by Fiona Harper
Louise’s eyebrows rose. Toby didn’t seem very happy about that. Much as she didn’t want to admire the tramp who’d stolen her husband, Louise couldn’t help it. At that age, all she’d been able to say to the man on the other end of the line was Yes, Toby … No, Toby … She wasn’t sure if she was irritated or impressed that the pre-schooler had more backbone than she’d given her credit for.
Louise had already said a giant No to Toby when she’d asked for a divorce, and now she found she didn’t want to say anything but no to him. Silly, but true. However, this was Jack’s Christmas too, and she knew he’d dearly love the trip. Saying yes to this didn’t mean she was a pushover; it just meant she was a good mother, thinking of her son, keeping relationships with his father amicable.
She sighed. ‘Okay. You can take Jack to Lapland, but I want extra time at Easter.’
Toby blew out a breath. ‘Sure.’
Louise almost dropped the phone. She’d been all geared up for a fight, hadn’t expected it to be that easy.
‘Thanks, Lulu,’ he said, sounding less like the movie star and more like the decent man she’d once married. ‘I appreciate that. I’ll need to pick him up tomorrow afternoon, though. We have to leave early Monday morning from Gatwick.’
Disappointment speared through her, harder and deeper than before. ‘Fine.’ She brightly, even though no one could see her. ‘See you then.’
And then she hung up without waiting for any pleasantries and drew in a long steadying breath. Now all she had to do was tell Jack the good news without bursting into tears.
There was a strange car parked slap-bang in front of Whitehaven. Ben noticed it the moment he stepped out of the woods and onto the front lawn. Strange, because it was unknown to him but also strange because no one in their right mind would drive such a low-slung sports car in countryside like this. If it rained hard, he’d give the owner five minutes before it stalled in a ford or got stuck in some mud.
He was just wondering if he should check whether Louise was okay when she emerged from the house with Jack in her arms. She was hugging him tight, oblivious to anyone else. A man followed her out of the house, dressed all in black and wearing sunglasses. Ben snorted to himself. They were only days away from the solstice and there was no crisp afternoon sun, just relentless grey clouds.
The guy removed his glasses and shoved them in a pocket and Ben suddenly realised who he was. Weren’t most people in films supposed to be shorter and uglier than they looked on screen? Unfortunately Tobias Thornton was neither. He looked every inch the action hero. He smiled at his soon-to-be ex-wife and kissed her on the cheek. Ben thought he lingered a little too long, but Louise smiled up at him.
Right. There was no use standing here like a lemon. This was family stuff. Private stuff. He might as well go and check on the greenhouses, as he did first every Sunday afternoon.
On reflection, he thought he might have over-pruned the first plant that received his attention in the greenhouse. Seeing Louise and Toby standing there in front of the house had reminded him of all those photos Jas kept shoving under his nose.
It was as if, until that moment, he’d known that Louise was Louise Thornton, but the woman in the magazines and the single mother who liked baking and walking in the countryside had seemed like two very different people. But now, without warning, those two completely separate universes had collided. It had left him reeling.
He spent as long as he could watering and feeding the plants. Then he tidied up the greenhouses and swept the floors. All the while, a snapshot of Louise smiling stayed in his head, her lips stretched wide, her teeth showing. He stopped sweeping and rested the broom against the wall.
Realisation hit him. That was as far as the smile had gone. Her eyes had had the same hollow look he’d seen in those magazine pictures. She’d been faking it. For Jack.
Ben smiled to himself. The sun was starting to dip low in the sky and he was now definitely ready to head towards the kitchen for one of Louise’s bottomless cups of tea.
But when he reached the back door it was locked. There was no warm cloud of baking smells wafting through the cracks. No light, no noise—nothing. He tried the front of the house but it was the same story. There was no movement in the study or the library. The curved French windows round the side of the house revealed nothing but a darkened drawing room with a bare Christmas tree standing in the corner.
