Saving Mr Scrooge (Moorland Heroes Book 2)

by Sharon Booth

  I did, wondering what had happened.

  "When I was at the trade fair in Liverpool, I got talking to Kirsty Benson. She's a buyer for Rochester's Department Stores. She was telling me that Ethan Rochester is keen to support smaller local producers in his food halls, and has been trying to find a decent chocolate manufacturer for his York store. I sent her some samples of a few of our lines, and she showed them to Ethan."

  "I take it he approved?"

  "He definitely did. Must admit, I was quite shocked that he rang me personally. He told me he's aiming for Rochester's to be a champion for the small companies, rather than the major producers whose products you can find anywhere. Carroll's is definitely in the running to supply the York store, which would mean we'd also have our products available through the Rochester's website. He says they have a very popular gift category, and they'd be included in that. It apparently gets a lot of hits all year round, though it's especially popular at Valentine's Day, Easter and Christmas. He wants me to meet up with him and take him some different chocolates. A taster session, if you like."

  "Meet up with him? You're going to London?"

  "God, no. He lives locally—just a few miles from here, actually. He seems like quite a nice chap. Much more informal than I'd expected. He says his wife is a chocolate expert, and he wants her to try them. I dunno, maybe she's a confectioner by trade, or something. Anyway, I'll be visiting Moreland Hall in a few days, armed with a selection of our premium chocolates."

  "That's great news!"

  "It is. Fingers crossed. Although, it's a shame that, even if we get the contract, it's come too late for this Christmas."

  "But we'll be quids in next Christmas," I pointed out brightly. "And who knows where it might lead?"

  His smile faded a little. "Yeah."

  I wondered if he was thinking about Tim, and whether he'd be around for next Christmas.

  "I have some news for you, too," I said, thinking it best to strike before his good mood dissipated entirely. "The staff have decided that, since the Christmas buffet at Miller's has been cancelled, they'll organise their own party here."

  "Here?" He frowned. "What do you mean, here? And what sort of party?"

  "It won't cost you a penny," I said hastily. "Everyone's chipping in with food and drink—non-alcoholic, of course. And we're going to hold it tomorrow lunchtime in the canteen, so work won't be affected, at all."

  He looked unconvinced. "And they're willing to do that, are they? Pay for everything themselves."

  I sighed. "They want some sort of a do, Kit. If this is the only way they're going to get one, then they're willing to make it happen. All they need is your permission. Is that too much to ask?"

  He tapped his fingers on the table for a moment, then shook his head. "No, it's not. But look, tomorrow lunchtime is out. Tell them we'll have it around three tomorrow afternoon, and we'll close production early."

  "What? Are you serious?"

  "Absolutely. You're right. They deserve this. And I'll bring some beers and wine as my contribution. It's Friday, so they'll have the whole weekend to recover. Okay?"

  "Great." I smiled at him, feeling a flickering of hope. Was the Christmas spirit finally returning to Kit Carroll, at last?

  ***

  "When did all this happen?" Kit gazed around the glammed-up canteen in surprise, and I grinned up at him.

  "We did it on Wednesday night. Everyone chipped in and brought stuff from home. I know it's not the classiest display in the world, but it's better than nothing."

  "I saw the tree in the foyer, but I didn't realise." He shook his head. "I feel terrible."

  I was glad he felt terrible, in a non-vindictive way. It meant that, just maybe, my plan was working and the old Kit was coming back. "Why?"

  "I don't know. All this effort everyone's making, and I have to tell them about their bonuses. It's not going to go down well, is it?"

  "You're not telling them today?" I said, alarmed. If I could just persuade him to hold off until the next day, he might well change his mind. It's surprising what an afternoon spent eating and drinking and chatting with people can do to someone. I had high hopes that he'd start to see his staff as real people, and determine to pay them what they were due, after all.

  Relief seeped through me, when he said, "Of course not. Let them have their party and forget about everything else for the day. I know I could use a break from real life."

