‘When are you going to stop dreaming and be sensible?’
The raised voice made Jake stop. He noted the plummy accent.
‘You had a perfectly good job in London and a man who was willing to marry you. Who still wants to marry you – if only you’d see sense!’
Concealed by the shelves of fabric, he listened more carefully to the conversation he’d accidentally intruded on.
‘Dad, if you’ve come here to try to persuade me to go back to Tim, you’re wasting your time …’
Jake frowned. Not customers, then, but her parents.
‘… It wasn’t working between us. I’m happier without him.’
‘Nonsense! The two of you have been friends since you were knee high.’
‘No.’ She sighed. ‘You’ve been friends with his parents, so we were obliged to spend time together – that’s not the same thing.’
She was speaking quietly and patiently, but her father’s voice was only getting louder and more irate.
‘Tim’s a decent chap with an excellent position and even better prospects. Only a fool would walk away!’
Jake peered around a corner and saw that the vivid colour in the man’s cheeks contrasted sharply with the green of his tweed jacket. Beside him, a slim woman with silver hair was biting her lip.
‘Dad – please keep your voice down! What if a customer comes in?’
Evie reached for the end of her long plait and wound it around her fingers. Jake recognised the nervous habit from when they’d been snowed in together.
‘Customers?’ the man sneered. ‘You’re hardly rushed off your feet. The place is deserted. And when you do get someone coming in to buy, you give away your stock for free!’
‘I gave her a piece of ribbon, that’s all. She had already bought a piece of fabric!’
‘It’s no wonder you’re not making any money.’
‘Which is why we’re here, Evie,’ said the woman. ‘Darling, you know we worry about you. Please reconsider – before it’s too late and Tim finds somebody else.’
‘Has he put you up to this?’
‘No of course—’ her mother began.
‘Well, he—’ her father said simultaneously.
There was a pause. Then her father said, ‘His parents came to see us. Asked us to talk some sense into you. He’s distraught. Says you got hold of the wrong end of the stick and overreacted.’
Evie sighed. ‘I knew it.’
‘He won’t wait for ever,’ her father continued.
‘Good. Maybe he’ll stop harassing me. He doesn’t seem to understand the word no.’
‘He’s waiting for you to finally see reason.’
‘Dad, I don’t want anything more to do with Tim. I’m sorry if that’s difficult for you to—’
‘Difficult is an understatement, my girl. Do you have any idea how strained this has made our relations with his family?’
‘I’m genuinely sorry for that. But I’ve made up my mind. I’m not going to marry someone because it’s convenient for you or his parents.’
‘Evie, please—’ the woman began, but was immediately interrupted.
‘You’re living in La-la Land!’ said the man. ‘Leaving Tim to come here and set up shop in the middle of nowhere, selling things no one wants to buy. You played games of make-believe when you were a child, but you’re twenty-eight now, Evelyn – it’s time to grow up!’
Jake frowned. He stepped forward to make his presence known, but none of them noticed. Evie was blinking hard. She seemed deflated. Defeated. And it was so unexpected that Jake felt a stirring of concern. Where was the fight in her? The woman he’d met at the Old Hall had been fiery and defiant. Now she looked like a little girl lost. She wore a bright green dress with striped sleeves that appeared to have been cut off a jumper and sewn on, but the colourful outfit only emphasised how pale her cheeks were. Her hazel eyes shimmered in the shop lighting.
‘You’ve spent enough time – and money – on this place. Enough is enough!’ Her father picked up a square of folded fabric and slapped it down on the table. ‘Do you think I don’t know how much you borrowed from the bank? This shop of yours has failed. It’s time you faced up to reality and recognised that!’
Jake cleared his throat and stepped forward. All three whipped round and stared at him, clearly startled to see him there.
‘Jake!’ whispered Evie, and her horrified tone matched the look in her eyes.
‘Evie,’ he responded, with a nod, then asked mildly, ‘How long has your shop been open?’
