The liquid had burned his throat, as fiery as the logs that crackled in the stone fireplace, but he’d ignored the searing sensation and stubbornly kept on taking swig after swig, trying to douse the memories.
Until Pollyanna had arrived.
Smoke had heard her first. Jake would quite happily have ignored an intruder, but the dog wouldn’t let it lie so he’d been forced to leave the study and investigate.
The Dalmatian gave a loud snore and shifted in his sleep before settling down again. Curious how the dog had run to Evie as if she were an old friend. Jake couldn’t understand it. Smoke was normally wary of strangers, yet she had won him over almost on sight.
And now he was stuck here with her. The most irritating house guest possible. He tipped his head back and sighed. Every intake of breath was an effort.
He had hoped that coming here would help him turn the page and make a new start. Away from the house he and Maria had shared, the furniture sold, her clothes and other belongings gone, he’d hoped that the pain might ease a little, that living and breathing might become a fraction easier.
He had hoped – but he should have known not to hope. Because he knew exactly how punishing life could be. It seemed he was destined always to be anchored to this dark, leaden grief. Two years had gone by, but this day was still hard. Time hadn’t lessened the unbearable ache or the anger he felt, nor closed the vast hole she had left in his life. Why her? Why so soon? Why, when she had been so talented and so necessary to him, hadn’t she had her fair share of time on this earth? Why had she lost her life yet others, less deserving, were spared? The injustice of it ate away at him. He’d tried to accept it and move on, but he was stuck in this dark place of questions that no one could answer. And it was corrosive, he knew. It made him cynical. Antisocial. Mr Arctic. It prevented him from living.
He rubbed a hand over his eyes. They felt scratchy and sore, but he knew sleep wouldn’t come tonight. He had to grit his teeth and bear it – he glanced at the whisky – without the anaesthetic of alcohol, because he wanted to be sober enough in the morning to drive Pollyanna home and out of his life.
Chapter Three
Evie opened one eye. It took her a moment to work out where she was.
Then she remembered. The snow, the red-eyed Jake Hartwood and his adorable but over-friendly dog.
Here in the study the curtains were drawn, but daylight had squeezed in around the edges – enough to give the room a haunted grey air. Jake was asleep in his chair, and Smoke was curled up exactly as he had been last night, his breath leaving tiny clouds in the air.
Evie sat up slowly. Her shoulders and neck were sore from having slept in the armchair, and her fingers were icy. She noticed the fire had gone out, which explained the chill in the air. She tried moving her ankle. It was stiff, but it didn’t hurt as much today. Good. The dog stirred as she got up and she silently held a finger to her lips, smiling at him and hoping he’d stay quiet and not wake his owner. In sleep Jake’s breathing was slow and deep, and his deep frown had been smoothed away. His long lashes rested peacefully on his cheeks. He looked far less intimidating like this, without a hint of disapproval. In fact, the tired lines around his eyes made him look almost … vulnerable.
She recalled his sarcasm last night and dismissed this last thought as her imagination running wild. Vulnerable? Him? Never.
Evie tiptoed away, carrying her boots in one hand and letting Smoke out, before closing the door as quietly as she could to leave any residual heat in the study.
Out in the corridor, Smoke seemed confident he knew the way and she hoped he would lead her either to the kitchen or the bathroom. In fact, they reached the kitchen where Smoke went straight to a side door.
‘What’s in here?’ asked Evie, as she pushed it open.
A boot room, by the look of it, complete with umbrella stand and coat hooks. To one side was a small toilet, and Smoke made straight for the outside door, where he whined to be let out.
‘Ah, I see,’ said Evie, turning the key and opening it. ‘You need the bathroom too.’
When they were both back in the kitchen, she remembered that Jake had said he had no food at all, but there was a bag of dry dog food for Smoke so she poured some out, then made herself a cup of black coffee while she worked out what to do next. She peered out of the window. The snow hadn’t melted at all – in fact, it must have snowed more during the night because the marks in the drive where her car had skidded were barely visible now. She could try calling a friend, but if their car got stuck in a ditch, like hers, she’d feel bad. Or she could try walking home. Her ankle was less sore now, and she’d spotted a couple of old walking sticks in the boot room. She reckoned she might manage. Might.
