A Cosy Candlelit Christmas: A wonderfully festive feel good romance (An Unforgettable Christmas Book 2)

by Tilly Tennant

  It was hard to understand what had made Isla’s eyes open at the exact moment they did. Something unknown had woken her from sleep, and she shivered as she noted that the blanket she’d draped over herself after falling onto the bed had slipped off. Pulling it round her shoulders, she yawned and made her way to the window. After the excitement in her original room, she hadn’t felt like taking a shower after all and had ended up taking a nap instead, just in case the receptionist decided to accidentally give anyone else the keys to her new room. The street below was in the grip of a freezing but glorious dusk, cobalt skies scored by streaks of pink cloud, the first stars gleaming over the mountaintops while the ice on the pavements glinted in the street lights just winking into life. And it was in the light of one of those street lights that she saw the shadowy figure of a man, looking up at the hotel. Staring was more like it, because this was no idle glance – he seemed to be studying it, looking carefully for something.

  ‘Dad…’ Isla murmured.

  How she could know this she couldn’t possibly say. She couldn’t even see the figure clearly and yet she felt it, deep in her soul, in a way she couldn’t explain. Should she go down? He’d emailed again before she’d left home for the airport but they hadn’t arranged to meet until the next day. Was she supposed to wait until the official meeting? Did it matter if they met before? What was the norm in situations like these? She’d never met anyone who’d been through it before and she didn’t have a clue. Going to the lamp, she turned it on to look for her boots and coat. But when she went to the window again, just to check, the man had disappeared.

  Pressing her nose to the window and craning her neck to check up and down the street, Isla decided that he was definitely gone. She let out the breath she’d been holding. It had surely been a silly notion. And if she was so desperate to see her dad before the meeting, then she only had to ask downstairs if the hotel receptionist knew where his hire shop was and she could find him there. She knew it was in town and the place didn’t look all that big. But perhaps that would complicate things unnecessarily so she quickly decided against it.

  Her growling tummy, however, reminded her of a far more pressing and practical matter. It was probably too early to get a table for dinner, but perhaps she could get a snack to keep her going down in the bar. She had a free drink to claim too, and right now a drink seemed like a tempting offer. If it could be alcoholic, even better still. After a quick splash in the bathroom to freshen up and a change of clothes, Isla locked her room door behind her and made her way downstairs.

  The bar was empty, save for two couples in chunky sweaters in a corner drinking shots and laughing raucously every so often at some skiing anecdote and a man sitting at the bar with his back to the doors.

  ‘I have to confess to feeling guilty about it. It was lucky it was so dark…’ the man at the bar was saying to the woman who’d been on reception earlier that day but was now serving drinks. He sounded unnecessarily apologetic. Isla searched her memory for the name of the woman listening to him. Dahlia, wasn’t it? Did that poor woman run everything in this hotel? ‘Not that I would have looked even if I could, you understand…’

  Isla frowned. The man wore a tweed jacket. The voice sounded familiar too. It took a moment to place him, and then her cheeks flared at the memory. She almost groaned out loud and turned to leave again, but too late. Dahlia called cheerily over.

  ‘Ready for that drink now?’

  Isla gave a stiff nod and made her way over, the man swivelling round to offer a warm smile.

  There was a moment of shared recognition. Not only the man who’d caught her in her underwear earlier that day, but she now recognised him as the man from the airport with the errant suitcase who’d nearly sent her flying.

  ‘Oh!’ he said, his mouth forming a perfect circle of surprise. ‘Hello!’

  Isla forced a smile in return and tried not to make it obvious that she was already looking for an exit. Of all the places he could have ended up he had to come here and now, despite the briefest knowledge of each other, the fact was that they did know each other and they’d have to engage in some sort of conversation which recognised that. ‘Hello.’

  ‘Fancy,’ he said. ‘What a coincidence.’

  ‘Yes,’ Isla said. ‘I didn’t see you on my shuttle bus.’

  ‘I hired a car. Handy to get about although the driving’s hard work in the snow.’