‘September, so – er – three months.’ Her cheeks flushed a pretty shade of raspberry.
He turned and addressed her father. ‘It takes more than three months for a business of this kind to get off the ground. Your criticism is unreasonably harsh and premature.’
Silence ricocheted around the shop. One of the giant buttons spun slowly to the right, then back again. Jake got the feeling that this couple, with their tailored tweed and heirloom wristwatches, were not used to meeting with opposition. Tough luck.
Jake had always been a sucker for siding with the underdog.
‘Who are you?’ the man demanded to know.
‘M–Mr Hartwood is a client,’ said Evie.
Her father lifted his chin and swept an assessing gaze over Jake. ‘Of course, we expected things to be slow at first, but this place is quiet as a morgue. She’ll be bankrupt by spring.’ He looked at Evie. ‘You’re not even covering your costs. No one wants to buy those – those things!’ He gestured to the quilt hanging behind her. Below it was a neat price label displaying a three-figure sum. ‘Especially at that price!’
‘It’s a handmade quilt!’ Evie said indignantly. ‘And the price reflects that.’
‘It’s overpriced. People won’t pay that!’
Evie looked stricken. She tried to keep her chin up, but Jake could see the sheen in her eyes. Where was her fire, her gusto?
‘But everyone needs curtains,’ Jake said smoothly.
This seemed to catch her father on the back foot. A sharp frown cut through his brow.
‘You sell curtains?’ he asked his daughter.
‘I make and sell them.’
‘She made mine,’ said Jake. ‘I can vouch that they’re excellent quality. Far superior to anything off the shelf and, of course, tailor-made to my specifications.’
The man’s eyes widened. His mouth worked, but he seemed momentarily lost for words.
Evie stared at Jake, astonished.
‘Well, one pair of curtains isn’t enough to clear your debts,’ her father continued. ‘It’s time you put an end to this dreaming and got yourself a real job.’
‘Dad,’ she said, and moved towards the shop door, ‘this is my job now, and I have customers to see to. It’s very kind of you both to visit, but this isn’t a convenient time for me. I – I’ll call you.’ The bell on the door jingled as she opened it and waited.
Jake silently commended her for quietly asserting herself and recovering control of the situation.
The couple grumbled, but moved to leave, and Jake could see the relief on Evie’s face when they finally stepped outside and she was able to shut the door behind them. The bell jingled one last time, and she let out a long breath. ‘Thank you,’ she said quietly.
Jake shrugged. ‘What for?’
‘Vouching for my curtain-making service and …’ her eyes still gleamed, but then she blinked and the vulnerable shine in them disappeared ‘… and standing up for me.’
‘I only spoke the truth.’
She stared through the glass door at the street outside. ‘Oh, God, that was just awful! I’m so embarrassed you heard that conversation!’ Colour bloomed in her cheeks.
‘They’re your parents, I take it?’
She nodded. ‘Dad can be … a little overbearing sometimes.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘A little?’
She laughed nervously. ‘They have very clear ideas about how I should lead my life
, and I – I only disappoint them. Repeatedly.’ She looked down at the floor but not before he’d glimpsed the sorrow in her eyes.
‘Do you? Or do they make unreasonable demands of you?’ Her head lifted and she blinked at him in surprise. ‘I mean, it’s a bit archaic to choose your daughter’s husband for her, don’t you think?’
She laughed. ‘I suppose. But they also disapproved of my decision to leave my old job and open this shop.’ She sighed. ‘And they’re right about the money side of things. I’m up to my eyeballs in debt, and the way things are going, I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to repay it.’
‘The curtains and quilts you’re making for my place, won’t they be enough to tide you over?’
‘Yes! They will – they are. And I’m very grateful for the work.’ She straightened a bolt of fabric. ‘But when I’ve finished working for you, I need to know that I’ll still be able to pay the rent. The curtain-making was supposed to be a temporary thing while the shop got up and running. I really need this place to start turning a profit.’
