by Emma Davies
The Little Shop on Silver Linings Street
An absolutely unforgettable Christmas romance
Emma Davies
Books by Emma Davies
Lucy’s Little Village Book Club
The House at Hope Corner
The Beekeeper’s Cottage
The Little Shop on Silver Linings Street
The Little Cottage series
The Little Cottage on the Hill
Summer at the Little Cottage on the Hill
Return to the Little Cottage on the Hill
Christmas at the Little Cottage on the Hill
Letting in Light
Turn Towards the Sun
Merry Mistletoe
Spring Fever
Gooseberry Fool
Blackberry Way
Available in Audio
Lucy’s Little Village Book Club (Available in the UK and US)
The Little Cottage series
The Little Cottage on the Hill (Available in the UK and US)
Summer at the Little Cottage on the Hill (Available in the UK and US)
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Hear More From Emma
The Little Cottage on the Hill
Books by Emma Davies
A Letter from Emma
Acknowledgements
Lucy’s Little Village Book Club
The House at Hope Corner
The Beekeeper’s Cottage
Summer at the Little Cottage on the Hill
Return to the Little Cottage on the Hill
Christmas at the Little Cottage on the Hill
For Dol
1
Wednesday 4th December
Twenty-one shopping days until Christmas
Daisy checked her watch and rested her spoon back in the bowl. So far, only eleven minutes of the twenty she allotted herself for breakfast had elapsed and, with a happy sigh, she turned the page of the book she was reading. She still had nine more precious minutes to enjoy. The book was one she started on the 1st of December every year and, although its love story was bittersweet, the lingering feeling of hopefulness it left behind was always the perfect start to Daisy’s Christmas. She’d been carefully rationing her time with the book, but even so she had almost finished it. A few moments later, however, she acknowledged that she would have to wait until the evening to do so and, reluctantly, she closed the cover, rising to carry her bowl back to the kitchen.
Daisy was a tidy creature, so there wasn’t much to clear up, but she dutifully ran a sink full of hot water and suds and carefully washed her bowl, spoon, mug and the measuring jug she had used to add milk to her Weetabix. She had long ago worked out the exact quantity of milk needed to cover her cereal, and not a drop more.
Once washed, Daisy dried and put away her things before returning to the sitting room to check the fire. She had already re-laid it in readiness for that evening, but she checked it again, making sure she had sufficient logs to last her. Another sweep of the room ensured that her book was returned to the small table beside her chair and the cushion on it rearranged to her liking. Finally, once order had been restored, she crossed the room to turn off the twinkling fairy lights on her tree. At seven forty-five precisely, Daisy was ready to leave for work.
It was still dark when she left the cottage, but in a matter of minutes the sun would peep over the horizon to set the day in motion. The night’s clear skies meant that the temperatures had plummeted, leaving a sparkling hoar frost covering the world outside her door. Every blade of grass, branch and leaf stood out in glittering relief, and the cobwebs that hung from her gate were beaded with diamonds, glittering in the silvery light. Even the canal just beyond it was transformed with a layer of glacé icing. Her steps crunched as she walked and the icy air seared her chest, but the beauty that surrounded her more than made up for the discomfort. Being outside was when the world made the most sense to Daisy. Time seemed to expand and she had room to breathe, freed from the anxieties that filled her mind; fear had no hold over her out here in the wild open space.
It was just a short walk to the local town where Daisy worked. Apart from her little cottage, Buchanans jewellery shop was the only other place where she felt she belonged. Leaving this early in the morning meant that she would arrive there well before opening time, but the quiet moments before the hubbub of the day were precious to her. It was often hard to feel festive after she’d been on her feet all day dealing with frazzled shoppers, tempers fraying under the pressures of the season, but out in the dark quiet lanes, with just the dawn for company, Daisy could still savour the thrill this time of year always brought. It hung expectantly in the air, the promise of what was to come always more enjoyable than its arrival.
A few more minutes’ walking brought her to where the towpath disappeared under a bridge, and she climbed the steps up onto the road above, following the route through the quiet streets. The market square was still deserted but a giant, twinkling Christmas tree at one end lent a jolly air until the stallholders arrived to transform it with their bright wares and seasonal good humour. The shops around the square’s edge, however, were already glowing with life, their windows enticing with warm light and splashes of bright colour against the dark buildings and pavements. Some were gaudy and garish, others restrained and elegant, but Daisy loved them all. She had grown up around them and they were like old friends, comforting and familiar.
