Christmas With the Laird

by Scarlet Wilson

  Juliette gave a silent nod, knelt on the floor and started assembling a few of the boxes. Having her here gave him strength, which was a strange thing for a burly Scotsman to admit.

  He pulled open a drawer on the dresser and sighed when he looked at the clothes. He had no idea his mother had kept all Douglas’s perfectly folded clothes. Relics. He might keep a few personal things. He might even keep the dressing gown. But it was time to make a start.

  He started handing some of the items down to her. He couldn’t help but keep talking. For him it was therapeutic, almost as if this would help him through. “You hated this t-shirt, didn’t you? And I bet Mum didn’t know you’d taken the knee out of your Sunday-best trousers, did she? But I did.”

  He picked up the books and paused, gesturing towards a different box. “I’m keeping these. I’m hoping that some day in the future I’ll have kids that will want to read these stories. Kids that I’ll be able to tell about their Uncle Douglas and how he hid an action man in the oven during hide and seek and set fire to the oven. Or, that he tried to loop a rope around the chandelier and swing from it.”

  “I think that’s a wonderful idea, Andrew.” She pointed to the picture on the top of the wardrobe. “I think you should keep that too. I think,” she hesitated for the tiniest second, “kids would love to hear stories about their mischievous uncle.”

  Had she been about to say ‘your kids’ or maybe something else? Our kids?

  He paused for a second. For the tiniest instant he felt the room cool. Crazy, just his imagination. Juliette’s head rose. Their eyes met. She’d felt it too.

  He’d checked the infrared cameras. There hadn’t even been a flicker on them last night. Just as he’d always known. So what on earth was it? He gave himself a shake.

  “Let’s do the cupboards now.”

  Juliette nodded and put some boxes on the bed, slowly and methodically folding every item of clothing he handed her. Then she assembled a few more for the rest of Douglas’s toys. A train set was packed up and kept. Everything else wasn’t really salvageable. Wasn’t really worth keeping.

  “Andrew?”

  He turned to her voice. She had a few boxes in a pile in her arms. “Where would you like me to put these?”

  It felt like the ultimate question. But the heavy black cloud had lifted from his shoulders – had lifted from this room. The answer was easier than he could ever have imagined. “Put them by the front door.” He stepped closer and brushed a bit of hair behind her ear, bending down and leaving a gentle kiss on her cheek. “Thank you for helping me do this, Juliette.”

  There was a sheen in her eyes. But she didn’t look sad. “That’s what friends are for,” she whispered. “I’ll give you a few minutes. I think I might go back to bed. We’ve got a big day today – lots of cooking. Take your time.”

  She disappeared out the door and he heard her soft footsteps pad down the corridor. She’d supported him. She’d listened. And now she was giving him that little bit of space that he needed. He really couldn’t have asked for more.

  He turned and looked around the room one more time. It looked different already. The last thing hanging on the door hook was the dressing gown. He reached out and gathered it in his hands, letting the warm, soft feeling flood around his palms.

  “About the ring. Thank you. I had no idea where that was. I thought Mum had lost it. She’s still here – still alive.” He shook his head, “But you’ll know that, I guess. It’s just, she’s not here anymore. She still thinks you’re alive. She still thinks Dad’s alive. It makes her happy, so I don’t tell her any different.” He pushed his hand into his jeans pocket and pulled out the ring. “I hope – someday in the future and when the timing is right – I’ll give this to someone. Someone that I know Mum would like.” He looked around and smiled. “Someone who I hope will help bring some life back into Garnock Hall.” He walked to the door as the light flickered.

  Christmas Day this year would be the start of new memories. It would be a celebration of all the Christmases before. Garnock Hall should be a happy place, not sad. Not remembered because of ghosts.

  He walked over to the window and closed it properly, finding a towel to soak up the snow on the ledge. When he walked out of the room he left the door open. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to do with Douglas’s room. Part of him wanted to leave it. Another part wanted to change it and move on. He could decide later. He had Christmas to sort out. And a woman to convince that she’d found a place in his heart. It was strange. The place felt a little warmer already.

