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

by Tilly Tennant

  Isla was almost taken aback to hear herself say it, as if somehow a sudden epiphany had gripped her, one she hadn’t seen coming at all. But he simply gave her a patient smile.

  ‘You’re not rude or snappy. You’re confused and hurting, and you’ve every right to be. If you’re nasty that’s my fault.’ He was silent for a moment, searching her face. But then he got up and went to a cupboard. ‘Do you mind if I show you something? I brought these here today from home, not knowing whether the time was right to share them with you. In fact, I wondered if the time would ever be right. But maybe it will help you make sense of the past.’

  Isla nodded, uncertain of what it was he was about to reveal and even less certain that she wanted to know. But it was plain to her that his question had been a rhetorical one and he needed to do this as much as he thought she needed to see it, whatever it was. He turned back to her, holding a bundle of paper secured with a rubber band, and sat down again. Without a word he handed it to her. Isla unfastened it and found envelopes. Some had Glory’s name on the front, some had her own. All of them had previous addresses from flats and apartments where she’d lived with her mum over the years. But none they’d lived at during the last decade. On each of them Glory’s handwriting was scrawled across in red pen – RETURN TO SENDER. She looked up at Ian with a silent question.

  ‘Birthday cards, Christmas cards, the odd letter,’ he said. ‘Most of them have money in too, though some of the notes are probably not legal tender any more. Maybe if Glory had opened them she could have done something with the bits that were inside. You’ve never seen any of these, I take it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘They’re all for you. If you choose not to open them I’ll understand. But I just wanted you to know that I didn’t forget you in the way it may have seemed. I gave up, and for that I’m truly sorry, but I honestly thought it was for the best.’

  ‘Mum can be quite persuasive like that.’ Isla clutched the pile of letters in her hand, gazing at the loops and swirls of his handwriting and the harsh lines of Glory’s over-scoring it.

  ‘I’m glad you said it and not me. I didn’t want to show you any of this when you first arrived because I didn’t want to make it look like I was laying blame. I know you love your mother and I know she did a cracking job of raising you by herself – I can see that just sitting with you now – and I guessed insulting her or laying blame by showing you these letters at our first meeting wasn’t going to do me any favours trying to win your trust. But I think we’re past that now. At least I hope we are. ’

  ‘Honestly, it was probably a wise move.’ Isla smiled. ‘So, these are mine now?’

  ‘All yours.’

  ‘Do you want me to open them?’

  ‘Do what you want with them. Keep them, burn them, I don’t need to know.’

  ‘I wouldn’t burn them.’

  ‘I wouldn’t blame you if you did.’

  He looked at her, hopeful and yet hopeless all at the same time. She wanted to hug him, to tell him that everything was good and they were on the right track at last, but she couldn’t. She wasn’t there, not quite yet, but she could see a day when she might be and that was progress enough.

  ‘I don’t suppose you’d like to grab some lunch with us before you head back to your hotel?’ Ian looked hopefully at Isla as she shrugged her coat on and they emerged into the main shop again.

  ‘I’d love to but I think I ought to get packed for the flight back tomorrow.’ Things had changed between her and her father, as the bundle of letters in her handbag would testify, but she needed time to process all that she’d learned that day before she felt ready to see them all again.

  ‘Dinner then? Later?’ He glanced at Celine, who was now in charge of an empty store again.

  ‘I’d be happy to cook an extra portion at our place,’ she offered. ‘If you didn’t feel like eating out. It would be an opportunity to see our home, get to know Benet and Natalie a little better before you go back to England.’

  ‘It’s very kind of you but I would really rather get sorted for tomorrow,’ Isla replied, wondering if the offer was just lip service, given to show Ian that she was making an effort to get to know the stepdaughter she would probably feel happier about once she’d waved her back to England. ‘Maybe we could do it when I come back? Whenever that is, of course. But when we have more time.’

  Celine inclined her head, clearly a little relieved, though Ian looked disappointed. But then he nodded too.

  ‘OK,’ he said. ‘But let me take you to the airport tomorrow. I’d feel happier knowing you’d got there safely.’

