The Baby Who Saved Christmas

by Alison Roberts

  His mother had died at another impressionable age, when he’d been in that awkward transition period between child and adult, but he’d been mature enough to take responsibility for his young sister and devote his life to supporting and protecting her. Alice wasn’t sure what had happened in recent years but the rift when he’d tried to protect Colette from marrying someone he hadn’t trusted had to have been devastating. And just when it had looked like they were about to reconnect, he had lost his sister under tragic circumstances that were still raw.

  No wonder he couldn’t offer anyone else a part of his heart to keep for ever. There weren’t that many parts left. And yet he’d tried, with Jacquot. He had been fighting to at least be a meaningful part of his nephew’s life the day she had arrived here. There’d been an enforced disruption to the negotiations thanks to the quarantine but now he had exactly what he’d intended fighting for.

  He had no idea what Madame Laurent was really like and, in trying to tell him, she had only made the distance between them greater. Maybe he hadn’t been able to hear what she’d had to say because, if he believed her, it would destroy the victory he thought he’d won. Maybe that was why he hadn’t risked waking her to say goodbye?

  Had he felt the connection with her that he’d been unable to deny when he’d printed out this photograph of her at the Christmas markets?

  Or had he remembered, instead, the shock of that stallholder assuming they were the parents of the small baby in their company? A happy little family. That he had a child of his own when he’d vowed that he would never let that happen.

  As if he knew his part in the fantasy, Jacquot reached up and caught the corner of the photograph in his small fist, crumpling it with surprising strength.

  ‘Oops...’ Alice gently extracted the glossy image. However painful it was in this moment, she was going to keep this. It didn’t matter that it was now crumpled because she’d remember the tiny hand that had caused the damage and that made it even more precious.

  She barely glanced at the plane ticket and taxi voucher because her intention of putting this photograph into her backpack beside the one of her parents had reminded her of the other photograph she was planning to take with her. The one in the heart-shaped, silver frame.

  ‘Come on.’ She smiled down at Jacquot, who now had a handful of her hair. ‘Let’s go to Daddy’s office.’

  She hadn’t been in here since the night she’d interrupted the filming of the Christmas show that was probably being aired on television right now, with the hosts of the breakfast show chatting to Julien between clips. Was he wearing his white chef’s tunic and that blue and white striped apron? Had it only been the night before last that he had emerged from the kitchen to kiss her senseless and give her the most memorable night of her life?

  Such a contrast to the first memorable moment he’d given her, when he’d hurled that paperweight at her father’s massive portrait. She stood in front of it for a long moment, ignoring the shards of glass and even the reason for the photograph. Instead, she looked into her father’s eyes. Dark eyes, so like her own, that gleamed with such confidence and joy.

  A man capable of great passion. Like Julien. But her father hadn’t been afraid to love more than his career. He’d loved Colette, she was sure of that. Picking up the photograph in the silver frame only convinced her more. She clicked it shut. She was going to believe that André Laurent had loved her mother, too. He had been a victim of his upbringing perhaps. Overindulged and dependent financially on a woman who had no heart.

  It was more of a stretch to believe that he’d helped Jeanette to escape the planned termination of her pregnancy but maybe her mother had severed contact so completely he’d known there was no point in trying to find her. The birth of his son at such a late age must have been a miracle. How sad that it had come at such a price, though. Had he been distraught? Had that contributed to his reckless driving that had taken his life?

  He hadn’t intended to die. Sinking into the desk chair, Alice used her free hand to open the drawer she’d opened the last time she had been in here. Yes. There were the tickets and passports ready to take Jacquot to his grandmother’s house for his first Christmas.

  Alice actually shuddered at the thought of being in that woman’s company for anything, let alone a celebration like Christmas.

  It was just as well she wasn’t going to be here this afternoon to see Jacquot handed over to a woman who had no love in her soul. The family name was all Madame Laurent cared about, not the person who was carrying that name.

  A flash of anger cut through weariness that went bone-deep.

  How could Julien even think of allowing that to happen?

  Maybe he wasn’t the person she thought he was. Maybe she’d invented a prince for her fairy-tale and then she’d been stupid enough to fall in love with him.

  No. In her heart of hearts she knew that wasn’t true. Julien didn’t know the truth or he would not let this happen. Nobody would.

  Her arms tightened around Jacquot as she ducked her head to plant a kiss on his head. She’d promised this tiny person that she wouldn’t let it happen. That his Uncle Julien wouldn’t let it happen. But...but...

  Alice blinked tears away as she raised her head, her glance grazing the drawer and its contents again as she did so.

  Unbidden, her hand went out to pick up one of the items.

  Jacquot’s passport.

  The idea was ludicrous. An act of rebellion that would get her into far more trouble than any of her childhood pranks.

  But it wasn’t impossible, was it?

  Marthe wasn’t coming here for another few hours. She had a voucher for the taxi company that included a phone number. If they spoke English—as most people seemed to here—she could change the time of her pick-up.

