by Eve Devon
‘He must have thought the snow was going to clear and that he’d be out of here by then,’ she mused, filling a tray with votive Christmas candles so that she could start setting them out for the evening.
‘Well, he’s definitely not going anywhere now.’
‘I guess not.’
‘So if you wanted to take off early and go and sort this all out with him, you could.’
‘I don’t actually,’ she said as easily as she could manage. But when she felt Kate’s assessing look, she added, ‘I mean, at some point I know we’ll get around to having a chat and clearing the air. But there’s no need for a full post-mortem on a few nights in bed together. He was already getting cold feet about us and we’d barely started being an “us”. And like I said, I’m a big girl. I can get up every morning, put one foot in front of the other and go about my day as if the world hasn’t caved in. Because it hasn’t.’
She stopped talking, afraid she was laying it on too thickly and shied away from looking at Kate as she busied herself making sure the candles were exactly where she wanted them on each table.
Now was when she needed to act her socks off. Because she’d already said she wasn’t leaving if things went south between her and Jake. Not that she’d be able to if she could anyway. But she’d said she wouldn’t, so she was just going to have to brazen it out and get okay with seeing him around.
Get okay with feeling cold all the time.
Get okay with not laughing quite so much.
Get okay with not curling up on a library chair with him and talking into the night about anything and everything.
Get okay with feeling like her bed was the size of an ocean and she was a pea.
Last night, as she’d lain in that bed, freezing cold and a heartbeat from ringing Juliet and asking her to drop all her cats around for some company, she’d thought about how at least her mum would love it if she went back to LA. Her dad? She doubted he’d be shocked to discover she’d gone back on what she’d said she was going to do. He thought she was flitting from thing to thing anyway.
And Jake?
What would he think if she went back?
He’d probably be relieved.
On account of how he’d just been waiting for her to leave anyway.
That’s what all the cold feet and the argument had been about: getting it in first before he thought she would.
Oh, yeah. She’d been a regular Sherlock, working it all out.
‘So tell me more about having Christmas Day lunch here?’ she said, forcing some enthusiasm into her voice, determined not to think about Jake Knightley any more today.
‘I was thinking it would work well as a sort of open house. We could put all the tables together in here.’
It made sense, Emma thought looking around the room. No way would Gloria or Old Man Isaac be able to get out of Whispers Wood with all the snow. Thinking about Old Man Isaac made her think about George and Lillian Knightley and automatically she glanced up at the chandelier.
And then Kate was furiously elbowing her in the ribs.
‘Ouch,’ she muttered looking at her.
Kate jerked her head to the double doors of the bar.
And Emma’s eyes nearly popped out of her head.
Jake was standing in the doorway looking … Looking … she blinked a couple of times and realised Seth was standing right by his side.
‘Kate?’ Emma asked slowly, ‘Kate what the hell are Jake and Seth doing standing in the door of my bar wearing mic packs?’
‘That’s what you notice here?’ Kate asked, incredulous. ‘Do you not see the dress whites and the aviator shades?’
This is not happening, she told herself even as her heart started pounding and Jake’s gorgeous baritone started singing.
‘You never close your eyes anymore when I kiss your lips.’
‘Wow,’ Kate murmured.
‘And there’s no tenderness—’ Seth sang.
No, no, no, they weren’t going to seduce her with appallingly good movie skits. Holding up her hand to silence them, she yelled, ‘Stop!’
‘Hammer-ed Time?’ Seth asked, whipping off his shades. ‘Trust me, already there.’
‘Me too,’ Jake said.
‘You’re here because you’ve been drinking?’ Emma asked. ‘Oh, really impressive, guys.’
‘Have a heart, we’re here to apologise. The jagerbomb was a necessity when Trudie offered to help us into our uniforms.’
‘And I needed another to sing,’ Seth said grinning from ear to ear.
‘I take it you two have made up then?’ Emma asked, knowing she should be looking from one to the other, but instead finding her gaze fixed on Jake.
