Christmas at the Castle

by Jenny Kane

  Christmas at the Castle

  A Seasonal Short Story

  Jenny Kane

  Christmas at the Castle is a seasonal treat from Jenny Kane, featuring much-loved characters from her bestselling novel Another Cup of Coffee.

  When hotshot businesswoman Alice Warren is asked to organise a literary festival at beautiful Crathes Castle in Scotland, her ‘work mode’ persona means she can’t say no – even though the person asking is her ex, Cameron Hunter.

  Alice broke Cameron’s heart and feels she owes him one – but her best friend Charlie isn’t going to like it. Charlie – aka famous author Erin Spence – is happy to help Alice with the festival … until she finds out that Cameron’s involved! Charlie suffered a bad case of unrequited love for Cameron, and she can’t bear the thought of seeing him again.

  Caught between her own insecurities and loyalty to her friend, Charlie gets fellow author Kit Lambert to take her place. Agreeing to leave her London comfort zone – and her favourite corner in Pickwicks Café – Kit steps in. She quickly finds herself not just helping out, but hosting a major literary event, while also trying to play fairy godmother – a task which quickly gets very complicated indeed…

  With love to Kerstin Muggeridge, Susie Griggs, and everyone who supports literary festivals everywhere.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Epilogue

  Other titles by Jenny Kane

  Chapter One

  Friday November 13th

  Poking her head around the door of the Gift Shop Café, Charlie gave a sigh of relief. She’d managed to arrive before Alice.

  Selecting their usual table by the window, Charlie smiled. Just for once it was nice not to have Alice, already comfortably settled and looking perfect, watching serenely as she battled her scarf. Somehow it always managed to knot itself clumsily around Charlie’s neck, playfully encouraged by her hair, which permanently looked windblown anyway.

  Hoping this was a good omen for the discussion to come, Charlie waved a greeting to the waitress, Mel.

  ‘Hi, Erin. Alice isn’t here yet.’ Mel put a large coffee on Charlie’s table, ‘I’ll bring her that weird latte concoction she likes when she arrives.’

  About half of the people in Banchory knew Charlie as Erin. Ever since she’d had her first book published under the name of Erin Spence five years ago, the local papers had made a feature of her work, and Charlie lived happily with her dual personality.

  As she watched the world go by through the window, Charlie’s usual habit of filtering future plotlines through the back of her mind was replaced with wondering how to persuade Alice that they needed more people to help organise Crathes Castle’s first ever literary festival. So far it was just the two of them, and they were drowning in the number of tasks involved with making it a success rather than an embarrassing flop.

  Charlie hadn’t finished rehearsing her pleas for more helpers in her head when Alice arrived.

  Waving to Mel that she needed a drink fast (the concoction that Charlie always thought of as pseudo-coffee, which consisted of a decaf coffee, soya milk, and low-sugar caramel latte syrup), Alice sat down regally and swung her long, slim, tight black denim-covered legs elegantly under the table, before pushing her designer glasses off her eyes and up into her hair, neatly pinning it away from her face. If Charlie had tried to do that without the aid of a mirror she knew there would have been tufts of her long, bouncy red ringlets sticking out at all angles.

  A businesswoman through and through, Alice got straight to the point. ‘Charlie, sweetie, I know you don’t like working with other people much, but if we don’t get more help soon this festival is going to be the biggest disaster of my career.’ Without giving her stunned friend time to comment, Alice went on, ‘It’s November 13th already. Our Christmas at the Castle Literary Festival is in exactly three weeks and we need another person to help us.’

  Charlie was taken aback. Even when they’d been at university together, Alice had been an expert at eliciting assistance from people without them even realising that she was getting them to do what she wanted. Never before had Charlie heard her admit she needed help. Studying her friend more carefully, Charlie noticed that there were dark shadows under Alice’s eyes.

