A Surprise Christmas Wedding: from the best selling author of A Perfect Cornish Christmas comes one of the most feel-good winter romance books of 2020

by Phillipa Ashley

  ‘I think he likes to keep himself to himself,’ Lottie said.

  ‘I’m sure you can draw him out of his shell. He comes with very good references. We were lucky to lure him away from Greythwaite Hall.’

  ‘I hadn’t realised he’d been working in such a big estate.’ Lottie was impressed. Greythwaite Hall was a large stately home in the northern Lake District with far bigger acreage than Firholme; Jay must surely have been earning more there.

  ‘Yes, quite a coup to get him – you too, of course,’ Shayla added quickly. ‘I’m gathering a great team around me. I never thought we’d find anyone suitable for estates manager, and they don’t tend to move around once they’ve got a place they like, but Jay said he wanted a fresh challenge and, of course, we were able to offer on-site accommodation. I think he’d been renting a little flat in a town and was desperate to live in the countryside again.’

  ‘I can see why Firholme would appeal to him,’ Lottie said, thinking of the rugged, tousle-haired guy she’d glimpsed around the site or striding off towards the high fells, with his dog at his side. Generally when she’d seen Jay, he’d had his head down, giving off every signal that he didn’t want company or to engage in small talk. ‘I get the impression he’s quite shy though,’ she added, to dampen down Shayla’s expectations of being able to turn him into a party animal overnight.

  ‘If anyone can draw him out, you will.’ Shayla’s eyes glinted. ‘Let’s face it, it wouldn’t be a hardship. He’s so fit … in every sense of the word.’ She sighed. ‘Fifteen years too young for me though, quite apart from the fact I’m his boss.’

  Lottie had to smile. It wasn’t the most professional way to talk about a new colleague, but Lottie had known Shayla for years as a friend, even before she’d come to work for her. Despite their age difference, Lottie and Shayla had hit it off when they’d first met properly, at a local tourism awards ceremony. Lottie had been training as a junior events manager at a hotel in the South Lakes and Shayla had been running a rival hotel in the same area.

  Lottie had admired Shayla’s drive and Shayla had taken her under her wing and mentored her informally over the years. They’d become friends and, finally, Shayla had headhunted Lottie from her previous job at the hotel to be the events manager for Firholme.

  After her split from Connor, Lottie had been equally keen for a fresh start. She’d relished the chance to throw her energy into kick-starting Firholme, to leave old associations behind and have something to take her mind off her heartache and worries about Steph.

  ‘Oh, hang on.’ Shayla broke off to answer a call. She pointed at the phone, pulled a face and mouthed. ‘Sorry. It’s. The. Mayor.’

  Lottie nodded and scribbled a note on a Firholme leaflet in her bag.

  Sorting out trees with Jay. Back in half an hour. I’ve borrowed the decorations.

  Shayla gave her an ‘OK’ sign and returned to her conversation. Lottie knew that she’d be ages talking to the mayor of the local town, a couple of miles from the Firholme estate. He had ‘verbal diarrhoea’ according to Shayla, and having arranged a recent civic awards evening for him at Firholme, Lottie was inclined to agree.

  He got on well with Shayla, however, and had put a lot of valuable business their way. Shayla drew people to her like a moth to a flame. She had a way of persuading people to go the extra mile – and then some – for her.

  Lottie scooted out of Firholme House so she could change from her suit and heels into something more suitable for a freezing forest. Her breath misted the air the moment she stepped out of the door, and she was glad it took only two minutes to dash across the courtyard from where the offices were located to the Bothy. When she’d been offered the job at Firholme, accommodation on the estate had been a massive bonus, and every morning, she’d opened her curtains onto magnificent views of Derwentwater and the fells.

  Well, maybe not quite every morning, because it did tend to rain a bit, as Lottie was keen to point out to guests, with a wry smile. On this early November morning, however, the highest fell tops, soaring three thousand feet above the lake, were covered with snow. At Firholme, frost spiked the grass and glistened in the morning sun.

