‘Brilliant,’ he said, crossing the room and pulling a sweatshirt over his head. ‘Cocoa it is.’
‘I’ll come with you.’
‘You’ll get cold down in the kitchen and then you’ll never get to sleep.’
‘You’ll get cold too.’
‘Probably, but that doesn’t matter.’
‘It matters if I get cold but not you. How does that work?’
‘I don’t know. Don’t analyse it, just indulge me.’
‘Nope.’
‘Are you always this difficult?’
‘Yep. Just ask my dad.’
He grinned. ‘I wouldn’t dare. Let’s go then, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.’
They’d snuck like naughty children down to the kitchen, using the mood lighting in the units to save drawing attention to themselves. Neither of them knew how to make cocoa, but they’d made a good fist of it and eventually they had a mug of pan-warmed milk each with clumps of bitter chocolate floating in it.
Isla giggled. ‘It tastes horrible.’
‘Sorry. I thought it would be easier to make than that. I mean, you read it in books all the time and see it in films and it looks easy.’
‘Not your fault. I’ve never made it before either. Pathetic, eh? Both of us pushing thirty and neither of us has ever made a cup of cocoa.’
‘I blame Starbucks – it’s too easy to walk down the road and buy one.’
‘Not here it isn’t. Imagine living here with no Starbucks.’
‘Could you?’ Seb asked, leaning across the kitchen counter. ‘Imagine yourself living here?’
Isla set her mug down and rested on her elbows across from him. ‘If you’d asked me yesterday I’d have said no. Today… maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Do you come here a lot?’
‘I’ll have to for the next two years. Months at a time. It’d be nice to know you were here when I come back. A friend…’
Before she knew it, she was moving closer, holding his gaze. ‘A friend…’ she murmured, closer still. ‘Is that all?’
‘I…’ He closed his eyes, and Isla closed hers, lips grazing lips…
They leapt apart as the kitchen door swung open and Dahlia stood before them, baseball bat held above her head, dressing gown flapping around her ankles.
‘What the hell?’ she cried, looking from one to the other. ‘I thought I was being robbed!’
‘Dahlia, I’m so sorry!’ Seb had turned a shade of red so deep he looked in serious danger of spontaneously combusting. ‘We couldn’t sleep, we didn’t want to wake you, we—’
‘Didn’t want to wake me?’ Dahlia clutched at her chest and sat at the table. ‘You damn near gave me a heart attack!’
‘We’re sorry,’ Isla said. ‘We’ll go back to bed, out of your way. We didn’t mean to cause trouble.’
‘Take your drinks,’ Dahlia said, peering into Isla’s mug with a grimace. ‘Whatever the hell they are.’
‘Right,’ Seb nodded, rushing back to claim the mug he’d abandoned as he headed for the door.
Isla stood and waited for him, mortified by the idea that Dahlia was angry with them, but as she dared to glance her way, she saw that though their host was frowning, arms folded tight, she didn’t look angry. If anything, her eyes showed the glint of someone mildly amused by the situation. Isla didn’t know whether to smile in recognition or scuttle away in shame. In the end, they both left looking shamefaced.
‘She didn’t look happy,’ Seb said.
‘Maybe,’ Isla replied, but she couldn’t imagine their sweet, cheery landlady staying mad with anyone for long, even if they had woken her in the middle of the night trying to make cocoa in her kitchen. ‘She actually didn’t look all that mad when we left her – probably just wondered what the hell was going on.’ She peered into her mug. ‘What on earth were we thinking? All that effort and embarrassment for this?’
Seb looked into his own mug as he opened the door into their room and frowned. But as he looked up at Isla again, there was a split second of silence, and then they both burst into laughter.
Being caught red-handed in Dahlia’s kitchen was their own fault, but Isla couldn’t help but wonder what might have happened had Dahlia not chosen that exact moment to come in. It felt as if that perfect, never-to-be-repeated moment, where the stars were aligned and everything would happen as it should would never come again. The possibility now hung in the air between them, unsaid and unrealised. They drank their terrible cocoa, making pointless small talk, skirting round the questions that had both of them so charged up.
