What Happens at Christmas

by Evonne Wareham

  He’d moved away from the entrance when there was a muffled curse and a figure walked out of the darkness at the edge of the light.

  Adrenaline fizzed through Drew’s system, screaming run.

  But the figure was between him and the only way out.

  Drew took a pace back. The figure took a pace forward. Tall, male, dressed in black, with a wicked looking commando knife glinting in his hand.

  Drew barely recognised the ravaged face as Brandon Phipps.

  ‘Do you know what you’ve done?’ Phipps’ voice was hoarse, but something in the timbre clicked. The man that Geri spoke to on the phone, who’d sounded near hysteria.

  ‘What—’ Drew coughed and tried again. ‘What have I done?’

  ‘Aveline. She k … killed herself. This afternoon. You were drinking champagne at a fancy hotel and she killed herself!’ It came out almost as a sob. ‘Her stupid parents persuaded her to plead guilty, to protect the family name.’ Phipps’ voice rose. ‘So that it wouldn’t be dragged through the court in a trial. Then, when she realised she would be in prison for years—’ Phipps’ head dropped to his chest. Drew wasn’t sure if he was weeping.

  ‘Look, I’m sorry.’ A bloody inadequate word. Drew spread his hands in a placatory gesture. ‘I didn’t want that …’

  Phipps’ head came up with a jerk. ‘Who cares what you want … It’s always about you. I loved her. She did it for me.’

  Phipps took a step forward. He was holding the knife in a surprisingly business-like way. Drew had a brief mental flash of those violent war sagas. Oh shit. His body was tense, teeth clenched, eyes darting around the small, enclosed space in front of the doorway.

  Walls all around and only one way out.

  There was no way out.

  Only through Brandon Phipps.

  Brandon Phipps and his knife.

  If that’s all there is, get on with it—

  With a sigh and almost without conscious thought, his body relaxed into the stance that Chris and Ray had drilled into him in all those painful self-defence classes. He was no knife fighter, but if the alternative was getting his throat cut …

  When Phipps lunged he counter-moved with a jerk to one side. He saw the surprise on Phipps’ face as the man stumbled. He dragged in a breath, already starting to sweat. He had to stay on his feet. If he went down …

  Phipps swung towards him and thrust the knife. Drew feinted again.

  One more move and he’d be out of the circle of light and running for the alley that led to the main road. Where there are people, traffic.

  Drew kicked out, making his opponent jump back in surprise. It bought him just enough time. He took off, flying, feet skidding dangerously as he hurled himself into the alley, activating another light as he stormed past.

  Phipps caught up with him halfway down the passageway, spinning him and slamming him against the wall. The knife rattled against brick, an inch from Drew’s head. Drew used his arm and his knee, the way he’d been taught. Gasping, Phipps fell away from him. But he still has the knife.

  ‘Andrew?’ A woman’s voice. Geraldine was standing under the light at the top of the alley, peering into the darkness. ‘Oh my God.’ She’d seen that there were two of them, seen the knife. ‘Brandon, this is crazy. Stop.’

  At the sound of his name Phipps turned, still bent over and half staggering. Drew didn’t wait; he took off again in the direction of the street, dimly aware of a noise, a hard metallic voice. ‘This vehicle is reversing. This vehicle is reversing.’

  The flash of the tail-lights spilled across his eyes as the reversing lorry kept on coming and the voice kept on repeating. ‘This vehicle is reversing.’

  With a massive effort, that pushed the muscles of his legs to what seemed like tearing point, Drew threw himself across the alley and into the narrow shelter of a bricked up doorway, bracing himself against the frame as the side of the vehicle ground past, inches from his face.

  Over the roar of the engine he heard the screams.

  Two voices.

  One female, one male.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  3 September, Late Evening

  The chaos took a long time to abate. Ambulances, police, snarled traffic. Brandon Phipps had died on impact with the vehicle. Geraldine was still breathing when the first responders arrived, then she too was gone. The traumatised lorry driver had been taken away. The police had found the knife.