  For a second he hesitated, before shaking his head as he took one last look and picked up the remaining boxes. “Wish me luck, Doug.”

  Chapter Ten

  ‡

  She’d never had problems deciding what to wear on Christmas morning before. Usually she just grabbed whatever came to her first.

  But the entire contents of her bag were currently spread over her bed. Nothing seemed right. Not the suit she’d worn last night. Not the jeans she’d had on the other day. She did have a black dress but that was hardly suitable for first thing in the morning. She had a red fluffy jumper, but right now it looked as if she’d have to wear it on its own. She kept rummaging through the bag – there had to be something?

  Her hand caught something soft. A pair of black leggings she’d missed. They would have to do. Two minutes later she was dressed. Her hand hesitated at the door handle. “It’s one day. You can get through it,” she muttered to herself.

  Andrew had seemed more at peace in the middle of the night – if a little melancholy. She hoped at some point today he might even smile.

  She was still fretting over the fact he hadn’t kissed her. It stung. Was she really that unattractive? She was sure she’d felt a pull between them – something in the air. But it was obviously just in her imagination. Because at best, he seemed distracted.

  She yanked open the door. There was a smell drifting down the corridor towards her. A smell of something good.

  It pulled her in like the Pied Piper of Hamelin had enticed the children with his music. Her nose led the way directly to the kitchen.

  She stood in the doorway for a few seconds. Andrew was busy buttering rolls and pouring tea. Something on the grill smelled great, as did a pot bubbling on the stove. Curiosity was killing her. She walked over to take a look.

  “You made soup? Already?”

  Andrew spun around. “Oh, Juliette. You’re up.” He paused for a second then stepped forward and brushed a kiss on her cheek. “Merry Christmas.”

  The moment was over in an instant. So unexpected she wasn’t even sure it had actually happened. Was this the same guy from last night?

  He pulled out the grill plate and picked out squares to put in the rolls. She wrinkled her nose. “Is this the square sausage? What did you call it – slice?”

  He smiled. There was something different about him this morning. He seemed much more relaxed than before. Chilled even. With a determined edge about him.

  He handed her a mug of tea and the roll with the square sausage. “Ketchup or brown sauce?”

  She sat down at the kitchen table and opened her roll to look at the sausage again. “Ketchup. I think.”

  He handed her the ketchup and sat across from her, watching as she took her first bite. The effect was instant – pure and utter pleasure.

  “Do you like it?” he queried.

  “Hmm, it’s better than I thought. It’s actually quite nice. Where do you get this stuff?”

  “At any butcher’s in Scotland. Can’t get it anywhere else in the world for love or money. All the old ex-pats in the US and Australia always want square sausage sent to them. And it doesn’t matter where I go on location. The first thing I eat when I come back to Scotland is a roll and slice.”

  She laughed. “I can’t believe you’re such a traditionalist. You don’t normally seem like that at work.” She licked her lips between bites.

  He raised his eyebrows. “Why?
How am I at work?”

  She took another bite. “You know, grumpy. Or what’s the word you use. Crabbit.”

  She sat back feeling very pleased with herself.

  “Crabbit? Me? Never.” It was the gleam in his eyes and mock horror in his voice that made her laugh again.

  “I’m kidding. People do talk about you though. But it’s your good manners and work ethic they talk about. That, and the fact, you don’t suffer fools gladly. If Lois, the director, ever has a problem she always just sighs and says she’ll leave it to you to sort out.” She took a sip of her tea. “I think she might actually have a secret crush on you.”

  “You do?” His eyes were definitely twinkling now. Such a change from last night. He was teasing her. Flirting with her.

  “Yeah, I think she might.” She stared right at him, almost daring him to respond to her words. “Working on location can be hard. Lots of nights away from home, even the most unusual suspect can start to look handsome.”