  She had a plane ticket. A three-month-old baby didn’t need a plane ticket because it got held in its mother’s arms.

  And who was going to check whether she actually was his mother? It was Christmas Eve and bound to be bedlam at any international airport.

  She could keep Jacquot safe even if it was only for a short time before she was caught. She could keep him safe for his first-ever Christmas. Make him feel wanted and loved for no more than who he was. Her brother.

  The idea was growing wings. The mix of nervousness and excitement felt rather like when she’d first arrived here. It would take courage to do it because she knew how wrong it was.

  But then she looked down at a tiny face and Jacquot looked back and her and grinned his crooked little grin.

  No. It wasn’t wrong. It wasn’t exactly the right thing to do either.

  It was the only thing to do.

  * * *

  The airport was so chaotic Julien didn’t remember to turn his phone back on until he’d finally managed to flag down a taxi and was stuck in the crazy Christmas traffic as he headed back to St Jean Cap Ferrat.

  Ten missed calls from Marthe?

  He knew his heart actually stopped for a moment because he felt the painful thump of it restarting.

  Something had happened to Jacquot.

  Or Alice.

  His fingers shook as he tapped the screen to return the call. A moment later the housekeeper’s voice was a distressed garble.

  ‘I don’t understand. Of course Alice has gone. Her plane will have taken off by now.’

  He’d seen a British Airways plane taking off as he’d hurried through the crowds to escape the airport and he’d wondered if that was Alice disappearing from his life for ever. It had only made it more urgent to escape. To do what had to be done and then retreat into the only life he knew he could depend on. His own.

  He was only half listening to Marthe’s next words.

  ‘How could she have taken Jacquot with her? You were there when the taxi came.’

 
He closed his eyes as he listened to the explanation. The taxi company had been and gone by the time Marthe had arrived at the house. Alice had left a note to say not to worry but the plan had been changed. That Julien would know why. So she’d been trying to ring him. Again and again.

  But his phone had been turned off. Of course it had. He couldn’t afford to have it ring when he was on a live television show and he hadn’t bothered turning it back on when he had been about to fly.

  If Alice had been on that plane he’d seen taking off, she hadn’t been alone. She was taking her little brother back to Edinburgh and from there to whatever isolated little village she came from. What was its name? She had told him once. It would come to him.

  Right now, the enormity of what had happened was sinking in as his taxi cleared the worst of the traffic and picked up speed. There was only an hour or two at most before Yvonne Laurent arrived to collect Jacquot and when she found out what had happened all hell would break loose. Would she think that he’d had a part in this himself? Would it send them all back to square one in a battle for Jacquot’s custody?

  How long did it take to fly to Edinburgh? No more than three hours, he suspected. Time enough for the full force of the law to be unleashed. Alice would be arrested the moment she arrived. Prosecution by the Laurent solicitors would be relentless and unforgiving. Jacquot would be taken away from her and brought back to France by strangers. He would be frightened and that was enough to make Julien angry. Very, very angry.

  How could she do that?

  What had she been thinking?

  * * *

  There was no reason for Marthe to stay in the house. Julien sent her home to her family. He screwed up the note Alice had left and hurled it to the floor of the kitchen. And then he began pacing, still unable to believe what she had done. He went in the direction of the nursery, as though he had to see for himself that it was uninhabited.

  Which, of course, it was.

  There was no sign that Alice had even been here but the absence of the baby whose name was proclaimed in those bright wooden letters on the wall was horrific.

  The cot had been neatly made and propped against the soft bumper pad at the head end was a toy.

  Le lapin brun.

  Somehow that was even more shocking than Jacquot’s absence. Alice had known how precious this toy was. She had said herself that she was happy it was there for him. That, one day, Julien would be able to tell him how special it was. How much he must have been loved.

  He had to pick it up and, as he did so he remembered the last time he’d reached into this cot. When he’d been half-asleep and half-dressed and had gone into the nursery in response to that alarming cry from Jacquot.

  And he remembered how he’d felt, holding that tiny baby against his bare chest. The pride in being able to comfort him. The absolute trust he was being endowed with to protect this baby from any evil in the world.

  He could hear a whisper that sounded like Alice’s voice.

  She doesn’t care a jot for him... I don’t think she even loved her own son... She’s an evil woman, can’t you see that?

  Alice had felt that same level of trust from Jacquot, hadn’t she? And she’d been brave enough to do something about it, however ill advised that had been. Anger was fading now, being replaced with something that felt more like respect. Admiration even.

  But now Julien had the battered old bunny in his hand and he remembered the feel of it as if it was only yesterday that he had been handing it to his little sister to comfort her. How she would take it and clutch it to her chest and then wriggle into his arms to be held and comforted some more.

  And finally...having not cried since his father had walked out when he’d been only five years old—even when his stepfather had beaten him or when his mother had died, leaving a scared youth to try and fight back against an unfair world—Julien was able to cry for his sister.

