Christmas Wishes, Mistletoe Kisses

by Fiona Harper

  And he didn’t want to notice these things about her. He didn’t want to know how warm and rich her laugh was, or how tender and gentle she was below the surface. He just wanted to see the surface alone—much in the same way he only saw the rippling surface of the river and never the rocks and currents beneath.

  He would rather remember the bare facts—that her divorce was still raw and fresh, that the last thing he and Jas needed in their lives at the moment was another woman with too much baggage for him to shoulder.

  He’d known that Megan had had ‘issues’ when he’d first met her, but they seemed inconsequential to the situations facing Louise. And she faced them with such dignity and poise…

  There he went again, admiring her when he should be concentrating on other things.

  A flash of movement across the road caused his foot to stamp instantly on the brake. All of the joke-telling and giggling from the back seat stopped.

  ‘It’s okay,’ he said, his heart pounding. ‘Only a rabbit—and he’s away up the hill by now.’

  Jas and Jack returned to their knock-knock jokes and he put the car into gear. He pulled away gently, aware of the slim fingers that had flown to the dashboard and were now curling back into her lap.

  Getting freaked out by a rabbit? What was happening to him? They darted in front of the car all the time and he never usually reacted this way. He pressed his foot on the accelerator, the car picked up speed and soon they were flying down the country lane as if nothing had happened. Ben concentrated on the road and pretended he didn’t know how to answer his own question.

  The other occupants of the car fell into silence and it wasn’t long before he was pulling into the long drive that led to Whitehaven. Louise shifted in her seat, as if she was preparing to dart out of the door as soon as the wheels had stopped turning. Good. If she didn’t feel the need to linger in his presence, that was fine by him.

  ‘Can I have cake when I get in, Mum?’

  Ben stifled a smile as he slowed the car and brought it to a halt outside the front porch. And then his tummy rumbled. It had fond memories of that cake.

  ‘Jack! It’s past your bedtime! Of course you’re not going to have—’

  ‘Cakes!’

  They all turned and looked at Jas, whose eyes were wide and a hand was clamped over her mouth. Then she started to cry. Instantly, he was out of the car and opening the rear passenger door. ‘Jas? What is it?’

  Jas’s lip trembled. ‘C-cakes. My class are doing a tea party for the old people in the village. Mum was going to help me make cakes this weekend, but she went away…’

  Ben tried not to let the irritation show on his face. Megan could waltz off to Timbuktu for all he cared, but when her flaky ways affected Jas it was a different matter entirely.

  ‘I’m supposed to take them in on Tuesday morning or I won’t get any house points!’ Jas wailed. ‘Can you help me, Dad?’

  ‘Um…’There was nothing he’d like more, but he wasn’t sure Jas would be getting any house points for anything he tried to bake—‘tried’ being the operative word.

  ‘I can help.’

  As one, he and Jas swivelled round to look at Louise and stared. Her face was expressionless. Had he really heard that right?

  Ben turned back to Jas. ‘Can’t you do it on your own? I’ll supervise.’

  There was a loud snort from the passenger seat. He ignored it.

  Jas had the end-of-the-world expression on her face that was common to all eleven-year-olds in a crisis. ‘I don’t know. I can never get the beginning bit right when you have to mix the eggs and flour together.’

  ‘Eggs and sugar.’ Louise spoke quietly. In his experience, that tone was deceptive. He just might be in big trouble.

  ‘Yeah, eggs and sugar. That’s what I meant,’ Jas said absently.

  Ben sighed. ‘Can’t we just buy some?’

  Jas shook her head and started to cry again.

  ‘I can help.’ This time Louise’s tone was more insistent.

  ‘Home-made cakes?’

  ‘What do you think you were eating earlier? Scotch mist?’

  Reality dropped away and Ben felt as if he were standing on nothing. ‘You made that cake?’ He could tell by the look on her face that he was probably sabotaging Jas’s only chance—which was a pity. He hadn’t meant his words to come out quite like that, but they’d escaped before his brain had had a chance to give them the once-over.