  ‘I can imagine…’

  The conversation stuttered to a halt and Isla glanced up at Dahlia, who seemed unconcerned by their awkwardness. In fact, she was looking fondly between the two of them as if they were favourite nieces and nephews. Considering that their unnecessarily intimate knowledge of each other was Dahlia’s fault, Isla thought she ought to wipe the soppy look from her face. Isla’s gaze went back to the man. Sandy hair, quiffed up at the front and curling a little at his neck where it needed a cut. Perhaps he didn’t worry too much about timely haircuts. Intelligent eyes, inquisitive and wondering, the blue of cornflower fields under a summer sun. And weirdly, the one thing that stood out was a smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose. Isla had never considered freckles to be an attractive feature before but on him they just looked…

  She shook away the thought. She was tired and feeling lost in a strange place and it made for odd emotions. He was still wearing that ridiculous bow tie and jacket from earlier and, in her book, nobody was attractive enough to get past that. Who did he think he was – Indiana Jones?

  ‘I hope your suitcase is somewhere it can’t get under my feet.’ Isla sat on a barstool next to him. It wasn’t that she particularly wanted to sit next to him but she didn’t feel she had a lot of choice.

  ‘I really must apologise for earlier… both occasions, in fact. I don’t quite know what’s going on today but all in all it seems to have been a bit disastrous. Please, let me buy you a drink to say sorry.’

  ‘I’m already owed a complimentary one, so it’s fine.’

  ‘The one after that?’

  ‘I’ll be legless at this time of the day.’ Isla gave her most courteous smile, the one she reserved for the lecturers at university when they patiently explained why she’d got something wrong when she was still convinced she’d got it right – the one that she gave to her mum when she looked over Isla’s shoulder as she made fufu and told her to add more semolina – the smile that said she was listening though she had no intention of taking the advice. ‘Really, it’s not necessary; it was an accident and we all have them.’

  ‘Well… you could let me buy you a drink as one lone traveller to another? As we’re both alone in a foreign land it would be nice to see a friendly face around the place.’

  ‘It’s hardly the back of beyond.’

  At this, he seemed to look hurt, and his expression was one of such heart-wrenching rejection, something almost childlike, that Isla instantly melted. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘That was rude of me. I didn’t mean to sound quite so brusque.’

  ‘It’s OK; I suppose I can hardly expect anything else considering the terrible start we got off to. I just thought…’

  Isla shook her head. ‘Honestly, it’s not that. I’ve got a lot on my mind and I’m not myself. But a drink would be most welcome.’

  He hesitated for a moment, and Isla wondered if he was deciding whether to probe her further on what was troubling her. But then his expression of uncertainty lifted into a bright smile. ‘So, how long are you staying in St Martin?’

  ‘Just a week. I want to be home for Christmas.’

  ‘Me too,’ he said. ‘Although I expect to come back after the holiday season and stay for much longer. Oh… what did you want to drink, by the way?’ He tilted his head at Dahlia who was ready and waiting to launch into bartending action. ‘I think our lovely host is waiting to take your order.’

  ‘A gin and tonic would be amazing,’ Isla replied, smiling at Dahlia and wondering if she could manage to at least get their drinks order right.

  ‘And
how about you, honey?’ Dahlia turned to the man. ‘Another one?’

  ‘Another beer please, Dahlia,’ he said before turning back to Isla. ‘I’m Sebastian by the way. Though everyone calls me Seb so please don’t feel the need to stand on ceremony.’

  ‘Isla.’ She stuck her hand out and he shook it warmly, the relief that he appeared to be forgiven for his earlier mistake obvious on his face.

  ‘That’s a pretty name. Sounds a bit Scottish.’

  ‘My father’s choice. I’m often surprised he won that argument because my mother is formidable when she wants to lay down the law and I can’t imagine how naming me would have been any different.’

  ‘Maybe she liked it?’

  ‘She must have done; she’s never actually said.’

  Dahlia set down the drinks and looked at Seb. ‘On your tab?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  With a nod she glided to the other end of the bar where one of the sweater-clad couples was waiting to order more shots.

  ‘So,’ Seb continued. ‘Got any plans while you’re here? Hiking, mountain climbing, skiing?’