Jake looked around him. She’d decorated the shop with eye-catching displays, but he could see it was a specialist shop. After all, who sewed, these days?
‘To be honest, I’m not sure I’m cut out for this. Dad’s right – I can’t afford to be giving out freebies to customers like I did earlier.’
‘How much did that freebie cost?’
‘A piece of ribbon? About two pounds.’
‘I’d say that was two pounds well spent. The customer will remember, and she’ll want to come back to this shop next time she needs fabric. She’ll also tell her friends what a friendly shopkeeper you are, helpful and generous.’
Her cheeks flushed the colour of a fruity rosé. ‘Well I never!’ she said.
‘What?’
She grinned. ‘Mr Arctic paying me a compliment.’
‘Giving you business advice,’ he corrected. Warning bells sounded in his head. Her shop and her problems were nothing to do with him. He should keep well out of this. Hand over her notebook and leave.
Yet his feet remained firmly rooted to the spot.
‘How does your father know your bank manager? I’d have thought that information about your loan would be confidential – unless your father was involved in helping you get set up.’
‘Oh, Dad wasn’t involved,’ she said quickly. ‘I used my savings as a deposit and arranged the loan myself. But he plays golf with the bank manager. Dad prides himself on having lots of … connections like that.’ She sighed. ‘I think the bank manager has lost faith in me and realised I don’t have what it takes to do this. Turns out I’m no good with the accounts and the business side of things. I love sewing – and helping people sew – but that alone isn’t enough to make my shop profitable.’ Her gaze fleetingly met his before she admitted, ‘I’m afraid that if the shop goes bankrupt I’ll have to go back to London and a job I hated. Or, worse, back home to live with my parents.’ She shuddered at the thought and strands of hair fell over her face as she looked at her feet, downcast.
Her openness surprised him, her air of vulnerability, too. He felt a curious and unfamiliar impulse to step forward rather than back off, as was his habit. ‘If you expect to fail, you will undoubtedly fail,’ he warned softly.
Her dimples flashed. ‘Thanks. That’s just what I needed to hear. Words of hope and optimism!’ She crossed the shop back to the counter and tidied up the bundles of fabric which her father had disturbed. He followed and watched as she stacked them in the basket and fanned them out in a pretty display. Her fingers moved quickly and deftly.
‘The reverse side of it is that if you believe it can work it most likely will.’
‘I like that much better.’ She smiled, though only fleetingly. ‘But Dad’s right – I can’t do this. I was stupid to believe I could.’
He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He’d had her down as an eternal optimist.
Then again, he’d heard her parents speaking to her. They were so critical, they’d have sapped anyone’s confidence. Even Pollyanna’s.
‘Why did you open this shop?’ he asked.
‘Because I love sewing.’
‘Why? What do you love about it?’
‘Is that a trick question?’
‘Not at all. I can’t see the appeal. I want to know.’
‘Come with me,’ she said, and led him into the back room. ‘It’s easier if I show you.’
On the large square table in the centre of the room there was a sewing machine and what looked like half-made curtains. Evie walked past and stopped beside a side table on which were laid out dozens of fabric hexagons. ‘See the colours?’ she said, scooping up all the crimson pieces and pointing to the remaining shades. ‘See how the chocolate brown is the main anchor? Then the creams add contrast and warmth? And this beige and brown check bridges the gap between the light and the dark …’
He looked blankly from the fabric to her. She continued regardless and replaced the red hexagons: ‘And finally the red adds a burst of colour which brings all the rest to life.’ She stood back with a satisfied smile that lit her eyes.
‘That’s what you enjoy?’ Her passion was obvious, but he didn’t get it at all.
‘Yes! Putting colours and patterns together. Each combination is unique. It’s a bit like painting, I suppose. And then there’s the sewing. Not so much making curtains, but the quilt-making. There’s nothing more relaxing or satisfying than hand-stitching. But you have to try it to understand.’
‘Show me.’
‘Really?’
He nodded.
