by Fiona Harper
She took one last look around the apartments, checking everything was perfect. Three girls and a boy were due to arrive from London in the next hour. She plumped a cushion on one of the settees in the communal sitting room, which led on to the dining room and kitchen. She was getting too emotional about this, she knew, but she just wanted these kids to have the best. They deserved it.
CHAPTER TWELVE
BY THE end of the week, the occupants of the new apartments had stopped staring every time they saw her and were much more ready to beg for cake or tease her. Jack was really enjoying having the company too. He’d been itching for Saturday when he’d be able to join in the fun. He and Kate, the den mother, had taken three of their ‘guests’—James, Letitia and Rebecca—on a guided tour of the grounds. Not that they hadn’t explored every square inch already. But, apparently, only Jack knew all the best trees for climbing.
Only Molly had remained behind. She was a quiet, mousy girl who had only hovered on the fringes of the group all week. Louise found her in the stable courtyard when she went to collect a cake tin she’d left in the kitchen.
‘Hey, Molly! How’s it going?’
Molly dipped her head and looked at Louise through her thick, dark blonde hair. ‘Okay.’
‘Have you been having a good time?’
Molly grimaced. ‘Yes.’ She fidgeted. ‘Can I phone home?’
Louise sat down next to her. The spring air was sweet and fresh and the sun was beautifully warm on her skin in the sheltered courtyard. If she sat here for more than a few minutes, she’d have to take her cardigan off.
‘Of course you can. But I thought you already called this morning.’
Molly nodded and looked away.
‘They’re okay, you know—your family. They’ll do fine while you’re here. Relief will have sent some excellent staff to do all your usual jobs while you’re away.’
Molly looked unconvinced. ‘They might not do things right. I need to check.’
Louise dearly wanted to put her arm round the girl, but she wasn’t sure it would be welcomed. Only fourteen, and already she carried the responsibility for her two disabled parents. The psychologist had warned her that some of the children might be like this.
‘How would you like something to do?’
At this, Molly brightened. Just as Louise had guessed, she would feel less uncomfortable…less guilty…if she had a job to do.
‘You lot are eating cakes faster than I can bake them. I was planning to do a chocolate one today and I could do with an extra pair of hands.’
For the first time that week, Molly smiled. ‘Sure. I can help.’
As they measured and mixed and washed up back in Whitehaven’s kitchen, Molly began to relax a little. Louise took the opportunity to dispense a little wisdom.
‘It’s okay to enjoy yourself, you know.’
Molly frowned. ‘I know that.’
Hoping that this would be the right time, she walked over to her and put an arm gently round her shoulders. ‘You don’t have to feel guilty for being here, for having a nice time. It’s what the scheme is all about.’
Molly sniffed. ‘I know that. It’s just that I feel bad leaving Mum and Dad alone while I get to stay in a beautiful place like this…and with you. It’s too nice.’
One-handed, Louise tore a piece of kitchen towel off the roll on the table and handed it to the girl. ‘Molly…’ Oh, blow, she was tearing up too. She grabbed a piece for herself as well. ‘You work hard all year round. Much harder than other kids your age. You deserve this, you really do. And your parents would want you to enjoy yourself while you’re here, not spend the whole time worrying about them or feeling guilty.’
As she hugged Molly, she could suddenly picture her own father’s face the day she’d run home from the supermarket and told him about the modelling scout. He’d been so proud of her! And never once had he said anything to make her feel as if she was abandoning him. He’d been such a special man.
And yet, for all these years, she’d held on to the same feeling that was eating Molly alive. The girl beside her started to tremble and Louise pulled her close for a proper hug. ‘Is it really okay?’ Molly whispered.
‘Yes.’ The kitchen distorted and became all blurry. Louise’s lip began to wobble. ‘Yes, it is.’
Ben walked into Mrs Green’s shop on a crisp May morning to get his usual paper. She’d been as meek as a lamb with him since that incident at Christmas. Louise now had a most loyal supporter in her. And that was good. For Louise. The tide of opinion might turn one person at a time, but it was still turning in the right direction.