‘Yep,’ Seth said and then nudged Jake who hadn’t moved from the door. ‘Jakey here has something he wants to say.’
Clearing his throat Jake walked slowly across the room to her. ‘I’d appreciate it if you could spare me a few moments to discuss getting back that feeling we appear to have lost. You know, that loving one? I realise I’ve been a bit of an arse.’
‘Oh you’ve realised that have you?’
‘Well, I sort of had it pointed out to me.’
‘You know none of this works when you can actually sing!’
‘It doesn’t work … better?’ he asked, looking hopeful with those intense dark brown eyes of his, making her insides jump about like a group of over-excited puppies.
‘Nope.’
‘Huh. So you can’t spare me a few minutes of your time?’
‘Sorry,’ she said, indicating the only two tables that were occupied in the room. ‘As you can see I’m flat-out here.’
Betty chose that moment to impart her own wisdom. ‘It would have gone better if you’d walked in and simply swept her up into your arms and carried her out.’
‘That’s a whole other film, Betty,’ Kate said with a grin.
Jake smiled. ‘But if you’d find that more charming…’
‘What the hell are you doing?’ Emma shrieked as Jake lifted her into his arms.
‘I’m borrowing you for a moment in a charming officerly-gentleman type way,’ he said, carrying her out of The Clock House to shouts and whistles. On his way out he snagged a hat and coat from the nearest coat-stand. ‘You’ll need these.’
‘You’d better put me down this instant, Jake Knightley.’
‘Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know. You’ll krav maga me, if I don’t.’
She felt the cold air hit her face as he stepped out of The Clock House, crossed the gravel path and stepped onto the green. Slowly, he lowered her to the ground and with a sweeping gesture said, ‘Ta-da.’
She followed his pointing finger and gasped.
On the middle of the green was a ten-feet-high snow sculpture of the word: SORRY.
‘I wanted it to look like the Hollywood sign,’ he said with a grin before his voice turned serious. ‘I really am sorry, Emma.’
‘For which part, exactly?’ she wanted to know, unable to take her eyes off the huge sculpture.
‘For backing away from us. For not letting you help. Either at Knightley Hall or in Cocktails & Chai.’
Now her gaze did swing up to meet his.
‘I asked everyone who wasn’t busy in the village to help me with this today.’ He took off his glove with his teeth and fished in his pocket for his phone. Taking it out, he showed Emma the video of the construction. ‘Crispin was artistic director so that’s why the video looks like the making of the next supermarket Christmas advert.’
‘It’s impressive,’ she said and then grinned up at him, ‘and charming.’ But what really melted her heart was that he’d asked everyone in the village to help him.
‘Will you hear me out some time? Let me explain about Alice?’
‘On two conditions.’
‘Name them.’
‘With a voice as good as yours, you have to be in the Christmas show.’
‘Done.’
‘The Christmas show that’s now on Chr
istmas Day.’
‘I’d heard about that.’
‘You won’t be able to phone in your performance. You’ll have to be here. In person.’
‘I’m not going anywhere, Emma.’
‘Neither am I. I know you don’t really believe that or trust in that, but leaving is just not in my plan.’
‘I want to. But after Alice—’
‘What if I told you I’m not like the others?’ she asked.
‘Ah. Foo-fighting talk, huh?’
She nodded. ‘I’m not Alice. I’m Emma.’
‘I know.’
‘Do you? I’m not asking for us to look years into the future and have it all nailed down.’
‘But if we start this back up again you want me to trust that we’re in each other’s futures?’
‘Yes.’
‘I can do that. I want to do that. What’s your other condition?’
‘You have to let me do something for you at Knightley Hall.’
Chapter 38
Christmas Eve
Jake
‘I need a hammer.’
Jake turned from the stove where he was making chilli to find Emma in the doorway, her woollen hat falling over her eyes and a big grin on her face. She’d been working outside in the gardens for the last three hours.