‘What should I do, Smoke?’ she asked the dog, who had eaten hungrily and was now lapping water. ‘Walk home? Call a friend? Try the taxi firm again? One thing’s for sure. I can’t stay here. Your owner is far too bad-tempered. Besides, I have lots to do today.’
‘Morning,’ said a gruff, deep voice.
She whirled round. ‘Jake!’
She expected a sarcastic come-back, but he didn’t say anything. From the way he was leaning against the doorframe, blinking and shielding his eyes against the daylight, she suspected he was paying the price for his drinking last night. Smoke bounded over to him, barking happily. Jake shushed him, but also gave him a friendly rub and she could see that, in his own stiff and restrained way, he was just as pleased to see his dog.
‘Are you all right?’ she asked, peering closer. His face looked gaunt beneath the stubble, and his skin was positively ashen.
‘Headache.’
‘I’m not surprised. You drank the best part of a bottle of whisky!’
He pulled out a bar stool, sat down heavily, and glanced at the bowls of water and dog food. ‘Thanks for looking after Smoke.’
‘No problem. He’s delightful.’ Unlike his owner. Although she couldn’t help feeling a bit sorry for Jake seeing him suffer like this. She fetched a glass of water and set it down in front of him.
‘Thanks.’ He sipped it gingerly, then nodded at the window. ‘The snow hasn’t melted, has it?’
‘No. If anything it’s deeper. Did you say you have a car in the garage?’
‘It won’t be any use in this weather.’
‘Oh.’ She couldn’t hide her disappointment.
‘How’s your ankle?’ he asked.
‘Much better, thanks. The swelling’s gone right down.’
‘You’re still limping, though.’
‘I’ll be okay.’
He shook his head.
‘What?’ she asked.
‘Pollyanna. “The swelling’s gone right down.”’ He mimicked her in a high voice. ‘But you can’t put any weight on it.’
She pursed her lips. There was nothing like his sourfaced presence to focus the mind, and she made a swift decision because she couldn’t wait to get away from here. ‘Time for me to go.’ She headed for the boot room to pick up a walking stick. ‘Now it’s light there’s no risk of getting lost.’
‘Wait!’ said Jake, then winced and held his head.
She paused by the door.
He got up. ‘There’s a quad bike somewhere, I think.’
‘You think? You don’t know?’
‘I seem to remember the estate agent pointed it out. The previous owners left it.’ He opened a couple of kitchen drawers before finding the right one, then held up a set of keys triumphantly. ‘Give me a few minutes, then meet me here at the back door.’
Minutes later, Evie heard the rough growl of an engine and he trundled past the kitchen window. Smoke barked excitedly. ‘Sorry, Smoke,’ Evie told him, ‘but you’re going to have to wait here.’
She opened the back door and cold air washed over her, making her shiver. Jake looked incongruous in his smart wool overcoat and brogues on a quad bike with enormous chunky tyres. Snow had covered everything in sight, reflecting the sun, so the whole landscape shimmered
and sparkled, like a bride’s wedding gown. ‘Wow! It’s so beautiful up here!’
‘Jump on,’ commanded Jake, and patted the seat behind him.
She hesitated a moment, then did as he suggested. ‘Have you driven one of these before?’ she asked.
‘Once.’
‘That doesn’t fill me with confidence.’
‘I can put it away, if you like. The vibrations are not helping my head, I can tell you. Here, put this helmet on.’
‘What about you?’
‘There was only one.’
‘What if we crash? You’ll get hurt.’
He shrugged as if his life was of no importance.
She frowned. ‘Are you sure you’re safe to drive? You had a lot to drink last night.’
‘Not as much as I was planning to have,’ he said. ‘And I’m not over the limit – but whether I’m safe to drive this thing is a different matter. Hold on!’ he told her.