She turned a corner, seeing the familiar dark shape of the fine red-bricked Georgian building where Buchanans stood. The double-fronted shop had been there for longer than most people in the town could remember, its woodwork still painted a rich cherry colour, the ornate curlicues above the door arches picked out in gold relief. Daisy had always thought that these small details set it apart from its plainer neighbours. The imposing front door was recessed between deep bay windows, displaying a big brass number seven and matching letterbox, which had both been polished until they gleamed. It was a job Daisy undertook every Monday morning, along with cleaning the windows so that the gold and diamonds, emeralds, sapphires and rubies they displayed sparkled even more brightly.
She had worked there for the past eight years, ever since she was seventeen and Beatrice Buchanan had taken her in and given her a reason to get up in the morning. Because Buchanans was a place where magic still happened, where young lovers bought rings to cement their union, or where grey-haired men came in search of something to tell their wives, I’m still in love with you, even after all these years. The jewellery that Buchanans sold was too ostentatious for Daisy’s tastes, but what she did love were the stories behind each purchase. They made her feel… hopeful… that maybe one day someone might give her a gift of love and she would know how it felt.
By arriving first each morning, Daisy could make sure that items were taken from the safe in the right or
der so that the display cases were filled from the back to the front. Given half a chance, her co-worker, Kit, would remove jewellery at random so that everything had to be endlessly rearranged at the other end, leaving smudgy fingerprints behind. He never seemed to mind when she pointed this out, simply smiling and polishing away the offending marks, but she was bemused by the fact that he would still do exactly the same the next time around.
Kit was the youngest of Bea’s three sons and the only one, thank goodness, who worked on the shop floor. But even though she was grateful for this fact she couldn’t really understand why he was there at all. Most of the time he showed a complete lack of interest in the business that his father had set up years before he was even born. Times were tough right now, but Buchanans had once sold jewellery to a very noteworthy client list and, when his father sadly passed away, Kit’s inheritance had pretty much set him up for life. How he could be so uninterested in the family firm was hard to fathom.
Unlocking the shop door, Daisy pushed it open and stepped inside, pausing as she always did to breathe in the familiar smell. Warm and old-fashioned, a mixture of wood and glass polish that always reminded her of stately homes she had visited. But today there was a new layer to it; resinous and spicy overlaid with the sweeter scent of cinnamon and orange. She felt her heart lift as she crossed the room to turn on the Christmas-tree lights, running her fingers through the bushy branches and inhaling. A noble fir indeed.
Her gaze swept the room as she stood back to admire her handiwork. Decorated only the day before, the room looked resplendent in all its Christmas glory. In the rear corner of the shop, two five-foot-tall wooden Nutcracker figures stood guard beside a huge Christmas tree covered from head to toe in sumptuous gilded ornaments. Each of the Nutcrackers held a golden tray, on which shallow cut-glass dishes were filled with pearlescent sugared mice and, at the soldiers’ feet, a tumble of brightly wrapped presents spilled out into the space in front of them. Huge swags of greenery hung from the picture rail, encircling the room with bright ribbons, candy canes and smaller bright-red Nutcracker figurines.
The theme for the decorations was the same every year, but for Daisy that was part of their charm. Christmas could only begin once Bea, a lifelong devotee of ballet, had concluded her annual visit to see The Royal Ballet perform The Nutcracker, her absolute favourite of all their productions and one which she had been to see every Christmas for nearly twenty years.
There was a reverence to the decorating process; when collecting the boxes from the storeroom Daisy would sigh with happiness as her fingers unfurled each beloved ornament from its place of safety. They were things that had come from all over the country, collected by Bea on her travels, and each held a special importance for Daisy. She could remember where each and every one had come from, and which year it had been added to the collection. Seeing them all again was like revisiting old friends and Christmas wouldn’t have been the same without them.
Leaving the shop lit by just the twinkling fairy lights, Daisy went through to the back room to take off her outdoor things and collect the safe and cabinet keys. She knew exactly how long it would take her to have everything ready before Kit arrived and, despite the fact that they hopefully had a busy day ahead of them, she doubted that he would arrive any earlier than usual. Checking first that she had relocked the shop door, she opened all the display cases and began to unload the safe, comforted by the familiar routine.
She was just giving the glass one final polish when she heard Kit’s quick knock at the door followed by the sound of his key in the lock. He usually knocked first so that she would know it was him arriving; he always said you couldn’t be too careful. She looked up as he came in and met his shy smile with one of her own. He walked to work just like she did and the cold air had lent a sparkle to his green eyes, tinging his cheeks pink.