She didn’t even look tired.
She looked beautiful.
Full of joy, enthusiasm … life.
She also looked tempting. Very, very tempting.
If anyone had told him last Christmas that by the following Christmas Eve, he’d be snowed in, in Whispers Wood, with a beautiful actress from Hollywood – one who appeared to love the outdoors as much as he did – he never would have believed it.
‘A hammer, huh?’ he asked. ‘Did you put it on your present list, because you know The Big Chimney-Loving Red-Suit-Wearing Jolly Guy on the Sleigh has probably already packed the presents for Whispers Wood?’
‘Also, a cordless drill,’ she laughed.
‘Hmm. The chilli will be ready soon and the light’s already fading.’
She batted those long eyelashes of hers and said, ‘Come on, you’ve seen me handle a spoon like a pro.’
‘I’ve seen you handle a spoon like a gun. Why exactly do you need a hammer and drill?’
‘It’s a surprise. Pretty please. Come on, you said you’d let me do this for you.’
‘I did. Okay, one hammer and one drill coming right up,’ he said, popping into the boot room to get the toolbox.
‘I should probably take the whole box.’
He laughed and passed it over to her. ‘You think you’ll be finished before the food’s ready?’
‘Yep,’ she said. ‘Oh, I meant to tell you. It stopped snowing about an hour ago.’
‘What, stopped completely?’ His gaze went to the fogged up window. He hadn’t even noticed.
All the while the snow had continued to fall, its soft blanket silencing the outside world, it had been so easy to focus not on the past as he’d worried he’d do the closer it got to Christmas, but on the present; being in Whispers Wood, and being here with Emma.
He hadn’t had to think about what would happen when the snow stopped – had even forgotten it couldn’t snow forever.
Even with a certain chandelier hanging in The Clock House.
He told himself that just because she hadn’t been able to get out of Whispers Wood, it didn’t mean she’d been feeling trapped and he allowed the hopeful breath in.
‘I guess the weather forecast was right again,’ she said. ‘That’s the last of the snow for a while.’
‘Are you upset it’s stopped?’ he asked carefully, trying to take that breath in as deep into his lungs as he could and hold it there.
‘It couldn’t continue forever, could it? This is going to be my first ever Christmas with snow on the ground – for lots of other people too – which makes it even more special.’ She did a little Happy Dance and when her hat slipped lower over her eyes, she pushed it back and headed for the back door.
‘Hey, Hollywood?’ he called before she disappeared back out the door. ‘That looks good on you.’ He nodded to the toolbox but really he meant the outside looked good on her.
As he went back to stirring his chilli, he grinned.
He’d promised her free rein in the gardens and the silly thing was he wasn’t worried at all with whatever she was doing. He just liked the thought of her being happy out there.
This morning he’d helped her with an extra rehearsal for the Christmas show. Now that he’d agreed to sing, she’d informed him she had to re-block the second half of the show so everyone knew what they were supposed to be doing. It hadn’t taken long to realise she’d taken over as director as well as performing some Jane Austen letters, which meant Trudie must be really impressed.
As Emma had talked him into entering from stage left – his other left, as she’d patiently explained when he’d gone the wrong way – he’d found Trudie back stage. Stationed at a mixing desk, she’d cued his backing track, quickly telling him that Emma had been born to do this.
He’d felt a jolt go through him.
If doing this was really what she was born to do, what if she came to realise choosing Whispers Wood had been a mistake?
And then he’d heard the kids in the big finale number all shouting ‘Yes, Miss Danes’ and following her instructions to the letter in a giggling mass of excitement, and he’d watched the pleasure dance across her features and he’d thought that what Trudie might mean was that it wasn’t necessarily acting per se that Emma was born to do, so much as directing and helping bring people together.
The doorbell chimed and popping the lid back on the chilli he went to answer it.
‘Crispin,’ he greeted with surprise as he opened the door.
‘Jake. I hope it’s all right to stop by.’
