Christmas at the Little Clock House on the Green

by Eve Devon

  ‘Usually we alternate between Dickens and a pantomime,’ Trudie continued, ‘but not knowing how much space I’d have once you opened, I decided this year to go ahead with a show.’

  ‘Show?’ Emma asked, her voice low and husky.

  ‘Mmmn. Christmas-inspired ensemble pieces. Whatever you want – within reason,’ Trudie leant forward to confide, ‘I had to take a hard pass on Betty Blunkett’s burlesque routine to Jingle Bells.’

  ‘Betty Blunkett from T’ai Chi?’ Old Man Isaac asked, looking intrigued as hell.

  Trudie nodded. ‘Let’s just say that her arthritic hip doesn’t seem to hold her back. Anyway,’ she said, turning to Emma, ‘you have a good think about what you’d like to do and then let me know. I’m sure it’ll be fine but I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t take a look at it first.’

  ‘You want me to audition for your Christmas show?’ Emma asked, if possible her voice even smaller.

  ‘Mustn’t show favouritism. And you, you delicious man,’ Trudie said, suddenly turning all her attention on Jake. ‘I don’t see your name on the sign-up sheet.’

  ‘Me? Why on earth would I—’

  ‘Now, Jake, you shouldn’t hide a voice like that. So, shall I put you down for a song? Perhaps some Bing?’

  ‘Bing?’ Jake was mystified.

  ‘As in Crosby,’ Trudie said. ‘Ooh, I can see it now, sitting on a stool, one single spotlight,’ and then she was gazing off into the distance, hands flinging around dramatically as she painted her scene, ‘maybe a fireplace in the background. We’ll have to see if we can get someone from scenery—’

  ‘I’d be happy to be part of the scenery – I mean, I’d be happy to be part of stage crew,’ Emma interrupted.

  ‘Nonsense,’ Trudie told her. ‘You can’t possibly be expected to open this place and be in the show and part of the backstage crew. Now, Jake, do you know the words to White Christmas? I know you own a tux from the bachelor audition that was organised in the summer.’

  Emma, he noticed, had gone from looking sick to looking fascinated, while Jake was fairly certain he’d switched from fascinated to looking sick. Just the thought of wearing a tux while crooning the Bublé out of Christmas … And then he remembered and his shoulders relaxed. ‘Trudie, I won’t be able to be in your Christmas show—’

  ‘Nonsense,’ Trudie began.

  ‘On account of me not actually being in Whispers Wood over Christmas,’ he finished succinctly.

  He’d expected an ‘ah’ and a sympathetic yet dramatic hand on his arm at his news. He was even prepared to be half-smothered in one of her comforting hugs.

  He wasn’t prepared for the gush of laughter at his news.

  ‘Oh, sweetie,’ Trudie said, gasping for breath, this time putting a hand on his arm but more to support her shaking-with-laughter frame. ‘You’re not going anywhere this Christmas.’ And with that statement she pointed up to the sky. ‘There’s a chandelier hanging in The Clock House over Christmas again.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Emma said.

  ‘Well, the last time this chandelier was hanging up here at Christmas, Whispers Wood had the biggest snowstorm on record,’ Trudie said.

  Jake shook his head at the absurdity.

  ‘Now, Jake,’ Isaac said, catching the expression on his face. ‘Don’t be too quick to pooh-pooh local myth.’

  ‘Right. I’ll leave the reindeer to do that when they take a turn around the green,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, so you’ve already heard?’ said a voice, joining in on the conversation. ‘Hi, I’m Felix,’ he told Emma. ‘Local dairy farmer on the other side of Knightley Hall.’

  ‘Heard about what?’ Jake asked.

  ‘About the snow,’ Felix replied with a quick glance up at the chandelier.

  ‘Please tell me you’re not talking about the ridiculous urban myth surrounding the chandelier at The Clock House?’ Jake asked.

  ‘Which one, the one about the snow or the one about the—’

  ‘The one about the snow,’ Jake smoothly inserted. There was absolutely no need to talk about the other one.

  ‘Nah. I assumed you were talking about the long-range weather forecast I watched before coming out.’

