Christmas in Cornwall

by Briggs, Laura

  “If you have time, I thought we could take a final look at those flower selections for the ball,” I told him. “Lady Amanda agreed that adding lilies to the mix could be a brilliant combination.”

  Climbing to his feet, Matt said, “It will have to wait, I'm afraid, Julianne. I have an errand to run this afternoon."

  “Of course,” I said. “There’s still plenty of time. Even if there wasn’t, event planners thrive off the time crunch of a last-minute decision.”

  He didn’t smile for this joke, I noticed. There was definitely something on his mind. “We'll talk later," he said. He touched my arm, gently. "I promise."

  "Of course. See you then," I said. But I felt worried.

  I didn’t have a clue how to find out what was on Matt's mind, but I had a feeling it was probably his offer from the university. And if he was making up his mind — well, if I pressed him for answers, it might make him think I was trying to influence his decision, and that was the last thing I was trying to do.

  Although maybe not the last thing I wanted to do. But that's another story.

  ***

  “Time for a coffee, Julianne? You look as if you could you use the boost.”

  Pippa shot me a questioning look as she sat across from me at the kitchen table. Her coffee smelled like hazel and nutmeg, tempting me despite the fact I wasn’t all that hungry lately. I probably looked as if I needed that ‘boost’ she talked about.

  “Thanks, but I’m holding up without it so far," I answered, bravely. "Just a few more days and we’ll be celebrating what a big success the ball was.” I had almost checked every box on my giant to-do list, from polishing serving trays to meeting with the orchestra.

  “Right before we host the entire village for the New Year’s open house,” Pippa pointed out with a wicked grin.

  I let out a moan. “One worry at a time, Pippa. Please.”

  "Never mind. Christmas will make it all better, I promise," said Pippa. "Wait 'til you taste Dinah's menu."

  "I'm sure it's heavenly," I answered, although my mind was far away from the visions of sugar plums and roasted geese I had begun to associate with a Cornish Christmas. Instead, it was much closer to the quandary of becoming Matt's girlfriend or staying Matt's friend.

  Over the past two days, we had been so busy that we had scarcely seen each other. I'd called him, but each time I missed his return call. He might be ensconced in the greenhouse, of course, coaxing the lilies to open in time for my modified flower display for the ball. Or he might be working on some project for Lord William I knew nothing about, since my knowledge of the grounds management was limited to what concerned my work in the house. Either way, we hadn't crossed paths, and it was beginning to worry me. Time was ticking away, and Matt's decision hadn't been made. And even though I wanted to believe I was prepared for him to leave, deep inside I knew I wasn't.

  Rather than suffer through a third day in suspense, I plucked up my courage and returned to the greenhouse early that morning, determined to face the truth, whatever it was. I walked the pathways lined with frost-rimmed grass. Mist hung like a grey-white blanket over the estate’s distant fields, drifting like smoke around the hothouse’s walls, its windows fogged by the warmth inside.

  Rapping on the door, I opened it and stuck my head inside. “Matt?” I called out.

  No response. I stepped inside, shutting the door behind me. It was balmy in here, compared to the temperatures outside, with every day seeming colder than the one before it lately, the breeze from the Channel extra brisk. Perhaps Old Ned was on to something with his theory about holly berries. Having seen a touch of glittering frost on the holly hedges which bordered the estate’s northern fields, I could almost believe that snow had dusted them instead.

  I glanced around, seeing nothing but the rows of plants that Matt had spent the winter nurturing into states of perfection. The hothouse was silent, the smell of earth and peat moss strong enough to make me crinkle my nose a little.

  Matt wasn’t here. A pair of pruning shears lying on a bench near the roses was the only sign that he had been at work here this morning. I noticed the buds on the rescued antique rose seemed even firmer and fuller than the last time I saw it, although I couldn't tell if they were ready to open. A few had been removed, so I wondered if Matt had pruned them to help the rose conserve its strength.

  They were so beautiful, I had to remind myself not to touch them. Instead, I only marveled at the transformation this plant had undergone under Matt’s expert care.