‘Of course it is, come on in.’
‘Thank you,’ Crispin said, following him into the kitchen. ‘I won’t stay long. I just wanted to tell you personally, that I’ve had some bad news on the Jane Austen front.’
Finally, Jake thought but instead said, ‘Oh no, really?’ and turned to flick the switch on the kettle, swallowing the smile on his lips.
‘I’m embarrassed to tell you that it seems my source is … how can I put this delicately?’
‘Unreliable?’
‘Yes. Good word. Unreliable.’
‘It’s all right, Crispin. I would have found you tomorrow after the show anyway to tell you I’ve been through all the family journals and can’t find even the slightest suggestion Jane Austen visited the Hall. Coffee?’
‘Perhaps a quick one.’ Crispin whipped off his deerstalker hat. ‘Seems this isn’t the first time this person has claimed to have evidence that someone famous stayed at a stately home.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ Jake said, putting two hot mugs of coffee down on the table and indicating the milk and sugar. ‘If only because I know you just want Whispers Wood to be all that it can be.’
‘That’s kind of you to say. Mrs Harlow tells me at least once every evening that I get too excited, go in too quick, and end up having to pull out prematurely.’
Jake’s coffee went down the wrong way and he shot up from the kitchen table to grab some kitchen roll. When he’d recovered coughing, he said, ‘I’m going to have some photos taken of the gardens throughout the seasons to show progress before I open to the public. How about if we organise a blog for The Whisperings that details the progress I’m making?’
‘Now that’s a fine idea. Get the residents involved right from the go. Tease them with information and get them all fired up prior to opening. We could also have a look at—’ he broke off, sighing as he saw Jake’s expression. ‘Well, thank goodness Mrs Harlow wasn’t here to see that or tomorrow I might not get to unwrap the new set of golf clubs I spied hiding at the back of the wardrobe in the spare bedroom.’
‘I won’t tell her, if you don’t.’
&nb
sp; ‘So how are your parents? It’ll be strange not seeing them at the Christmas show this year. Are they enjoying retirement?’
‘I spoke to them last night, actually,’ he said. He’d phoned before they left to go to his older brother Marcus’s for Christmas Day. He’d wanted to reassure them he’d look out for Seth and that they’d be having lunch at The Clock House.
He’d also taken the plunge and started that conversation Emma had suggested and it hadn’t been so difficult after all. ‘They’re doing really well,’ he told Crispin now. ‘Mum wanted to know what plants would go well on their west-facing patio. I can’t remember her ever being interested in gardening before.’
‘You can’t really blame her on that score. It’s far easier to defer to the experts when you’ve got the main job of keeping an eye on six children. You have to admit if gardening isn’t your forte the scale of the grounds here would be intimidating. They must be so much more relaxed knowing you’re here to take over the mantle.’
‘You know I think they are.’ He hadn’t even realised how much he’d been holding his breath ever since his parents’ move to their bungalow in Hastings. But, as his mum had wasted no time pointing out, despite not making Knightley Hall a profitable home, they had loved it. The frustration of knowing they weren’t doing a good job had taken its toll too often though and it was only now they were away from it they realised they’d allowed the helplessness they’d sometimes felt to overshadow the privilege of living there. They knew he was far better equipped to deal with the estate than they’d ever been but as his parents they hadn’t wanted him to experience that helplessness, or if he did, certainly not to have to carry the weight of it on his own.
He’d laughed when she’d asked in a completely unsubtle way if that might be a worry she could cross off her list now that Sarah had told her about a certain ‘charming Jane-ite’ staying in Whispers Wood.
‘Well, I’d better get back,’ Crispin said, getting up and popping his deerstalker hat back on. ‘I’m sorry I can’t print your name in the Christmas show programme but your inclusion was a little last minute.’
‘Oh, don’t worry. I’m happy for my song to be a surprise.’
‘Emma’s the surprise. Don’t you think? Breezing into Whispers Wood like a breath of fresh air.’