  Isla took a sip of her drink. The gin was dry and sour, just a splash of tonic over a generous wedge of lemon and a mountain of ice. Just the way she liked it and just the thing to wake her from the grogginess that still hung over her since she’d been disturbed from her sleep. It seemed Dahlia wasn’t a complete loss after all. Perhaps Isla was being unkind – everyone made mistakes and she decided to give Dahlia the benefit of the doubt. The woman was no spring chicken and if she was always as busy as she seemed to be right now then she could be forgiven the odd slip-up. She glanced up at Seb’s blue, blue eyes, the way his lightly freckled nose wrinkled with his quizzical smile – it was a friendly enough enquiry and yet there was no way she could answer it without getting into the whole tale of her father, something she had no intention of telling a stranger no matter how cute he was making himself look. She decided on a semi-lie. ‘I haven’t really planned anything yet – I thought I might just see what’s available and decide.’

  ‘Spontaneity? I like it. Never a dull moment when you tackle life like that.’

  ‘Hmmm. If you asked any of my friends to describe me, spontaneity is not a word they’d use. My best friend, Dodie… she’s the one you need to talk to about spontaneity. That phrase about where angels fear to tread could have been written about her.’

  ‘She sounds like fun.’

  ‘She is. I think you’d get along brilliantly.’

  He raised his eyebrows slightly. ‘You can tell that much already?’

  Isla’s cheeks suddenly felt hot. She’d based her flippant comment purely on his wacky wardrobe and Dodie’s penchant for vintage clothes but it was hardly something she could say in reply to him now without sounding like she was making fun of his fashion sense. Or lack of it.

  ‘Just a hunch.’ Taking a bigger sip than she’d intended of her gin, she turned her face to the long windows hugging the room. Dusk had settled properly now and lines of yellow light shone from the buildings across the road.

  ‘I don’t meant to pry,’ he said, pulling her back from where her thoughts had taken her. Thoughts of meeting her half-brother or sister for the first time, of seeing the father who’d abandoned her and yet cared for them, of hearing the will of a grandmother who had taken no interest in her up until this point… thoughts that seemed to consume her every waking hour these days. But now she turned to him with a silent question. ‘It seems to me that you’re not in the mood to share. I’m sorry, I should have realised… I was just trying to be friendly. I read the situation wrong.’

  Isla shook her head. ‘No need to apologise. Like I said before, I have a lot on my mind right now. I appreciate your sentiment but your efforts might be wasted on me.’

  ‘You’re travelling alone?’ he asked. ‘Nobody coming to join you? No boyfriend… girlfriend… family?’

  ‘No,’ Isla said, her mind going back to the family she had come to join. Or perhaps join wasn’t the right word. She felt more of an inconvenience than a welcome addition – the daughter who had driven her father away.

  ‘Only, I just wanted to say that I’m around if you need anything. I know you have the hotel staff and you’re probably very capable but sometimes it’s nice to know that. I mean, I might be missing some days but if I’m around and you’re looking for someone just to have dinner with or ask about this or that mountain, I’m happy to help. That’s all. But, of course, if you’d rather not then I’ll leave you alone.’

  ‘That’s kind of you. You’re a seasoned visitor then? To St Martin, I mean? You said if I wanted to know about the mountains…’

  ‘Oh, yes, I’ve been a few times before. It’s sort of what I do, you know.’

  ‘What, like a mountain expert?’

  He smiled. ‘Something like that. But you don’t need to know about any of that boring stuff.’

  ‘I wouldn’t find it boring,’ she replied, forcing a smile. He was pleasant enough company now that they’d got over initial disasters and perhaps a distraction from her morose thoughts would be a welcome thing after all. Either way, she’d been a lot ruder than was forgivable and she probably owed him for taking that so well if nothing else.

  He pressed the beer bottle to his lips and took a long slug before setting it back onto the bar. ‘You say that but I guarantee your eyes would be glazed over within five minutes. Coma and death quickly follows for many. Alas I’ve seen it happen all too many times.’

  Isla’s laughter was now genuine and it felt like the first time in weeks she’d laughed properly. ‘In that case you’d better not tell me! Death on the first day is definitely not in my itinerary.’