  ‘We’re going to have snow? Really?’ Emma said, her voice breathless, her eyes already glowing with excitement. ‘It never snows in LA.’

  ‘Don’t go busting out the moves yet, Hollywood. This is the south east of England, not Scotland. If we get any snow at all, it’ll be a tiny smattering at the most.’

  ‘No. Honestly,’ Felix replied, ‘they were predicting heavy snowfall in the next couple of weeks.’

  Every part of Jake wanted to throw back his head and shout, ‘bollocks’ at the top of his lungs because there was just no way he could deal with the possibility of being stuck in Whispers Wood over Christmas.

  ‘Snow at Christmas, followed by a wonderful romance,’ Trudie beamed. ‘That’s what the legend says.’

  ‘Legend? Romance?’ Emma asked.

  Jake refrained from throwing his toys out the pram but it was the absolute last straw when someone tapped him on the shoulder and he turned to find himself staring at a very determined-looking Gloria.

  ‘Tsk, tsk,’ she said. ‘I thought we agreed you wouldn’t get your hair cut until after the photo-shoot?’

  Jake managed to spare them all the head-throwing-back-swearing-at-the-top-of-his-lungs moment, and instead found another way to flout every ounce of good manners bred into him by simply turning on his heel and leaving.

  Chapter 18

  A Knightley at Pemberley

  Emma

  It made total karmic sense that Emma would find Jake chopping wood!

  All her rehearsed words fell right out of her head as she watched him lift the axe in a practised, smooth arc, and then swing it down on the piece of wood balanced atop the tree-stump.

  The wood split in two and Jake bent to pick both halves up and toss them on the growing pile of wood beside him.

  Emma reached up to undo the top button of her coat, and, for extra measure, tugged her scarf from its stranglehold around her neck. Every time Jake swung the axe up, a small strip of tanned skin appeared in the gap between his jacket and jeans. It was kind of hypnotising, so it took a few seconds extra to realise that when the axe went up this time, it didn’t immediately come back down.

  ‘What do you want, Hollywood?’

  Wow. How did he know it was her? ‘Sorry, I didn’t want to interrupt during actual axe-wielding in case you went all “Here’s Johnny” on me.’

  ‘Sensible. So, what do you want?’ he repeated without turning.

  She’d been prepared for this and to be honest, without him turning around it was easier to draw herself up to her full five feet and two inches, set her shoulders and lift her chin.

  ‘You really need a wreath for your front door.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  Okay, so she hadn’t meant to lead with that at all.

  What she’d meant to do was calmly, logically, and confidently express her reasons for hunting him out, here, on his own turf.

  If she’d thought walking up to the big door of Knightley Hall intimidating, it was nothing compared with wandering through the gardens and stumbling across him in full-on lumberjack mode.

  ‘Massive front door like that,’ she said, forcing some strength into her voice. ‘It needs a Christmas wreath to hang from that massive door-knocker.’ She saw his hands tighten around the handle of the axe.

  ‘I don’t do Christmas decorations.’

  ‘But that’s crazy,’ she said. ‘A place this size is crying out for them. Either traditional or you could go down the tacky illuminated installation route. You know, Santa on a ladder by the chimney, Rudolph and a sleigh on the roof, angels on the front drive.’

  Jake swung the axe down on the next piece of wood, effectively silencing her.

  Maybe she should say why she was here. Clearing her throat, she went with the truth, ‘
So, speaking of massive … I have this massive favour to ask.’

  Jake hesitated as he bent to move the wood to the woodpile, but his answer was perfectly clear. ‘No.’

  ‘You don’t even know what I’m going to ask yet,’ she felt herself pout and stopped, choosing to lick her lips instead, hurriedly shoving her tongue back in her mouth when he turned around to face her.

  With one hand resting the axe in the wood-stump, he used the other to shove through his nearly-black hair. Naturally, it fell in perfect waves back from his face. Like something out of a L’Oréal commercial. Emma quietly reminded herself that her plan was ‘worth it’.

  ‘No, I will not help you audition for the Christmas show,’ Jake said in a bored tone. ‘No, I will not be in the Christmas show. No, I will not help organise the Christmas show. In short, no, no, no, no, no.’

