WARM WINTER KISSES a feel good Christmas romance novel

by STEEPLES, JILL

  In the depths of the countryside you have to be a little more resourceful.

  The noises now reverberating through the house had startled me. More than a little. In the pitch dark, for a moment I thought I was back at home and I reached out for Martin’s familiar shape, knowing what an absolute boon he was in an emergency. With a jolt I quickly realised I wasn’t at home and Martin was now consigned to history. My heart sank; I still hadn’t got used to that idea. My mind went into overdrive, replaying in vivid detail the events of the last few days and, in particular, those last few hours before I’d fallen asleep. Meeting Sylvia, exploring the lovely house, the wild creature attacking me, and Rocco, looking vitriolic, observing me from the doorway. Oh, the embarrassment!

  Still, I couldn’t worry about that now. Something was going on downstairs. From the racket they were making, cupboard doors being flung open and shut, I thought they must have been ransacking the place. Where was Rocco, I wondered, and Millie? Why wasn’t she barking?

  Although I felt like disappearing back down under the duvet, I knew I had to do something. I mean, if I did manage to single-handedly apprehend the gang downstairs, then Rocco would have no choice but to reassess his opinion of me. I might have wanted to ignore the whole thing, but you’d have needed a tin helmet and earmuffs to miss that kind of commotion. I did what any other self-respecting girl would do. I pulled on my dressing gown and went down to introduce myself.

  Tiptoeing down the stairs, a sense of ridiculousness overcame me. What on earth was I going to do? Me, in my towelling robe and ballet pumps, was hardly the best deterrent to anyone intent on robbing the place or, worse still, savagely attacking the house’s occupants.

  I gulped, as fear ran down my backbone. And where was that stupid bloody dog when you needed it? Edging my way to the bottom of the stairs, my heart pounding in my chest, I peered round the corner into the corridor that led to the kitchen.

  Nothing.

  Only a lot of huffing, puffing and sighing coming from the kitchen. Curiously, I made my way to the door, eager now to find out exactly what was going on.

  ‘Oh, thank goodness,’ I sighed, relief flooding through my veins, at the sight of Rocco, fully dressed, and holding a large basket in his hands. ‘I thought we had burglars.’

  ‘Burglars?’ He looked at me as though I’d just walked off a spaceship.

  ‘Never mind.’ I gestured towards the wicker basket. ‘What are you doing exactly?’

  ‘I’m off mushroom picking. Best time of day for it. You coming?’

  He pulled on a wax jacket and eased his feet into a pair of Hunter boots. He looked all earthy and wholesome, like a Greek God. Mmm, I sighed inwardly, as Apollo the Greek God of Hunting, Farming, Mushroom Picking and Wellie-wearing made for the door with Millie skipping happily around his feet.

  It was clear I was working for a madman. It was the middle of the night, for goodness sake. Through the windows I could see it was still dark out there. What was the time, anyway? In the pitch black I hadn’t been able to make it out upstairs. Now, glancing at the pine wall clock I saw it was 5.30 a.m. My God, had I really slept that long? It felt like one o’clock in the morning. Still, at least I’d be able to get another couple of hours in before breakfast. The thought of that big comfy bed and the lovely fluffy goose down duvet waiting upstairs for me was heavenly.

  Rocco coughed and raised his eyebrows. He was clearly waiting for an answer. From the look on his face, I had a feeling there was probably only one correct answer.

  ‘Great,’ I said cheerily, as if I loved nothing more than being up and out at the crack of dawn. ‘I’ll have a quick shower and then I’ll be with you.’

  ‘There’s no time for that. Throw this on,’ he said, chucking a coat into my arms. ‘There’s loads of wellies down here. You should find a pair to fit.’

  So that’s how I came to be tramping out into the countryside at some unearthly hour with a mad dog and a top chef and a wicker basket, and me in my jimjams with a coat, three sizes too big, thrown over the top.

  Had I known, I would have planned my wardrobe a little better. To say I wasn’t looking my best was probably an understatement. Some hip-hugging jeans, a cashmere sweater and some sexy riding boots would have gone a lot further towards creating the image I was hoping to project, rather than the sleep-deprived bag lady meets farmer Giles look I’d managed. Anyway, it was perfectly clear that there was no one to impress, as Rocco’s mind was clearly on more earthy matters.

