The Twelve Dates of Christmas

by Jenny Bayliss

  Oh well, thought Kate. That’s one down . . .

  She finished her supper and went back to her sketches, a little wistful maybe but not altogether sad. She hoped Phil got the chance to tell his ex how he felt. So many people looking for love, she thought. She thought of her dad and Evelyn, and it made her smile. She hoped it would work out for them.

  Kate worked until nine o’clock and then ran upstairs to squirt perfume, zhoosh her hair, and reapply makeup superfast. At 9:29 p.m. she stepped outside her front door. In the lamplight she realized she still had paint under her fingernails and was about to go back in and take a scrubbing brush to them when a black SUV pulled up outside her house.

  Richard wound his window down.

  “Hello, Kate,” he said, smiling. “Ready?”

  His voice was smooth; it reminded Kate of polished oak and freshly ground coffee. She smiled, a wide, toothy, excited smile, which she didn’t seem able to switch off or even turn down to a sensible flirty smile; she was by all accounts looking as goofy as she felt.

  She made her way ungracefully—slipping twice—to the passenger side and climbed in. The car smelled of Richard and it made Kate’s bones go bendy.

  “How was your day?” he asked.

  “Busy,” said Kate. “How was yours?”

  “Dull,” said Richard. “But improving by the minute!”

  “Where are we going?” Kate asked.

  “You’ll be able to guess shortly,” he replied.

  Richard navigated the snowy maze of roads that led out of Blexford and even in the dark with no streetlights, Kate recognized the road to Blexford Manor.

  “We’re going to the manor?” Kate said.

  Richard nodded and smiled.

  “Well, it seemed only right,” he said. “Now that we’ve had our second first date, we can enjoy our first second date where we should have had our first first date!”

  “Blimey,” said Kate.

  The gated entrance was lit by several Victorian lampposts of differing heights, each adorned with a beribboned holly wreath. Instead of taking the turn for the car park, Richard drove slowly down the long walk and turned left at the fountain. They pulled round the back of the manor and parked in the staff car park.

  “Are you allowed to park here?” Kate asked.

  “You are if you’re spending as much money as me,” said Richard.

  Bit showy, thought Kate, but she decided to let it go since she was having a very nice time.

  Richard leaned across her and pulled a torch out of the glove compartment. He grinned at her.

  “Come on,” he said.

  What the hell are we up to? Kate wondered.

  Richard held his arm out and Kate linked her arm through his. It felt nice. Richard was confident, masterful, and Kate found herself feeling privileged to be the center of his attentions.

  The dim, orangey glow from the manor’s little bistro and adjoining bar lit their way as they crunched along the well-salted gravel. They stopped by a rough path cut into the grassland, which led away from the manor and into the black wall of trees that formed the forest’s edge. Only the tips of the trees were identifiable: high above, backlit by the moon, like the spiky papercut scenery used in shadow puppetry.

  Richard nodded toward the dark path.

  “Shall we?” he said, and flicked on his torch.

  The cutout path wasn’t wide enough for two people, so Richard took the lead and Kate fell in behind him. It was freezing and Kate was glad of her layers, but when they reached the forest, the trees sheltered them from the sharpest bite of the breeze.

  Kate took one last look back before plunging into the forest. The manor looked warm and inviting; its little leaded windows smiled amber warmth, and the smoke furling up through the many chimneys whispered tempting welcomes. Kate shivered and pressed on behind Richard. She didn’t fancy being lost in the forest tonight.

  Where the trees were most dense there was a mere smattering of snow on the ground, but in the clearings, the gaps in the green canopy let the snow in and the forest floor was thickly blanketed.

  They tramped on along the rough frozen path, Richard’s torch cutting holes in the dark. The night beasts were awake and screeching their annoyance at the two lumbering humans on their patch; scurrying creatures flickered past, fast, at the edges of Kate’s vision.

  Richard stopped abruptly and Kate, who was squinting into the trees to her left, bashed straight into his back.