  ‘Actually, I was going to suggest that myself.’ Glad that Alice had seen sense, and that her rehearsed plea for more assistance would not be required, Charlie was still surprised by the decision, and more than a little intrigued. ‘You’ve organised literary festivals before. You travelled to London last year to do one all by yourself.’

  With a ladylike sip of her latte, Alice agreed. ‘I know. I was born to be a one-woman band. I operate better that way – but this is proving to be a nightmare. When I did the event in London, everything was convenient. Loads of authors live there and there’s a potential audience on tap. Public transport is good, so if people from the other side of the city want to be there, they can be. Up here – honestly! I thought I was doing something good for the area but all I get is obstacles.’

  Glancing around the café, hoping that no one local had heard and taken offence at Alice’s complaint, Charlie asked the question which had been nagging in the back of her mind for a while. ‘What made you want to do a festival here anyway? I never understood why you picked Banchory and not Edinburgh, seeing as you live there now.’

  ‘Literary festivals are the in-thing right now. I wanted to see if a small tourist community could sustain one.’

  Alice’s answer had come out far too fast, and Charlie suddenly felt suspicious. ‘But there are loads of literary festivals in small towns and villages these days. I was at a really good one in Tiverton, in Devon, only a few months ago.’

  Alice stirred her coffee. ‘OK, I should have said in Scotland.’

  Charlie was convinced her friend was lying, but she wasn’t sure why. ‘Loads of Scottish towns have festivals. Come on, Alice, why here?’

  ‘It’s a beautiful place. More people should see it; although I grant you the festival is three miles away at the castle, so not everyone will come into the town itself.’

  ‘I can’t argue with the knock-out location argument,’ Charlie said, ‘but why really? Please don’t do the mysterious hot-shot businesswoman bit with me Alice..’

  Not looking at her companion, Alice reached into her designer bag and pulled out a notebook and matching pen, and mumbled, ‘Cameron asked me to.’

  Charlie’s cheeks instantly went red. ‘Cameron Hunter? He doesn’t live here anymore. I thought you guys were a thing of the past?’

  ‘We are. But I owe him. He asked me for help. He’s working up at Crathes Castle, running the estate management team. Tasked with bringing in new events to improve the out-of-season tourist figures.’

  Speaking slowly, as if trying to get her head around a difficult sum, Charlie said, ‘Cameron Hunter is back? Cameron who treats me as though I’m invisible?’

  Alice rolled her eyes. ‘He never thought you were invisible! Honestly, Charlie, I can’t believe you’re still going on about that. I thought you were paranoid at the time, but it was five years ago! And you wouldn’t want him now anyway, would you?’ She studied her friend more shrewdly. ‘Or would you?’

  ‘Not even if he was soak
ed in chocolate, but that is not the point.’ Charlie couldn’t believe Alice had put her in this position. ‘He made me feel small and worthless. I bet if you mentioned me by name to him he wouldn’t know who the hell you were talking about.’ Charlie closed her eyes for a second while she tried to calm the anger that was rapidly tightening in her chest. ‘We used to spend hours chatting while he waited around for you to beautify yourself, and yet the second you arrived he acted as though you two were the only people in the world.’

  Alice raised her eyebrows. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, it was never like that. And it’s hardly his fault you got a crush on him.’ Shaking her head as if to dismiss a non-existent problem, like she would at work, Alice said, ‘The thing is, his job at Crathes is currently temporary. Cameron has to secure a profit-making event in the first four months of his job for it to become permanent.’

  Charlie’s palms had gone as clammy as if it was the middle of summer. ‘But we’re holding the festival at the castle.’

  ‘That’s what I’m saying! Cameron couldn’t find anyone willing to run an event at such short notice so close to Christmas. Craft fairs have been done to death and it’s too cold for outdoor theatre. So he came to my company for ideas.’

  ‘The man whose heart you broke. The man you left without a word so you could go and be a big city success?’ Charlie couldn’t get her head straight. ‘Why didn’t you tell me he was here, or that it was his festival I was helping plan?’

