Christmas at the Little Clock House on the Green

by Eve Devon

  ‘Wow, are you seriously talking about your dick right now?’ Emma asked, moving to stand on the other side of Jake, a big grin on her face as if this was payback for him not smiling back at her.

  Jake’s jaw dropped open and his heartbeat went into overdrive as he followed her gaze down to his jeans and then his heart missed a beat entirely as he realised at the exact same moment as Emma, that the entire room had heard her comment and had now turned to watch her staring at Jake’s…

  ‘What did you say, dear?’ Crispin asked into the silence.

  ‘Way to make your debut, Hollywood,’ Jake whispered and then felt awful as humiliation crept into those gorgeous eyes of hers, turning them from sparkling to opaque so that he had no choice but to take pity on her and say loudly, ‘She said, she’s so nervous, she feels sick, right now.’

  ‘Oh,’ Crispin said. ‘For a minute there,’ he shook his head at the ridiculous notion that male appendages were somehow pertinent to the meeting. ‘Are you feeling quite all right, dear?’

  ‘Yes,’ Emma squeaked, her face blazing red.

  ‘Good, good,’ Crispin said, ‘because I was about to offer a very warm welcome to the young lady who’s going to be managing Cocktails & Chai. She’s come all the way from America to help out at The Clock House everyone, please welcome star of stage and screen, Emma Danes.’

  With Crispin publicly announcing her presence Jake figured he could legitimately do some more staring at her now. Her face turned up towards his, some of the embarrassment replaced with a ‘thank you’ written clearly across her features but he also noticed she’d done something to shore up her defences so that he couldn’t see any deeper.

  The other night when he’d teased her about thinking of him naked, she’d been able to laugh him off in a split-second and he remembered thinking how lucky she was to have those acting skills to hand because he hadn’t been sure he’d managed to hide what thinking about her thinking about him naked had done to him.

  As he watched her now, he found himself wondering what kind of actress hated being the centre of attention?

  ‘Now, I know we’re all looking forward to the grand opening of The Clock House,’ Crispin continued as the applause died back down and people turned to face the front again, ‘but let’s not divert our attention from the main point of tonight’s meeting: the unveiling of the plans for the tree-lighting ceremony.’

  As Crispin talked about how the ceremony this year was going to top last year’s, which is what he did every year, Jake couldn’t help thinking back to twelve months ago, when he’d stood at the side of that exact same stage. Waiting to talk about what a privilege it was to be asked to supply the tree from his land.

  It had been one of his first suggestions after taking over the estate and when he’d wanted a small sign strategically placed to advertise where the tree had come from, Crispin had agreed and even suggested Jake supply the tree for the neighbouring village Whispers Ford and why not erect a sign there advertising Knightley Hall in Whispers Wood as well. Anything to one-up the village that had opened a hotel and taken some of their business away from them, Jake had understood.

  Of course, he’d still had a sense of humour back then. Despite the fact that Alice had phoned him only one hour before the meeting to tell him she wouldn’t be able to get back from London in time to attend.

  She hadn’t even sounded miffed, he remembered now.

  He should have known then, that she’d started to realise she’d confused rural lifestyle with actual rural-life.

  Maybe he had known.

  Maybe he hadn’t wanted to admit it to himself.

  After campaigning so hard to take over Knightley Hall, he hadn’t exactly been in the mood to think about any mistakes he may or may not have been on the verge of making.

  At least there was no danger of him ever repeating that mistake now.

  ‘Aw, reindeers, how lovely will that be? I can’t wait,’ Emma suddenly said.

  Tuning back into Crispin, all he could think was: Hang on … Sleigh-rides around the village green?

  Didn’t you need snow for that?

  Chapter 17

  Snow Way, Snow How

  Jake

  Jake looked around the room to see if anyone else thought the idea was impossible but he must have missed Crispin talking about hiring snow machines because everyone was looking delighted by the prospect.

  Oh well, let them all volunteer to be part of the ‘clearing-up-the-reindeer-droppings committee’, if they wanted.