  “Whoops!” she said. “Sorry about that, I was trying to see what that scurrying thing was back there, could have been a fox, maybe a badger . . .”

  Richard guided her round to his side and Kate stopped chattering and looked ahead.

  Reaching up before them was an ornate stone tower, dark ivy coiled round and round, and at its top, a snowy turret, needle sharp, pierced the starry sky: the Blexford Folly.

  Kate had been to the folly before but not for many years and never at night. The original lord of the manor had had it commissioned soon after the manor was built, but unlike many of its counterparts—stylish yet useless—Lord Milton Blexford had made his a functional folly. It was used as a place to entertain his hunting parties. It would have been a welcome respite for the party, with its grand fireplaces and comfortable surroundings but a nightmare for the staff, who would have had to trek the feast through the forest to the folly without being seen by or accidentally shot by the guests.

  Its most recent incarnation was as a two-bedroom boutique hotel, with the ground floor serving as cozy bar and eatery. Kate hoped Richard hadn’t taken it upon himself to book them a room. She had a lot to do tomorrow before she went to the office, and she hadn’t shaved her bikini line in over a fortnight; it was less neat landing strip and more scrubby allotment.

  “I promised you a hot toddy,” said Richard, and he pushed open the heavy arched oak door to the folly. “After you,” he said, and bowed slightly, which made Kate giggle like a schoolgirl.

  The warmth from the giant stone fireplace enveloped Kate, and her frozen cheeks prickled as the heat hit them.

  The room was circular; the flagstone floor—worn smooth and undulating slightly underfoot—was partially covered by a woven rug, so thick it could have been a blanket. And the walls were hung with lavish tapestries that picked out and complemented the deep reds, greens, and blues in the rug.

  Opposite the entrance was the bar with a stone doorway on either side of it, offering glimpses of two spiral staircases disappearing off behind the wall. There were a couple of wingback chairs dotted about the room, and a luxuriant-looking sofa with a long, low coffee table made from the split trunk of a tree.

  The deep stone recesses that framed the windows on either side of the door had been draped with rugs and piled with velvet and plaid cushions to make two comfortable window seats.

  The one on the left was taken by a very honeymooning-looking couple, and Richard motioned that he and Kate should take the other. Aside from the four of them, there were no other customers in the bar. Choral music drifted out through hidden speakers, and the logs on the fire crackled and popped.

  Kate slipped her boots off and hopped up onto the window seat, pulling her knees up to her chest and half wishing she were here with a good book. Richard climbed in opposite her; the frames were so big that even Richard was dwarfed by them.

  “I feel like a kid in a giant’s house,” said Kate.

  “They don’t let kids have the kinds of drinks they serve here,” said Richard with a wink.

  The waiter came over and gave them each a cocktail menu, though Kate noted there were no Slippery Nipples on offer at Blexford Folly. Richard ordered a Blexford Hot Toddy and on his recommendation, Kate ordered the same.

  “Have you been here before?” Kate asked.

  “Once or twice,” Richard replied, but he didn’t elaborate.

&
nbsp; Kate wondered if he’d brought other dates here, but then she supposed it didn’t really matter; it seemed unfair to penalize a perfectly lovely location simply because he’d been here with someone else. We’ve all got a past. And after all, she thought, it’s me he’s chosen to bring here tonight, and she was very pleased he had.

  Their drinks arrived; the soothing liqueur slipped down her throat like warm silk, hot with cloves and lemon and bourbon. By the time she’d finished her second toddy, Kate was feeling as warm on the inside as she was without. Richard had switched to virgin toddies as he was driving, but he seemed keen to promote Kate’s consumption of their alcoholic counterparts.

  He was playful and charming and Kate began to feel that if he had booked them a room, she might be tempted to partake, despite the unruly hedgerow in her pants.

  “Okay, fine,” said Kate when he coyly suggested a game of firsts, knowing full well she’d been goaded into it. “I’ll play.”

  Richard chuckled darkly. Kate took another sip of her drink to try to quash the fluttery feeling in her stomach.