  Racking sobs that felt like they were tearing his heart apart as he sank into the chair he’d seen Alice asleep in only this morning. Tears that soaked the toy he had pressed against his cheek. But curiously the pain didn’t seem to be destroying what was left of his heart. When he was finally spent, there was an odd calmness to be found.

  The beginning of peace perhaps?

  It was only then that Julien became aware of something in the chair he’d been sitting in. Something with uncomfortably sharp edges. He reached underneath his legs and pulled out the handset to the baby monitor. Its red light was glowing but there was no point in keeping it on when there was no baby to watch over, was there?

  Julien pushed a button but the light stayed on. He pushed another one and, unexpectedly, an image filled the screen. Did this state-of-the-art baby monitoring equipment actually make a video recording when it was switched on?

  Apparently it did.

  And the last time it had been switched on had been last evening. When Yvonne Laurent had gone up to the nursery after receiving the shocking news that there were two grandchildren of hers in the room.

  He watched—and listened—in growing horror. Was this really the same woman whose words and tears had convinced him that they shared the same dream for Jacquot’s future?

  ‘The arrangements had been made. I had paid their exorbitant fees myself so that the unfortunate pregnancy could be dealt with discreetly.’

  ‘...a waitress—who’d been stupid enough to try and catch him by producing an unwanted brat...’

  ‘Jacques Laurent is my grandchild. My only grandchild... You... You are rien. Nothing.’

  How hurtful must that have been? Words could hurt just as much as fists and he knew only too well what it was like to feel so unwanted. Rejected.

  His little Scottish pixie had come here wanting nothing more than to find family in time for Christmas.

  She’d found that her father had died only days before.

  She’d found a tiny brother she could love and she’d been desperate to be allowed to raise him herself.

  And she’d ended up being dismissed as nothing.

  The anger was there again now but it wasn’t directed at Alice. When the vicious old woman that his nephew was unfortunate enough to have as a grandmother arrived he was going to tell her exactly how wrong she was about Alice McMillan. Nothing? She was everything that Yvonne Laurent could clearly never be. Warm. Loving. Vibrant. Able to make life something to be celebrated, no matter what.

  And...

  Julien caught his breath as he focused on the small screen again. What was that? He studied the buttons on the handset properly this time so he could rewind and play that part again that he’d barely noticed during his outraged thoughts.

  ‘I love you. Your uncle Julien loves you too, I know he does...and...and I love him...and I wouldn’t have fallen in love with anyone who could let this happen...’

  Mon Dieu...

  The cascade of emotion was enough to bring tears to his eyes again but these were not tears of grief.

  They felt more like joy.

  And then Julien heard the doorbell ring. It was probably his solicitor, who was due to arrive before Madame Laurent in order to check that the legal paperwork was irrefutable. Paperwork that would now need to be ripped into shreds.

  He got to his feet, the brown bunny in one hand and the handset of the monitor in the other.

  Alice had left him one final gift, hadn’t she?

  The weapon he needed to win this battle, once and for all.

  No. Make that two.

  Unintentionally, she had also given him words of love.

  Would they still hold true when he’d dismissed what she’d told him about that encounter with her grandmother? When he’d done what must have seemed so unforgiveable in her eyes? When he’d turned away from her so deliberately in order to protect himself?


  There was only one way to find out.

  But there were other matters to attend to first.

  * * *

  It was dark by the time the plane landed at Edinburgh airport even though it was only three p.m. Leaden skies held the weight of a snowstorm that everyone was hoping would hold off for at least twenty-four hours to give families time to gather for Christmas.

  In rural Scotland, well to the north, it was already snowing. Tiny flakes sparkled in the headlights of her rented car as Alice finally parked in front of the cottage that had been her home since the day she was born.

  The home she had celebrated every single Christmas in, with the decorations her mother had loved strung from every available anchoring point, a tree with flashing fairy-lights and gifts underneath, a fire burning brightly in the grate, Christmas carols coming from the CD player and the smell of a feast being prepared in the kitchen.

  Home...

  Jacquot was asleep in the car seat she had also rented. She carried him into the small stone house.

  A very cold and dark stone house.

  Aside from her brief visit back here last week, nobody had been living here for many months and there was no power on. No fire in the grate. Probably very little food in the pantry even. The shops would be shut and she didn’t even have a close neighbour she could call on. There was no Christmas tree, no decorations and no music.

  It was so quiet she could hear her own heart beating.

  Until Jacquot woke and started to cry.

  Alice undid the safety harness and scooped him into her arms. She wanted to cry herself.

  What had she done?

  What had she been thinking?

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHRISTMAS MORNING.

  Somehow they’d survived the night.

  Leaving Jacquot cocooned in blankets, tucked into the car seat that doubled as a carrier, Alice had used the light of her phone to find candles and then she’d built a fire in the ancient Aga stove in the kitchen that her grandmother had insisted on keeping because she’d been cooking on it ever since she’d come here as a young bride. At the same time she started a fire going in the open grate of the only living area in the house.