What Happens at Christmas

by Evonne Wareham

He let her go, instead of taking the firm hold on her that his body was suddenly demanding, so he could carry her out of the tent.

  For God’s sake, to do what?

  The breath he took was shaky, but the tiny hint of challenge he could see in her eyes fired something. ‘Andrew Vitruvius. Pleased to meet you,’ he said demurely.

  He could be part of the game.

  ‘Oh, good.’ Jessmayne had turned his attention back to them. ‘You’ve introduced yourselves.’

  ‘We have.’ Lori looked at the sculptor with a dazzling smile.

  Look at me like that, dammit.

  They didn’t get any further. The two men who had spotted him in the crowd made their move, and a woman with startling pink hair pounced on Lori, and they had to turn away from each other to make conversation.

  But I’ve got you back.

  His brain and his heart and all his senses were skittering about like newborn lambs, seeing grass for the first time. He inhaled, trying to catch her perfume. Nothing. Just damp canvas, too many people and warm wine.

  He really didn’t want to make conversation about the technical intricacies of writing believable fantasy. Just bloody do it and leave me alone, so I can focus on enticing this woman into joining me in a quiet corner somewhere.

  He rocked on his heels. For God’s sake, get a grip!

  With a conscious effort he relaxed, from the shoulders down. He could afford to be generous to these people, who were really interested and interesting, he discovered. And they bought his books. He’d found Lori – Mallory – and what the hell did anything else matter?

  The crowd was thinning. The evening programme of talks would be beginning in a few moments in the main tent. People were drifting away to claim seats or find places to eat dinner. Arrangements were being traded and confirmed around and across the tent.

  Dinner. He could take Lori to dinner.

  When his last interrogator departed and he was blissfully free, he turned and touched her arm, holding his place in her attention while she finished talking to Strawberry Hair and a cheerful looking girl with a round face and a sweater with a corgi on the front.

  At last they were alone.

  ‘Have dinner with me,’ he blurted it out before anyone else could grab either of them. Thank heaven Jessmayne had disappeared too.

  ‘I can’t. Jess and his wife have invited me to supper at their house.’ Her face wasn’t telling him anything.

  He took a deep breath. ‘But if you could, would you?’

  She nodded, and the tension in his chest went away so suddenly he almost fell over. ‘Then let me take you home, afterwards.’

  ‘But …’ Now she was smiling, no, she was laughing. At him. It felt wonderful. ‘… you have no idea where I’m staying.’

  ‘Hampstead? Notting Hill? Inverness? Wherever you want to go.’ The further the better.

  Something flickered in her eyes. God, I think she would go to Inverness with me.

  ‘Gerard’s Cross.’

  ‘I can do Gerard’s Cross. It’s closer than Inverness.’ Over her shoulder he could see Jessmayne and his wife approaching to claim their prize and take her away. ‘I’ll wait outside their house.’

  ‘But you don’t know what time—’

  ‘However long it takes,’ he said firmly.

  She was still laughing, and shaking her head. ‘You’re crazy.’

  Yes, about you. He put out a hand, she put hers into it. As natural as that.

  ‘I’ll wait for you, Lori. In the words of that famous cliché, we need to talk.’

  Bad choice of phrase. He hoped that the hollow ring of the words wasn’t an omen. ‘I’ll wait …’

  Chapter Forty-Two

  17 August, 8.30 p.m.

  Excitement was spluttering in Lori’s throat. She swallowed, trying to concentrate on the food in front of her, but the splutter was hard to control.

  He wants to see me. He wanted to take me to dinner. He’s taking me home. He’ll be waiting.

  The thrilling litany was speeding up and up – sending waves of heat through her body.

  It hit the ground again when another thought intruded.

  What if he just wants to see you to remind you to keep your mouth shut?

  Being found chained in a farm hut, by a woman and a child, would hardly be a high spot for a man who made his living writing action-packed adventure books. Who lived his action-packed adventure books.

  He’d said they had to talk – and that usually meant …

  Lori’s heart, which had been showing a tendency to burst out of her ribs and sing, plummeted again, curling into a small protective ball. Don’t give anything away. If he is warning you off, at least you have your self-respect.