Where was Louise? Had she gone off somewhere with him?
Well, if she had, it was none of his business. And, since his work was done here, he might as well go home.
He hardly took in the scenery as he tramped through the woods on the way down to the boathouse. He did, however, spot the loose brick in the boathouse wall as he passed it. Someone might guess the key’s hiding place if it was left like that. Slowly, he slid it back into position until everything on the surface looked normal again.
It was only when he had jumped into the dinghy and was about to untie it that he noticed a glow in the arched windows of the boathouse. Someone was in there. And he had a pretty good idea who. What puzzled him was why. Why was she hiding out in a dusty old boathouse when she had a twenty-roomed Georgian house standing on the top of the hill?
There was only one way to find out.
He clambered out of the boat again and ran round the back of the structure, up the stone staircase and rapped lightly on the door. ‘Louise?’
The silence that followed was so long and so perfect he started to think he must have got it wrong. Maybe a light had been left on a few days ago … but, he hadn’t noticed it when he’d arrived. His fingers made contact with the handle.
A weary voice came from beyond the door. ‘Go away.’
A grim smile pressed his lips together. No, his first instincts had been right. She was hiding.
He pressed down on the handle and pushed the old door open. Everything was still inside. She didn’t move, not even to look at him, and at first he was too distracted by the transformation of the once dingy little room to work out where she was sitting. The inside of the boathouse now looked like the inside of a New England cabin. When had all this happened?
The cracking varnish on the tongue and groove walls was gone, sanded back and covered in off-white paint. The fireplace was still there, along with the desk and cane furniture, but something had happened to them too—everything was clean and cosy-looking. Checked fabric in blue and white covered the chair cushions and a paraffin lantern stood on the desk, adding to the glow from the fire.
A movement caught his eye and he twisted his head to find Louise, sitting with her knees up on something that looked like a cross between an old iron bedstead and a sofa, the firelight picking out her cheekbones. She was looking at him, her face pale and heavy. She didn’t need to speak. Every molecule of her body was repeating her earlier request.
Go away.
He wasn’t normally the kind of guy to barge in where he wasn’t invited, but instead of turning around and walking out the door, he walked over to the opposite end of the sofa thing and sat down, hoping his trousers weren’t going to leave mud on the patchwork quilt that covered it.
‘What’s up?’
Louise returned to staring into the orange flames writhing in the grate. ‘Christmas is cancelled,’ she said flatly.
He shifted so he was a little more comfortable, avoiding the multitude of different-sized cushions that were scattered everywhere. ‘That explains the tree, then.’
Louise made a noise that could roughly be interpreted as a question, so he pressed on.
‘The one in your drawing room—standing there naked as the day it was born.’
Another noise, one that sounded suspiciously as if she didn’t want to find that funny. ‘There didn’t seem to be much point in decorating it now. Jack’s gone to Lapland.’
‘Lapland?’
She turned those burning eyes on him. ‘Father Christmas? Reindeer? Who can compete with that?’
He shrugged. ‘Think yo
urself lucky. At least Lapland is worth being deserted for. All I’m competing with is a few days in the Cotswolds with mum and the suave new boyfriend and I still came in second best.’
Okay, that got a proper snuffling sound that could almost be interpreted as a chuckle.
‘You win, Ben. Your Christmas stinks more than mine. Pull up a chair and join the pity party.’ She gave him a long look, taking in his relaxed position on the opposite end of the sofa-bed thingy. ‘Not one to stand on ceremony, are you?’
He grinned at her. ‘Nope. So … how does one throw a pity party at Christmas? Is it the same as an ordinary pity party or is there extra tinsel?’
A loud and unexpected laugh burst from Louise. Very soon there were tears in her eyes. She wiped them away with the side of one hand. ‘You rat, Ben Oliver! You’ve just ruined the only social event on my calendar for the next two weeks. I’m going to have to reschedule my party now … Will the twenty-fifth suit you?’