  Back in the day, Firholme’s courtyard would have been alive with servants and estate workers, hurrying around the stables, laundry and brewhouse, or to and from the kitchen and vegetable garden. In recent years, one side of the single-storey buildings had been turned into offices, an information centre and refreshment kiosk. The other side of the courtyard overlooked the lake, so that had been converted into a smart café and shop with a terrace that made the most of the view.

  In the summer it would be packed with visitors but today it was quiet apart from a few walkers with their dogs. All of the walkers were cossetted in down coats and woolly hats, cradling hot drinks, while their dogs lay at their feet, most with their own little jackets.

  Through the steamy windows of the café itself, Lottie glimpsed the less hardy souls hunkered down with hot chocolates and Cumbrian breakfasts. From the start of November, the aroma of mince pies, cinnamon lattes and mulled wine had drifted tantalisingly into the offices while Lottie and the rest of the Firholme staff were trying to work.

  The Bothy was typical of an estate worker’s cottage, with grey stone walls and a slated roof spotted in yellow lichen. Its windows and door had been painted a subtle pale green, which gave it a cheerful air. The modest gardens were separated front and back by a low hedge and a garden gate, painted in the same green. To the rear of both cottages, there was a small coppice of trees with a rough path that eventually led down to the lake.

  Lottie opened the door to the scent of the previous evening’s woodsmoke. The cottage had central heating but she also enjoyed lighting a fire in the sitting room on cool evenings, which could happen any time in these northern mountain climes. To the rear of the cottage was a small dining kitchen, while upstairs there was a bedroom, bathroom and a box room, which was crammed with possessions left over from her life with Connor.

  All those hopes and dreams from two years together seemed so far away, and the plans she’d allowed herself to make on that magical week in Cornwall were as cold as the ashes in the hearth.

  She changed from her suit into jeans and jumper and hunted for her bobble hat. Since October, when it had been unearthed from her chest of drawers, the hat was usually shoved in the pocket of her coat, or hung on a peg in the hall of her tiny cottage. However, it was nowhere to be found and she didn’t have time to waste, so she ran upstairs to get her new one from her bedroom.

  She had to stand on a little folding stool, a gift from her nieces, to reach the top cupboard of the wardrobe, but the red hat was there, tucked away at the rear of the cupboard. ‘Hurrah!’ she said, pulling it out.

  As she stepped down, hat in hand, a scarf and a card fluttered onto the carpet.

  She gave a little intake of breath when she picked it up. She hadn’t even known she’d brought it with her when she moved to Firholme, but it must have been wrapped in a scarf or tucked inside some clothes. She obviously hadn’t been able to throw it out.

  She picked it up. The front was a watercolour of the cove in Cornwall, with gulls scudding across wet sand, reflecting the sky at sunset. The rear had a simple message in neat, restrained handwriting, so even and level, it could almost have been written with the aid of a ruler.

  The message wasn’t restrained; it was heartfelt.

  Lottie,

  Thank you for saying yes,

  You’ve made me the happiest man alive,

  All my love forever,

  Connor xx

  Lottie sat down on the bed, before reading the card again. Over a year later, those words still had the power to cut the ground from under her feet, and leave her turning over bad memories in a fruitless quest to understand how their relationship had turned from blissful to disastrous so suddenly.

  Even though she should have thrown the card in the bin, it was impossible not to recall those heady times an
d wonder if they’d all been a deluded dream.

  Chapter Two

  ‘I’m sorry. I’ve done something unforgivable.’

  Connor’s words, on the doorstep that dark September night, rushed back to her, along with all the memories of the misery that followed in the hours and months afterwards. They were like dust and litter she’d swept out of the door, now blowing back in her face on an ill wind.

  She’d never forget Connor’s face; so white and drawn that her first fear was that he was ill or his sister or mother were. He looked up at her and said two words: ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Sorry about what?’

  He threw his keys on the table. ‘I’ve done something unforgivable.’

