The Christmas Holiday: The perfect heart-warming read full of festive magic

by Sophie Claire

  Contents

  About the Author

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  Read on for an extract from Luc and Natasha’s story in A Forget-Me-Not Summer

  About the Author

  Sophie Claire writes emotional stories set in England and in sunny Provence, where she spent her summers as a child. She has a French mother and a Scottish father, but was born in Africa and grew up in Manchester, England, where she still lives with her husband and two sons.

  Previously, she worked in marketing and proofreading academic papers, but writing is what she always considered her ‘real job’ and now she’s delighted to spend her days dreaming up heartwarming contemporary romance stories set in beautiful places.

  You can find out more at www.sophieclaire.co.uk and on Twitter @sclairewriter.

  www.hodder.co.uk

  First published in Great Britain in 2019 by Hodder & Stoughton

  An Hachette UK company

  Copyright © Sophie Claire 2019

  The right of Sophie Claire to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by herinaccordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library

  eBook ISBN 9781529392807

  Hodder & Stoughton Ltd

  Carmelite House

  50 Victoria Embankment

  London EC4Y 0DZ

  www.hodder.co.uk

  To Bowdon Quilters: Jay Cawley, Elizabeth Craig, Betty Croke, Val Imm, Marian Keall, Charlotte Logan, Maureen Scapens and Glenys White.

  Chapter One

  Evie had a bad feeling about the place. Or perhaps it was simply the chill in the air as she hurried from her car to the Old Hall, carrying her heavy load. The forecast tonight was snow. She prayed it would wait until she’d finished what she was there to do and had driven back down the hill to the village. It should take her an hour, tops, and once she was home in her little cottage, it could snow as much as it liked: she’d be tucked up in bed with a warm quilt and a hot-water bottle. Tomorrow she’d email her invoice. The sooner she collected payment, the happier her bank manager would be. Maybe he’d even stop breathing down her neck.

  She unlocked the door of the big house and flicked on the lights, accidentally knocking the coat stand. She caught it before it toppled, then scurried on towards the dining room. Two chandeliers lit it, and she saw her reflection in the tall, naked windows – her red coat was a beacon glowing brightly in the doorway. Carefully, Evie laid the curtain she’d made on the grand dining table. She flicked her long plait over her shoulder, then went back to her car. Floor-length, in a burgundy and gold damask that caught the light, the curtains would look perfect in that room, but they were so heavy she had to carry them in one at a time, all four of them.

  As she scuttled back from her car for the last time, the first snowflakes began to fall. She smiled as they tickled her cheeks, but quickened her pace and closed the solid oak door, shutting out the icy air. Not that it was much warmer inside the huge empty house: her breath left a thin cloud in the air as she marched along the corridor. Perhaps the place would come to life once the new owner moved in.

  Her foot caught something hard and she stumbled. A metal doorstop lay on its side. With her toe, she pushed it under the dining-room door to prop it open. She put her heavy parcel down with the others, stopped and listened.

  Funny. She’d thought she’d heard barking.

  But, of course, that couldn’t be. Hers was the only car on the drive, and when she’d arrived the house had been in darkness. The owner wasn’t due to move in for another week.

  Evie brushed aside the thought and carried her stepladder to the window. It squeaked loudly as she unfolded it. She unwrapped the first curtain from its plastic cover, lifted it expertly over her shoulder, and climbed up to the highest step. These windows were tall, and it was a balancing act as she supported the weight of the fabric with one hand and hooked the curtain with the other. She had finished one and was starting on the second when she heard barking again – louder this time. Perched on the stepladder, she stilled. It wasn’t the tinny yap of a small dog, but a deep, loud bark.

  Her heart thumped. What if a guard dog was patrolling?

  Surely not. She’d been given a key by the owner’s PA, and tradespeople had been coming and going for weeks now.

  Still, the owner might assume she would only seek access during the day. She looked at her watch. It was nine thirty now.

  She heard footsteps approaching and the deep tones of a male voice. The dog’s bark made her jump this time, and she heard the scrabble of paws as an animal – several, perhaps? – raced down the corridor. Frozen, she watched the open door, not daring to let go of the curtain, which was attached by only three hooks. Her eyes widened as a large Dalmatian bounded in and leaped up at her. She screamed and clung to the stepladder, which wobbled violently. The curtain was wrenched from her hands, she heard a creak – and looked up to see that the curtain pole was now hanging at a crooked angle.

  ‘Smoke! Down!’ the man shouted.

  The dog ignored him, barked and jumped, knocking the ladder again. Evie gasped as it wobbled, then tumbled in a clatter of metal, fabric and barking.

  She blinked. She and the curtains were in a heap on the floor. Instinctively, she lifted her arm to protect her face as the dog went for her, but instead of teeth, she felt only a warm wet tongue licking her hand.