Reluctantly, she put her arms around his waist. It felt far too intimate, but there was nothing else to hold on to. She tried to forget that he was her client and that they’d clashed horribly last night. She also tried to ignore how solid he felt as she gripped him tightly, lean and broad-shouldered.
He accelerated suddenly and she gulped in cold air as they began to weave down the drive towards the main road, passing her car along the way. The quad bike made light work of getting through the snow, and Evie’s pulse quickened with excitement. The main road was just as thick with snow as the drive – clearly snowploughs would be needed to clear it – but the quad bike forged on.
By the time they reached the village, Evie was grinning. ‘That was fun!’ she said, as he slowed right down on the high street. He didn’t reply, but she didn’t let his scowl dampen her spirits and her exhilarated smile remained fixed to her lips.
The village was deserted and eerily quiet, apart from the low rumble of the bike. The shops were all in darkness. Some had signs on the doors saying Sorry – closed due to weather. A handful of dog-walkers were out, wearing sturdy boots and woolly hats. Evie waved as they passed Lynn, the postwoman.
‘Where do you want me to drop you?’ he asked.
She directed him to her cottage on Love Lane. Outside her front door, he cut the engine. Evie climbed off the bike and unfastened her helmet.
‘You don’t want a lift to your shop?’ he asked.
She handed him the helmet. ‘All the other shops are closed, so I think I’ll do the same. I can’t imagine many people will be shopping for fabric in this weather, and I have paperwork I can be getting on with at home.’
It would be good to rest her ankle today in the hope it might heal quicker because she couldn’t afford any time off work right now.
‘My invoice, you mean?’ Jake said drily.
‘No! I wasn’t going to send that until the damage has been repaired and you’re sure you’re happy with the curtains.’
There was a moment’s pause before he answered. ‘I don’t hold you responsible for the damage last night.’ His blue eyes ducked away sheepishly, and was that an edge of remorse she heard in his voice? ‘Besides, you’ve delivered the curtains, so go ahead and bill me.’
She blinked with surprise. ‘Okay, I will,’ she said, relieved as she thought of her bank balance. ‘Thanks for the lift.’ She limped towards her front door.
‘You should see a doctor about your ankle!’ he called after her.
She turned and grinned. ‘Your hangover is more debilitating.’
His mouth twitched. ‘Nothing that a few hours’ sleep won’t cure.’
She hesitated, then added quietly, ‘Take care of yourself.’
He gave her a curt nod, then revved the engine and sped away.
She stared after him, wondering if his mood would improve when his hangover receded. He looked so grey and ill that it was easy to forget how rude he’d been and how unwelcome he’d made her feel last night.
Still. He had taken responsibility for the stepladder accident. That was something.
Jake strode along the woodland path, almost keeping up with Smoke, who scurried left, then right, sniffing and following trails, investigating tree roots, checking every now and then that Jake was still close by.
Jake was glad for the dog’s silent, undemanding company. His head still ached at the thought of Evie Miller’s relentlessly upbeat chatter. After leaving her at her cottage, he’d driven home and tried to rest, but sleep had evaded him, and Smoke had been keen to go out, so they’d set off to explore the grounds.
In this part of the woods pine trees prevailed so the ground was bare, sheltered from the snow by the canopy above. The fresh air washed over him, like cold water, and the only sounds were the crunch of his boots on twigs and the odd snatch of birdsong. What would Maria have thought of moving here? She had loved London. She always said she was a city girl. Living out here in the country she would have missed the university where she taught, the libraries, her books. She would have missed concerts, as well as the orchestras and groups she performed with. She would have appreciated the beauty of these rolling hills and historic stone cottages, but she would have found it too calm, too quiet.
Yet quiet was exactly what Jake sought. He was tired, he felt decades older than his thirty-five years. Now what he wished for most was peace. To live undisturbed. Because only when he was alone could he focus on getting through each day and easing the pain of living.