  ‘I’m sure the bus is equipped for snow,’ Isla said.

  ‘It will be, but if for some reason you get stuck at the airport, at least I’d be there to help you out rather than you managing alone.’

  ‘I’ve been managing alone for—’ Isla shook her head and forced a smile. It seemed, despite her intentions, that forgetting the past didn’t come so easily after all. ‘I’m sure I’ll be just fine and it seems pointless dragging you all the way to Grenoble when you might be unable to get back.’

  ‘I’ve got plenty of experience driving in snow,’ Ian said. ‘I’m sure I’d work it out. Please…’

  Isla paused, and then let out a sigh. ‘Alright then. A lift to the airport would be great, as long as it’s not putting you out.’

  Ian looked at Celine. ‘I can’t imagine the shop will be all that busy with snowstorms moving in so you’d be able to spare me, wouldn’t you? If you’re busy, ask Benet to help; he could do a bit of work around the place for once.’

  Isla’s forehead creased slightly. It was a throwaway comment, but you didn’t spend your whole life preternaturally attuned to unspoken sentiments and feelings without noticing the subtle hint that perhaps brother Benet wasn’t quite the model son Isla had at first been led to believe he was.

  ‘I’m sure we’ll be fine,’ Celine said stiffly. Isla almost felt sorry for her; it can’t have been easy having her here like this.

  ‘That’s settled then,’ Ian said, turning to Isla with forced cheeriness. ‘I’ll come by for you tomorrow.’ He made a move towards her but then stopped and retreated again. Instead of the hug she felt he might have been working up the courage for, he gave a weak smile. ‘Be careful going back to the hotel, won’t you?’

  Isla nodded. ‘Don’t worry – careful is my middle name. It probably explains why my life is so boring.’

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  There was something magical about the snow as Isla walked back to Residence Alpenrose. It represented trouble, but the steady silent fall, the muffling of the village as it built by degrees on the kerbs, eaves and windowsills of the streets like icing on a Christmas cake seemed to soothe her troubled soul. The skies were beginning to darken, muted tones over the distant peaks, the warm glows of shop and restaurant doorways enticing in the cold, snatches of Christmas music reminding Isla that it was close. When the winding lanes and roads looked so beautiful, how could anything be wrong in the world? After all, it snowed all the time in the Alps in the winter, didn’t it? And airlines still managed to operate so it stood to reason that even if she experienced a slight delay she would still make it home for Christmas Eve.

  Dahlia was polishing the counter in reception as Isla knocked the snow from her boots at the entrance. Isla was beginning to notice that Dahlia polished a lot. In fact, she was always on the go. Did that woman ever stop to breathe?

  ‘How did your meeting go?’ Dahlia asked, looking up from her task with a bright smile. Despite her intention, Isla had still never fully confided just what her toing and froing was all about. Dahlia must have been curious though. Isla had the opportunity to tell her now but suddenly she didn’t feel able to share it. That other part of her – the bigger, guarded, fiercely independent side of her – was happier keeping it in and dealing with it herself.

  ‘It was OK, thanks.’

  ‘Snow’s getting worse,’ Dahlia added, turning bac
k to her vigorous rubbing of the wooden counter. ‘Did you check your flight?’

  ‘Not yet; I’ll do it when I get upstairs.’

  ‘Wi-Fi is in and out,’ Dahlia said. ‘Weather’s affecting it, I think. But you can always call the airport from the phone down here if you’re struggling to get online.’

  ‘I don’t suppose they’ll know about delays today really,’ Isla said. ‘I mean, a lot could happen between today and tomorrow so they wouldn’t be able to tell this early.’

  ‘They might have an idea. They have special weather reports for that sort of thing.’

  Isla wasn’t convinced but she didn’t say so. Surely there was no need to worry about it until the following morning. And although it was snowing heavily now it was hardly a blizzard.

  ‘Your room is booked after you leave us tomorrow. Couple from Spain. They’re due to arrive as you leave and that’s all my rooms occupied over Christmas.’ Dahlia looked up from her task and Isla replied with a silent question. ‘I’m just thinking if you need to come back here if the flight is delayed I won’t have a room, but I could call some of my buddies to see if they have anything if I have some warning. If not they might let their spares go too.’