‘Hello, Daisy,’ he said, standing there for a second before he glanced away and moved past her, his slender form appearing bulky under a thick coat. It was the same every day – the split second when he looked as if he might say something else but then the moment was gone, again. She picked up the bottle of glass cleaner and, giving the nearest cabinet another spray, began to polish the already immaculate surface. Sometimes she wished she had the courage to say something more to Kit, something that wasn’t related to their work, but, try as she might, she could never find the words. He was only a sales assistant, like she was, but he was also Bea’s son and for some reason that made her incredibly tongue-tied. Or perhaps it was just that he was even quieter than she was, softly spoken and pensive, which made the whole thing excruciatingly awkward. Still, she reminded herself, Kit wasn’t the reason she enjoyed coming to work; for her it was all about the customers and the wonderful stories of love they brought with them.
The morning dragged with only a few unremarkable sales and it was nearly lunchtime before a customer appeared who Daisy could tell instinctively was looking for something special. There was something about him, an air of excitement that gave his intentions away. She just knew he would be leaving with one of their signature midnight-blue bags in his hand. Daisy stepped forward.
‘Is there anything I can help you with?’ she began. ‘If not, do feel free to have a look around. We don’t bite.’
He smiled, only a trace of nerves showing. ‘I think I am going to need some help,’ he admitted. ‘I know what I want, but not what I want, if that makes any sense at all?’ He bit his lip, eyes twinkling.
‘You’d be surprised, but it makes perfect sense. So, you know you want to buy an engagement ring… just not which one…’ She grinned at the stunned expression on his face. ‘I saw you looking in the window,’ she explained. ‘And seeing as you’re here by yourself you’re obviously going to need a little help in picking what may well turn out to be the most important present you’ve ever had to buy.’
He rolled his eyes. ‘Oh, God, the pressure. But yes, you’re absolutely right. Hopefully my girlfriend has no idea I’m here, but I want to make sure what I get is absolutely perfect.’
‘Then let’s see what we can do,’ replied Daisy. ‘Why don’t you come over to the counter where a further selection of rings is displayed and you can tell me all about her.’ She leaned in a little closer as if to whisper. ‘I generally find that people do know exactly what they want, they just don’t always realise it.’
She gave him a few moments to take in the contents of the case before asking her next question. It gave her an opportunity to see in which direction his eyes strayed, and which rings he peered longest at.
‘Now before we start,’ she said quietly. ‘There’s one question I have to ask before we go on. It’s awkward, but it’s got to be done if I’m to be of any real help to you.’
He looked up to meet her raised eyebrows. ‘The budget…? Not as much as I’d like,’ he said.
Daisy smiled. He was more perceptive than most.
‘And may I ask how much that is?’
‘Around three thousand? I don’t know… Is that even enough?’
She nodded. ‘Well, it does depend somewhat on your expectations… but yes, I can find you the perfect ring for that.’ And she smiled reassuringly, just to show she wasn’t kidding.
‘So, what do you think?’ he asked, scanning the display case. ‘Because they all look pretty. Where do I start?’ He looked up, holding her gaze, his blue eyes intense.
She cleared her throat. ‘Well first, I think you’re incredibly brave buying a ring in secret. That takes a lot of courage, but it’s also incredibly romantic, if you don’t mind me saying. Your girlfriend will know how special that makes it.’
He blushed. ‘Do you really think so? It seemed like the right thing to do. You see, she’s the most thoughtful person I know. She’s always doing things for other people, organising surprises, going that extra mile even when she doesn’t have to. She makes sure everyone’s all right before she even thinks about herself and never asks for reward, or even any thanks. Just once I’d l
ike her to have something that she isn’t expecting and that shows her how much I love her.’
Daisy could feel her insides begin to melt and she looked down quickly to hide how she was feeling.
The next few minutes were spent discussing what the man’s girlfriend liked, disliked, what shape of stone she might like, the number of stones, indeed which type of stone. And Daisy nodded and smiled, filtering the options in her brain before she began to really fine-tune things.
‘And you say she doesn’t like fussy things? Then I think a single stone would suit her best. And definitely a diamond you said, so…’ She lifted two boxes from the case. ‘Brilliant cut diamonds are the most expensive,’ she said. ‘And possibly the most sought after. They’re usually what most people think of when they say a solitaire.’ She pushed forward the first of the boxes, pausing while he took in the detail of the ring, a glittering stone in a very traditional platinum setting.
She was about to add something else when the shop door opened, distracting her for a second. It was Bertie, Kit’s elder brother and not someone she expected to see today. Her heart leaped into her mouth. Bertie was incredibly good-looking; he had only to look at her to tie her tongue into a series of knots. But he was bad news, a reckless party animal who fascinated her and scared her in equal measure. Though that wasn’t the only thing making her anxious; Bertie also looked after administration and accounts at Buchanans, and his arrival usually heralded big discussions about the business. Change was not something Daisy embraced. At all.