Turning off the lights with a brief goodnight, Isla lay awake in Seb’s bed, listening for the tell-tale slowing of his breath that signalled sleep. She must have fallen asleep waiting, because the next thing she knew daylight was edging into their room from behind the curtains. Christmas Day had arrived, and it was time to go and meet the family.
Breakfast was strangely quiet at Residence Alpenrose. The tiny dining room was only half full, and most of the guests there were nursing hangovers. At home, Glory would have been racing around the kitchen by 7 a.m. barking out orders while her sisters got under her feet.
Isla sidled into the dining room feeling sheepish and wishing that she could break into Dahlia’s kitchen again and get her own meal now, instead of having to face her. Seb shuffled behind her looking similarly sheepish. To her relief, Dahlia came straight over to their table with a bright smile.
‘Did you two have a good night?’ she asked. ‘Before I’d chased you from my kitchen, that is.’
‘Dahlia—’ Seb began, but she stopped him.
‘I know what you’re going to say. Last night I was taken by surprise – I didn’t expect to find anyone in my kitchen. But it’s fine, there’s no need to apologise.’
‘We didn’t want to wake you,’ Isla said. ‘That’s why we went to get our own drinks. And we would have told you about it in the morning so you could add them to the bill.’
‘I know you would, honey,’ Dahlia said. She folded one hand over the other and smiled. ‘So you stayed up pretty late. Both of you. Together. You didn’t get any sleep at all?’
Isla resisted the urge to frown. ‘We couldn’t sleep.’
‘That’s nice,’ Dahlia said. ‘Staying up together.’
‘We didn’t stay up together, it just happened that neither of us could sleep and we were awake at the same time.’
‘Of course.’ Dahlia’s knowing expression was infuriating. ‘So, I guess you’re pretty hungry this morning.’
‘I could eat a horse,’ Seb said, and Dahlia looked delighted.
‘Pancakes,’ she said, tapping the side of her nose. ‘Lots of pancakes. How does that sound? You need to keep your strength up.’
‘Wonderful,’ Seb smiled. ‘If it’s no bother.’
‘No bother at all. Christmas morning is just like any other for me. Be back soon.’
‘Well,’ Isla said as they watched Dahlia go to the kitchen, ‘at least she’s still talking to us.’
‘I couldn’t imagine her holding a grudge against anyone for long,’ Seb replied. ‘Come on, we’d better get a seat before she comes back – I don’t want to give her another excuse to tell us off.’
‘God no!’ Isla agreed fervently, prompting huge grins from them both.
An hour later Isla was back in the suite getting ready for lunch with her father. The snow had calmed and the landscape outside was greeting-card pretty, prompting Seb to announce he was going for a walk. Isla suspected it was his chivalrous way of making himself scarce so she could get ready in peace. The room seemed quiet and too empty without him. As she passed his open laptop she ran a finger along it with a small smile. Everything you needed to know about Sebastian was probably contained in there. She supposed that was the thing about coming from a stable, affluent background: you had time to obsess and pursue your passions without the worries that ordinary people had. It was no wonder he was so well-educated, so knowledgeable and accomplished. Like Dahlia
said, you could tell he had breeding. Too much for a scrub like her. She’d been desperate to kiss him and they’d come so close last night, but in the cold light of day it had been a foolish impulse. Even if she admitted her feelings and they got together, even if they had the most wonderful few hours together, she’d have to fly home tomorrow and he wouldn’t want to wait for a girl like her.
And even if he did, it wouldn’t last. Their backgrounds and lives were worlds apart and she couldn’t imagine how she could ever fit into his. There would be expectations, disappointments – not least on the part of his parents when he took her home. She was probably everything they wouldn’t want in a girl; perhaps he’d even be embarrassed.
He was too good for her and he’d only leave her in the end. Better to steer clear in the first place, because she was beginning to feel like this could be something more than she could ever have hoped for, and to lose it would destroy her completely. Better not to let it grow in the first place. Better to pull up the drawbridge of her ice castle and lock him out. Lonely, but safe.
She spun with a start as the door of the suite opened.
‘Are you decent?’ Seb called.