  ‘What the …’ Shocked, she put her arm down and stared at the dog. It tilted its head to peer at her in turn, then whined affectionately. Evie laughed. ‘After all that, you want your ears scratching? You silly dog!’ She rubbed the Dalmatian behind the ears, and it made happy noises in return.

  But her smile faded as she spotted the holes in the plaster where the curtain pole had been ripped from the wall. ‘Oh, but look what you’ve done …’ She tried to extricate herself from the curtains but she was well and truly tangled in them, and the combined weight of the ladder and the dog pinned her to the floor.

  ‘Look what he’s done?’

  She and the dog turned their heads at the sound of the disapproving male voice.

  Now Evie got a proper look at the tall, unshaven man standing a few feet away. She guessed he was somewhere in his mid-thirties, though she couldn’t be sure. He stepped closer to inspect the
heap of ladder, metal pole and curtain in which Evie was trapped, and she caught a strong whiff of alcohol. The stubble on his chin gave him an air of menace, his hair was dishevelled, and when he turned his sharp gaze back on her she saw his eyes were bloodshot.

  ‘He was simply protecting my property. The question is, what were you doing here?’

  Not an outstretched hand to help her up, she noticed. No ‘Are you hurt?’ Just an accusing look, as if he’d caught her trespassing.

  Her heart beat double-time. No one knew she was here – alone with this angry stranger and his dog. Suddenly she felt vulnerable.

  ‘What does it look like I was doing? Breaking and entering?’ He continued to glare down at her. She sighed and spelled it out for him: ‘I was fitting these curtains, of course.’

  ‘Of course,’ he said drily. ‘Because that’s a perfectly normal thing to be doing at –’ he looked at his watch, which glinted in the light of the chandeliers ‘– almost ten in the evening.’

  Indignation bubbled up inside her. ‘I have a key!’ She wrestled to free herself from the fabric, but with no success. The Dalmatian stepped forward and nuzzled her hand. It was difficult to stay angry with the horrible man when his dog was so adorable.

  ‘Really.’

  His sarcasm was cutting. A picture of her ex flashed into her mind, but she pushed it aside to concentrate on the here and now. ‘Yes!’ She felt about for her pocket, but the tangle of curtains made it impossible. ‘Heidi gave it to me.’

  The flicker of recognition in his eyes reassured her that Heidi’s name meant something to him. ‘And did Heidi invite you to come here in the middle of the night?’

  ‘It was the only time I could make it,’ she said, through gritted teeth, as she finally managed to pull herself free and clambered to her feet. Pain shot up from her left ankle, making her gasp and lose her balance. She grabbed the nearest object – a chair.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked, sounding exasperated rather than concerned.

  ‘Nothing.’ She rooted in her coat pocket. ‘Here’s your damned key. Satisfied?’

  He shot the medieval-looking piece of metal a cursory glance, then turned his gaze back on the pitiful heap of curtains.

  ‘Satisfied is hardly the right word. Have you seen the damage you’ve done?’

  She followed his eyes to the holes in the wall where the curtain pole had been attached. Her jaw tightened as she bit back several possible retorts. She was aware that if he was the owner he was also her client, but she’d just been doing her job. She didn’t deserve this treatment and he was by far the rudest customer she’d ever dealt with.

  Although he wasn’t the first man to make her feel small and wanting. Her ex, Tim, and this man were definitely cut from the same cloth. But if she’d learned anything from Tim, it was not to let another man walk all over her.

  The dog ran excited circles around her, by turns sniffing at the curtains and rubbing his head against her leg. Evie gripped the chair and tried her best to keep her balance while not putting any weight on her left ankle. ‘So, rather than apologise for your dog’s behaviour, you’re turning this back on me? I might ask who you are and why you’re here.’

  ‘This is my house. I don’t have to justify my presence to you.’

  Ah. So he was the client. And these curtains had cost a fortune in fabric alone. She couldn’t afford for him to refuse to pay or she’d be in even bigger trouble with the bank.

  ‘But – but Heidi told me you weren’t moving in until next week!’ If she’d known he’d be here she’d have called first.

  And how she wished she had.

  ‘When I move in is my affair,’ he said brusquely. A strange expression flashed through his eyes before he looked away.

  ‘Well, this is unfortunate. But I was just doing my job.’ She lifted her chin. ‘Perhaps if you’d kept your dog under control, there’d be less damage and I wouldn’t have had the fright of my life.’

  And she wouldn’t have been hurt. She reached down to touch her ankle and the dog licked her hand.

  ‘Smoke!’ the man said sharply. ‘Come here!’

  The dog looked up at the sound of his name but ignored the command. The man glared at the animal as if it were a traitor, then sighed and set about righting the mess. He picked up the stepladder and propped it against the wall. The smell of alcohol grew stronger as he approached, and Evie watched him warily. He was angry and inebriated, and no one knew she was there.