  ‘So, what do you know about mushrooms, Beth?’ he asked as he strode off down the path of his back garden to reach a stile that led into the field behind. He had long legs and covered a great distance in a short time. I had to make little galloping movements to keep up with him.

  Surprisingly, it felt good to be outside. There was a fine mist hovering over the ground and the promise of a bright, clear autumn day hung in the air. The sharpness stung my cheeks causing my skin to go all tingly, but that may have had something to do with being in such close proximity to Rocco.

  Now, back to the matter in hand. What did I know about mushrooms? That they came in little blue plastic trays and you could pick them up at the supermarket.

  ‘Well, I know they come in different varieties like flat and button,’ I ventured.

  Good answer, I thought with only a touch of smugness, but Rocco’s withering sidelong glance and shake of the head told me that perhaps it wasn’t.

  ‘Right. I can see I’ve got my work cut out with you. We’re going over there,’ he said, pointing to a wooded area at the end of the field. ‘Come on; let’s see what we can find.’

  Millie knew the way. She’d obviously done this jaunt a hundred times before. Her inquisitive nose tracked the ground and her tail swayed happily in the air.

  By the time we’d reached the woods daylight had broken through. Crunching our way through the leaves, it felt strangely exhilarating to be the only people creeping about among the trees, searching for what seemed to be hidden treasures. The colours on the forest floor were breathtaking: burnt amber, deep chestnut, honey gold. The only time I’d seen anything similar had been on a hair dye colour chart, but even those couldn’t match the vibrancy of the hues in front of us today. The smell of leaf mould rising from the warm, damp floor added to the delicious autumnal feel.

  ‘Look at this.’ Rocco was crouched down on the floor, cupping some mushrooms as if they were delicate orchids. ‘Aren’t they beautiful? Penny Buns.’

  Good grief, what was he going on about now? Buns? I hadn’t even realised he’d noticed mine.

  ‘Uh?’ I bent down to join him.

  ‘Penny Buns. That’s what they’re called.’ He smiled for the first time that morning. ‘Charming name, though more commonly known asPorcini.’

  Ah, at least I’d heard of those.

  ‘They’re this lovely reddish-brown colour and have a classic toadstool shape. You have to be careful, some of the larger ones can have maggots in them, but these smaller ones,’ he said, holding up a perfect specimen, ‘these are what we’re looking for.’

  ‘But aren’t some mushrooms poisonous, fatal even?’

  ‘Well, you have to know what you’re doing. I’m not suggesting Joe Bloggs goes out and starts picking the first mushrooms he comes across, but if you’re experienced and are able to identify a poisonous mushroom, then you’ll know what to avoid. I learnt from my grandfather. He used to take me out when I was a small lad. Taught me everything he knew.’ There was a wistful look in his eye as he pulled himself up to his full towering height. ‘Just the yeasty smell of one of these beauties is enough to remind me of those days.’

  ‘Is that where you got your love of food, from your grandfather?’

  ‘Well, my love of the outdoors certainly came from him. He used to take me fishing, shooting, picking mushrooms and so I suppose the food was a natural follow-on to that. It’s the only thing I’ve ever been good at. I wasn’t academic, but I always felt at home in a kitchen.’


  He paused for a moment, looking into my eyes as if contemplating whether to say more.

  ‘My mum wasn’t around much. She left when I was six. I suppose I’ve been trying to recreate that sense of family ever since, and the only way I’ve known how to do that is through food.’

  I nodded, thinking how awful it must have been to grow up without a mum. My mum and dad had abandoned me for some fanciful foreign adventure at the age of twenty-eight and that felt bad enough. To be abandoned as a child must be awful. Was that why Rocco was so driven and ambitious? To prove something to the mother who had left him?

  ‘Why did she leave?’ I immediately regretted the question as I recognised the flicker of pain in his eyes.

  He shrugged, his feet kicking aimlessly at the mat of leaves at his feet.

  ‘She found someone else. Fell in love and within weeks she’d walked out on me and Dad.’

  ‘No! And left you behind? I can maybe understand someone walking out on their partner, but not a child.’