It was good to see her smile. He knew from experience just how lonely a childless Christmas could be—and the first one was always the killer.
‘This place looks nice,’ he said, standing up and walking around to room to inspect it further.
Louise nodded, pulling her knees into her chest and tucked the cream, red and blue quilt over her legs. ‘It’s not bad, is it? I’ve even had the windows draught-proofed.’ She glanced around the room and then her eyes became glassy. ‘I’m tempted just to camp out here for the rest of the festive season. The house is just so … it’s too … you know.’
He nodded. The bare Christmas tree had said it all.
He took a deep breath and walked over to her, holding out a hand. She frowned at him and pulled the quilt tighter around her.
‘Come on.’ He wiggled his fingers. ‘I’ve got a lamb casserole that will feed about twenty ready to heat up at home. Come for dinner.’
She didn’t move. ‘Won’t Jas mind?’
‘Mind? She’ll have so many invitations to go to tea after a visit from you that I’ll hardly see her until she’s twelve. I’ll even let you be miserable at my house, if you really want.’
Louise smiled and shook her head. ‘No, you wouldn’t.’
He stuffed the hand he’d been holding out in his jacket pocket. ‘Don’t you believe me?’
‘To quote a man I know: “Nope”. In my experience, people say they want to you to be real, but only as long as it involves living up to their expectations of you at the same time.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘I learned a long time ago that disappointing them costs.’
He held out his hand again. ‘Well, I already know how grumpy you can be, so I wouldn’t mind at all if you disappointed me on that front.’
Despite herself, she smiled at him, the firelight reflected in her eyes. ‘You’re not going to give up, are you?’ She lifted her arm, placed her long, slim fingers in his and pushed the quilt aside.
They both smiled as they anticipated his response.
‘Nope.’
His hand closed around hers, slender and warm, and he pulled her up to stand. Without her shoes she seemed smaller and he stared down into her face. The fire crackled and the light of the paraffin lamp flickered and danced. He realised that neither of them had taken a breath since he’d taken hold of her hand.
Louise dropped her head, letting her hair fall over her face and disentangled her fingers from his. ‘I think you might be my guardian angel, Ben Oliver.’
He liked it when she said his whole name like that. Somehow it made it seem more intimate rather than more formal. She walked over to a hat stand by the door and pulled her coat off of it. While she did up her buttons, she risked another look at him. ‘You always seem to be there when I need someone to make me think straight.’
He pretended not to be touched as he turned off the lamp and ushered her out of the door. And he tried very hard not be stupidly pleased at being what Louise Thornton needed.
Louise locked the door and hid the key in its usual hole and they walked the short distance down to the jetty in silence. He was still mulling it over, standing in the boat with the rope in his hand, ready to cast off, when Louise stepped into the boat beside him and, as she brushed past him to sit down in the stern, she stopped. He felt her breath warm on his face as she leaned close, just for a second or so, and the soft skin of her lips met his cheek.
He whipped his head round to look at her, but she was already sitting on the low wooden bench looking up at him. ‘Thank you, Ben.’
A realisation hit him with as much force as the cold waves buffeting the little boat. He wanted to be what she needed. And he wanted to keep being what she needed. But she didn’t need a man in her life right now. It was too soon. The divorce wasn’t even final.
What she really needed was a friend. He fired up the motor and untied the boat before heading off across the choppy water and as he crossed the river he knew just how he could cheer Louise up.
And cheering Louise up would be a good idea. Because then she wouldn’t look so lost and lonely, and he wouldn’t have to fight the knight-in-shining-armour part of himself that wanted to charge in and be everything she needed.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The house seemed empty without Jack in it. Maybe moving to the country had been a mistake. If she’d been staying in London, she could have lost herself in the last-minute Christmas Eve panic in Oxford Street. It might have even been fun to try and spot the most harried male shopper with a look of desperation in his eyes.