‘Okay.’ She grinned, as delighted as a child on Christmas morning, and picked up a couple of hexagons, then a needle and thread. ‘Have you done this before?’
‘Never.’
‘You line them up back to back like this, and stitch. Tiny little stitches – look.’ She leaned in closer to show him. The needle darted over and through the fabric – so fast he could barely see it. Her fingers were nimble and precise, and reflections of light bounced off her thimble. Within a few seconds she had stitched the two pieces together and unfolded them for him to see the reverse side. Her stitches were barely visible, a row of tiny neat lines. ‘Here, you try it.’
He did it to humour her, but his effort looked ragged and clumsy. ‘I never was much good at sutures,’ he muttered.
‘Try to keep the space between the stitches the same,’ she encouraged.
He concentrated hard, but accidentally stabbed himself with the needle. He cursed. ‘And you enjoy this?’ he asked, sucking the blood from his finger.
Her laughter was like the tinkling of a bell. ‘When you get the hang of it it’s wonderful. And I’m not the only one to think so. At my workshops people often tell me how much they’ve enjoyed it – especially those with desk jobs. There’s something about working with your hands and being creative that’s incredibly satisfying.’
‘I’ll have to take your word for it.’ He handed back the hexagons. ‘So, you make curtains because you need the money, but you’d rather be making quilts?’
She nodded. ‘And serving customers. I love helping people choose colours or chatting to them about their sewing projects.’
‘Yes, I can imagine you’d be good at chatting,’ he said drily.
Her cheeks bloomed with colour and she smiled. Her bashfulness was curiously endearing.
‘If the shop is what you love most, why don’t you focus on that?’
‘I have – I do. But it’s always so quiet and the few customers I have only come in for the odd reel of thread. She gave a sad little laugh. ‘Tim – my ex – predicted that my shop wouldn’t last six months. It’s beginning to look like he was right.’
‘You’re a talented seamstress and you enjoy helping others. There’s no reason why your shop shouldn’t succeed. Have you asked yourself how you can attract more customers? How much advertising have you done? Have you really tried everything to make it succeed?’
&n
bsp; ‘Well, not everything … I’ve been so busy making curtains, it’s difficult to concentrate on the shop too.’
‘Maybe think outside the box. Something tells me you’ll be good at doing that.’ His gaze dropped to her multi-coloured striped cuffs. ‘You need to believe in yourself. Invest one hundred per cent in making your business succeed. Otherwise, with half-measures, things will continue as they are now.’
‘Believe in myself?’ she repeated.
He nodded.
A strange look crossed her features. Then she stilled, as if something had just occurred to her. ‘What brought you here?’
He’d completely forgotten about the notebook. He reached inside his coat. ‘You left this at my place. I thought you might need it.’
‘I’ve been looking everywhere for that! Thank you! But you shouldn’t have gone out of your way. If you’d called, I would have picked it up.’
‘I didn’t have your number to hand, and it was just as easy to drop by. I was passing anyway.’
She picked up a business card from a pile beside the till and scribbled something on the back. ‘Here’s my mobile number – in case you need to get hold of me again.’
‘Thanks, but I hope you’re not going to make a habit of leaving things in my bedroom.’
‘Of course not! That’s not what I meant …’
He gave her a wry smile and held up the card. ‘Any time I have a sewing emergency, I know who to call.’
She smiled, and her eyes glistened under the shop lights. ‘Actually, while you’re here would you like to choose any fabrics for the quilts I’m going to be making for you?’
He recoiled at the idea. ‘No.’
‘You’re really not interested at all?’
‘I’m sure you’re perfectly capable.’
‘What if you hate what I choose?’
‘I won’t.’
‘What if you do?’
He shrugged. It didn’t matter one jot to him. He’d only ordered them to help because she’d said she had cash-flow problems. And because he was still haunted with guilt about the night of the snowstorm?
The Christmas Holiday: The perfect heart-warming read full of festive magic Page 7