She’d asked him why he hadn’t stayed for that Christmas night, but she’d known the true answer before he’d spoken. He’d said he had to work, of course, but she knew what that really meant, now.
He hadn’t considered her part of his family. Just like her own parents hadn’t, in their way. Just like her stepdad hadn’t. She hadn’t been important to him either—certainly not as important as his work, or her stepbrothers. She hadn’t mattered at all.
But she mattered to Ivy. She mattered now. And he could never take that away from her.
How could she have thought that he’d changed? That he might be worthy of knowing his incredible daughter?
Jacob Foster would never know the true value of love, of family, of relationships—of her. Not if he was willing to use her just to prove a point to his father.
Ivy didn’t need that kind of person in her life. She didn’t need a father who would swoop in and show her off when it benefitted him and ignore her the rest of the time. She needed someone who would show her that she mattered every day of her life.
And so, Clara realised as she finally saw the taxi’s headlights approaching, did she.
* * *
Alone in the castle that evening, Jacob stared up at the monstrously large Christmas tree in the hallway, obscuring the suit of armour, and wondered if this whole thing had been a massive mistake.
Not Christmas in general, or even bringing his family together for this last perfect Christmas. But asking Clara to organise it.
He couldn’t have done it all himself, he knew. He had many skills and talents but organising the details of an event like this weren’t among them. Clara, on the other hand, seemed to thrive on such minutiae. He’d caught a glimpse of her clipboard while she was debating the exact position of the tree, and discovered that she had everything planned down to the minute. She knew exactly what needed to happen every hour of every day until Christmas was over. She’d probably leave them a timetable for festive fun when she headed back to the hotel tomorrow.
She’d even named the Christmas tree. Who called a tree Bruce, anyway?
No, he couldn’t have done it without her, but still he wondered if he should have asked someone else. Or if she should have said no. If seeing her again was only going to make things far worse in the long run.
Maybe he should just have given her a divorce five years ago, when she first asked, and skipped this current misery.
Had she really meant everything she said? That he’d not just neglected her but used her? And he’d been thinking she owed him for walking out. Perhaps he owed her more than he thought.
Sighing, Jacob sank down to sit at the bottom of the stairs. He’d known all along that the chances of him being a good husband—a good man—were slim, no matter how hard he tried. He’d proved that before he’d even turned eighteen. That disastrous night... Burned into his mind was the memory of his mother’s face, wide-eyed with horror and disbelief, and the stern, set jaw of his father that night, all mingled with the sound of the ambulance tyres screeching up the driveway on a winter night...
But worse, far worse, was the image of Heather’s tiny body, laid out on a stretcher, and the sobbing wrenched from his own body.
He forced it out of his mind again.
He should never have got married in the first place. He should have known better. He’d let himself get swept away in the instant connection he’d felt with Clara and had told himself what he needed to hear to let the relationship carry on far past the point he should have ended it. It should have been two weeks of intimacy, a wonderful Christmas holiday memory to look back on years later.
Because he didn’t deserve anything more, anything deeper than that.
He’d reassured himself that Clara was an adult, that she could take care of herself. But it seemed a heart was even easier to break than a body.
Jacob buried his head in his hands, his fingers tightening in his hair. His father had known, he realised. James had known that marriage was beyond him—he’d practically said it when Jacob had brought Clara home to meet the family! All his talk about responsibility... What he’d meant was: Do you really think you can do this?
And Jacob had proven he couldn’t.
He’d been all Clara had, it dawned on him now, too late. He’d been given the gift of her love and all he’d had to do in return was take care of it. She was wrong about one thing, at least—he had loved her. She’d never been a convenience, an accessory, even if apparently that was how he’d treated her.
He’d broken her. Let her down. He’d pulled away because he’d been scared—scared of how deeply he felt for her, and scared of screwing it up. That he wasn’t up to the responsibility of being a husband.
Maybe he still wasn’t. But he liked to think he was a better man at thirty-one than he’d been at twenty-five, and a world better than he’d been at sixteen. He was improving, growing. He might never be a good man, but he could be a better one.
And a better man would apologise to the woman he’d hurt.
Jumping to his feet, Jacob grabbed his car keys and his coat and headed out to find Clara’s hotel.
It wasn’t hard to find; the twisting road down from the castle didn’t have much in the way of buildings along it and the Golden Thistle Hotel was the first he came to.
Swinging the door open wide, he stepped inside and...promptly realised he had no idea what he was going to say. Clara hadn’t answered him when he’d asked who she was staying with. What if she really was there with another man? The last thing she’d want was her ex-husband storming in, even if he was there to apologise.
‘Can I help you?’ the teenage girl behind the reception desk asked.
‘Um...’ Jacob considered. He was there now, after all. ‘Are you still serving food?’ At least that way he’d have an excuse for being there if Clara stumbled across him before he decided on his next move.
The receptionist cheerfully showed him through to the bar, where he acquired a snack menu and a pint and settled down to study his surroundings.