  Drew had given a statement. The attack, the chase, the tragic consequences. Yes, he and Mr Phipps had previously been on good terms, they’d shared a platform at literary events. Yes, Mr Phipps had appeared to be very distressed and talking wildly. No, Ms Ennis had not witnessed the scuffle but had come across the scene and called out to Phipps. No, he had not been aware of the lorry backing into the turning, until it was almost on top of him, despite the warning announcements. No, he had not seen what happened at the point of impact.

  He’d shown them the niche in the wall where he’d jumped to avoid the lorry. He could only assume that Ms Ennis was trying to persuade Mr Phipps to give up the knife and both had been unaware of the danger.

  At last it was over. Drew collapsed into the back of a taxi, head in his hands. The events of the day jerked back and forth in his head, like a badly edited film.

  He paid the driver and scrambled out at the top of the street. A couple of people were loitering on the steps in front of his block.

  Reporters?

  He looked up at the dark windows of his flat. He could run the gauntlet, go up there and try to sleep.

  Or not.

  Abruptly he turned, heading for the garage block.

  Like a homing pigeon, he was going to Lori.

  Lori smoothed a strand of hair away from Misty’s face. Her niece snuffled in her sleep and curled up, clutching Bunny and sucking her thumb. Lori had found and cooked beef burgers from the freezer, to make up for missing the trip to the Hard Rock. Lucy, Misty’s nanny, had come back from an afternoon off and listened carefully to the story of the baby, and then they’d both tucked Misty up in bed. Lucy was in her small suite at the end of the corridor. Lori could hear the muffled sound of the TV.

  She’d tidied up the kitchen, fed Griff, taken Polly for a walk in the grounds and watched a re-run of an old comedy show on TV, before going up to check on Misty.

  It was gone midnight.

  Hope and expectation had thinned to nothing.

  Drew wouldn’t come now.

  After a moment’s hesitation at the top of the stairs, Lori went to her room, took the manuscript Drew had sent her out of the drawer and carried it down to the small salon. She smoothed her hands over the pages. She’d read it now.

  Three times.

  The writing was awesome. Better than Drew had ever done, and with that wild edge that had appealed to her from his first book. There were the characteristic Andrew Vitruvius action scenes, the ascent of a mountain in the Alps and an underwater scene around an uninhabited island with a wrecked submarine on the sea bed. The final chase, across the rooftops of Paris, time jumping between the French Revolution and the present, had her forgetting how to breathe, it was so vivid.

  But at the core of it was the story of a man – and two women – one haunting the past, the other lighting the way to the future. And the guilt, betrayal and love that lay between. She knew that Stren wasn’t Drew, but the journey he made through the book, becoming a man who might be able to love, might allow himself … The resonance chimed with something deep inside her. Drew could write that … The thought made her dizzy. But he’d said it wasn’t everything. She needed to see him.

  She needed to know.

  The gates were shut, which wasn’t surprising as it was approaching three in the morning. He’d given up on the idea of howling. It wasn’t civilised behaviour, and in any case he didn’t think he had the energy. He tucked the car neatly on the grass verge, beside the gate, and killed the engine. He wasn’t going in, but he could wait. And, God help him, think. He
was swimming again in waters he’d left behind him years ago. It was by turns exhilarating and terrifying. At the moment, in his depleted state, terror was winning. In the morning … later this morning, when those gates opened, what was he going to say to Lori?

  ‘I don’t know if I’m capable of love. I sure as hell don’t know if I deserve it, but with you I’m on the verge of … something.’

  She’d have read the book; would she understand it? That it’s me and not me?

  And the worst isn’t there.

  The hard, damning kernel of knowledge that he’d carried so long and never shared? He had to give her that. Then, if she walked away … karma … coming back through the passage of time. It isn’t in Lori’s gift to forgive you. It isn’t her you’ve wronged all these years.

  He coughed, putting his hand down between the seats for the remnants of a bottle of water, drinking, then splashing some on his face and wiping it off with his sleeve. Three a.m. blues.

  Will you listen to yourself, asshole? You’re here making up deep and gloomy scenarios and it could be that Lori has already decided she doesn’t fancy you after all. Simple as that.

  A million romances probably began and ended every minute of every day and not all of them were Romeo and Juliet. And didn’t that one end well?