  Louise glared at him. ‘No, the cake fairies left it on the doorstep.’

  Okay. He’d deserved that.

  Jas, who was wiping her eyes with her coat sleeve, piped up. ‘I thought that if Jack needed cakes for school you’d have just bought them at Harrods.’

  It seemed his daughter had inherited his capacity for opening his mouth only to change feet.

  Louise clamped a hand across her mouth and, just as he was expecting her to flounce out of the car, slamming the door, her eyes sparkled and she let out a raucous laugh.

  Ben was floored. This wasn’t the shy giggle he’d seen earlier; it was a full-bellied chuckle. And it was pretty infectious. When the surprise had worn off, his mouth turned up at the corners and, pretty soon, all four of them were crying with laughter. Louise was clutching on to the door for support and Jack’s titter was so high-pitched it was starting to hurt his ears.

  Still giggling, Louise managed a few words, even though she was a little short of breath. ‘Sometimes…sometimes…when I was really busy…I did get them at Harrods!’ That just set them all off again.

  When they all managed to get back on the right side of sanity he felt as exhausted as if he’d done a cross-country run. Man, it hurt to breathe.

  Louise let out a long happy sigh. Her face was soft and relaxed and her cheeks were flushed. It was just as well there were two children in the back of the car, because he had the stupidest urge to kiss her.

  That sobered him up pretty fast.

  ‘Are you sure? I know you’re really busy. We don’t want to put you out, do we, Jas?’

  Jas didn’t say anything, but pleaded at him with her eyes.

  ‘Busy doing what?’ Louise raised an eyebrow. ‘The house is practically finished. There’s only so much interior decorating a girl can do, you know.’ And then she winked at him—actually winked at him. ‘I’d be happy to help. You gave us a great night out tonight.’

  Ben stuttered. That was the problem. In his mind, tonight had been about making a nice final gesture to ensure that Louise was settled into the neighbourhood before he backed off. How was he going to do that if she was going to be in his kitchen tomorrow?

  After she’d put Jack to bed that night, Louise couldn’t sleep. Didn’t even want to try. It must be the fresh air or something.

  She found herself flopped on one of the big velvet-covered sofas in the drawing room, the remote control in her hand, flicking through endless cable stations searching for something to watch. A fire glowed in the hearth and the lights were low. The rich, deep colours and luxurious textures of the fabrics in here truly had made a large draughty room incredibly cosy.

  Wait a minute…

  She stopped jabbing the button on the remote and went back a few channels. Just as she’d thought—there was old film footage of Laura Hastings, not from one of her movies, but of her getting on a plane. Louise dropped the remote and snuggled back into the over-sized cushions that lined the back of the sofa.

  It was obviously a documentary and, although she’d missed the first twenty minutes, she settled down to watch. Laura had been so beautiful when she was young. Her ice-blonde hair, pale skin and blue eyes looked fabulous in gaudy nineteen-fifties Technicolor.

  She’d had such an interesting life. Two failed marriages—a hint of a scandal. Louise smiled to herself. It all might seem very dashing and glamorous when it was reported like that, but she knew from experience that living through it was just as painful as it was for the rest of the human beings on the planet. Not only did she admire the forme
r owner of Whitehaven, but she identified with her. Had Laura Hastings been happy in the end?

  As she kept watching, she didn’t really get an answer. Laura had lived life to the full, taken every chance offered her. And that was where Louise saw the difference between them. Yes, she’d grabbed at the chance to become a model and marry the man of her dreams—literally. But then, even when things had turned sour, she’d hung on to the empty shell of all her hopes, too scared to let go and trust that things would turn out right in the end.

  Her gaze drifted from the television and she huffed gently and shook her head. She’d been a coward. It had taken Toby carrying on, practically under her nose, to push her into leaving him. She’d been scared that, imperfect as it was, if she let go of her life she’d go into freefall and there’d be no one there to catch her.

  She still felt as if she were falling sometimes.