  I hung around awhile, hoping that Matt would show up and we could finally talk. He didn’t, however; so I trudged back up the pathway to the house with a feeling of defeat.

  Outside my office, Matt was waiting. He'd been doing the same thing I was doing, and, he, too, was on the verge of leaving.

  A laugh escaped my lips, even though I felt nervous. “We were at cross purposes,” I told him. “I’ve just been to the greenhouse, looking for you.”

  “I haven’t been there today,” he said. "I had to catch a train...then I had to find you."

  I noticed he wasn’t wearing his work clothes today, but rather a nice button down shirt and trousers. He must not be working on the grounds today either then, which puzzled me even more.

  "Come inside," I said. "If this is about flowers, then please tell me you have good news about my lilies and my poinsettias." I cleared off the chair opposite my desk, as I perched on its corner.

  "Julianne," he said.

  His brown eyes told me the rest of what he was going to say. I knew that Matt was going to America.

  I took a deep breath. "It's great, Matthew," I said. "I'm glad for you."

  His features relaxed. "I hoped you would be," he said. "I — I didn't know what you'd think. The university told me I had to decide by today. I thought about what you said from before. About my needing a challenge and a change of pace. And I knew you were right. I walked away from my career before because of blind emotion, and I want to give it a second chance.”

  "Of course you do," I said. "That's great, Matt. Really great."

  I mentally kicked myself for that past observation, even knowing it was the right one. It didn’t make this hurt any less, however, to know that I was responsible for Matt's decision to go back to America. And Matt — my Matt, whom I was falling madly in love with — had no idea how I really felt.

  “William admits the grounds are well in hand now, practically restored to their best. It would be nothing for an experienced landscape artist to take over for me. Truthfully, the only obstacle I face is purely personal." His eyes met mine.

  Personal. As in me? As in us? I felt a flutter of hope deep inside me.

  "I want to thank you, Julianne," he said. "For all that you've done...for all that you mean to me. These aren't the right words, really...perhaps there are none.…" In his gaze, I saw something that made my heart skip beats and sink into despair at the same time. He trailed off as if it was suddenly hard to speak; I felt a lump rise in my throat.

  Gentle, warm, kind words from Matt. Just not the ones I had wanted to hear.

  "You deserve a chance for something like this after all you’ve done for Cliffs House," I answered. "The life you gave up when you were hurting. It wasn't fair that you lost it, and now you've got a chance to have back the job you loved. You did the right thing."

  “Is that really what you think?" he asked, softly. "You can tell me the truth, Julianne. Please."

  He had sounded almost worried as he asked this question. I wondered if my disappointment was starting to show despite my best attempts to keep it hidden. I felt his hand on my shoulder, its warm pressure. I wanted to touch his fingers, but I didn't, not until I was sure I really meant those words. So he wouldn't feel my fingers trembling or clinging to him desperately.

  This was about Matt, after all. Not me, or whatever expectations I might have for our relationship. If I couldn’t be proud of him for embracing this opportunity, then I didn’t deserve him anyway.<
br />
  I rose to face him. “Of course I think so," I continued. "You’ll be in your element, back in the classroom, Matt. I really am glad for you. Really." I took both his hands in mine, squeezing them, gently. And can’t help wishing that you weren’t doing this, at the same time.

  His hands felt perfectly still in my hold. I heard Matt's voice murmur something close to my ear, but I didn't catch the words. We stood without speaking for a moment, avoiding each other’s gaze. It felt as if we had suddenly reverted to our former, awkward selves, back when we first had a disagreement and didn’t know how to behave around each other.

  Matt was the first to speak again. “I should talk with William now," he said, gently. "I'll tell you everything later."

  “Of course,” I said.

  I waited until he was out the door and out of sight before I sank into the chair and buried my face in my hands, even though I was determined not to cry a single tear.

  ***

  There was no time to fall apart.