  Her stomach turned over. ‘What do you mean? Have you had an accident?’ He must have run someone over, she thought … a child … ‘Oh my God, sit down.’

  ‘No. I – I … There’s no way of saying this that can excuse me or soften the blow, but I care for you too much to live a lie, or make you live a lie.’ Lottie’s skin had prickled with unease, with dismay at that word. ‘Care?’

  ‘I care a lot for you. I’m very fond of you but … you tried to warn me when I asked you at the beach.’

  ‘What do you mean? I tried to warn you?’

  ‘You said it was unexpected – out of the blue – and you’re right. When we came home, even before – walking in here and realising what marriage truly means: a lifetime of commitment. You deserve nothing less, Lottie, and I should never have let myself be carried along by the idea of it.’

  She couldn’t believe he was passing the responsibility for his cruel act to her. What had happened to him during these few days away? What had changed his mind?

  ‘I can’t inflict myself on you, Lottie. It isn’t fair. God knows, it’s killing me to be the one to hurt you like this but it’s better I do it now, before things go too far. I’m sorry, truly I am, and I realise there’s no coming back from this. I’ll pack my bags.’

  ‘But why? Why have you changed your mind?’

  ‘It’s for the best,’ he said wearily. ‘There’s no other reason. Best I end it now before everyone knows.’

  ‘Is there someone else? Did you meet someone in Scotland?’

  ‘No!’ His tone changed to something like anger, though Lottie later realised it was guilt. ‘I just … can’t make the commitment you need. The commitment you deserve. This time away has made me realise that. I’ve woken up to reality and the reality is that I’m not the man you need and I should never have led you to believe I was. I got carried away …’

  ‘B-but you can’t just change your mind. I don’t understand.’

  He set his mouth in a hard line. ‘I’m very sorry, Lottie, but I have to leave. It’ll be simpler that way. Less painful in the long run. You deserve way better than me.’

  That was it. He moved out that night, leaving Lottie feeling like a vase that had been hurled onto a marble floor, the pieces scattered far and wide.

  For many many months, she’d wasted her nights trying to pinpoint the exact moment when Connor had decided he didn’t want to marry her after all.

  It couldn’t have been the evening they’d shared champagne and spent a glorious night in bed …

  Was it on the way home? Some point along the journey, when the green fields of the West Country gave way to the suburbs and factories? Was that when the magic of a holiday proposal melted into the reality of a lifetime of commitment? Connor had obviously calculated the cost of keeping their relationship going for a lifetime, with responsibilities, a family, and it outweighed the benefits.

  Lottie had combed through every moment, searching for the exact point when her dreams were shattered, but all she had were Connor’s bland statements. Platitudes, words he’d obviously been rehearsing for hours – days – they were such a contrast from his heartfelt declaration on the beach.

  The next morning, she had dragged herself off the bed, dried her eyes and gone to work. She longed to call Steph but her sister would be busy taking the girls to school and then at work herself. It would have to wait until later.

  Somehow, she managed to get through a meeting about a forthcoming conference and had a few minutes to grab a coffee. She took it outside into the hotel grounds when Steph’s name flashed up on her screen. For a second, she wondered if Connor had already told her about the engagement, even though he’d seemed so hesitant … but he’d never do that.

  Then she wondered why Steph was calling in the middle of the school morning.

  ‘Hello, hon … sorry to call you at work.’ Steph sounded strange, distant.

  ‘Steph? Where are you?’ she asked. ‘Out in the playground?’

  ‘Playground? No – I’m not in the playground. I wish.’ There was a long pause. ‘I’m outside the surgery and I have some news. And I’m sorry, hon, but it’s not good.’

  ‘Oh my God. Is it one of the girls?’

  ‘No. No, thank God. No …’

  Lottie remembered the silence as much as her sister’s words. It was heavy and ominous, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.

  ‘Hon, I don’t know how to say this because I haven’t even had time to take it in myself. It’s not the twins; it’s me. The GP’s really worried. She thinks I might have cervical cancer and—’ Lottie heard the wobble in Steph’s voice. ‘I’m trying to stay positive but I can’t lie. W-what if I never see my beautiful girls grow up?’