It wasn’t entirely what he’d expected. Not that he’d given it a huge amount of thought. But he’d imagined Clara to be staying in a wildly romantic boutique hotel, with no kids and plenty of champagne and roses. The Golden Thistle Hotel, while lovely, seemed a rather more laid-back affair. The roaring fires were cosy and the prints on the stone walls were friendly rather than designer. The low, beamed ceilings and sprigs of holly on the tables made it feel welcoming, somehow, and somewhere in the next room someone was belting out carols at a piano.
But there was no sign of Clara, or Merry. And the longer he sat there, the less inclined Jacob was to look for them. How would he find them, anyway? Explain to the nice receptionist that he was looking for his estranged wife? That was likely to get him thrown out on his ear if the woman had any sense.
He shouldn’t be here. She had been right. It wasn’t any of his business who Clara chose to spend Christmas with. Not any more. And maybe she’d been telling the truth; maybe it really was just her and Merry. Perhaps she just wanted to get away from him. And, given his current actions, who could blame her?
She’d left him once. He really shouldn’t be surprised if she kept trying to repeat the action.
Jacob drained the last of his pint and got to his feet. Never mind the bar snacks, or his wife. He’d head back to the castle, eat whatever had been left in the fridge for him and go to bed. And tomorrow he’d be professional, adult and considerably less of a stalker.
He’d apologise when she arrived for work. They’d get through Christmas and they’d be divorced in the New Year. He’d give Clara her life back, at least, to do whatever she wanted with it.
Without him.
Glancing into the next room on his way past, he saw a small girl standing on the table, singing ‘We Wish You A Merry Christmas’
at the top of her lungs and turned away. A perfect Christmas—that was what he was here for. Not to reconcile with his wife, or even exact some sort of revenge on her for leaving him. This weekend was about his family, not his love life.
Clara was his employee now, not his wife. And once this Christmas was over, she wouldn’t be his anything at all.
He had to remember that.
* * *
Clara arrived at the castle bright and early on Christmas Eve, wrapped up warm and in full warpaint make-up, ready to be professional, aloof and totally unbothered by Jacob Foster. Today, he was her client, not her ex, and all they had to discuss were Christmas plans and decorations. Nothing to do with their marriage—and definitely nothing to do with Ivy.
She’d caught a taxi up to the castle, loaded full of the last few essentials that her friend had brought up herself, not trusting them to the courier company. Namely, the Foster family antique decorations and Jacob’s Christmas presents to his family. Everything else she figured she could replace or improvise if the courier company let them down.
But they hadn’t. All the boxes had arrived, just as they’d packed them. The tree was in place, the final food delivery was expected within the hour from the local butcher and deli. All she had to do now was ‘Christmasify’ the castle. And that was Clara’s favourite part.
Normally, she’d have Merry along to help her, but today her business partner had taken Ivy off into the local town to do some last-minute Christmas shopping in the hire car Merry had picked up at the station the day before. Hot chocolates had also been mentioned. Clara was trying very hard not to feel envious; she needed to work and Ivy understood that. Plus, spending time with Aunt Merry was always a special treat for her daughter.
At least they’d all managed to have a wonderful evening together last night at the Golden Thistle Hotel, when she’d finally got done at the castle. She hadn’t been completely sure when Merry had suggested the place, but it was the closest and easiest hotel on offer. As it turned out, though, it was wonderful. The staff had welcomed Ivy in particular with open arms, and they’d spent the evening eating chips and then mince pies in the bar while one of the locals played Christmas carols on the old piano there. It hadn’t been long before Ivy had been singing along too, much to everyone’s delight. All in all, the evening had been the ideal respite after the hideous few hours with Jacob at the castle.
Had he honestly believed that Clara would spend Christmas there, just to make his father a tiny smidgen happier? He couldn’t honestly believe that James would care all that much about his ex-daughter-in-law being there, could he? Clara was pretty sure that as long as Sheila, Jacob and Heather were there, everything would be perfect as far as James was concerned.
And as long as she had Ivy and Merry, Clara knew the Golden Thistle would be perfect for her too. In fact, she couldn’t wait to get back there this evening and spend Christmas Eve with her girl. The owners had already said that Ivy was welcome to hang her stocking by the main fire, to make it as easy as possible for Father Christmas to find her that night. Ivy had positively vibrated with excitement at the thought.
Yes, Christmas was here and it was wonderful. All Clara had to do was hope that Jacob had come to his senses, get through a few more hours of setting up the castle for the Fosters, and then she could start enjoying herself. This year, she’d decided, would be the one to make up for all those miserable childhood Christmases—not to mention the last lonely one with Jacob.
She shivered as she stepped out of the car onto the frosty castle driveway. There was no snow yet, but the forecast said there would be overnight. All the more reason for Clara to get the job done and get out. The air around her was bitterly cold, cutting into every centimetre of exposed skin, and Clara was thankful for her scarf and gloves, and even the woolly hat Ivy had pushed onto her head before she’d left.
‘You don’t want to catch a cold, Mummy,’ she’d said sternly, and Clara had given up worrying about what it might do to her hair.
Letting herself in to the castle, a box of decorations balanced on one hip, Clara wondered whether she should call out to Jacob. He could be sleeping, she supposed, or working. Either way, she probably shouldn’t interrupt him. Besides, she’d work quicker on her own.