  ‘That’s what I thought. So instead, if you’re not already bored of my company, and as you still have at least one more drink to get, maybe I can tell you about some of the best spots to visit in the area.’

  ‘That sounds good. Nothing too scary, though. Hiking – as soon as I get some decent boots – and perhaps the odd après ski. That’s about as adventurous as I get.’

  ‘You don’t ski? I thought more or less everyone who comes to St Martin comes to ski.’

  ‘Have you come to ski?’

  ‘I’ve come to study. Hand–eye coordination and I are uneasy bedfellows.’

  Isla laughed again. It was already something she could get used to, and it wasn’t often she met men who could make her laugh. As her friends often said, she was a tough nut to crack. ‘So you can’t ski?’

  ‘Ah, I didn’t say that. I can if I need to but I avoid it in situations where the demonstration of grace is required. That way lies humiliation.’

  ‘It’s more than I can do because I’ve never skied in my life.’

  ‘Perhaps you’ll learn this week?’

  Isla cocked her head this way and that. Ski lessons were the last thing on her mind but she could hardly deny the little frisson of excitement now that she was here in this incredible and beautiful town. Who knew, in a couple of days, if all was sorted amicably with her dad, then she might be more in the mood to see what else St Martin had to offer. ‘Maybe. If I have time. But I might just relax and enjoy the scenery, perhaps try some new fancy cuisine and generally soak up the atmosphere.’

  ‘That sounds like a very good plan to me.’

  ‘If you need any tips…’ Dahlia cut in. Isla looked up, vaguely surprised to see her there when she hadn’t noticed her return. ‘I’d be glad to help out. There’s more to this town than just skiing and it’s a shame most folks don’t see that.’

  ‘I’d be glad of that,’ Isla said.

  ‘There’s a surprising amount to see aside from skiing,’ Seb agreed. ‘It’s a truly beautiful part of the world. Mont Blanc and Lake Blanc aren’t too far away for a start. Then there’s the Péclet glacier…’

  Dahlia smiled and shook her head slightly. ‘And if you’d like to see something that isn’t recommended by a mountain enthusiast then you can always check out the
Notre-Dame-de-la-Vie.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘It’s a beautiful old religious building up on the rocks. A lot of people make pilgrimages there.’

  ‘Oh, I saw that online when I was researching. It’s not the village church then?’

  ‘A lot of folks confuse it with the church but it’s a completely separate thing, far older. Worth a look, though, if you like old buildings. And there’s the neighbouring resorts if you don’t much care for old things. Val Thorens has a lot more going on than we do here. There’s a spa too, if you fancy a day of relaxation, and plenty of sports other than skiing.’

  Isla gave Dahlia a grateful smile. Everything she’d suggested sounded good. If nothing else good came out of this trip, at least she’d have had this experience to take away with her.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Isla hadn’t wanted to see her father before their officially designated meeting in the fear that he might influence her emotionally into making decisions about her inheritance before she knew what it was. She hadn’t told him this during their brief email exchange and she had barely recognised the fact herself, but she knew it, deep down. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him but… OK, so she didn’t trust him, or herself. She couldn’t risk the little girl inside her rushing to embrace him, promising anything he asked for in return for a crumb of fake affection. At least at a neutral venue she could maintain distance, have space and time to think logically and rationally before reunions of a more emotional nature could take place. And if she didn’t like what she saw? At least she could maintain a safe distance until she was given the opportunity to run home and never come back.

  That morning she got ready for the midday appointment, trying her best to remain composed and optimistic about what the meeting might bring. As she ate breakfast, she’d found herself looking around the dining room for Seb, despite her stout resolution that she wouldn’t come to rely on his easy company. Even though she’d made excuses to leave early the previous evening, she’d enjoyed their brief chat as he’d talked her through the various tourist attractions and how to get to them. But there was no sign of him so she sat alone, hugging a hot black coffee that, on reflection, probably wasn’t doing anything for her nerves. Though, after another restless night, she needed the caffeine. Too jittery to sit still, she took herself out to a shop on the main avenue recommended by Dahlia for some new and far more practical boots.