His head was just beginning to clear when the muffled ringing of his phone cut through the peace. He sighed and reached into the pocket of his coat.
‘Jake, are you okay?’ It was his sister, Louisa. ‘You didn’t answer your phone last night, you weren’t in when I called by and the house was in darkness. I was so worried!’
He rolled his eyes as the banging in his temples started up again. ‘I’m fine, Louisa.’
‘Why didn’t you answer the door or take my calls?’
‘Because my phone was switched off and I wasn’t home – at least, not in London.’
‘Where were you, then?’
‘I’m in the Cotswolds – at the new place.’
‘I thought you weren’t due to move for another week.’
‘That’s right. But I decided to escape for the night. I wanted to be alone.’
He hadn’t planned it. The pressure had been gradually building as the day had crept closer, and in the end, it had got too much so he’d run.
‘Oh, Jake. Is that wise?’
He chose not to answer. ‘I brought Smoke with me. I thought it might be helpful for him to see the house and get used to it. Then, hopefully, it won’t be as much of a shock for him when we move.’
‘I wish you’d told me in advance. I didn’t know where you were or if you were all right!’
‘I’m fine. I’m a grown-up, Louisa. You don’t need to mother me like I’m one of your brood.’
She said gently, ‘It’s only because I care about you, little brother.’
He sighed. Louisa meant well, but he simply wasn’t ready to accept the kind of support she wanted to give. Since Maria’s death, both his sisters had tried to draw him in with invitations to spend weekends, anniversaries and holidays with their young families. But being with others only made the difficult days more painful. The children’s energy and joy were so at odds with how he felt, the effort required to feign good spirits with the adults so exhausting. Last year it had come to a head during Christmas dinner when Jake, unable to keep up the pretence a moment longer, had suddenly pushed his chair back and left. He simply couldn’t carry on.
Louisa had been distraught, Scarlett angry. There’d been tears and questions. What did we do? Was it something I said? And Jake, overloaded with tension and suffocating grief, hadn’t handled it well.
Which was why this year he intended to spend the holidays alone.
‘Has it snowed where you are?’ Louisa asked.
‘Yes. There’s loads of the damn stuff.’
‘Same here. The b
oys were so excited this morning that they built a snowman before school and had a snowball fight, which involved shoving snow down each other’s necks. They were wet through when they came in.’
His lip curled. ‘That’s boys for you.’
There was a moment’s pause before she asked, ‘So what did you do last night?’
‘Oh, you know. Had a quiet night.’ With a bottle of whisky. He didn’t tell her that part.
Nor did he tell her about the woman who’d turned up unexpectedly and been snowed in with him. If he was honest, he didn’t want to dwell on that. An uneasy feeling was beginning to take root and shame was licking at his heels. He hadn’t been at his best last night. Had the tension of the date and the potency of the alcohol got to him? It wouldn’t be the first time.
But last year’s Christmas disaster was precisely why, yesterday, he’d tried to isolate himself. It wasn’t his fault an unwelcome visitor had intruded on his evening.
‘You mean you got horribly drunk and now you have a crippling hangover?’
‘How did you know?’
‘You sound rough.’
‘Thanks, sis. You’re full of compliments.’
‘When are you going to stop punishing yourself like this? Alcohol isn’t the answer.’
He stiffened. She made it sound so straightforward. She didn’t understand what it was like or how it felt. How he was unable to let go of his love for Maria or dilute it in any way. How, alone, he hoarded the memories of their brief marriage, silently mulling over them, savouring them, yet at the same time flinching at the excruciating pain they provoked.
Smoke stopped suddenly and began to bark at a bird. ‘Shush,’ said Jake, catching up with him and giving him a reassuring pat on the back. ‘Come on, boy. This way.’
‘So when can we visit the new place?’ Louisa went on.
‘I’ll let you know.’
‘I still can’t understand why you chose to move out to the sticks.’
The Christmas Holiday: The perfect heart-warming read full of festive magic Page 4