  People were clearly wary of him being there at first, but when they saw the crates of beer and bottles of wine that he'd brought along, they soon relaxed. As they tucked into egg and cress sandwiches, and chicken drumsticks, their hostility, softened by comfort food and alcohol, melted away. Soon they were laughing and joking with Kit as if they were old friends.

  Part of me was relieved. The other part of me thought how fickle people were, and how easily bought. I was quite sure I would never have forgiven him so easily, if I hadn't been on a mission to save him. And if I hadn't known about Tim, of course.

  I wondered how he was getting on in America. I thought of Jack and what he and his wife must have been going through. Things were never what they seemed. People went through the most awful experiences, and no one else ever knew about them.

  "Come on, our Marley!" Olivia's face was bright pink, as it always was when she'd had something alcoholic. "Come and have a dance with me."

  I shuddered. Some dreadful ancient song called The Bump was playing, and people were doing the most extraordinary thrusts with their hips in time to the music. "No thanks."

  "Oh, go on. Even you can manage this. It's dead easy, and it's a laugh. Come on!" She grabbed my hand and pulled me into the middle of the canteen, where everyone was bumping to their heart's content.

  Mortified, I made a half-hearted attempt to join in, feeling totally ridiculous. I was pretty sure Olivia was deliberately bumping me so hard that I'd fall over, and I kept a close eye on her hips and put in a few hefty bumps myself. She laughed and bumped me back, and before long we were both whacking each other hard and trying to keep our balance, while giggling helplessly at the same time.

  "Can anyone join in, or is this a sisterly thing?"

  I turned my head, still laughing, to see Kit standing beside me, and blushed to my hair roots.

  How embarrassing!

  Olivia squealed gleefully. "Feel free. We can attack her from both sides!"

  "Well, that's hardly fair," I protested, but too late.

  Kit had taken up position, and between them, I was thoroughly battered and bruised by the end of the song. Luckily, there was only a couple of choruses left, or I'd have likely ended up with a fractured hip.

  A much faster, rather frenetic song started to play, and a cheer went up from some of the older ones. Kit, Olivia, and I looked at each other, baffled.

  "Now you're talking! A bit of Mud," yelled someone. "Tiger Feet!"

  Immediately, a whole line of people formed, doing a rather ridiculous stepping movement and laughing delightedly as the rest of us stood around, puzzled.

  Deciding I’d danced quite enough, I turned back towards the tables, which had all been moved to the edge of the canteen.

  "You can't sit down now," Kit said, grabbing my hand. "We have to try this out!"

  "I've never even heard of it," I pointed out.

  "Me, neither, but it looks like a laugh. Come on. It's Christmas!"

  Was he serious? And what the hell had happened to him? I'd created a monster.

  Reluctantly, I fell into line beside him, and placing my hands on my bruised hips, I began to copy the movements of the enthusiastic oldies who were having the time of their lives.

  Kit got the hang of it pretty quickly, and had clearly won over even the most cynical of the staff. A middle-aged operative called Sheila was bopping away beside him, laughing up at him and encouraging him in his efforts to emulate her steps. Unless she was just drunk. That seemed likely, given the scarlet flush on her cheeks and the hazy look in her eyes. What was
Kit's excuse, though?

  Was it, I thought suddenly, just that he wanted to put all his worries behind him? That he was so intent on forgetting about Tim for one day that he was throwing himself into the party heart and soul? If so, who could blame him? Not me, and it seemed that the staff were willing to give him another chance, so that would help.

  A weight lifted from my shoulders, and in its place landed a new feeling of optimism. When the song finished, I felt quite sorry. Not that I had the chance to feel sorry for long, as the velvety tones of Bing Crosby suddenly began, and Kit, after hesitating for just a moment, put one arm around my waist and took my hand to dance with me, as the crowds melted away.

  We swayed gently to the music, and I put my head on his shoulder, allowing the magic of White Christmas to wash over me. My eyes closed, and I let myself drift away, back to those days when I was so innocent and so much in love with this man, I could hardly think straight. The scent of Kit's aftershave wafted over me, his hair silky against my cheek. I sighed with pleasure, then remembered where I was and realised that a lot of people would be watching us with great curiosity. Kit and I hadn't said a word to each other, the whole time we were dancing. We must’ve looked very odd.