  ‘I wasn’t going to ask you any of those things,’ she said, tipping her chin up higher.

  ‘You weren’t?’ His eyebrow lifted in doubt. ‘Well this wood isn’t going to finish chopping itself, what were you going to ask me?’

  ‘I was going to ask you if you’d help me run my lines for the Christmas show. Kidding,’ she immediately added, holding her hands out and taking a step back, when he reached with both hands to pull the axe out of the wood. ‘Sorry, I couldn’t resist.’ Her head tipped to the side as she asked, ‘Who knew something like a little itty-bitty Christmas show would get you so uppity.’

  ‘Who knew you’d think yourself far too good to be in a village Christmas show?’

  ‘What?’ Emma forgot all about her plan. ‘That’s what you think?’ How on earth had he got to that conclusion? Just because she hadn’t jumped up and down with excitement the moment Trudie had mentioned … oh—wait.

  ‘Don’t tell me the real reason’s because you’re scared?’ Jake asked, his intense gaze searching hers and making her annoyed that she wasn’t near quick enough to hide her hasty swallow of dry air.

  ‘Of course not,’ she answered, resisting the urge to look down and check her pants weren’t on fire. ‘I’ve probably been to more auditions than you’ve had roast dinners. What could I possibly have to be nervous about?’

  ‘Exactly,’ he said, that gaze of his not letting up at all.

  ‘I’m actually already preparing a piece to show Trudie.’ Her stomach bottomed out. What the hell had she said that for when the moment Trudie had introduced herself, she’d felt on the verge of a massive panic-attack.

  It just hadn’t occurred to her that here in the safety of Whispers Wood, someone would require her to show off her acting skills.

  Or that they would expect her to want to show off her acting skills.

  Or that she would then be judged on her acting skills.

  ‘Great,’ Jake said. ‘So break a leg and all that.’ And with that he turned around and picked up the axe again.

  ‘Don’t you want to know what it is?’ she asked not liking the fact that he’d backed down so easily. Had he seen something in her eyes? If he’d decided to take pity on her because he’d seen some of her secret fears she was going to be irked big-time. She certainly didn’t need Jake Knightley feeling sorry for her.

  ‘I don’t need to know what it is,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘I won’t be here. You could take over Betty Blunkett’s burlesque act and I wouldn’t care.’

  The axe fell sharply on the wood and her gaze narrowed because she thought, hey, now, maybe he might care to see that, but she decided it was time to wade out of murky waters and head for higher ground. ‘So, about that favour…?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Please, Jake, you’re the only one I can ask.’

  ‘Highly doubtful,’ he murmured and she wondered if it was her plaintive ‘please’ that had him sighing and turning back around to face her.

  ‘It’s not even a favour,’ she rushed out. ‘It’s more of an invite.’

  ‘Invite?’

  ‘Yes.’ Her gaze really wanted to track to the serenity-inducing scene of the bare rose bushes twisting up the arbour in the distance, but she determined to hold her ground. ‘I’m holding a little soft-opening for Cocktails & Chai @ The Clock House and well,’ her hands came out of her pockets and lifted half-way as if it wasn’t a big deal, ‘you’re invited.’

  ‘How little?’ Jake asked, suspicion oozing out from every pore.

  ‘Oh, it’ll all be very intimate.’

  Oops. Completely the wrong choice of words if his frown and the darkening of his already dark eyes was anything to go by. He was definitely about to say that word she’d taken a dislike to, again, so she rushed on with, ‘Before you say “no”, it’s really more about giving Kate and Daniel and Juliet and Oscar a much needed night off. They’ve been working so hard and I know they wouldn’t have it any other way, but they really deserve a few hours where they won’t have to talk “work”.’

  ‘But they will be at work,’ Jake observed.

  She could see she was going to have to pile it on. ‘That part can’t be helped. I’d really like to do this for them and couching it as a soft-opening was the only way I could get them to free up the time.’