By the time he appeared, dressed in jeans and a jumper and heavy boots, she’d already brought in all her boxes and waved the taxi off, unpacked the fresh food delivery, and twined freshly cut greenery all the way up the twisting banister. She was just adding the ribbons and baubles to the stair display when she heard his voice.
‘What are you doing?’ he asked from the top of the stairs. He sounded amused, which she hoped meant that he planned to ignore the way they’d parted the day before too. The only thing for it, as far as Clara was concerned, was to get back to being client and organiser as soon as possible.
Clara glanced up, one end of the ribbon she was tying still caught between her lips. ‘Decorating,’ she said through clenched teeth. It came out more like ‘Echoratin’ but he seemed to get the idea.
‘Need a hand?’ He jogged effortlessly down the stairs and Clara allowed herself just a moment to appreciate the way his lean form moved under his winter clothes; the clench of a thigh muscle visible through his jeans, the way his shoulders stretched the top of his sweater. Call it a Christmas present to herself.
Then she turned her attention back to her ribbon before he caught her ogling. The man’s ego did not need the boost, and she didn’t need him thinking he might be able to find a way out of their divorce agreement.
‘You could start on Bruce, I suppose,’ Clara said doubtfully. Then she realised that Jacob Foster probably had no idea about the right way to decorate a tree and changed her mind. ‘Or maybe the table decorations.’ They, at least, were already made up and just needed putting in place.
‘Or I could make you a coffee and fetch you a mince pie?’ he suggested. ‘As an apology for yesterday. And, well, our entire marriage.’
‘Tea,’ she reminded him. ‘But actually, that sounds great.’
He returned a few minutes later with a mug and plate in hand. Clara took them gratefully and sat down on the nearest step to eat her mince pie. The early start had meant forgoing breakfast at the hotel, and she realised now that might have been a mistake. Decorating was hungry work.
‘I am sorry,’ he said, standing over her. ‘About everything. Not just asking you to fake a relationship for the sake of my pride, but for not giving you what you needed when we were married.’
Clara shrugged, swallowing her mouthful of pastry. ‘Forget it. I guess it was inevitable that some old thoughts and habits would come up with us working together. But in a few hours I’ll be out of your hair and you can get on with your Christmas and forget all about me.’ Now she said it out loud, the thought wasn’t actually all that appealing.
‘I don’t want to forget about it,’ Jacob replied. ‘Not yet. I...I wasn’t made for marriage. I should have known that and not let myself give in to what I wanted when I’d only hurt you in the long run.’
Not made for marriage? Because he cared more about his work than people? Clara supposed he might have a point. Still, she couldn’t help but feel a little sad for him, if work was all he’d ever have.
‘I should have talked to you more,’ she admitted. ‘Explained how I felt. But it was all tied up in my family and I...’
‘Didn’t want to tell me about them,’ Jacob guessed. He sat down on the step below, those broad shoulders just a little too close for comfort. Clara could smell his aftershave, and the oh, so familiar scent sent her cascading back through the years in a moment. So much for forgetting. As if that was even possible. If she hadn’t forgotten him throughout those five long years apart, why would she begin now, just because he finally signed a piece of paper for her? ‘Why was that?’
Clara looked down at her plate. Suddenly
the remaining half of her mince pie seemed less appealing.
‘You don’t have to tell me,’ Jacob added. ‘I know it’s none of my business any more. I’d just like to understand, if I can.’
‘My mother... She fell pregnant with me when she was sixteen,’ Clara said after a moment. Was that the right place to start? I was born, I wasn’t wanted. Wasn’t that the six-word summary of her life? ‘I was an accident, obviously. Her parents demanded that she marry my dad, which was probably the worst idea ever.’
‘Worse than our marriage?’ Jacob joked.
‘Far worse. At least we had a few months of being happy together. I don’t think they even managed that.’ She sighed, remembering the fights, the yelling. Remembering the relief she’d felt, just for a moment, when her father had left and her mother met someone else. Until she’d realised what that meant for her place in the family. ‘My mother always said that I was the biggest mistake she’d ever made in her life.’
Jacob’s sharp intake of breath beside her reminded her exactly where she was, who she was talking to. A client, not her ex.
She flashed him a too bright fake smile. ‘Anyway. Needless to say, they don’t miss me. My father left when I was seven, my mum remarried a few years later and started a new family. One she really wanted. I became...surplus to requirements. That’s all.’
‘Clara...I’m so sorry. If I’d known...’ He trailed off, presumably because he knew as well as she did he wouldn’t have done anything differently. Except maybe not marry her in the first place.
She shrugged. ‘I’m a different person now. I don’t need them.’ Or you. ‘I have my own life. I’m not the girl I was when my dad left, or the teenager being left out by her new family. I’m not even the person I was when I married you. I don’t even drink coffee any more!’ She tried for a grin, hoping it didn’t look too desperate. Anything to signal that this part of the conversation was over. She didn’t need Jacob feeling sorry for her.
The Unexpected Holiday Gift Page 10