  She reached for the curtains, brushed off a small piece of plaster, and inspected them for damage. ‘They seem to be fine, thank goodness. It took me hours to make them.’

  She draped them carefully over the table so they wouldn’t crease.

  The man was picking up chunks of plaster. ‘Tell me again why you’re delivering curtains in the dark.’

  Her fists curled in her pockets. Tim used to take the same disparaging tone with her when they were out with his colleagues and she spoke too much or said the wrong thing.

  ‘I run a shop in the day,’ she said, ‘so I always deliver my curtains in the evening.’ Most clients appreciated this service, knowing that other suppliers expected customers to collect and hang their own curtains.

  ‘You couldn’t wait until tomorrow, given the weather?’

  ‘No, I couldn’t. Tomorrow is my friend’s birthday and …’ This red-eyed man wouldn’t understand her cash-flow problems. He owned a hall, for goodness’ sake. Not a house, but a hall!

  ‘And?’ he prompted.

  She decided to admit the truth. ‘And I needed to get them finished and delivered so I could invoice for them.’

  Instantly, his eyes narrowed, as she had known they would. ‘So, this is about money?’

  ‘No! Well … yes.’

  His bloodshot eyes became two red slits.

  She added quickly, ‘I’ve done nothing but work on them for the last week, and the cost of the material was in the hundreds – which creates cash-flow problems. I’m just a small business. I need to collect payment for them as soon as possible or my bank account will go into the red.’

  ‘You couldn’t send the invoice, then deliver them? You knew the place was empty.’

  She looked at him in horror. ‘I never invoice a customer until I’ve delivered the curtains and I’m satisfied they’re the perfect fit.’

  ‘Surely if you’ve measured correctly they’ll fit.’

  Spoken like someone who had never hung a pair of curtains in his life. ‘It’s not that simple – which is why I like to put them up myself and make sure they hang right.’

  He raised a brow. ‘Make sure they hang right?’

  ‘Yes.’ She was infuriated by his condescending attitude.

  ‘What did you think – that the laws of gravity might not apply here in this house?’

  If it had been anyone else, she’d have thought that was a joke. But he was just plain mocking. ‘Clearly you know nothing about curtains.’

  ‘You’re right. Please enlighten me, because I’ve yet to see curtains that don’t hang but float horizontally instead.’

  She ground her teeth. ‘Curtains can be the perfect measurements but if they aren’t hung correctly with the pleats in the right places, they’ll look stiff and – and awkward.’

  ‘Awkward?’ The corners of his mouth twitched with derision, which only raised her blood pressure even more.

  ‘Yes! Which is why I like to dress them personally, so they look their best.’ In her sewing bag she had extra weights she could slip into the lining if necessary, but usually it was simply a case of rearranging the pleats and fabric, and that was something experience had taught her how to do.

  Somehow his silence was more damning than his caustic words.

  ‘You can leave now,’ he said eventually, with a nod towards the door. ‘You’ve done enough damage. Your services are no longer required.’

  Evie stared at him, a rush of jumbled thoughts filling her head. He was throwing her out after his dog had a
ttacked her? And no longer required? Did that mean he wasn’t going to pay her? Her heart raced as she thought of the grim warning the bank had issued. There would be no mercy if her account went into the red again.

  ‘Now look here! You can’t not pay for those curtains – especially when your dog was responsible for the damage, not me!’

  ‘I’m not talking about the damn payment. Is everything about money with you?’

  ‘No! But you said—’

  ‘I asked you to leave. The door’s this way.’

  She glared at him, then snatched up her sewing bag and reached for her ladder.

  ‘I’ll take those,’ he said, lifting them out of her hands.

  She didn’t have the fight to refuse. She hobbled after him, but every time she put weight on her left ankle pain ripped through it. She blinked hard. What a horrible, horrible man. The Dalmatian trotted happily beside her, occasionally nuzzling her hand as if to comfort her, bless him.

  ‘What about the rest of the curtains?’ she asked, glancing back at the pair still in their protective covers.

  ‘I’ll have to get someone in to repair the damage first,’ he said, without so much as a glance in her direction.

  ‘When they’ve been, I’ll come back to finish the job.’

  ‘That won’t be necessary. I’ll let you know if there’s a problem – with gravity or otherwise.’

  Evie shrugged. ‘Suit yourself.’

  A rush of cold air gusted in as he opened the front door, and Evie’s eyes widened. Her car was sitting under a sparkling duvet, and snow spiralled down in a shimmering dance that lit up the night. It was coming thick and fast. At any other time it would have been beautiful – even magical – but tonight her heart sank. ‘Oh, no …’

  ‘Didn’t you hear the forecast? They said it would snow.’

  ‘I know. But it’s the first of December. I didn’t think there’d be so much of it!’

  Snowflakes continued to float down like feathers and the air was eerily silent – although that was probably always the case up there on top of the hill. Evie was used to living in the village, with friends and neighbours close by.