‘Don’t worry, you can come in.’
He peered round the door. His cheeks were flushed with cold, his nose red, hair dishevelled and curled from the damp. He gave a wide grin as he came in and shut the door behind him again.
‘You look lovely,’ he said.
‘It’s the best I can do – I didn’t exactly bring formal wear with me. Where have you been?’
‘Up to the church. You should hear the bells ringing this morning – so pretty. It really felt like Christmas.’
‘What do you normally do on Christmas morning?’ Isla asked. ‘I don’t suppose it’s always like this.’
‘It’s never like this,’ he said.
‘I suppose not. I’m bricking it over this lunch, but I suppose it’s worse for you being stuck here. At least I have someone to eat lunch with.’
‘Oh, I’ve got Dahlia,’ he said cheerfully. ‘And it’s just another day, after all.’
‘Only it’s not.’
‘Do you make a big deal of it at home?’ Seb sat on the edge of the bed and yanked off his boots.
‘Mum does. She goes all out – table full of food, more guests than we have room for, Queen’s speech – the lot.’
‘Sounds good.’
Isla laughed. ‘It’s a nightmare. I didn’t think I’d miss it, but a little bit of me does this morning.’
‘You’re bound to – family is important no matter where you are.’
‘I suppose they are. I suppose you’ll be busy making phone calls back home later.’
‘I’m glad you’re giving your dad this chance today,’ he said. ‘That has to take priority.’
‘I feel terrible about leaving you.’
‘Don’t. I’ll be happy to look forward to that drink later, if you can make it.’
Isla smiled. ‘You bet I will.’
She was nursing her first glass of wine of the day. A majestic tree stood in the corner of the sitting room, decorated tastefully in gold and red, the scent of fresh pine still there beneath the stronger smells of cooking meat and vegetables. Celine and Natalie were in the kitchen, and she could hear them conversing in rapid French as they worked. Benet kept his eyes firmly on the screen of his phone while Ian tried his best to start a conversation that wouldn’t quickly descend into profuse apologies for all their missed Christmases.
‘Your house is lovely,’ Isla said. It was, and she’d felt the pull of longing as she walked over the threshold. It felt warm, lived-in, occupied by a normal functioning family. It was traditionally styled in rustic woods and stone, delicate pink rendering over the fireplace making a striking feature of it. She could smell cinnamon on the air.
‘Thank you,’ he said.
‘I feel I should be helping in the kitchen.’
‘Celine would hate that,’ he smiled. ‘She likes to do it herself. You’re our guest after all.’
Benet looked up and said something to Ian in French and Ian frowned.
‘We’re eating it again,’ he replied in English, ‘because Isla is here and the rules are different in Britain.’
‘What’s that?’ Isla asked.
‘Christmas dinner,’ Ian said. ‘Nothing to worry about.’
‘You’ve eaten already?’
Ian sighed. ‘We had it last night. After the church service. It’s how we do it here. But Celine was more than happy to prepare another one from the leftovers. In fact, it was her idea because she knows that you’d normally eat it today and it’s not unheard of for us to do it – we’ve done it when Grandma Sarah visited. Besides, I can always make room for more turkey, no matter how many times we eat it. Benet is pulling his face because he chooses to forget that eating the leftovers from our Christmas Eve feast on Christmas Day is as much of a tradition here in St Martin as cooking a turkey on Christmas Day is in Britain.’
‘Oh,’ Isla said. So much for keeping under the radar. It looked as though sulky Benet was happy to seize on any excuse to hate her. It was possible that he already knew she was on to him, but perhaps he didn’t even need that much.
‘So, did you have any more thoughts on what you were going to do with your house once you get it?’ he asked.
‘Sarah’s house?’
‘Yours now,’ Ian smiled. ‘I think we can safely say that now, can’t we? At least I hope we’re on the road to reconciliation now… We still have to provide something official for Grover, of course, but as far as you and I are concerned we’re good, right?’
Isla acknowledged his statement with a short nod. ‘Some,’ she said carefully, looking to see that Benet had stopped tapping on his phone.