  “First kiss,” said Richard.

  Kate’s brain fizzled and her heart picked up speed.

  “You first,” she said.

  “All right,” said Richard, grinning wickedly. “Naomi Hall. In an old bomb shelter in the park. She was nine, I was ten. We were in the same class at primary school. Our teacher used to take us to the recreation ground on nature trails; we were supposed to be looking for dandelions.”

  He looked at Kate and raised his eyebrows. “Now you,” he said.

  A memory swam, warm and sepia-toned through her mind. Strawberry-blond hair and freckles gone dark in the sun. Her breath caught as she remembered. The yearning took her by surprise and she squashed it quickly with another swig of hot bourbon. She tried to make her voice sound as removed as Richard’s had been.

  “Matt Wells,” she said. “Behind a pear tree. We were both ten.”

  “And?” said Richard.

  “And what?” Kate asked.

  Richard leaned closer to her, his mouth near hers. His breath brushed her lips.

  “And how did you know this Matt Wells?” he asked. “And why were you kissing him behind a pear tree?”

  Richard could have no idea of the effect these memories were having on her, or the effect he was having on her. Kate was both confused and aroused, and she was unsure which sensation belonged to which effect. Memories of kissing Matt at another point in her history burst behind her eyes, and her heart hammered as though it wanted to be heard.

  “He was my friend,” said Kate, suppressing the feeling in her chest. “The pear tree was in his garden. And I don’t know why we were kissing. You couldn’t really call it kissing. He kissed me on the lips and I let him.”

  Richard leaned back, seemingly satisfied, and grinned. Kate let out a breath; Richard’s proximity was more intoxicating than the toddy. This conversation felt strangely illicit.

  “I’m going to say my first kiss was probably more exciting than yours,” said Richard. “So that’s a point to me.”

  “You’re probably right,” said Kate.

  “Right then,” Richard went on. “This next one’s worth two points. First time you had sex!”

  The memory of the boy with the strawberry-blond hair popped and was replaced by a dark-haired spotty youth. She smiled, relieved. She was on safer ground here. Her muscles relaxed.

  “Rory Parker,” she said triumphantly. “In the back of his car. I was seventeen, he was nineteen.”

  “What kind of car?” Richard asked.

  Kate laughed loudly.

  “That is such a man thing to ask,” she said. “Not, was it tender? Was it romantic? Just what car was it?”

  Richard grinned.

  “Was it tender and romantic?” he asked.

  “No,” said Kate. “It was cramped and uncomfortable. He had a Ford Fiesta.”

  Richard nodded sagely as if he had had plenty of cramped sexual encounters in Ford Fiestas.

  “Were you together long?” he asked.

  “Six months,” said Kate. “He joined the army. Got posted to Cyprus; I knew it wouldn’t last.”

  “How pragmatic of you,” said Richard.

  His voice had become lower somehow, deeper, more intense. All this talk about sex was making the fluttering in her stomach travel south.

  “What about you?” Kate asked.

  “I was fourteen . . .”

  “Fourteen!” Kate exclaimed.

  “I was mature for my age,” said Richard. “Cindy Jones. She went to an all-girls school. Her parents ran a B&B; they paid her to be the chambermaid.”

  “Let me guess,” said Kate. “You had sex in a guest’s bedroom.”

  Richard grinned and his eyes twinkled.

  “I hope you changed the sheets after,” said Kate.

  “And that,” said Richard. “Is such a woman thing to say; not, was it a good experience, just did we change the bed linen!”

  Kate laughed.

  “All right then,” she said. “Was it good?”

  “Very,” Richard grinned. “Didn’t last long, though . . .”

  Kate spluttered.

  “I mean,” Richard continued. “The relationship didn’t last long! Obviously, I can go for hours!”

  “I’ll bet you can,” said Kate. It was her turn to switch on the sexy gaze. He picked it up instantly and something devilish flashed across his eyes.

  “The relationship didn’t last long because it turned out she had a penchant for relieving willing lads of their virginity; she’d had most of my gym class.”