  ‘I’m sure it’ll be fine,’ Isla said. It was just like Dahlia to want to ensure everyone was happy and safe, which was probably what made her such a fabulous hotelier.

  Dahlia nodded shortly. ‘You want anything in the bar?’

  ‘A coffee to go up to my room might be nice,’ Isla said.

  ‘Sure thing,’ Dahlia said, putting her duster to one side. ‘Come on through and I’ll fix one up. In fact,’ she added with a grin, ‘as it’s nearly Christmas, how about you try my new eggnog recipe? I’ve been waiting for a willing victim and I think you might just be perfect.’

  Isla laughed, her spirit instantly lifted by Dahlia’s good nature and gentle humour. ‘Eggnog sounds amazing and I’m more than willing to sacrifice myself for the greater good!’

  ‘I don’t suppose you saw Seb this morning?’ Isla asked as Dahlia prepared her drink, watching with some fascination as she threw ingredients together that should have tasted disgusting but would undoubtedly be full of sticky, seasonal goodness, a glorious, rich combination of nutmeg, vanilla and bourbon spicing the air. ‘I noticed he wasn’t at breakfast. I mean, I know he might have come down early, but it doesn’t seem like very good weather to go heading off for glacier study today so I wondered…’

  ‘Seb?’ Dahlia frowned. ‘Oh, Sebastian? I haven’t seen him, honey. Some days he doesn’t even bother with breakfast – he just heads out, but I doubt he’s dumb enough to go up to the mountains today. Sometimes he works in his room – that’s why he likes the suite when he can get it – and he gets room service when he wants to eat. Come to think of it, he hasn’t ordered room service today at all.’

  ‘You think he’s OK? He might be ill in bed and nobody would know. You think we ought to check on him?’

  ‘You could knock on his door when you pass through, I guess.’ Dahlia placed Isla’s mug on the bar. ‘Put your mind at ease.’

  ‘Oh, I’m not worried,’ Isla said quickly. ‘I just thought it was the neighbourly thing to do. I mean, I’m here alone and I’d like to think if I was in trouble someone might notice and come to my aid.’

  Dahlia gave her a half-smile and Isla didn’t know whether to laugh or feel annoyed at the knowing look on her face. ‘Would you like me to phone his room?’

  Isla shook her head. ‘I’m sure he’s fine. Probably went out – I suppose he’s a grown man and it’s not like he needs to tell anyone what his plans are.’

  ‘I’m sure he’d be happy to hear that you were worried about him.’

  ‘No, it would sound silly and neurotic. Probably better not to mention it.’

  ‘Whatever you like. You want a table for dinner tonight?’

  Isla glanced at the window where the snow was soft and relentless as it covered the street. ‘Might be a good idea.’

  ‘What time?’

  ‘Seven, I think.’

  ‘Perfect. I’ll save you a spot.’

  Isla half expected some quip about reserving a table for two in case she decided to seek Seb out after all and she was ready to answer it. But Dahlia said nothing, she just gave a benign smile and made her way over to the reservations book at the back of the bar. With nothing more to say on the subject herself, Isla took her eggnog and headed up to her room.

  At Seb’s door she hesitated for a moment. It was tempting to put her ear to the wood and listen, but if he was in there and came out unexpectedly that might be a bit embarrassing for both of them. Or, if he’d been out and arriving back caught her snooping, equally awkward to explain. So she stood for a moment, cup clutched in her hand, wavering as she glanced up and down the corridor, sweating under the bulk of the coat she had yet to remove. Then, with one last look and an impatient sigh, she carried on to her own room. If she didn’t see him at dinner later, then perhaps she’d give him a knock. Just to see if he was OK – nothing else.

  She made her way down the hallway to her own room, and just as she turned the key in the lock, her phone pinged the arrival of a text message. She thought perhaps Justin had given up, but shedding her coat and dumping her coffee on the bedside table, she perched on the edge of her bed and read:

  Please talk to me. I would hate us to part as enemies.