  Sensing that she might have pushed Charlie’s good nature too far, Alice said, ‘Because you’re my friend. You’re helping me, not Cameron. I need you, sweetie. My reputation is on the line. I promised I’d make this one hell of an event.’

  Seeing the thunderous expression on the normally calm Charlie’s face, Alice realised she was close to losing the help of the person she’d been depending on most. ‘Please, Charlie! I’ve secured a top line-up of authors and no one wants to see them!’

  Speaking through gritted teeth, Charlie said, ‘You mean I’ve secured you a top line-up of authors.’

  ‘Yes, well, same thing,’ Alice flipped open her notebook. ‘But despite that, this festival isn’t getting any local interest.’

  Keeping quiet her thought that things not going to plan for once could do Alice a lot of good, Charlie had to agree that even though the posters displayed all over town proclaimed a line-up of bestselling authors that would be the envy of many established festivals, the situation was far from rosy.

  There were eight main events, but not one ticket had been sold. The website for the festival was up and running, but no one had visited it yet. The Facebook and Twitter pages were in full working order, but the number of followers was lacklustre to say the least. People obviously had more important things to spend their money on so near to Christmas.

  Forgetting her determination not to let her hair do its unruly impression of a haystack, Charlie ran a hand through its curls and let out a strangled cry of frustration as she got to her feet.

  ‘You’re right, you do need help.’ Charlie grabbed her bag and scarf. ‘I’m glad you’ve finally worked out you can’t always be a one-woman band. In a small town, you need lots of volunteers to run something like this. You also need to learn how to ask nicely for that help, rather than assuming one flutter of your eyelashes will do the trick.

  ‘Obviously, I won’t be helping any more. You knew that I wouldn’t be able to once I learned Cameron was involved, which is presumable why you didn’t tell me before.’ Without pausing, Charlie leant across the table and whispered, ‘You let me watch while you took what you wanted from Cameron, knowing I liked him more than you did, and then, once he’d fallen for you hook, line, and sinker, you disappeared and dumped him by text. I made a total fool of myself trying to comfort him. The relief I felt when he left was huge, and yet, fool that I am, I still missed seeing him around. The only good thing I ever got from Cameron was the plot to The Love-Blind Boy!’

  Catching her breath, gratified by the shocked expression on Alice’s face, Charlie added, ‘As it happens, I don’t want this festival to fail. Too many hardworking authors are travelling a long way to come here.’ She scribbled two names onto a paper napkin. ‘These people might help, if you’re nice to them.’

  Slamming the napkin onto the table, Charlie gathered her coat into her arms and walked away, leaving a stunned Alice staring after her.

  Chapter Two

  Friday November 13th

  Kit Lambert’s stomach was doing backflips as she read an email from the organiser of the literary festival she was due to attend next month.

  It was going to be Kit’s very first literary festival, and the idea of standing up and talking about her work in front of other people had already been giving her nightmares – but now she was being asked to help run the event as well!

  Sitting in her usual corner of Pickwicks Coffee House in Richmond, Kit waved across to Peggy, the owner. Recognising the signal from her most regular customer as a desperate need for more coffee, Peggy scooped the percolator jug off the machine.

  ‘Massive top-up of caffeine, madam?’

  ‘Extra massive, with a few coffee beans to chew on the side, please!’

  Peggy, who’d been witness to her friend’s writing process for years, as Kit usually penned her novels at Pickwicks, smiled. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘You know that literary festival I’ve been persuaded to go to?’

  ‘The one in Scotland?’

  ‘The very same. My writer friend Erin – well, I say friend, we’ve never actually met. We chat on Facebook and stuff, share the same publisher, and …’

  Knowing her time could be cut short at any second by the arrival of another Christmas shopper eager for refreshment, Peggy held her hand up to stop Kit mid-flow. ‘I get it. Erin, the writer friend you’ve talked about?’