  He didn’t move and mentally she pushed up her sleeves and prepared to stoke the furnace. ‘Okay, I can’t pretend it’s not going to help me out too. I really want everything to go perfectly for Kate, and opening up for a couple of hours, so that a small group of kind-minded individuals could help me see any kinks in the system, is actually pretty perfect. Not that I expect there to be any kinks,’ she added. ‘But, please, Jake. They’re your friends. You must see how stressed they’ve been getting with each other?’

  For the first time she saw an easing in his stance and decided to give it one more push.

  ‘It would only be for a couple of hours. I can’t risk inviting anyone else because if Crispin finds out we might as well open to everyone early. At least this way, if he does happen to notice, I’ll be able to explain it away as a last-minute meeting to introduce anyone going to be working at The Clock House to each other.’

  ‘But I won’t be working there until next year.’

  ‘Please, Jake. It’s for your friends…’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘And it would mean – wait – did you just say, okay?’

  ‘It would seem so.’

  ‘Great. Wonderful. Oh, you won’t regret it.’ Her hands came out to clasp together as she beamed.

  ‘Great and wonderful are subjective, and I have a feeling I will regret it, but as I’m out of here in a couple of weeks, consider it my last good deed for the year.’

  ‘Your friends will thank you, Jake.’

  ‘And you?’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Mmmn. How do you intend to thank me?’

  She wanted to lick her lips. She wanted to take a step closer. She wanted to say something daring and provocative. But she remembered her plan and so she searched for something innocent and came up with, ‘Um … by letting you give me a tour of your gardens?’

  For a moment she thought he looked disappointed but then he blinked and she knew she’d been fooling herself.

  She waited for him to offer to show her around and knew she’d like nothing better because on her way to finding him this morning, it had been really hard to stick to the main areas and not venture down paths she was sure led to more magical vistas.

  Her jaw had dropped open a little at noticing the lake sited at the bottom of a huge terraced lawn that looked encrusted with diamonds as the dew sparkled under the watery sun. Tendrils of misty fog floated up from the surface of the water, as if calling to her.

  Good job she hadn’t thought about what the lake would look like in summer, with Jake Knightley emerging from the water in a billowy shirt plastered to the sculpted planes of his torso.

  Nope. She hadn’t thought about that at all!

  The BBC had a lot to answer for: enhancing its productions so that when she looked at this particular lake all she could see was a Knightley at Pem
berley!

  She’d had no idea how vast the gardens were and there was excitement bubbling under her breastbone as she regarded Jake, waiting for him to put down the axe, run his hands down his jeans and offer to show her the grounds.

  It whimpered out of her like a deflated balloon when instead of downing tools, he said, ‘I’ll have to let you thank me another time. I have this to do and then I’m having lunch with my sister.’

  She supposed it was for the best, she thought, as she promised she’d see herself off the grounds without getting lost.

  The more time they spent together, the more she might regret the real reasons for inviting him along to the soft-opening…

  The chandelier.

  Romance.

  And Gloria Pavey.

  Chapter 19

  Moving Im-PEDI-ments

  Kate

  ‘You should come up with a code,’ Juliet told her as she helped Kate move the stack of small galvanised steel vintage troughs out of treatment room No 2.

  ‘Won’t that confuse him?’ With the tubs that were going to be used as country-chic foot-spas moved out to the corridor, Kate concentrated on straightening bottles of essential oils, so the labels were facing forward attractively on the top shelf of the treatment trolley. After a second’s contemplation she rolled the trolley to the other side of the treatment bed and stood back to take in the overall ambiance of the room.

  ‘Or you could use a euphemism in place of a code?’ Juliet said, turning the dimmer switch so that the chandelier above the massage table emitted only the softest glow.

  They were talking about how Kate should broach the subject of moving in with Daniel in order to gauge his reaction because she certainly wasn’t going to bring it up until she was one hundred per cent certain he was open to the idea. The only problem with her logic was that if she never brought the subject up, how was she ever going to know how he felt about it?

  ‘A euphemism,’ Kate pondered, prepared to consider everything, because after talking it through with Emma the other night, the idea, instead of fading away, had started to take hold. ‘What should I use that would make him completely get it without, you know, getting it, so that he then magically thinks moving in together was his idea?’