  Reeling from the shock, Lottie had had to tell her boss she was feeling unwell and needed to leave. She’d driven to Steph’s, scraping her car on a dry-stone wall along the way, but she hadn’t cared. It turned out Steph had been having worrying symptoms for a while but hid her fears from Lottie, thinking everything would be OK. She’d tried to comfort Steph, had broken the news to their parents, before collecting the girls from school, pretending all was well.

  She’d held her greatest fears back, stemmed her tears and bottled her emotions for Steph’s sake and to reassure the twins. All she wanted was to fling herself on Connor, be held and soothed and let everything out.

  That was what partners were for: to be there in sickness and in health, for better and for worse.

  The last thing Steph needed to deal with was Lottie’s ruined love life, so she kept her heartbreak secret and lied, saying she’d told Connor she was staying the night with Steph – not that she could face the thought of their empty house anyway.

  There was no way she intended to tell Connor about Steph either – what if he thought she was trying to play the sympathy card? She was too proud for that. He’d severed their connection so brutally and suddenly, she felt he had no right to any part of her life.

  She told Steph, and everyone else including her parents, who had enough to worry about with Steph and their granddaughters, that she and Connor had mutually decided to split up. Connor was happy to go along with it. So while Steph had been going through her treatment, Lottie bottled up her own pain, telling herself it was a pinprick next to the avalanche of worry Steph was dealing with. She wept secretly in the dark of the night, and every tear she shed made her feel guilty.

  Now, looking down at Connor’s card, she remembered the previous Christmas when she’d promised Steph she’d look after the girls, if the worst happened.

  It had been a mixed blessing to stay so local to home after her split with Connor. They’d sold their little house and Lottie had stayed with Steph. Although her place was small for the four of them now the twins were bigger, at least it meant she could lend a hand with the childcare while Steph was going through months of gruelling radiotherapy and chemotherapy.

  The treatment had left her sister mentally and physically exhausted and she’d had to take sick leave from her job as a teaching assistant. To help even more, Lottie had taken several weeks off after leaving her job at the hotel in early August and before starting at Firholme in September.

  When Steph had first called her with the news she’d been sent by her GP for a biopsy after
some worrying symptoms, Lottie had hoped that it would be a false alarm and that the problem would be quickly solved. The opposite had been true. It had taken almost two months of scans and biopsies for Steph to be properly diagnosed and nearly two more for her treatment to start.

  Now, six months after Steph’s treatment had ended, things were looking brighter. Lottie was settled in her new job at Firholme, and Steph was back at work as a teaching assistant although she was often exhausted and had to have regular check-ups at the hospital. The treatment had also brought on an early menopause with its mood swings and tiredness, on top of the ever-present fear of the cancer returning. Despite all this, Lottie was amazed by her sister’s determination to make the most of every moment for the sake of her twin daughters.

  Likewise, Lottie had decided to make a fresh start and had jumped at Shayla’s offer of the Firholme job. It was still close to Steph’s house and she’d immediately been made to feel welcome. She loved her new role, and when Connor left Cumbria, gradually she’d begun to heal from the split.

  Lottie glanced at his card one more time, and a new resolve filled her veins. That day, when Connor had walked out and Steph had called about her cancer, had been the worst day of her life but she had to look to the future and hope. She’d pull out all the stops to make sure that Firholme stayed in business and that this Christmas would be the best ever for Steph and the twins.

  She took the card downstairs and threw it in the kitchen bin, like she should have done a year ago.

  Chapter Three

  With fresh determination, Lottie laced up her boots, pulled the red bobble hat over her curls and headed off towards the Christmas tree plantation. Her mood soon lifted once she was out in the fresh air, surrounded by the fells.

  Even though she was used to hill walking, she was breathing a little more heavily by the time she’d climbed the slope to the forest gate. Her nose twitched at the scent of pine needles in the crisp air.