  Maybe he and Lori would date for a few weeks, a few months, and then drift apart? Maybe even now Dan Howe was waiting to punch out his lights and tell him to stay away from his sister-in-law? Despite himself, Drew could feel a laugh bubbling.

  The bruises from his encounter with the wall in the alley were making themselves felt, so what was one more?

  Abruptly he sobered. The scene in the alley … and what went before. How twisted people can be. People you thought you knew and could trust, hiding behind a mask. Sound familiar? He wanted to start again. To try a new start. With Lori as part of it, if she’d have him. If she’d give him a chance.

  But it’s not always about you.

  The rapping on the glass startled him awake. He flailed, disorientated. It was still dark and someone was shining a torch through the car window. Blinking, Drew put up his hand to shield his eyes.

  In the muted illumination from the lights on the gateposts he could see the outline of an SUV and two uniformed silhouettes. Of course Dan Howe would have a security patrol.

  Yawning, he sat up straight, rubbing his eyes. The security guard was still peering at him. ‘You can’t park here … sir.’ The tagged on ‘sir’, surprised a bark of laughter from Drew. They’d clocked the car. How many paparazzi or celebrity stalkers turn up in a Ferrari?

  He opened the door and nearly closed it again. God, it was cold out there. ‘Sorry.’ He stifled another yawn. ‘I drove down on impulse to see Miss France – then realised what time it was. I thought I’d better wait until a more civilised hour.’ He looked around, figuring out how best to reverse into the road. ‘I’ll find somewhere else, more suitable—’

  ‘Oh – wait.’ The man had got a good look at him now, in the light of the car interior. ‘It’s Mr Vitruvius isn’t it? Andrew Vitruvius?’ Drew admitted that it was. ‘Well that’s all right then – at least …’ He conferred briefly with his colleague. ‘If we open the gates, would you like to take the car inside to wait? This is a quiet lane, but even so.’

  He was looking over the points of the Ferrari, clearly weighing up the possibility of a carjacking on his boss’s doorstep, should any passing villain fancy their chance.

  ‘That would be very kind.’ Drew put up his hand to rub his eyes, which felt as if he had half the Sahara in them. Then there was the kink in his spine. How many idiots spend the night sleeping in their Ferrari? There was clearly a knack to it. One he’d yet to acquire.

  The colleague had slipped off to make the necessary arrangements for the gates. The first man stayed. ‘Got all your books, I have. Get them as soon as they’re out. Hardback, like. Bloody good read.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Drew said quietly. ‘What did you think of the latest one?’

  The man’s expression flickered a little ‘It was good. They’re all good, but maybe not my favourite, like.’ Just a little tired. Same old, same old. The cool acid dead voice whispered in Drew’s head.

  ‘I hope the next one will be a real winner. It’s going to be Stren’s story.’

  The man’s face brightened. ‘Ah, now that’ll be a good’un. And here we are.’ Behind him the gates were opening slowly. Drew started the car, bumped off the verge and drove through.

  Lori hadn’t bothered to go to bed. She was too on edge. It was probably the drama with the baby, but somehow it felt like more.

  Nothing to do with Drew Vitruvius. He’ll be here when he can.

  The text from Dan came in at five-forty. ‘Orlando Maximilian Alexander Howe debuted, screaming, 4 30 a.m. 8lb. 2oz. Red hair!!!! Milkman? M&B doing well. Pics soon. Xxx.’

  Grinning, Lori responded with congratulations and a ‘relieved’ emoji. Orlando Maximilian Alexander – the kid had to grow up to be an actor. Faint hints of daylight were appearing at the edge of the curtains. She went to the window to drag them back and look out at the approach to the house.

  And did a double-take.

  It wasn’t a tank parked on the lawn, but there did appear to be a Ferrari parked on the drive.

  He’d slept again. There was a vicious crick in his neck and it was getting light. How soon could he approach the house?

  He hitched himself up in the seat, relieving his neck and rolling his shoulders. Reaction to the night before was setting in. Nausea washed over him in waves. He opened the car door, dry heaving over the gravel. Thank God he hadn’t eaten for hours.

  He was shaking, the memory of screams echoing in his head. He pulled the door shut and leaned back in his seat, scrubbing his hands into his eyes. He was a mess and he felt like shit. Maybe he shouldn’t go near the house at all? Maybe he should just turn and leave?