  Although maybe he should ask someone for all the proper details so that he could at least mention it to the family. Mostly his brothers and sisters all lived as far away from Whispers Wood as they could. But sleigh-rides around the village green were bound to be something the nieces and nephews would want in on.

  He glanced down at Emma and pictured her sitting in a sleigh, tucked cosily under a fleece blanket, her button nose tinged pink with cold, her sparkling eyes connecting with…

  Not his, obviously.

  Jeez.

  As soon as Crispin stopped speaking and everyone stood up to chat, he’d make his excuses and go.

  His mind drifted to coming up with excuses that didn’t sound lame, when Emma suddenly let out a delighted gasp.

  Between the swoon, the sudden clasping hold of his arm, and her gaze darting from his to Crispin’s, Jake finally cottoned onto the fact that Crispin was looking at him as if waiting for him to react to what he’d just announced.

  ‘Sorry, Crispin, could you repeat that last part?’

  ‘I was talking about the exciting news,’ Crispin elaborated.

  ‘News?’ His heart started beating heavily against his chest wall. Surely Crispin wasn’t asking for a full run-down on when Jake intended to open the gardens?

  ‘Crispin wants to present you with a shiny blue plaque,’ Kate whispered, helpfully.

  ‘Blue plaque?’ he asked, none the wiser, but definitely getting more uncomfortable each second from all the attention.

  Sure he’d won some awards for his garden designs. Some of them had even been prestigious. For professional purposes he listed them on his website, but he actually kept them in the cloakroom. And not even the downstairs one, so that people could see. He wanted his work to speak for itself, not a bunch of awards.

  To his knowledge there weren’t any outstanding awards he needed to be presented with, so what the hell was Crispin going on about?

  ‘I was actually going to pop over tomorrow to talk to you about this, Jake,’ Crispin said. ‘I didn’t expect to see you here tonight because—’ Crispin had the grace to stop himself before going any further but Jake still felt a dull blush form across his cheeks and remembered his beard had been handy for something, after all. ‘Well, anyway, you’re here so I thought, what better time to announce it,’ Crispin explained. ‘Especially as, in the long run, we’ll all benefit.’

  ‘From what, Crispin?’ Jake asked, his voice low and gruff as impatience, embarrassment and foreboding all vied for the chance to be seen and heard.

  ‘As I just said, it transpires that Jane Austen herself may have stayed at Knightley Hall.’

  Beside him, Emma was squirming like an over-excited puppy and Jake tried to focus on the backdrop of animated murmurs from everyone in the room and not on the warmth shooting up his arm from where she still clutched it.

  Then the words truly sank in.

  Jane Austen had once stayed at Knightley Hall?

  Oh, no way, no how.

  ‘Bollocks,’ Jake said, clearly.

  ‘No. Not,’ Crispin grimaced with distaste, ‘what you said, Jake. But actually extremely likely from my source.’

  As the ramifications presented themselves Jake could feel knots of tension forming at regular intervals up the length of his spine. ‘Is your source a direct descendant of the Austens?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, no, but—’

  ‘Is your source a direct descendant of the Knightleys?’ he asked, fairly su
re they couldn’t possibly be, because if there had been the slightest possible chance that the family could have cashed in on a fame connection to raise money for their home, they would have done so, in triplicate.

  ‘Well, again, no, but—’

  ‘No buts, Crispin,’ Jake said knowing he had to nip this in the bud. ‘I’m sorry but this is all reindeer manure.’

  ‘Now Jake, I am assured of written proof. My friend of a friend was very serious.’

  ‘Oh, well if it’s a friend of a friend…’ he said, his tone as dry as a bone while he looked around the room, wondering why the hell everyone was looking excitedly like they were all one step away from opening up Austen Land and retiring off the profits.

  ‘Obviously as soon as I receive the proof, you’ll be the first to know, and then we’ll have to get the Jane Austen Society to substantiate it,’ Crispin said.

  Jake allowed himself to relax slightly. If Crispin’s friend of a friend really did have some sort of documentation, it would take months to corroborate. Surely there’d have to be some sort of analysis? If it wasn’t laughed out of the society first, that was.