  That’s what I told myself as the countdown to the charity ball kicked into gear, my presence required in six different places at once it seemed. I was barely sleeping anyway, my mind a commotion of event planning details and Matthew’s news running constantly through my brain like a tickertape announcement that our chance to be a couple had expired. It kept popping into my head as I moved from the kitchen to the ballroom and Lady Amanda’s office in between.

  The look on his face as he said the words; the hurt I had glimpsed in his dark eyes before they looked away. Each memory was weighing me down a little more every time I thought of it.

  Stop being stupid and tell him you love him. No matter what, tell him you love him.

  I had forgotten to tell him I was taking him to the charity ball. Forgotten about the tuxedo reservation until I found the receipt on my dresser this morning. All those visions of me and Matt dancing to the orchestra, cheek to cheek — had that been changed by Matt's announcement?

  “Are you quite sure you don’t need some caffeine, Julianne?”

  Dinah was keeping fresh-brewed coffee on hand for the staff as we ran ourselves ragged each day, and a pot of hot water ready for a 'cuppa' whenever the staff was in desperate need of rejuvenation. I could only think it would make me more on edge, though.

  “I think I’ll manage without it,” I said, doing my best impression of a perky smile. "Who needs coffee when they have a to-do list to keep them on their feet?"

  Neither Gemma nor Pippa was fooled by it, judging by the glances they exchanged at the kitchen table, where they were polishing champagne flutes; and neither was Dinah, whose sharp eye detected it was more than just my work that was preying on my mind when we discussed last-minute changes to the hors d'oeuvres.

  She reached over and patted my hand. “Feeling a bit homesick, are we?” Dinah asked, giving me a sympathetic look.

  “A little," I said. "But I'll be fine." I couldn't be honest with her about everything in my head, either.

  Geoff pushed open the kitchen door, a smile on his face. “They’re ready to bring the flowers in from the hothouse, Miss Morgen,” he said. “If you have a place for them, that is.”

  “Yes,” I told him. “Bring them over. We’ll put them in a dark closet so they can rest awhile before I do the arrangements.”

  Matt didn’t appear with the delivery from the hothouse, as I had hoped. Instead, a couple of undergardners brought in the buckets of lilies, poinsettias, and amaryllis I would be arranging before the splendor of the Christmas Eve event. It was hard to say if I was more relieved or disappointed that I didn’t have time to face him right now. My feelings seemed to fluctuate by the minute, and I was so wrapped up in them I all but jumped out of my skin when my mobile phone started to ring.

  “Miss Morgen?” said a voice posh but friendly sounding. “It’s Daphne Freemont.”

  I almost said ‘who?’ before I remembered: Dwight’s friend, the would-be-bride in London. “Miss Freemont,” I replied, trying to sound cheerful. “How lovely to hear from you. Everything is going well I trust?” As I silently prayed there wasn’t some dilemma requiring my presence in London, with so little time left before the ball.

  “Oh, brilliantly,” she said. “Well, except for the carriage.”

  “Carriage…?” I tapped my fingers against the phone's case, trying to remember what she was talking about. Wait. The transportation to the church, the one I had tried to veto over its expense....

  “The horse drawn carriage?” Daphne supplied, helpfully.

  “Yes, of course. I booked that place in Westminster. There isn’t a problem, I hope?” Please, please, nothing I can’t fix with a simple phone call.

  “It’s just a tiny thing,” said Daphne. “They’ve put us with a gold carriage and chestnut horses, but I feel that to keep with the wedding colors, we really ought to have a blue carriage and white horses. Do you think you can talk them into it? I’ve tried phoning them, but the line is always busy, and Mr. Bradshaw said you wouldn’t mind.”

  Mr. Bradshaw? Of course ... she meant Dwight. That was awfully formal for a friend, I thought.

  “I can take care of it for you,” I said. After all, it was only a phone call, wasn't it?

  “That’s brilliant,” she answered. “Really, I don't know how we could have managed this dream wedding without you. Or Mr. Bradshaw for that matter. He’s been an absolute dear to help us this way.”

  “Well, I’m sure Dwight was happy to do it,” I said. “Being friends with your fiancé and all.”