Thoughts of Louise led to thoughts of Whitehaven and its luscious gardens. He would have loved to have seen how the gardens had turned out, if they matched the vision in his head when he’d drawn up the plans. Best of all would be the places he hadn’t touched, the woods full of foxgloves and bluebells. Sometimes you had to know when to stop meddling and let things be, to let them retain their natural beauty.
He reached the counter and Mrs Green just handed him a paper without asking which one. Then she handed him a glossy women’s magazine, not one of the cheap, gossipy ones, but one of the high-fashion mags that also ran articles on serious subjects.
‘A bit old for Jas, Mrs Green,’ he said, without looking at it, and handed it back to her.
She shook her head. ‘I thought you might be interested.’
Him? He started to chuckle, but a glimpse of a pair of dark and stormy eyes on the cover made him look a little closer. Louise. She’d done an interview. He moved out of the way of the counter so the person behind him could pay and scrabbled through the pages until he found the article he was looking for. It was a long one.
He read it as he walked down the hill back to the cottage. He was working from home today. More than once he stopped in the middle of the road and shook his head. Especially when he realised he’d forgotten to pay Mrs Green. She’d understand. Then he started to smile, even though the ache in his chest that he thought had dulled a little in the last few months began to quietly throb again.
Amazing. He’d always said so. And here she was believing it. Living it.
Not only had she done something amazing at Whitehaven, she was doing the interview to raise the profile of the charity she was now patron of. Relief were lobbying the Government for new funding for child carers, not just respite care but proper practical help on a day-to-day basis.
And Louise Thornton, the woman who would rather cut off her right arm than talk to a journalist, had not only given an interview—and let the photographers into the new apartments at Whitehaven—but had opened up about her own childhood, her own lack of education, in an effort to prevent more children from living through the same things. He felt his chest expand as he read that she was planning to study part-time for a degree in child psychology.
He reached his front door and misjudged putting the key in the lock because he just couldn’t stop reading. He flicked the magazine closed so he could stare at the cover. Yes, the eyes were dark and intense, as always, but they were no longer empty.
This could be the stupidest thing he’d ever done. Apart from jumping the gun on New Year’s Eve, that was. Ben tied his dinghy on to the iron ring outside Louise’s boathouse and wondered whether he should just sail straight back across the river because, actually, he’d been right the first time. This was the stupidest thing he’d ever done.
It was just past noon and the most glorious summer day. He stood for a moment on the jetty and considered his next move. Where was Louise likely to be at this time of day?
It saddened him that he didn’t know, that her life had changed so much since he’d last seen her. But at the same time he was immensely proud of her. He’d seen all that potential inside of her, but it took strength of character and guts to turn that into something real.
Something flashed up on the boathouse balcony and he immediately craned his neck to see what it was. The sun had bounced off the glass part
of the door as it had opened and out stepped…Louise.
She was wearing a faint smile and her long chocolate-brown hair glowed chestnut in the sunshine. He couldn’t move, suddenly didn’t know what to say. If it was possible, he’d forgotten how beautiful she was—or maybe she had just got more beautiful, because there was something different about her.
She rested her hands on the edge of the balcony and leaned forward, breathing in the salty river air.
And then she saw him and stiffened in surprise. He couldn’t hear her from where he was standing, but he was sure he saw her mouth his name. The lapping of the river, the constant shrieking of the seagulls all died away as they both stood frozen to the spot, staring at each other.
She smiled. And then he was running—up the jetty, up the steps to the boathouse’s upper room. He made himself stop when he got to the door that led on to the narrow balcony, half worried she would disappear into thin air if he got too close.
She was leaning against the rail, her back to the river. Her long, frilly-edged skirt fidgeted in the breeze. ‘Ben,’ she repeated. Her smile was soft and warm, with a hint of sadness. ‘It’s good to see you again.’
He nodded. Nothing sensible was going to come out of his mouth unless he got his act together. ‘You too.’
His heart started to pound in his chest as he crossed the threshold on to the balcony. He was close enough to touch her now, but he wouldn’t—not yet.
‘I saw the article in the magazine.’
Okay. If this was as smooth as he was going to get, he might just as well jump back into his dinghy right now.
She nodded. ‘I’m going to be in the spotlight whether I like it or not, so I might as well get to choose where it shines.’ She looked at her feet, then back up at him. ‘So, Ben Oliver, why are you trespassing on my land again after all this time?’