  He was so not taken in by her teasing. He just leaned forward across the table. “Unusual suspects, huh? Am I one of those?”

  It was early on Christmas morning. Hardly time for a romantic interlude. But no one else was here. It was just them. Why shouldn’t she flirt with the guy who’d made her pulse race these last few days? Being in his family home had really opened her eyes to Andrew and his life. She could recognise the hurt and the struggle. She could recognise the pressure he’d been under. She couldn’t even begin to understand the sense of loss he must have felt. But she could listen. She could be here.

  This place was starting to get under her skin. The corridors didn’t look quite so dark and ominous anymore. She was getting used to the clangs and squeaks from pipes and radiators. There was so much more here to explore. But would she really get the chance?

  “I think, if you behave yourself, you might make it onto that list.” She stood up to carry her empty plate and mug to the sink. He followed her instantly and she could feel his presence behind her, inches away.

  She started running the hot water and squirted some washing up liquid into the sink, rolling up the sleeves on her jumper.

  “Who else is on that list?” His voice whispered in her ear as his hands appeared around her body, dropping his plate and mug in the sink. But he stayed there. He didn’t move. His body was pressing up against hers.

  “It’s pretty vacant at the moment. I’d consider Bert, from the village. But since he’s really secretly Santa I’ll bet he’s exhausted from last night.”

  She grabbed a scrubbing brush and stuck her hands in the filling sink to find the plates. His hands slid in next to hers.

  “What?” she asked. “Going to get your hands dirty?”

  His hands traced their path from her elbows to her fingers in the warm water, rubbing the bubbles across her skin. His breath warmed the skin around her ear. “I thought this was the whole point – get my hands clean instead of dirty.” He interlocked his fingers with hers, so they picked up the plate in unison and rinsed it under the tap. “I was busy this morning. Lentil soup doesn’t make itself.”

  The smell from the soup pot caught her attention. It was so good. At least they’d have one edible thing to eat later. She nodded. “I’m impressed. You must have been up really early.”

  “I was. I remembered in the middle of the night that we were supposed to soak the lentils beforehand. I think it worked. They were swollen when I looked in the pot this morning.” His hands were still brushing over her skin. “Then I added the ham stock and cut up the carrots, onions, leeks and potatoes.” He reached over and turned off the tap.

  She spun around in his arms, carrying some of the soapy bubbles in her hand. They were almost nose to nose now because he was leaning forward. “Who’s been a busy boy then?” She reached up and smeared the bubbles across the tip of his nose.

  His face screwed up and nose wrinkled. For a second she thought he was going to sneeze. But instead he just dipped his head onto her red fluffy jumper and brushed the bubbles off. “You’re playing unfair. I’ve made the soup. It’s your turn to do the turkey. It takes hours to cook. You better get started.”

  He was smiling as he said the words. His hands still on either side of her. She didn’t want him to move. She lifted her hands and placed them on his chest. She was nervous. All the signs were that he was flirting. Surely, she wasn’t so stupid to misinterpret? But he hadn’t kissed her the other night when he had the chance.

  She didn’t want to be a convenient interlude for Andrew Campbell. She wanted him to be attracted to her, as much as she was to him. She wanted him to be thinking about her, as much as she was about him.

  “Maybe we should just make do with the lentil soup, it smells good enough already.”

  He leaned forward and she held her breath as his whole body pressed up against hers. She could feel every muscle, every ridge. And everything else too. It was almost a relief. She couldn’t help the smile that appeared on her face.

  “I want to give you a proper Christmas dinner, Juliette. I want Christmas at Garnock Hall to be something you remember.” His words were dancing across her skin at the bottom of her neck. She inched closer, willing his lips to come in contact with her skin.

  She wanted Christmas at Garnock Hall to be something to remember too.

  One hand reached up and tangled in her hair. “How about we try and make this a nice Christmas for us both. You didn’t expect to be here – neither did I. Neither of us were prepared for this.” His eyes were serious, the flirtation was temporarily gone, but his body was still letting her know how attracted he was to her. “I don’t have any presents for you. I’m a poor host. Let me think about how I can make it up to you.”