  He held up his arm, checking his armpit. He didn’t smell too bad, but God knew what he looked like. He rubbed his chin. Nearly twenty-four hours of beard. But she has seen you like this before.

  He tipped his head back against the seat, starting to laugh and wondering if he was going to be able to stop. He’d hardly won Lori over with his suave good looks. He was still laughing a little, hiccupping gently, when someone opened the car door.

  ‘Drew?’

  She was there.

  Clumsily, shaking again, he almost fell out of the car and into her arms. He dragged her close to him, as naturally as breathing. She simply held him and they stood, swaying slightly, as the sun came up. At last, when the shaking stopped, she moved away from him, taking in the car. ‘This isn’t what you brought me home in that time. Did you steal it?’

  ‘No, it’s mine,’ he admitted, ducking his head. ‘Boys and their toys.’

  ‘Mmm.’ She put her hand up to cup his cheek. ‘What happened, Drew? I know about the trial. I thought …’ Her voice tailed off, and he heard the hurt. ‘But this is something else?’

  ‘I came as soon as I could. At about three o’clock. The security people let me in. I didn’t want to disturb you, so I just waited.

  Something in her eyes flickered. ‘I was awake. Nevada went into labour – I couldn’t settle. The baby arrived, it’s a boy. Misty doesn’t know yet.’

  ‘Misty is here?’ He looked at the house. ‘Of course she is. I’m not thinking straight.’ Another deep shudder took him. ‘The lawyer rang me about the trial yesterday morning. I had to see my publisher and my agent and then I was coming here but—’ He jerked in a breath. In terse, bald sentences he told her the rest.

  ‘Oh, Drew.’ She pulled him close again. He dropped his chin to rest on her hair. ‘I seem to be a bit accident-prone lately. But I think this is the end of it.’ The attempt at lightness failed miserably. His voice was still too uneven. With an effort, drawing on reserves that were buried somewhere very deep, he pulled himself together. There were still things that needed to be said. ‘Did
you read the book?’

  ‘I did.’ She moved back, to look at him. ‘But you’re exhausted, we don’t need to talk about that now.’

  ‘We do.’ He tightened his hold on her. ‘I need to know where I stand, before I leave here. Whether … whether we have any kind of future. If you want to try to … to be normal. Date and stuff. I …’ He lifted a hand to trace a finger down her cheek to the corner of her mouth. She was heavy-eyed with lack of sleep. She looked beautiful to him. ‘I … care … about you. I think maybe I more than care.’ He dropped his hand. ‘I’m not very good at this, in fact, I suck at it, and I have absolutely no idea now what you think about me.’

  This time he managed a smile. His face was stiff. He probably looked like an axe murderer. ‘As you haven’t called the security people to have me removed, I guess I might be in with a chance.’ He took a deep breath. ‘At Christmas we only had a few days together, very intense days, and now …’ He was not going to start to shake again. ‘It sounds a bit crazy, thinking of building a future on that, but … I really hope you might want to try. And if you do, there are other things that I need to tell you. Things I’ve never told anyone.’

  At that she slipped out of his arms. Alarm flared, but she was pulling him towards the house. ‘Come inside then, and tell me.’

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  4 September, 7 a.m.

  Lori took him to the small salon. The manuscript was lying on the coffee table. Drew stood in front of the sofa, looking at the box of printed pages. Lori reached up and pulled him down to sit beside her.

  ‘My editor says it’s the best thing I’ve ever written.’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘You’ve read the others?’

  Rumbled. ‘I may have glanced through one or two.’ She faked nonchalance. The surprise and pleasure in his face set a warm glow in her chest. They were sitting side by side but not touching. She put out a hand and ran a finger over the box. ‘There were things I get … in the story. Stren’s struggle towards … love.’ Just the vibration of the word in her head made it hard to breathe. Drew had documented Stren’s attempts to understand the emotion, his struggle, his need to fight towards it. An aim still not quite realised by the end of the book, but with an ending full of hope. Words that seemed to be written in heart’s blood. Now she could see every one of them in Drew’s face.