  Somehow she plodded through the food on her plate. She was sure it was completely delicious, but the ping-pong games going on in her head wiped everything else from her consciousness. No one looked at her in a strange way, so she must have kept up some semblance of conversation. She had very little idea what. At last it was over. Fending off the offers to call her a taxi, she took her jacket and walked out into the street.

  Drew was skulking on the corner, like an assassin. Reaching him, she had the impression that he might actually have been pacing the pavement, like a caricature of an expectant father. He reached out and pulled her close, and everything inside her flew towards him, like a magnet. She wanted to plaster herself against him and drag his head down for a kiss. It took everything she had to hold herself back.

  He was looking down at her, his face shadowy, only partly illuminated by the light from the street-lamps. Then he moved his hand. She felt his thumb run across the edge of her lip. The shiver went down to the very balls of her feet and possibly through her stupidly expensive shoes and into the pavement.

  ‘May I?’ His voice had a distinct tremor in it. He’s asking to kiss you. Before she could respond a burst of noise – applause and voices – came from behind them with a sudden glare of light as tent flaps were pulled back to let people spill into the square. The event in the marquee had ended.

  Drew muttered something she could couldn’t quite catch but she suspected was a curse, and let her go, grabbing her hand again to pull her towards a big black car parked by the kerb. ‘Let’s go, before we get caught.’

  Belted in and settling into the luxurious leather of the seat – she didn’t know what make or model this was, but it was a lot higher up the food chain than her Fiesta – she kept quiet as he piloted them out of the maze of residential streets around the square. She’d never seen him drive. His hands on the wheel looked sure and confident.

  ‘I looked for you.’ His voice in the dark was soft and husky. ‘You don’t have any of the usual stuff – Facebook, Twitter …’

  ‘I do.’ She was processing the fact that he had looked. ‘It’s in the name of Mallory Francis – PR for when I got my big break,’ she said shakily. He looked for you.

  ‘I sent cards. I went to the barn. There were strangers there. They said it was a holiday let.’

  ‘Oh, Drew.’ She didn’t know what to say, other than his name

  ‘I couldn’t find you. Why the hell, Lori? You just vanished.’ The car veered fractionally as he looked over at her. He corrected it immediately, eyes on the road again. ‘I even got a friend to hire a bloody detective. Then … I wondered if you didn’t want to be found.’

  Anguish shot through her. All she could manage was a half-strangled whisper. ‘Ahhh.’ She swallowed and tried again. ‘I think it might be better if we talk when we can look at each other.’

  ‘Probably.’ There was warmth in his voice now. The turmoil inside her started to settle. ‘But you will have to give me a hint about where we’re going – or do I just head for the motorway?’

  ‘Inverness?’

  ‘If that’s what you want.’

  She navigated them competently through the quickest route out of town.

  At last they reached the gates of the house that Dan had rented for t
he summer. She dealt with the mechanics of the gates and then they were rolling up the drive, coming to a stop on the wide gravel sweep as the moon emerged from behind a cloud, spilling cool light on a perfect Georgian manor house.

  ‘Bloody hell!’ Drew was leaning forward to stare at the house, arm lax on the steering wheel. ‘Who the hell are you, Lori?’

  Chapter Forty-Three

  17 August, 11.30 p.m.

  Drew had to take a deep breath. The moon was washing the front of the house and the raked gravel they were parked on, with clear light. Lori released her seat belt and the noise was loud in the quiet night.

  ‘My name is Mallory France. My friends call me Lori, but my pen name is Mallory Francis. When we met at Christmas I was an office manager who wanted to be a writer. Now I am a writer.’ Her voice wobbled. ‘Like you.’

  He began to have maybe a tiny inkling of what had been going on. Pride and independence came into it, but Lori was still talking. ‘My mother and father run a holistic retreat in Santorini, with my younger brother. I have a younger sister and a four-year-old niece, Misty, whom you’ve met. The rest of the family – well, you’ll see.’ She was looking at the house. ‘Soon, I think’

  Lights had come on in the windows, presumably at the sound of the car. The front door opened. ‘I think we should go inside.’

  Two minutes later Drew found himself in a square, high-ceilinged foyer, with a black and white chequerboard floor and a magnificent staircase, shaking hands with Dan Howe.