  ‘Exactly. She kept in touch at first. Came and saw me when she could. Even wanted me to go and live with her and her new bloke a little while after, but Dad would never have allowed that and besides, by then my loyalty was to him.’

  ‘Of course.’ I crouched down beside him, my hands sifting through the foliage, but my attention was completely focused on what Rocco was telling me.

  It felt weird being alone with him like this, seeing an honesty and vulnerability I hadn’t expected, one that was so at odds with the hard veneer of his public image.

  ‘Do you see your mum now?’

  ‘No. I haven’t seen her in years. Why would I want to? The visits stopped soon after she left. It was too painful for Dad.’ Rocco stood up, holding out his hand to help me up. From his expression, I guessed it had been pretty painful for him too. ‘She didn’t really want to know me as a kid, so why would I want her in my life now?’

  It sounded harsh, but I could understand where he was coming from. I’d read somewhere that he’d lived with his father until he died when Rocco was only fourteen, so it sounded as though he didn’t have a huge family network to fall back on.

  ‘Come on, this isn’t getting the mushrooms picked,’ he said, killing that particular line of conversation dead. ‘We need to get this basket filled and back to the house.’

  I followed in Rocco’s footsteps, watching with interest as he picked up the mushrooms, inspected them and then either placed them in the basket or discarded them, totally absorbed in what he was doing.

  ‘I grew up on a council estate,’ I volunteered. ‘I don’t think I even tried a mushroom until I was about fourteen and picking my own, well, I wouldn’t have known where to start.’

  I thought back to my own childhood, so different to that of Rocco’s. There hadn’t been much money around and quite frankly, Mum wasn’t exactly domestic goddess material. Lexi and I had survived on a diet of ready meals from an early age, becoming intimate with the contents of the huge chest freezer that lived in the shed, along with the workings of the microwave. Mushrooms were exotic but unappetising items that came in tins swimming in brine.

  Rocco smiled, giving me a sidelong glance.

  ‘Well, at least if I can get you to appreciate these lovely wild mushrooms and you promise never to buy a packet of those awful button mushrooms from the supermarket again, then I’ll feel as though I’ve succeeded in a small way.’

  I caught him looking at me again, something indefinable upon his face, a look that made my legs go all wobbly inside my wellies.

  ‘I promise,’ I said smiling, feeling that if I didn’t I’d be letting him down in a big way and, for some inexplicable reason, I really didn’t want that to happen.

  A little while later, as we made our way home with our brimming basket of produce and came in sight of the house, Rocco’s sexy black Hunter boots stopped abruptly in their tracks.

  ‘Shit!’ he exclaimed, running a hand through his curls, which were charmingly wayward that morning. ‘That’s the last thing we need.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Pandora,’ he said darkly, gesturing to a Mercedes coupe parked on the skew-whiff in the driveway.

  My heart sank. I’d known this introduction would have to come at some stage, but not now, not in my wellies. I was so not ready for it.

  His girlfriend didn’t exactly get a heartfelt welcome from Rocco either, but then I supposed he had other more pressing matters on his mind. Besides, seven o’clock in the morning isn’t the best time to open your house to visitors. He went striding off in the direction of the house, leaving Millie and me to follow behind.

  I looked down at the brown fur-ball and couldn’t help but smile at her adorable expression. Our relationship was developing. I wouldn’t really call myself a doggy person, but she was like a beguiling child, desperate to be liked and unwilling to take no for an answer. If she wasn’t glued to Rocco’s side, then she was scrabbling for attention at mine.

  At the back door, I hovered for a moment, anxious about the reception waiting inside. I prised off my wellies and hung the coat on the rack in the lobby. Millie’s soulful eyes looked up at me as if to say, ‘Come on, we’ll do this together,’ so with a big smile on my face, I wandered into the kitchen feeling like the proverbial lamb to the slaughter.

  Rocco was at the sink washing his hands and Pandora was standing beside him, observing me savagely.

  ‘Jesus Christ!’ she sneered, in a thick Eastern European drawl, ‘is this another one of your girls? What are you playing at now, Rocco?’ She aimed a sideways kick at Millie, who slunk towards her basket and then thought better of it, coming back to huddle at my side.