  “Oh, but he isn’t,” she chirped.

  I hesitated. "He isn't?" I repeated. Cleary, I had misheard her.

  “Benjamin met him once, I think, at a meeting at the firm. Or maybe it was lunch at his uncle’s office. Yes, that was it. Benjamin’s uncle is the chief executive for the firm, you know. ”

  “I…didn’t know that.”

  A sudden wave of fury had crept over me with the revelation. So Dwight’s ‘friend’ just happened to be the nephew of his boss? It wasn’t a coincidence, obviously. Dwight had seen a chance to impress the chief executive at his firm by ‘rescuing’ the nephew’s wedding debacle, or something like that.

  So I had been a pawn in Dwight's corporate ladder games. I felt disgusted by this idea. Dwight wasn't being friendly to let 'bygones be bygones' between us, but because he needed my skills to be offered for free.

  From the other end of the phone, Daphne was thanking me in advance for arranging the carriage swap.

  “No, Miss Freemont, thank you. I’m very glad you decided to get in touch.” I hoped my voice wasn't as frosty as I felt as I hung up the phone.

  ***

  My anger was still palpable the morning of Dwight’s tour. I deftly avoided the group he was with by sequestering myself in the main dining hall, where the Christmas decorations from the ladies luncheon were being replaced with a simple table runner and bouquet of winter flowers. I thought I might run him through with a fireplace poker if he came near me. How dare he use me like that? And after the callus way he treated me after our breakup before.

  The tour was drawing to a close, and to my chagrin, Dwight spotted me through the doors that Gemma had left open for a moment. He walked in with a smile, obviously expecting a friendly greeting in return.

  “There you are,” he said. "This place is really great. I think I'm definitely recommending it to my boss. So ... expect a very posh reservation to come your boss's way."

  “Enjoyed your tour, did you?” I gave him a fake smile as I trimmed the stems on some flowers for the table’s centerpiece. I gave them an extra-hard snip with the shears.

  “Sure,” he said. “Although I was hoping to see the place with you instead. You know, so we could talk privately about the booking." He paused, noticing the flowers whose stems I was fiercely trimming. “Those look nice,” he commented. “Did your friend grow them? Somehow I pictured him as more of a 'potatoes and carrots' kind of gardener.”

  “Matthew oversees
the flower gardens, yes," I answered, coldly.

  “I’m sure they look more impressive in the spring,” said Dwight. “Not so dead and dull. At least, I hope so, since the conference takes place in March.”

  “It was beautiful when I got here in the summer, so I’m sure it’s even better in the spring."

  “Not that the gardens matter. We're talking corporate, so it's some trust exercises, some teambuilding, some slide shows. So... maybe you and I could work through the details? Maybe over dinner some evening? If you're free, that is.”

  “In London or Cornwall?” I asked, forcing myself to play along. He gave a warm laugh.

  “London probably has more, shall we say, ‘suitable’ dining options,” he suggested. Meaning expensive, chic, restaurants, I presumed. I wondered if his company would pick up the tab, or if he was planning to fund that part of the assignment himself. And probably take it out of a travel allowance later. "If you're not busy on Tuesday — I'm not, either."

  “Maybe it’s because you just haven't thought of another way to give your career a boost on that day,” I said. Tucking the final blossom in place as I offered Dwight a meaningful smile. "Not since Benjamin and Daphne's wedding gave you brownie points with your boss, I mean."

  He made a scoffing sound. “What gave you that idea? I’m here to see you, Julianne. We're friends. That’s the real reason I’m trying to sell this place on my boss,” he said, lowering his voice, as if it were a secret. “I thought it would be a boost for you. After all, we could let bygones be bygones, couldn't we?" He moved a little closer. "Good business for me, good business for your boss. Event planners need events, right?"

  “No,” I snapped. “I don't need your event, Dwight. You’re trying to ‘sell’’ this place to your boss, as you put it, because you think I’ll give you some kind of special discount. Why didn't you tell me in the first place that your 'friend' in trouble was really the nephew of your boss?"