  A picture of Whitehaven appeared on the screen and Louise sat up. Wow. The footage looked like old black and white cine film. Laura, now middle-aged but still stunning, walking on the lawn in front of the house, staring out across the river.

  Much more of the house was visible. The trees were, of course, shorter but it wasn’t just that. Everything looked a little more…cared for. The garden still had a wild and unusual beauty, but there was a harmony that was missing from it in its present state.

  The house and garden might have been looking lovely, but the voiceover indicated that Laura Hastings’s life had been disintegrating at this point. She’d fallen in love with both the house and her leading man while filming on location at Whitehaven some ten years earlier.

  There had been a torrid affair, but the actor already had a wife and Laura had married someone else on the rebound. Years later, the illicit romance had blossomed into life again and Laura, sure that happiness was finally in her grasp, had divorced her husband and waited for her lover to free himself from his marriage too. The waiting had turned into yearning and the yearning into heartbreak. The love of her life had never followed through.

  A tear trickled down Louise’s cheek and she hugged a pillow to her. Laura Hastings might have made some bad choices along the way, but she couldn’t help admiring her courage.

  The credits rolled. The next thing on was A Summer Affair, the very film set at Whitehaven. It was the story of the young serving girl who’d captured the heart of the wealthy owner’s son. The chemistry on-screen between Laura and her man was sizzling-hot. But, now Louise knew it had ended in a doomed love affair, every touch, every kiss had a bittersweet quality to it.

  She sighed and settled down to watch, a chenille cushion hugged to her chest.

  There was a scene halfway through the film, just as the lovers were starting to act on their feelings for each other, that had been filmed on the balcony of the boathouse. A picnic was set out on a little table with a red and white checked cloth. The sun was shining and shy, heated glances were flying between hero and heroine.

  Louise sighed. That was what love should be like, she mused as she covered her mouth with a hand to stifle a yawn—overly bright and colourful, the sun always shining. The zing of electricity in the air. And the way he looked at her—as if he could see right through her and into her soul. As if he wanted to drown in her. That was what love should be like.

  What a pity it was only like that in corny old movies, she thought, as the hero pulled the heroine into the shadowy interior of the boathouse and wrapped her in his arms.

  CHAPTER SIX

  LOUISE’S eyes were closed. A gentle summer breeze warmed her skin and she could hear the waves half-heartedly lapping against the jetty below the balcony. She let out a long therapeutic sigh, stretched her legs and opened her eyelids.

  The sky was the colour of cornflowers and the sun a glaring dot of white gold high above.

  ‘Perfect timing.’ The male voice was warm and lazy, and accompanied by the dull pop of a cork exiting a wine bottle. ‘I thought you were going to sleep all afternoon.’

  She shook her head and stood up. The chequered red and white cloth on the small table fluttered, lifted by the warm air curling in and out of the boathouse balcony. Self-consciously, she reached for the wineglass he offered her and dipped her head to hide behind the curtain of her hair.

  ‘Don’t do that. Not with me.’

  She froze, anticipation and vulnerability sending both hot and cold bolts through her simultaneously. He stepped forward and brushed the hair away from her face. His thumb was warm and slightly rough on the skin of her cheek. The tips of his fingers threaded through the hair above her ear until he held her head in his hand. She couldn’t help leaning in to it, letting him support her.

  Slowly, he tipped her head until she was looking him in the eyes.

  ‘You don’t have to hide from me.’

  Oh, she would have given anything to believe that was true. Tears sprang to her eyes and clung to her lashes. Even in the bright sunshine, she could see his pupils growing, become darker and darker. But it wasn’t just desire she could see there. Deep in the blackness were the answers to all the questions she’d ever wanted to ask.

  Yes, the eyes said. Yes, you are good enough. Yes, you deserve to be loved like this.

  One tear escaped, pulled by gravity, and raced away down her cheek. She couldn’t move, not even to swipe it away. It carried on running as he continued to stare at her, his expression full of texture and depth, until it trailed down her neck.

  A question flickered across her face—she felt it as surely as the salty river air.

  Do you?