  "I've bought you a Christmas present," I informed him, determined to bring us both back to the realities of the present day.

  "Have you?" He smiled down at me. "That's very kind of you."

  To be honest, I'd bought it for David, but I'd decided that he would never appreciate it.

  It was a tie from Rochester's and would be wasted on someone who lived in Game of Thrones T-shirts, or football jerseys, whereas Kit attended meetings and had to wear a suit. The tie would be used regularly, and would look very smart. I'd have to think of something else for my brother-in-law.

  "I just may have got you something, too," Kit murmured.

  I shivered with delight, as images of a gold bracelet, or posh perfume, or a Jenny Kingston handbag floated before my eyes. Best not to look too eager, though. "Really? You didn't have to."

  "Neither did you," he said. "I figured I owe you."

  A shadow passed over me. He could never pay me back for what he owed me. No fancy gift could make up for the fact that he'd abandoned me, just when I’d needed him most.

  His hand reached out and stroked back my hair, just as it had that night at The Blue Lamp. I looked up into those dark eyes and crumbled inside. How could he possibly still have such an effect on me? No one else had ever come close. Maybe no one else ever would.

  When Kit got collared by a group of men intent on discussing football, and I finally made my way over to the table, Olivia pounced.

  "Oh, my God!" She looked so excited, I feared for her heart.

  "What?"

  "Don't you what me, Marley Jacobs. You and Kit! You were practically sealed together over there. What's going on?"

  "Nothing's going on," I said. "We just danced to White Christmas, that's all."

  "So did loads of other people," she said. "Didn't see them superglued together, though. Everyone's talking about it. Mum's going to be furious that she missed this."

  I glanced around nervously. "Where is Mum?"

  "Outside with Don. Don't ask. Seems love is in the air tonight."

  "Yuk."

  "Don't say yuk like that, when you and the boss are clearly involved."

  "Involved! Don't be ridiculous. Honestly, Olivia, you and your imagination."

  She put her hand on my arm. "It wasn't my imagination, Marley. Trust me. I saw the way he was looking at you. The bloke's smitten. Be kind, eh?"

  The irony of her statement didn't escape me. Me, be kind to Kit? She had no idea.

  I glanced across the canteen, my eyes seeking him out. He was standing in a corner talking to a group of three, or four, men, bottle of beer in one hand, sausage roll in another. and he looked utterly beautiful.

  As I watched, he turned his head and glanced around the room as if looking for something. His gaze fell on me, and he stared at me a moment, then his lips curved into a warm smile, before he turned back to resume his conversation.

  My heart belatedly decided to do The Bump all by itself. What was I going to do? This wasn't how it was supposed to go, at all. I was meant to bring back the spirit of Christmas to this modern-day Mr Scrooge, not rekindle an old relationship that had almost destroyed me.

  Things were getting way out of hand, and the worst thing about it was, I knew without doubt that there was a big part of me that was delighted. How, I wondered, half-terrified, half-thrilled, would it all end?

  ***

  I asked myself that same question a couple of hours later, as I stood outside the front door of my flat, hands in pockets, not daring to look up as Kit stood beside me, not saying a word.

  He'd insisted on walking me home. We'd both had a bit to drink so couldn't drive, and though we could have got a taxi, it hadn't seemed to occur to us at the time. Thankfully, my flat wasn't that far from the factory, although how he’d then get home to Farthingdale was another matter.

  As we’d walked, we'd discussed the biting cold weather, how soon it would be Christmas, how happy Mum and Don looked together, how awful the egg and cress sandwiches tasted, as well as the merits of nineteen-seventies party music as opposed to the grinding tunes of the nineties, whether White Christmas was the definitive festive song, and if Nigel from packing seriously believed no one knew that he wore a toupee. Anything, in fact, apart from the thing that was hanging between us the whole time. What was happening to us? And where did we go from here?