  ‘Dan Howe. My ex-brother-in-law. Misty’s dad,’ Lori introduced them.

  Shit! The guy was as big and physically impressive off-screen as he was on. And looking you over as if you’re a pimply teen who wants to take his kid sister to the Prom.

  Realisation was hitting him like falling bricks. ‘Mallory France. Your sister is Skylark France.’

  ‘Misty’s mother.’ Lori nodded.

  He could see it now; a resemblance between the sisters, but where Lark France was delicate, ethereal and fey, Lori was warm and earthy, like the woman standing on the other side of Dan Howe.

  Nevada Shaw, glowing with expectant motherhood, was giggling the throaty giggle that had launched a string of box office rom-coms straight at the awards ceremonies, like heat-seeking missiles. She was looking from him to Lori. ‘Andrew and would that also be … Drew?’ She gave Lori a sparklingly wicked look.

  Lori was blushing. It looked glorious. ‘Take no notice.’ Lori gave her not quite sister-in-law a narrow-eyed glare. ‘She knows nothing.’

  Nevada lifted her head in a provocative gesture and gave him her hand. I’m holding the hand of Nevada Shaw. ‘I’m Misty’s step-mum. I think you’ve met her.’

  Drew was doing some very fast thinking. As Misty had been mentioned when Lori introduced him, ‘yes’ was an obvious answer, but something else was clearly expected. And he was still holding Nevada Shaw’s hand. ‘If I admit that I have, will that serve to incriminate me?’

  Nevada shot Lori a delighted look. ‘I like this one – you can keep him.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Lori replied dryly.

  Dan was looking from one to the other of them, unimpressed at the byplay. ‘There’s something cryptic going on here that I’m missing.’

  ‘Yes, darling.’ Nevada let go of Drew and cuddled herself under her husband’s arm. ‘And you can go on missing it,’ she told him kindly. ‘We’re going to leave these two together now.’ A distinct prod in her husband’s ribs.

  ‘We are?’

  ‘Definitely.’ Nevada shepherded her husband towards an open door at the rear of the hall. ‘Don’t keep each other up too late.’ She was laughing as she closed the door.

  Drew wasn’t entirely sure what that last remark meant. He suspected that it might be Nevada giving her blessing to … At this point his overloaded mind gave up the struggle. He simply stepped forward, into Lori’s space. She put up a hand to touch his cheekbone. ‘Nevada doesn’t really know anything. Misty chattered about Christmas. She mentioned your name. Nevada was winding us all up. I think you passed.’

  ‘Thank God for that.’ The relief was genuine. ‘Um …’ He couldn’t help himself. ‘Did she just mean what I think she meant?’

  ‘I think maybe she did.’ Lori was laughing. ‘God, that was convoluted.’

  Easily, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, Lori leaned into him. He was more than ready to hold her. He stood still, inhaling the scent of her hair. No cinnamon now, just lemons and Lori. ‘We don’t have to … I didn’t expect … Oh hell, can I just kiss you?’

  ‘I thought you’d changed your mind.’ She reached up on her toes and pressed her mouth to his. He took five thorough minutes to show her exactly how much he had not changed his mind. They came up for air, briefly, then he showed her again. It was exquisite. Breathing heavily he held her away from him. ‘Does it sound daft to say I missed you?’

  She shook her head slowly. ‘No-o, not daft exactly.’ She stepped out of his arms, to pull him towards a doorway at the front of the house. ‘I’m not sure I understand everything though.’ There was a darkness in her eyes. ‘We do need that talk.’

  Drew followed Lori. As the door opened a familiar white and orange head popped up from behind the arm of a chair. After a short stare, it popped down again. Griff obviously didn’t consider him interesting enough to lose sleeping time.

  Suitably chastened, Drew looked around the room. It would probably have been referred to as a small salon, when the house was built. Where the lady of the house conducted her correspondence and read scandalous novels under cover of doing fine needle-point. Now it had good quality reproduction wallpaper and a mix of old and new furniture that worked surprisingly well.

  Drew took a moment to ease the darkness of uncertainty out of Lori’s eyes. She tasted better each time he kissed her, and her body pressed against him. The fabric of his suit trousers was uncomfortably tight, but this unfortunately was not the time. Maybe there was cause for that darkness.