It was a joke and he was supposed to laugh, but he seemed to have lost the knack.
‘I…um…forgot to give you something.’
She frowned and her eyebrows arched in the middle. ‘When?’
‘At Christmas.’
His heart slunk into his boots. On the way over here this had seemed clever, now it just seemed…lame.
‘Christmas was a long time ago.’
He reached into his pocket and his fingers closed around the palm-sized box hidden there. ‘I know. But some gifts have their own seasons. This one was a little early back then.’
She bit her lip. ‘Am I going to like this gift?’
It was now or never. And he was shaking in his sensible boots. He looped the little ribbon holding the box closed round his finger and used it to pull the silver parcel out of his pocket. Then he dropped it in her hands.
‘I’m not sure it’s in season even now, but sometimes…you can just…wait too long…’
It didn’t seem to matter that he wasn’t making any sense, because she was staring so hard at the little package he sensed she wasn’t taking it in anyway. With excruciating slowness, she tugged the velvet bow and let it fall to the floor. Then she pulled the lid off the box.
‘Oh.’
Oh? Was that a good ‘oh’ or a bad ‘oh’?
‘Oh, Ben!’
A good ‘oh’. Warmth began to spread upwards from his toes.
Her nose crinkled in confusion. ‘Mistletoe? But it’s almost summer!’ Gently, she reached into the box and pulled the sprig out to look at it. A thin white ribbon looped round the top and was tied in an elaborate bow. ‘It’s not even plastic! It’s…’
‘…the real deal,’ he finished for her.
She stepped close enough for him to smell her perfume. ‘How did you…?’
He shrugged. ‘I have my sources.’
She twiddled the mistletoe between finger and thumb and suddenly grew more serious. ‘What does this mean, Ben?’
‘Isn’t it obvious?’
She bit her lip and looked away. ‘You want to…kiss me?’
Always. For ever. But he’d promised himself he wouldn’t until she’d given him the answer he wanted to hear. ‘I love you, Louise. I always will.’
Louise shook her head. ‘After all the things I said to you! I don’t deserve it!’
He couldn’t use his hands to make her look at him, so he concentrated on just pulling her gaze to his by the force of his will-power. ‘Yes, you do.’
Six months ago, he would have seen the doubt in her eyes, but the woman standing before him looked deep into his eyes and he saw the light of recognition flicker on. Slowly, she raised her arm so the little green sprig dangled above her head and, taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes.
This was it. Now or never. He thought perhaps he was going to hyperventilate, but managed to pull himself together. Louise was still poised, ready for the kiss, her lips soft and slightly parted. When he didn’t respond straight away, she lifted one eyelid, making the other scrunch up.
Her whisper of uncertainty only made his fingers shake all the more. ‘Ben?’
He nodded up to the little green sprig with its cluster of white berries above their heads. ‘Look a little closer.’
With his fingers as deft as a bunch of bananas, he tugged her hand downward so the mistletoe rested at eye level and she could see the diamond ring held fast by the white velvet bow.
‘Marry me?’
Louise’s eyes snapped all the way open and she dropped the sprig on the floor, then her hands flew to her chest and stayed there.
His heart tap-danced inside his ribcage. He bent down and gently rescued both mistletoe and ring before he trampled it with his boots. Louise looked as if she was in a trance. Taking a chance, because she wasn’t slapping him in the face or running up the hill, he twirled the mistletoe above their heads once more.
‘Please…?’
‘Yes! Oh, Ben, yes!’ She threw herself at him and almost sent him flying over the edge of the balcony. He guided her hands so she gently pulled at the ribbon to release the ring and it dropped into his waiting hand.
She looked up at him, laughing and shaking her head, her eyes shining. ‘Are you for real, Ben Oliver?’
He nodded and lowered his head, then brushed his mouth across hers, savouring the moment, and slid the ring on to her left hand. ‘Merry Christmas, Louise,’ he whispered against her lips, before wrapping her in his arms and pulling her into the cool darkness of the boathouse.
ISBN: 978-1-4268-2422-7
CHRISTMAS WISHES, MISTLETOE KISSES
First North American Publication 2008.
Copyright © 2008 by Fiona Harper.
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
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