  He didn’t move a muscle, except to stroke the skin of her temple with the edge of his thumb. The eyes held the answer once again. Yes.

  Something inside her, something that had been clenched tight and hard for years, unfurled. And Ben Oliver stepped back into the cool darkness of the boathouse, pulling her with him and repeated his answer over and over again with his lips on hers.

  Louise woke up with a gasp, her eyes wide. The fire was little more than burnished embers and a talk show host was skilfully plying a reluctant guest with questions on the television.

  She pressed a hand to her pounding chest. Just a dream. It had only been a dream. Calm down, you daft woman. Is this how pathetic you’ve become? A man shows you just a little bit of concern and neighbourly decency and your subconscious decides he’s the love of your life? Just how starved of affection have you been?

  Well, her subconscious could just think again. Starving or not, this was one meal she was going to refuse. All her brain had done was jumble up the events and people of her day with the events and characters of the late-night film. A simple crossing of wires, that was all. In the morning, when she was coherent again, she’d make sure everything was rerouted back the right way.

  She straightened the stiff arm she’d been lying on and was rewarded with a click. Serves you right for falling asleep in front of the telly, she told herself. Although love should be like falling in love in a cheesy old movie, it wasn’t. And it never would be. The sooner the right side of her brain caught up with that fact, the better.

  At three-thirty the following afternoon, Louise still wasn’t sure if she’d won the battle with her subconscious. She pressed the doorbell on the Olivers’ cottage door and tried to work out where all the butterflies in her stomach had migrated from. Wherever they had come from, it seemed they were making themselves at home.

  There was a click and the door started to open. Louise stopped breathing.

  The blonde-haired woman who answered frowned slightly. ‘Yes?’

  Louise swallowed. ‘I’m…er…here to help Jasmine. Mr Oliver is expecting me.’

  The woman nodded, opened the door wide and Louise stepped inside and followed her into a funky modern kitchen with glossy red cabinets and black granite work surfaces. Not exactly what she’d pictured Ben Oliver would have chosen but, then again, maybe he hadn’t chosen it. Maybe Mrs Oliver had had something to do with it.

  Right there was a goo
d reason to stamp on all the butterflies waltzing inside her. Both she and Ben had too much history, too much baggage.

  ‘Hey!’ Jasmine was sitting on a cushioned stool next to a breakfast bar with a glass counter. She jumped off and walked towards Louise, her hands in her pockets. A blush stained her cheeks and she looked at the floor as she came closer.

  Louise smiled. It didn’t seem that long ago that she’d been all awkward gestures and blushes herself. ‘Hey, yourself. Ready to bake?’

  Jas nodded. ‘Is Jack with you?’

  Louise shook her head. ‘He’s gone to football and then to a friend’s for tea.’

  ‘More cake for me, then!’ Jas giggled.

  ‘Is…um…’ Louise glanced at the anonymous woman, who was standing in the doorway, staring at her with undisguised curiosity. ‘Is everyone joining in?’

  ‘Oh, no.’ Jas shook her head. ‘Just you and me.’ She scowled at the woman, who took the hint and sloped away. ‘Don’t mind Julie. First of all, her nose is out of joint that she can’t stay and snoop on a famous person, but most of all she’s probably worried she won’t get as much child-minding money if you’re looking after me.’

  ‘Your dad’s not here?’

  ‘Nah. He doesn’t finish work until five o’clock and probably won’t be home until six. She looks after me until then most days.’

  Louise wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. Relieved, she told herself quickly. It was much better to be relieved. Still, that didn’t explain the black hole that had opened up inside her tummy that the butterflies were now being sucked into.

  Even before Ben’s key had turned in the lock the most amazing smells hit his nostrils: warm butter and cinnamon, sugar and vanilla. He’d been on a site visit most of the day and lunch had merely been a fleeting fantasy as he’d tried to explain to his client, in the most polite way possible, that his ideas for a visionary garden were actually going to be a blot on the landscape. His stomach rumbled, and he ordered it to get a grip.