  ‘Yes, well, she’s had to pull out of helping run the festival and has recommended me to her fellow organiser, Alice Warren, as a replacement!’

  Peggy clapped her hands together in excitement, ‘That’s fantastic! Go for it. Can you imagine how good that will look on your writer’s CV?’

  Taking a comforting draught from her giant coffee cup, Kit felt her insides clench with anxiety, ‘I’ve never organised anything in my life!’

  ‘Of course you have! You helped organise the auction we did here.’

  ‘I only helped out a bit. I hardly did a thing.’

  ‘But surely they’ll only want you to help a bit? And what a gorgeous place to get new ideas and fresh inspiration. A Scottish castle! When is the festival again?’

  ‘Fourth until the seventh of December. My bit, the romance writer’s panel, is on the seventh.’

  ‘Well, there you go then. Most of the arrangements will have been made by now. You’ll just be there for last-minute stuff. It’ll be an adventure. What does your lovely husband think?’

  ‘I haven’t told Phil yet. The email only just came through.’

  ‘I bet he’ll say go for it –’ Peggy was about to say more when a group of bag-laden shoppers came in and she waved her friend a hasty temporary goodbye.

  Kit stared at her computer screen. She’d thought Erin was nuts to get involved in running a literary festival so close to Christmas, especially when she was doing so well with her books and their publisher was snapping at her heels to deliver an extra novel before the following spring. Somehow, though, that didn’t seem enough of a reason for Erin to duck out for the festival. Perhaps, Kit thought to herself, I don’t know her as well as I thought I did.

  It had been a long time since Kit had been faced with a new challenge. It could be fun. Perhaps she should agree to help – but only online, from home. After all, the north-east of Scotland was quite literally another country, with different money and accents that Kit loved but didn’t always understand. Plus, she had a family; she couldn’t just take off, even if she wanted to.

  ‘Are you mad? Of course you should do it!’ Phil topped up Kit’s glass of
wine, and pushed it across to her side of the kitchen table as they shared a late supper.

  ‘But …’

  Used to his wife’s lack of faith in her own abilities, Phil stopped Kit before she could list all the excuses that were about to leave her lips.

  ‘It’s the perfect time for you to do this. You finished your latest book yesterday, and decided not to start a new one until after Christmas so you could travel up to Banchory to do this romance panel anyway. But let’s face facts, love; you’re a workaholic, and any minute now you’ll be getting itchy fingers and want to start a new book. Even two days off work will drive you mad. So do this festival thing instead. Be busy before “no novel” syndrome kicks in! Like you said, it can probably all be done from down here anyway.’

  Blowing Phil a kiss across the table, Kit said, ‘I’ll email this Alice after supper. Although I’m not sure I’m going to like her. She came across as one of those frighteningly efficient women that scare the hell out of me.’

  ‘Oh my God!’ Kit almost spilled her coffee as, back at her work station in Pickwicks the following morning, she read the reply from Alice, which must have been shot back the moment Kit’s email landed in her inbox.

  Peggy delivered a piping hot, thickly buttered cheese scone to Kit’s table, ‘What’s new on the Scotland front?’

  Kit grimaced towards the computer. ‘Last night I told that Alice woman that I’d help with the festival from down here via the internet. I've been sent a to-do list that would make your hair curl!’

  ‘Not my hair, hun!’ Peggy flipped her poker-straight black ponytail over her shoulder. ‘What’s she asked you to do?’

  ‘Plenty! I’m not sure I want to do it anymore.’

  ‘Why ever not?’

  ‘Because she hasn’t asked me to do anything. She’s told me what to do, though.’ Kit swivelled the screen around for Peggy to see. ‘Do you see a single please or thank you?’

  Peggy shrugged sadly. ‘What do you know about her? I’m guessing youngish, executive, go-getting, frequent gym-goer, blonde, successful, and has spent her whole life being popular.’