  Those delicious words sent tingles all over her skin. Oh, she could think of a lot of ways he could make it up to her – and not one them involved presents.

  He pulled back a little and she tried not to show her disappointment – to control her hands that wanted to just reach out and grab him back. His fingers were still wrapped around her hair. “Wanna help me with a turkey, Mr Campbell? You seem to have become quite the celebrity chef.”

  He was grinning. His voice was low. “You haven’t tasted the soup yet. Let’s reserve judgement – for later.”

  There was something about the way he said those words – for later. Her brain could be totally misreading everything but to her, it seemed laden with innuendo. Later.

  This time he did step back, leaving her free to walk over to the counter top where most of the food lay. The turkey was in the old-fashioned larder.

  She turned the switch on the oven and pulled over some of the ingredients. Olive oil, salt, pepper, breadcrumbs, sage, onion and pork mince. How hard could this be?

  She smiled at him. “Okay then Mr Campbell. Let’s see who is going to win the Battle of the Turkey.”

  *

  Overboard. Too full on. Pushing too fast.

  All the things his brain was telling him he was doing.

  Juliette was in a good mood. She hadn’t reacted badly when he’d been a little forward, but she was on the rebound. Why? He had no idea. Rod, her ex, clearly had no brain. Andrew had always thought Rod was punching above his weight in the first place. The fact he’d actually dumped Juliette astounded him. The guy was lucky she’d even looked at him twice.

  But it made him nervous around her. It didn’t matter that all he wanted to do was kiss her. It didn’t matter that all he wanted to do was touch her. He was trying to be mindful of the position she was in. Alone, in Scotland, in a strange house – apparently filled with ghosts – in the middle of nowhere. What woman wouldn’t feel a bit vulnerable?

  And he didn’t want Juliette to feel like that. If Juliette were kissing him, he wanted her to be doing it with a clear head. He wanted her to be doing it because that was what she wanted to do. Not because she was lonely. Not because she was on the rebound. Not because she just wanted some company. And that’s what made this all so hard.
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br />   He needed to talk to her. But he’d never been good at talking.

  Finally dealing with Douglas’s death had clarified that for him. It had only taken him the best part of twenty years to face up to that. How on earth was he going to tell Juliette that the last few days had changed everything?

  If he didn’t concentrate anytime soon he was in danger of chopping his fingers off. She’d delegated the onion and sage chopping to him, while she sprinkled and rubbed some stuff onto the turkey. This might actually be manageable.

  There still seemed to be huge range of things on the worktop that they hadn’t touched yet, but at least they were making some progress.

  Maybe they could make some progress in another direction too?

  *

  Her eyes were stinging from splashing herself with tiny bits of fat every twenty minutes she basted that damn turkey.

  Andrew had merrily peeled and parboiled the potatoes, which were now ready to go in the oven. The carrots were ready. The Brussels sprouts and bacon almost ready. The first lot of bacon had gone up in a pile of black smoke when they’d both forgotten about it. It had taken nearly an hour to clear the smoke from the kitchen by opening doors and throwing windows open wide. With the cold air blasting inwards they might as well have been outside.

  But the cold air wasn’t affecting the buzz of electricity between them. It had been building steadily for the last few hours.

  She slammed the oven door closed just as Andrew appeared in the doorway. She was feeling frazzled, every time she opened the oven door she was hit with a blast of heat. Her mascara had collapsed an hour ago and her hair had gone from curly to frizzy. Andrew looked cool, calm and collected. He’d changed into a pale blue shirt that seemed to bring out the green in his eyes. He didn’t look the slightest bit frazzled.

  “How are we doing?”

  She put her hands on her hips. “Oh, we’re doing fine, thanks.”

  He held up a bottle. “If everything’s fine, can I interest you in a glass of wine while I heat up the soup for us? It’s probably time for us to eat something.”