  “Oh dear,” said Kate. “Were you upset?”

  “Nah,” said Richard. “She was a nice girl. Showed me the ropes, as it were. I bumped into her years later in a bar in Westminster; she’s a solicitor.” He took a sip of his drink. “Did you ever see Rory again?”

  “Oh God no!” said Kate.

  “Were you never tempted to look him up on Facebook or Instagram?”

  “Never,” said Kate. “I don’t like all that.” She waved her arm in the air to encompass all that. “People confuse nostalgia with love and end up getting divorces or having affairs and all sorts. No, I think if you haven’t kept in touch for twenty years there’s probably a good reason.”

  “I met my ex-wife on Facebook,” said Richard. “We went to school together but lost touch after. She found me, actually.”

  “Oh shit!” said Kate. “I’m so sorry. Trust me to put my big fat foot in my mouth.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” Richard laughed. Then he leaned in closer to Kate again. She could smell his cologne. He was looking straight at her. “I’m not interested in talking about my ex-wife,” he said quietly. “I want to know more about your past sexual encounters.”

  He was so close to her now that his lips brushed hers as he spoke.

  “Tell me what you like, Miss Turner,” he breathed. “Tell me what makes you scream.”

  * * *

  • • • • •

  It was still dark when Kate got up at five a.m. and set back to work. Her head spun lightly but not unpleasantly, with a dash of hangover and a heavy dose of last night’s memories: Richard’s mouth on hers, the taste of him, the feel of him pressed up against her, the cold hard of a tree at her back and the hot hard of Richard to her front.

  He hadn’t booked a room—more’s the pity—and eventually the subzero temperature of the forest had enforced a literal cooling of their ardor, so that the evening ended on warm terms but minus consummation. In some ways Kate was pleased not to have had sex with Richard yet. What was her hurry? She always bowled into things without thinking and ultimately ended up single again. It was good to wait. It was good for her to wait.

  Kate washed the brush out and blew on the red-painted toadst
ool to quicken its drying. She wanted to get the winter fabric designs ready to submit for approval today. The spring designs were already neatly stacked in her portfolio.

  By seven forty-five a.m. the sun was just beginning to rise and the gray morning light spilled in through the kitchen windows. It hadn’t snowed overnight but a thin dusting began to fall now, the flakes lightly scratching at the windows. Kate made herself another coffee and two rounds of hot buttery toast and ate them standing by the French doors. A robin nibbled at the bird feeder and the sky looked low enough to bang your head on.

  She’d just finished when Patrick knocked at the door with her car keys, her Mini safely restored to its spot outside the front gate. Kate thanked him and paid him cash.

  “Evelyn tells me you’re out on a date in London tonight,” he said.

  Honest to goodness! Kate thought. Even the farmer knows about my love life. But she smiled and said, “Yes, I am.”

  “You’re not thinking of taking that, are you?” he asked, motioning with his head to her Mini.

  “Not a chance,” said Kate. “I don’t think the old girl would make it in the snow.”

  “Well, I’m taking Evelyn up to Covent Garden market tonight to pick up a load of fresh Christmas trees,” said Patrick. “So, if you finish late and you fancy a lift home, give us a call.”

  “Thanks, Patrick,” said Kate. “I might just take you up on that.”

  By ten a.m. Kate was packed up and ready to go. She was taking a small pull-along case so that she could fit in her portfolio and a change of clothes for her date tonight; she could change at work. If she caught the half eleven train, she could be in the office by one o’clock and work until she needed to be at the restaurant by seven p.m.

  She carried the case through Potters Copse, as the ground was too uneven to wheel it. The trend for decorating the trees in the copse had caught on and it didn’t end with the trees. The hedgerows and brambles were dripping with baubles, and even the tree stumps were wound round with fairy lights. She determined to press Evelyn again about rerouting the caroling through this way.

  Kate stopped in at the Pear Tree for a takeaway coffee, and Matt insisted on driving her to the station in his 4×4.