  Standing outside the flat, my mouth seemed dry with nerves. What should I do? Should I ask him in for coffee? Should I say goodnight? Would he kiss me? Did he even want to kiss me? If he did kiss me, how should I react?

  And had I tidied the flat before I left for work?

  The flat! God, what would he think to that poxy little flat? It was miniscule compared with Fell House. He'd laugh at it, laugh at me. Maybe I should just say goodnight already and forget the whole thing.

  His arms went around me, and I tried—I really tried—to keep a clear head. But the clean, soapy smell of him enveloped me, the warmth of his body, the familiarity of his touch, the sheer longing to be safe within his embrace again. It was too much to resist. I leaned against him, glad to be home. It didn't seem to matter what the flat looked like anymore.

  "Come in for a coffee," I murmured.

  His eyes were searching, a question in those dark depths. "Are you sure you want to make me coffee?" he said, his voice sounding thick with emotion.

  I gave him a half smile, then pressed my fingers to his lips. "I think I may be out of coffee," I admitted. "But it doesn't really matter, does it?"

  He hesitated, and I saw a range of emotions flit across his face. He was clearly as torn and confused as I was. Neither of us knew what the hell we were doing, or whether it was a good idea to continue down this path—that much was obvious.

  Strangely enough, it was a comfort to know that he wasn't that confident, after all. That wherever we were heading, we were doing so together, as lost and scared as each other.

  I reached up and kissed him gently, and his hand cupped the back of my head, and the pressure on my lips increased, and then there was no more time for worrying, or wondering, or questioning. Whatever was going to happen seemed inevitable. And at that moment, I was glad.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Kit stayed the entire weekend. He popped home for some fresh clothes and toiletries, but wasn't gone long. He got a taxi straight back to my flat, and to be absolutely honest, we spent most of the time in bed. He hadn't been scornful about the flat, at all, even though I'd apologised for how tiny it was. He'd just looked at me in surprise, as if he hadn't even noticed, then went back to making us scrambled eggs in my bijou kitchen, which was probably the same size as one of his cupboards.

  On the Sunday morning, we just lay there, arms around each other, my head on his chest, a smile on my face, as he gently played wi
th my hair, and we reminisced about the good times—carefully avoiding all talk of how our previous relationship had ended.

  We talked about the Christmas Eve we'd spent with Grandad, having our own early Christmas Day together at Grandad's suggestion, and how Kit had had his first whisky that day, and how awful my first attempt at Yorkshire puddings had turned out, and how Grandad had laughed and said not to worry, the lumps in the gravy would take our minds off how bad they tasted.

  "He was such a lovely man," Kit remembered. "I still miss him, even now."

  I loved him for that. He was quite right. I thought about Grandad every single day, and the fact that Kit had thought so highly of him made me feel all warm and happy inside.

  "I miss him, too," I said.

  He kissed the top of my head. "It was awful when he died. He was far too young. I know how badly it affected you, and of course, your mum didn't understand why, and you could hardly explain it to her, since she didn't even know you were still in touch with him."

  "But I had you," I pointed out, because it was true. Kit had been a tower of strength for me in those dark days, holding me while I cried and attending the funeral with me, holding my hand while I struggled to keep it together. After that, our relationship had deepened and matured, somehow. We'd shared something that bonded us, and it felt, to me at least, that we were no longer just boyfriend and girlfriend, but partners. Real partners. "I'm sorry I wasn't there for you. When your dad died, I mean."

  He shuffled a bit, clearly uncomfortable with the topic of conversation. "Doesn't matter."

  "But he was young, too. It must have been a terrible shock."

  "It was, but if I'm honest, I can't say I grieved as much for him as I did for your grandad. Does that sound awful?"

  "Well, no. I suppose not. I'm just a bit taken aback. I had no idea things were so bad between you."

  "Didn't you?" He sounded surprised. "I thought you realised. Why did you think I never took you back to meet him?"

  I hesitated, not sure how much I should reveal, or how deep I wanted to delve into past hurts. "Honestly? I thought you were ashamed of me."