Louise stopped by a shallow pool surrounded by bamboo. A copper statue of a Chinese Buddha, covered in verdigris, stared back at her. He was the closest thing to human being she’d seen since having dinner with Ben on Sunday evening. The statue stared past her, looking serenely through the trees to the river below, and she decided he probably wasn’t the life and soul of the party, anyway, and moved on.
She only entered the house to collect a few things and make a flask of tea. In the last few days she’d spent a lot of time at the boathouse, preferring the cosy little space to the multitude of echoes that seemed to have appeared around Whitehaven.
Tonight, she was going to sleep in the boathouse, tucked up under both the duvet and the quilt, with the fire going and a good book for company. Hopefully, Santa wouldn’t discover her hiding place, set between the beach and the woods, and he’d fly straight past. There wasn’t anything she wanted this year.
She pottered around the house, wandering from the kitchen to her bedroom and back again, picking up the few things she’d need. All the while, she distracted herself with her favourite Christmas daydream. At least in her imagination she could keep the loneliness at bay.
The fire was glowing and coloured fairy lights twinkled on a huge blue spruce in the bay window of a cosy cottage sitting room. It was early in the morning, the sky a deep indigo, and Jas and Jack were squabbling half-heartedly about who was going to hand out the presents. She and Ben were laughing and eventually they let the kids get on with it, just to keep them quiet.
Then, amidst the sounds of giggling children and wrapping paper being ripped, Ben drew her to one side and presented her with a silver box with a delicate ribbon of white velvet tied round it. She stopped and smiled at him, a look that said ‘you shouldn’t have’ glowing in her eyes.
Then she gave in and tugged the wrappings free with as much abandon as the children had. Before she opened the box, she bit her lip and looked at him again. Then she prised open the lid to reveal …
This was the bit where she always got stuck. What could be in the box? She didn’t want fancy jewellery and body lotion and stuff for the bath was just a bit too blah.
Louise stood from where she was, putting a change of warm clothes into a holdall, and stared in her bedroom mirror. You’re losing it, girl. Seriously. Hasn’t this fantasising about the gardener gone just a little bit too far?
It had. She knew it had. But it was warm and comforting—like hot chocolate for the soul—and heaven knew she needed
a bit of comfort these days. And it was the one Christmas comfort that was one hundred percent calorie-free. She’d end up the size of a house if she resorted to the other kind.
She zipped up the holdall and slung it over her shoulder. The clock on the mantelpiece said three. She needed to go soon. No way was she trudging along the rough paths coated with soggy leaves in the dark.
Louise took her time wandering back to the boathouse. There was something hauntingly beautiful about her wild garden in winter. However, when she was only minutes away from her destination, the sky grew darker. Rain came in hard, stinging drops and she picked up her pace.
She ran up the stairs to the upper level of the boathouse, only pausing to retrieve the key from its hiding place, and burst into her cosy upper room only to stop in her tracks, leaving the door wide open and a malicious draft rushing in behind her.
What …?
She couldn’t quite believe her eyes. What had happened to her sanctuary while she’d been gone?
On almost every available surface there were candles—big, thick, tall ones, the sort you’d find in churches—some balanced on saucers from the old china picnic set she’d rescued from the damp. The fire was burning bright, crackling with delight at the fresh logs it was hungrily devouring. There was holly and ivy on the mantle and, in the corner, near one of the windows …
Louise laughed out loud. How could this be?
A Christmas tree? Not a huge one, but at least five feet high, bare except for a silver star on top. She walked over to it and spotted a box of decorations sitting on the floor, waiting to be hung. Red, purple and silver shiny baubles would look amazing in the candlelight. She picked one out of the box and fingered it gently.
How …? Who …?
An outboard motor sputtered to life outside and suddenly all her questions were answered. She ran out onto the balcony and leaned over. ‘Ben!’
The little wooden dinghy was already moving away from the jetty and he looked up at her, a sheepish smile on his face. He waved and yelled something back, but his words were snatched away by the billowing wind.