  ‘But if it’s legitimate,’ Crispin was saying, his voice growing louder with excitement, ‘then we need to jump all over it. A blue plaque. A statement on your website. Think of how good it will be for Knightley Hall. Think of the visitors to Whispers Wood. The tourism possibilities.’

  Jake snorted. ‘Tourists which will end up staying in the hotel in Whispers Ford, so I don’t think you’ve quite thought this through.’

  ‘You might want to think about how you could provide parking for coaches,’ Crispin continued, ‘because once the heritage sites know …’

  Any sense of relaxing and not taking this seriously immediately vanished and he knew he had to shut the absurd notion down.

  Because, actually, if any of this turned out to be true it was going to be a bloody nightmare.

  No way was he about to find himself in a situation where he could start advertising Jane Austen’s favourite Knightley Hall walk, or how visitors to Knightley Hall could buy Jane Austen’s favourite rose. What was the betting that if Jane Austen really had stayed at the Hall, it had been in the dead of winter and she hadn’t stepped foot in the gardens once. All the focus would be on the house.

  He didn’t have the money to sink into opening up the house so that excitable women could traipse through, gush about how they could ‘practically sense her presence’ like something out of Ghost Hunters, before then whipping out their phones and iPads to film the whole experience.

  They probably wouldn’t even have time to wander around the gardens before being herded back onto the coach for the next haunt. Probably a footbridge across a boggy field, cunningly disguised as a moor that Charlotte Brontë had once wandered across!

  ‘Perhaps you should spend some time having a look through your family records, Jake,’ Crispin helpfully suggested.

  ‘Oh, absolutely,’ Jake nodded. ‘I’ll be sure to “jump” right on that.’

  As if he didn’t have a million other things he needed to take care of before he dumped a bag in the Land Rover and sped out of here as fast as the accelerator could take him.

  And yet, as his jaw locked together, he knew that if he wanted to get ahead of this then he was going to have to search through the family journals. Every single one of them.

  ‘Good, good,’ Crispin said and then picked up his glasses to peer through to his notes. ‘Now, one last thing I’ve been asked to mention to everyone. If anyone wants to dress up for the Carols on the Green service before the tree-lighting ceremony, Trudie only has seven Victorian costumes left and they’re all size small. Unless you’re desperate to spend the next three weeks on the 5:2 diet, or the 4:3 version, or some sort of kale and vinegar affair, just turn up in warm clothes.’

  It was all anyone wanted to bloody well talk about, wasn’t it?

  Not the tree-lighting ceremony.

  Of course not that.

  Why would you want to talk about Christmas festivities, when you could be talking about who in your family would know if Jane Austen had ever stayed at Knightley Hall.

  The one time Jake would gladly talk all things Christmas and no one wanted to.

  On his third cup of coffee now, he was feeling distinctly jittery.

  And trapped.

  Somehow he’d ended up in one corner of the room with Ted and his wife. An innocent bystander in their argument as to whether Ted’s ancient Aunt Meryl was a Jane Austen super-fan or an Agatha Christie super-fan.

  Thank God for Kate wending her way over to them. ‘Hey guys, sorry to interrupt, have you seen Daniel, only I wanted to remind him he can go and re-set the clock to the proper time now that the meeting’s over.’

  Jake took the lifeline and gazing over the tops of everyone’s head located Daniel and pointed to where he was standing talking to Gloria.

  Kate followed his gaze and with a downturn of her smile, muttered, ‘Now why would he allow himself to get stuck talking with her?’

  Jake watched as Gloria leaned closer to speak and Daniel suddenly choked on his tea.

  ‘What is that about?’ Kate asked.

  Jake remained schtum, but thought he had a pretty good idea that Gloria had just asked Daniel to pose in her charity calendar. No doubt she’d pitched it to him as posing with a laptop strategically placed.

  ‘Hey, we should ask Old Man Isaac,’ Ted said, and for a moment Jake thought he was talking about Gloria’s charity calendar and really didn’t need the picture now in his head of Old Man Isaac posing with one of his carriage clocks, but then he realised what Ted meant.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, immediately scanning the crowd again. If anyone would know if Jane Austen had visited Knightley Hall it would be Whispers Wood’s oldest resident. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go and find him.’