  I glanced at Rocco, but my gaze returned automatically to Pandora’s perfect face. I didn’t want to appear rude, but I couldn’t take my eyes off her. Of course, I’d seen photographs of her before so I knew she was beautiful, but in the flesh her beauty was jaw-droppingly breathtaking. I don’t think I’d ever seen anyone so absolutely without any kind of noticeable flaw.

  In her teetering high-heeled boots, she matched every inch of Rocco’s six-foot-two frame. Her body was lithe and willowy and looked as though it had been poured into her designer jeans, and a white t-shirt of the skimpiest proportions had been sculpted to her chest. Her pert nipples stood to attention through the clinging fabric. Over her arm hung a crushed velvet damson jacket and her long, luscious hair, shining with health, rippled like a waterfall over her shoulders.

  ‘Pleased to meet you,’ I said, rather formally, attracting a cold glare from Rocco. It did cross my mind that maybe I should curtsey, but I just managed to stop myself in time. ‘I’m Beth, Rocco’s new PA.’ But any credibility I might have had was upstairs along with my business suits.

  ‘Is thiz ’ow you dress for all your employers, Beth? In your pyjamas?’

  Attempting to lighten the atmosphere, I smiled and shrugged my shoulders, doing my best, “Oh silly me, I’ve forgotten to get dressed” impression. Pandora glared from under her impeccably groomed eyebrows.

  I quickly ascertained that Rocco and Pandora were a match made in heaven. He was pretty scary and she . . . there was no question. She was absolutely scary.

  Giggling nervously, I looked down at my crumpled attire, but Pandora didn’t join me in the joke.

  Honestly, I really had forgotten I was in my pyjamas, along with just-out-of-bed hair and an unwashed look. The words, hedge, backwards and dragged, sprang to mind. I felt certain Pandora would never let herself be seen in such a state, but then I couldn’t imagine her any other way than in all her glorious loveliness as she stood in front of me.

  Her olive skin was silky smooth, her cat-like eyes green and penetrating and her long, straight nose was in perfect proportion. No wonder she photographed so well, staring out from hundreds of magazines covers like a hunted gazelle.

  ‘Well, Rocco and I, we were just . . .’

  ‘Thank you, Beth,’ Rocco said, rather too firmly. ‘Just go and get dre
ssed, would you please.’

  The smirk of satisfaction that crossed Pandora’s face as she watched me slink out of the kitchen, gave her pretty face an unbecoming cast. She may have looked like an angel, but it was clear she was lacking in heavenly virtues in other areas.

  Upstairs, I turned on the shower full blast. Stepping into the pounding water felt invigorating and drowned out the raised voices below. Damn Pandora, I seethed, as I attacked my legs with the exfoliating brush. Rocco and I had been getting along famously until she’d arrived and turned the thermostat down from an encouraging lukewarm to a very uncomfortable frostiness.

  I should have stood my corner, but I’ve never been one for confrontation. Besides, I had a feeling I’d have come off worst in a one-to-one with PP.

  That’s probably why Martin and I lasted so long, I mused, as I rinsed the soap suds from my body. We didn’t so much have rows, as long drawn-out silences where our only exchanges, such as “would you like a cup of tea?” were made in exceedingly polite tones. Maybe that’s where we went wrong. Perhaps if we’d thrown a few plates, hurled some abusive accusations and dished out a few home truths, then our relationship might have sustained some fire, rather than fizzling out like a used sparkler. And I’d heard that making up after a high-octane bust up was worth all the heartache. Sadly, we could never get ourselves worked up to those dizzy heights of ecstasy.

  I sighed, pushed open the glass door of the shower and stood dripping in front of the floor to ceiling mirror. It didn’t have to be like that, surely? It hadn’t been that way for Mum and Dad. Their relationship had never depended on those big-dipper moments, the teetering highs or sunken lows. There’d never been any plate smashing at home, only a deep and mutual understanding and respect. Theirs was the perfect love match, and one I suspected was impossibly high to live up to. Lexi and I often joked that we were only there to make up the numbers, witnessing on numerous occasions over the years, the giggling, the friendship and the intimate displays of affection between our parents. Would I ever find a relationship that came close to what they’d had? My reflection shrugged back at me. It was looking unlikely.