words had provoked earlier in Evie Miller? After their first meeting he’d made sure she retrieved her car, that she was kept in pocket with work for his house, and thereby had assuaged his conscience. How was he going to put things right this time?

  Avoid her. It was the simplest solution. Avoid all human contact.

  He wasn’t fit to be around people. They only irritated
him. Alone he could indulge in the memories, replaying them, conjuring Maria’s face in his mind, hearing her laugh, resurrecting their brief but acute happiness. Alone, he could sometimes trick himself into believing she wasn’t gone, and when he turned around, she’d be there. Of course, the illusion lasted only a nanosecond, but the relief and the joy it brought were worth it.

  Christ, I miss you so much, Maria. Forgive me.

  He stopped at the bottom of the stairs and Smoke looked up at him with questioning eyes. Jake concentrated on breathing while he waited for the pain in his chest to ease so he could carry on. Come on, Hartwood. One foot in front of the other.

  This time of year was the hardest. The anniversary was only the start: during the run-up to Christmas everything became more intense, and he could feel the tension already accumulating in his neck and shoulders. Just as it had done last year – before it had all come to a head on Christmas Day.

  Upstairs, he was wearily exchanging his snow-dampened trousers for a dry pair when he noticed a notebook lying on his bed. He picked it up. Inside there were pages of measurements and sketches of what he guessed were patchwork designs. The last entry was headed with his name and read, Bedroom no.1 Quilt. Colours: cream, chestnut brown, warm red.

  He frowned. She must have left it behind. He could let her know he had it and leave it by the front door for her to collect next time she was here. On second thoughts, he suspected it was probably something she used a lot. He’d be passing through the village tomorrow morning. He could drop by her shop then and return it to its forgetful owner.

  Chapter Five

  Jake pushed open the shop door, rolling his eyes at the oversized wooden handles shaped like giant buttons. He stood aside to let a young girl pass. ‘And thanks for the ribbon, Evie!’ she called on her way out. The shop door swung shut behind her.

  Inside, he glimpsed Evie standing behind a table talking to a couple. Jake had her notebook in his hand, but she was clearly busy serving customers, so he filled time by wandering along the narrow aisles. Giant buttons wrapped in bright fabrics, and supersized cotton reels wound with chunky glittering wool hung from the ceiling. They spun gently, and he had to duck his head to avoid one. He ran his gaze over the shelves, with their neat lines of fabric. The price label of one caught his eye and he raised a brow. Expensive stock. No wonder she was worried about her finances: the initial outlay on a place like this must have been enormous.