  It figured he’d find him with Emma. The two were talking animatedly, having nabbed two chairs near the front of the stage area.

  ‘Isaac,’ Jake greeted, walking up to them.

  ‘Jake,’ Isaac offered him a warm smile and immediately started rising out of his chair until Jake gestured for him to sit back down.

  ‘Quite a shock you must have received tonight, eh, Jake?’ Isaac chuckled.

  Jake couldn’t help the answering warm smile. Everyone had time for Old Man Isaac. Depending on your age, he was either every man’s Yoda, or, every man’s Dumbledore. A retired clock-maker, from a family of clock-makers, he’d owned The Clock House until it had got too much for him and he’d moved into Rosehip Cottage on the green and put it up for sale, right for Kate and Daniel to come along and breathe new life into it.

  ‘You of all people, Isaac, must know it can’t possibly be true,’ Jake said, dragging one of the empty chairs around so that they sat in a group.

  ‘I must?’

  Jake caught the twinkle in his eye and felt hopeful. ‘Our families have been close for generations. I’m sure had anyone in my family any evidence at all she’d stayed at the hall, they would have told their dearest friends.’

  ‘Your family’s been in Whispers Wood for as long as Jake’s has?’ Emma asked Old Man Isaac, with an expression of awe on her face.

  ‘No,’ Isaac said with a chuckle. ‘Not quite as long, but we have been friendly ever since—’ he stopped and pointed upwards, and as Jake looked up at the chandelier, it felt entirely probable his evening was about to slide from bad into worse.

  Emma followed Isaac’s finger. ‘The chandelier? Ever since the chandelier went up?’ she asked, glancing back at the old man for confirmation.

  Jake could see questions all shaped like little ducks lining up in a neat little row behind Emma’s eyes.

  He absolutely did not want to talk about the chandelier. In desperation he stood up and caught the attention of the nearest person. ‘Trudie,’ he said with relief, ‘have you been introduced to Emma, yet?’

  ‘Hi sweetie,’ Trudie sing-songed. ‘I was just coming over.’
She held out her hand and Emma stood up to shake it.

  As Jake’s heart-rate settled back down, he ignored the knowing look in Old Man Isaac’s eyes and enthusiastically told Emma, ‘Trudie runs the Whispers Wood amateur dramatic society. Trudie, I’m sure you heard Crispin introduce Emma earlier. The two of you must have lots in common.’

  Trudie gave Emma a huge, welcoming grin. ‘I’m sure we’ll discover all our little secrets during rehearsals in the coming weeks. But right now, I only need to check your availability.’

  ‘Availability?’ Emma’s smile shrunk a tiny bit as her unsure gaze included Isaac and Jake for an explanation.

  ‘For the Christmas show, of course,’ Trudie explained with another chuckle. ‘I know you’ll be busy with opening up here—’

  Jake watched as Emma nodded vigorously.

  ‘Yes,’ she confirmed. ‘Super-busy.’

  ‘But obviously you’ll want to be involved,’ Jake said helpfully.

  ‘No.’ Emma brought a hand up to her neck and Jake noticed the blotchy rash creeping over her collar-bone. ‘I really don’t think that would be fair.’

  ‘Fair?’ Jake asked before Trudie could do it.

  ‘What I mean is,’ Emma told Trudie while shooting him daggers, ‘I could obviously help out— will,’ she corrected as Trudie’s expression changed from welcoming to merely pleasant in the blink of an eye, ‘obviously help out with setting up the room. Kate said you’d be using the room for rehearsal and the show itself, so we’ve booked all those days and evenings out in The Clock House diary, but other than that, I really won’t have time to be, well, in the show.’

  ‘Nonsense, I simply won’t take no for an answer,’ Trudie said, brushing right on over Emma’s speech. ‘It would be a sin not to have someone with your talents involved.’

  Jake looked at Emma and was surprised to see her knuckles had gone white as her hand clenched nervously at the top of the cornflower blue cashmere jumper she was wearing.

  She really didn’t look impressed.

  Probably thought she was way too good for a provincial am-dram group.