  They settled on a sofa, side by side. Drew put out a hand and Lori took it. He trailed a finger over the top of hers. She shivered in a way that gave his heart a little kick.

  Drew cleared his throat. ‘When Devlin, that’s the friend in the helicopter, dropped me off, I just holed up in my flat. I was afraid to contact anyone – we’d worked out that whoever snatched me had to be someone who knew the arrangements for the kidnap, but I didn’t know exactly who, or if they were working for someone else. I was afraid they might be watching, hacking into my mail … anything. I couldn’t be sure who I could trust and I definitely didn’t want anything to come near you and Misty. The police think I got free myself and called Devlin. I’m not exactly comfortable with that and I don’t imagine they would be very happy if they find out it’s not true, but I hope they never will.’

  He could see from the way her eyes shifted that she knew just how unhappy the police might be. ‘It was a conscious decision and I’d do it again. Even more, now I know who Misty is. Who you are. The press would have a field day.’ He shut his eyes, briefly. He could imagine the headlines. ‘It didn’t take long for Devlin to work out who was responsible. He set up a sting, which confirmed what he suspected. You know about the arrests and the trial?’ Silently Lori nodded. Drew couldn’t help the sigh. ‘I thought, once someone had been arrested, and I could come out of hiding, that I’d be able to get in touch. But I had to leave for America almost immediately and then when I got back, you were gone …’ His heart scrunched with the memory. ‘I could have dug deeper – the P.I. might have found you, I think. But … I wasn’t sure. I didn’t know whether that was what you wanted. To disappear. I thought you might have been squatting at the barn, illegally,’ he confessed. ‘Another reason for not involving the police. And … I just didn’t know whether …’ He shrugged. ‘It was just a few days with a stranger.’

  ‘Drew!’ He saw the hurt in her face. ‘I didn’t intend to disappear. Misty and I were at the barn by accident.’ As
she explained, an icy finger inched its way down his spine. If Lark France hadn’t dumped her daughter for the Christmas holidays …

  How long would it have taken them to find your … body?

  He shook himself mentally. The past could be a bad enough place, without constructing alternative realities in it. And you would know all about that.

  Lori was studying his face. ‘When you didn’t contact me. I didn’t think that you couldn’t. That was so stupid. I told myself that it was just … well a bit of a thing. Ships in the night, and all that. I still … I still kind of wondered if it was all a stunt that had gone wrong,’ she confessed, softly.

  ‘And I wondered if there would be an exposé in the papers, if you’d tell your story for money.’ He gave a shaky laugh. ‘Maybe we both have work to do in trusting each other.’

  ‘We need to learn about each other,’ she corrected, quietly. ‘I didn’t tell you about the writing. That was pride,’ she said bluntly. ‘The same reason I don’t usually talk about Lark and Dan and Nevada. That will probably come out eventually.’ She made a small deflecting gesture, that made Drew want to gather her in and kiss her until they both passed out from lack of air. But that wasn’t the right thing now. ‘I wanted to make it on my own,’ she continued softly. ‘To be chosen, if I was chosen, because of me. Of what I wrote, not because someone might be influenced by the family I happen to belong to. Does that make sense?’

  ‘Perfect sense.’ Gallant, crazy, adorable, perfect sense. ‘So …’ He let go of Lori’s hand to lean forward, pressing his fingertips together and letting his hands lie loosely between his knees. He hadn’t intended the gesture, but as he moved he saw her eyes widen. He looked down. His shirt sleeve had ridden up. The scar of the cuff was fading, but still visible.

  ‘Drew.’ The pain in her voice when she said his name made what he was about to say even harder, but he had to say it. It was tangled up with what they both were.

  The knowledge had been building in his head. Now it had risen, inextricably, to a point where he had to voice it. ‘I …’ He looked over his shoulder at her. Her face was concerned, puzzled. ‘I don’t want to say this, but I think you will understand. I hope that you’ve got an idea of how I feel, and where I’d like this to go. Where I’d like us to go.’ He managed a smile. Probably lop-sided and clearly not as reassuring as he wanted, seeing that the darkness was back in her eyes. Grey, such a clear pure grey. Get on with it, Vitruvius. ‘I don’t think we should see each other until after the trial.’