‘That’s good. By the way, who was that man you were with last night? I had thought… well, you’d mentioned Justin and…’
‘Justin and I are friends,’ Isla said. ‘Just like Seb and I are friends.’
‘Right. So there’s no boyfriend? Back at home?’
‘No.’
‘I’m not prying; I’m just interested. In your life, what you’ve been doing.’
‘Not getting boyfriends, that’s for sure.’
‘Because I want you to know I’m proud of you. I’m proud of the woman you’ve become despite the hand you were dealt. And I’m not pretending that I didn’t have a huge part to play in that, which makes me even prouder and wretched with guilt all at the same time.’
‘You don’t have to keep apologising.’
‘But I do. I can never stop apologising because the damage I caused will never stop affecting your life – it’s written into everything you are. I can do my best to make it up to you—’
‘And you’re already doing that,’ Isla cut in with a smile that bordered on desperation. She didn’t want to keep coming back to this conversation. ‘We’re here now and I know you’re trying. That’s all I need from you.’
‘Come!’ Celine shouted from the kitchen. Isla looked at her dad, relieved by the timely interruption.
‘Looks like lunch is ready,’ he said, nudging Benet with his foot to get off his phone and walk to the kitchen to eat. Benet had been bent over his phone, staring intently at it the whole time Isla and her father had been talking but Isla didn’t think for a minute he was quite as absorbed as he pretended. More likely he was listening for clues as to what Isla knew or didn’t know about Serendipity Sound, about where her relationship with Ian was going and what that might mean for him and his future financial security.
Isla followed Ian to a bright, warm kitchen with huge windows looking out over the snowy slopes at the feet of the nearby mountains. The snow glistened as the sun peeked out from behind a thick bank of clouds, like a glitter-strewn Christmas-card scene. She took her place at a table bedecked with gorgeous claret and gold cloth and matching napkins, crystal glasses and sparkling silverware. At its heart was a centrepiece of evergreens and winter fruit sprayed wi
th gold flecks.
Cold meats, potato and bean salads, vegetables and crudités and bowls of lush green leaves and sauces filled the huge dining table that dominated the room. There was a half-carved turkey at one end and a slab of thick-cut ham at the other. It wasn’t Christmas dinner as she knew it, but clearly Celine was proud of her efforts.
‘This looks wonderful,’ Isla said. And it did. Ordinarily she would have been happy to dig in, but all morning, despite her efforts, something hadn’t been right with her. She should have been salivating at the sight of so much food, but her mind somehow wasn’t on it at all.
‘Thank you,’ Celine said. ‘Please… eat.’
Isla was seated next to Ian, Natalie at her other side. Benet sat across from her, throwing her baleful looks while Celine fussed about the kitchen. Whatever her stepmother’s motives had been for making her pact with Justin, Isla didn’t want to believe that she was a bad person. Maybe she was neither good nor bad, but somewhere in between like the rest of the world, someone who sometimes just made bad decisions. Where money was concerned, that was easier to do than anybody liked to admit.
Isla tried to show enthusiasm; digging a spoon into the potato salad she ladled a mound onto her plate. Then she went for the green beans soaked in a vinaigrette dressing and a slice of cold turkey. Everyone else followed her lead and began to help themselves amidst the usual dinner-time chatter; comments on how beautiful it looked, what the ingredients were in certain dishes, what was in season and what was harder to come by, and so on.
It was lovely, but for Isla it was all starting to feel like hard work. As much as she wanted to win favour and fit in with her new family, her mind kept slipping away to somewhere across the village and she had to keep dragging it back.
‘I suppose this Christmas is very different for you,’ Celine said, handing a basket of bread to Isla.
‘It is. But it’s a nice change if I’m honest. My mum would kill me if she could hear me say that though.’
‘I’m glad it’s not too miserable for you. I think perhaps you may begin to like it here in St Martin?’
‘It’s nice. Very pretty. Nice people.’
‘You looked so happy when we saw you outside the church last night,’ Natalie agreed. ‘As if you had always belonged here.’
A Cosy Candlelit Christmas: A wonderfully festive feel good romance (An Unforgettable Christmas Book 2) Page 23