  Isla gazed at the screen for a moment. She’d liked and trusted Justin at first, hadn’t she? Should she give him another chance? She was beginning to feel she’d been very wrong about her dad, so perhaps Justin, too, was as truly sorry as he kept saying he was. But she didn’t know what to say in reply to his message. She didn’t want them to part on bad terms, but she didn’t want to talk to him either. Putting the phone to one side, she wrapped her hands around her cup and turned her gaze to the window. Dodie had messaged her to say they’d had a little snow in Bournemouth, but she bet the snow back home wasn’t nearly as dramatic as this. Maybe Dahlia had a point about checking the flights. Grabbing her phone again, she tried to connect to the Wi-Fi but, as Dahlia had warned her, the connection was patchy at best. Every time she attempted to get on the airline’s website the little circle whirled round and round in aimless perpetuity and then crashed. With a sigh, Isla put the phone down again.

  An hour later Isla looked out of the window again. She’d almost finished her packing, apart from what she needed to tide her over until she left the next day. The letters her dad had given her, unopened still, were tucked into her suitcase. Simply diving in and reading them was not an option – she needed to wait, to get a little distance from St Martin.

  Isla was desperate to question Glory about why she’d chosen to send them all back to Ian and never tell her a thing about them. But that was a conversation for after Christmas at least, because this felt like the last Christmas when everything would be just the way she’d always known it. Then again, perhaps it was too late for that. Perhaps this Christmas was already altered beyond recognition – perhaps everything had changed the moment Isla had decided to come to St Martin, and perhaps now there was no turning back.

  The snow, while still steady, seemed lighter now. It was early afternoon and the skies were already darkening, though the streets were well lit. It seemed a shame to waste her last few hours in St Martin stuck in her room. She had boots and a good coat and it wasn’t as if she’d go far wrong if she stayed on the main roads and streets.

  Rushing from the window, she pulled on her outdoor clothes, grabbed her room keys and the dirty cup to return to Dahlia and headed downstairs. If she went out now, she’d be back in plenty of time for dinner at seven. Once more she paused outside Seb’s door, and once more she went on her way without knocking. If he’d wanted her company he would have sought it out and if he was working then the last thing he needed was hassle. She’d look for him at dinner as she’d planned, and if he still didn’t show then she would have every right to worry about where he was.


  ‘Thank you,’ she said as she swung by the bar to hand Dahlia the cup. She looked up from the dinner reservation book and raised her eyebrows as she clocked Isla in her coat.

  ‘Going out?’

  ‘I thought I might as well. It’s my last day and I want to make the most of it.’

  Dahlia glanced at the windows. ‘You’ll be careful not to go too far, won’t you?’

  ‘I’m sure it’ll be fine. I thought I might just wander, perhaps get a closer look at the mountains. I mean, I won’t go up there, of course, just get a bit closer, maybe take some photos to show the folks back home.’

  ‘It looks tame now, but the weather can turn in a heartbeat. It’s hard to imagine if you’re not used to the climate here.’

  ‘I know. And I will be careful, I promise.’ Isla turned to leave and raised a hand. ‘I’ll see you at seven!’

  Her foray out into the mountains with Seb had given her an appetite to see more. If she’d had more time and better conditions, Isla would have liked to visit a lot more of the romantic-sounding resorts that rubbed shoulders with St Martin-de-Belleville: Chamonix, Méribel, Les Menuires, Val Thorens, Orelle – names she’d seen during her search for a hotel and had ignored, failing to understand the spell that this region of the Alps would cast on her. Now that she’d seen it for herself it was impossible to be anything but spellbound; she got tingles just thinking about the beauty of Mont Blanc and the lake that shared its name.

  After her meeting with Ian that morning, when she’d eventually agreed to visit as regularly as she could to maintain the new relationship, she’d started to think that perhaps the notion of coming over to St Martin more often wasn’t just about agreeing to the conditions imposed by Grandma Sarah’s will. How she’d get the money for air fares was another problem, but she would already have a house to use when she did come and a ready itinerary of places she was desperate to explore.