A Happy Christmas Ending
By
Christiane France
A Happy Christmas Ending
Second Edition
This book was previously published. The title and author have not changed.
This book is a work of fiction. While references to actual places or events may occur, the names, characters, incidents and locations are from the author’s imagination and any resemblance to anyone, living or dead, is coincidental.
A Happy Christmas Ending
Copyright © 2013, 2016 Christiane France
Cover art © 2016 KC Kendricks
All Rights Reserved
Reproduction of this digital e-book for file sharing or selling, regardless of whether any type of currency is exchanged, other than what the author grants, is strictly prohibited by law. Piracy is a crime.
WARNING: This book is intended for readers over the age of 18.
It contains explicit sexual content and language.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
A Happy Christmas Ending
Christiane France
A Happy Christmas Ending
London in early December had turned out to be pretty much what I’d expected it to be. Cold, damp, and the grey sky overhead backed up the TV forecaster’s promise of rain mixed with snow before the day was over. The kind of weather that made me want to cuddle up in front of a blazing fire, or convince my boyfriend, Michael, to escape with me somewhere warm. Maybe a smooth sandy beach in the Caribbean, or even better, how about Hawaii or somewhere in the South Seas?
That was if I could pin him down long enough to suggest the idea. I’d hardly seen Michael in days and it was starting to worry me. I knew he’d been bogged down with extra work after the other acquisitions editor at the publishing house where he worked quit on a moment’s notice. And I’d been running myself ragged, driving back and forth between the two building renovation sites that accounted for my presence here in Britain.
Even so, two people who planned to spend the future together needed more us time if they hoped to sustain their relationship. Two phone calls Michael hadn’t returned in what was now over a week simply didn’t cut it. Unless he was trying to send me a message...one I really didn’t want to think about.
I finished the progress reports on both jobs and emailed copies to my boss at Falton International’s head office in Toronto. With that done, I clicked out of the program, and checked on an appointment for the coming week. I then opened the file on cost projections for one of the jobs that was already threatening to go over the original estimate, pushed Michael from my mind and tried to concentrate.
Falton specialized in the renovation and restoration of old buildings and had successfully completed projects to their credit all over the world. I’d worked for the company since graduating college, starting at the bottom and slowly moving up the ladder until being promoted to the position of senior project manager.
A couple of months ago, around the beginning of September, I’d been between projects when the CEO, Grey Falton, called me into his office. The company had been awarded a very important first: two lucrative projects in England, and Grey wanted me to take charge of the London office for a couple of weeks. I knew the job was basically window dressing, but even so I was flattered at being the person chosen to do it. The set-up of the offices was still in progress and construction hadn’t yet started, so no actual work would be involved. All I would be required to do was act as the face of the company until a permanent general manager could be hired. Once that happened I would return home to my regular job.
The temporary assignment had been more in the nature of an order rather than a request, but that had been fine with me. A few weeks of what amounted to a paid vacation in a fast-paced city like London sounded fun and exciting. What was not to like? Or so I’d thought. I never stopped to consider that I didn’t know anyone in England and the only people in the office were the set-up crew composed of two IT techs and a temporary secretary-receptionist. In other words, I would be totally on my own and chained to a chair with absolutely nothing to do except try to look busy. After one day I was bored out of my skull, looking for anything to occupy my time other than do crossword puzzles and drink bad coffee by the gallon. I couldn’t wait for Grey to call and say I was off the hook and could return to my regular life.
After what felt like weeks but was in fact only two, the call came. A permanent manager had been found and my flight home arranged.
Then, the day before I was to leave, I met Michael and my life did a fast one-eighty. We both knew the initial wow as our eyes met signaled more than a passing fancy. What no one knew or could even guess at was whether it would fizzle after a few days or turn into something special. With only a few hours left to explore our feelings before my flight took off from Heathrow it seemed destined to remain one of life’s mysteries.
That was when my life did another quick turnabout. I’d been ready to head out for the airport when Grey called again. The guy they’d hired had changed his mind. I had all the necessary qualifications and if I wanted the job it was mine.
Of course I wanted it, and at Michael’s urging, I’d agreed. For the first couple of weeks, Michael and I had spent every minute of our free time together, making love, dreaming, planning and generally behaving like we lived on our own private planet, which in many ways we did.
A month later, everything changed again. Michael became distant and morose, and I didn’t have a clue what to make of it. He said it was because a co-worker had quit and it had given him double the workload. He was tired that was all. Maybe so, but it didn’t explain why it felt as if he were pushing me away. Was he the type to lose interest fast? Once he had what he wanted was he was ready to move on to the next guy who caught his eye? I wouldn’t have believed that of Michael, but what did I really know about him?
I thought back to the day we met and that first night we spent together. Michael was a passionate man, and after such a fabulous start to our relationship I’d expected us to make more time to enjoy one another. Take a few days off here and there as work permitted, or have a long weekend and find somewhere to hide away. Preferably somewhere we could stay in bed the whole fucking day if we so desired and indulge our passions to the full.
We’d talked about finding a place together, but that was something else that had gone nowhere fast. Michael kept saying he was busy, he had no time to go house hunting and it would have to wait. Now, three months later, I was still living at Jasper’s, the boutique hotel the company put me in when I first arrived. Comfort, service and food were all topnotch, but I’d had enough of hotel living. I was sick of excuses and tired of waiting for things to improve. I wanted a place I could call home, preferably a home with Michael and his cat, Marmalade.
If there was a problem, whatever it was I wished Michael would tell me. Maybe I could do something to help. But with him insisting the only problem was the pressure of work I was screwed.
Once again, I shoved Michael from my thoughts and forced my attention back to cost projections. As with any restoration project the two contracts currently assigned to me each had their own individual requirements and problems. The first involved returning a neglected, old-money family estate on the outskirts of London into habitable condition. The house had stood empty for several years following the last owner’s death. It had become a refuge for rats, mice and other vermin, along with anyone needing a warm, dry place to sleep. Now the new owner wanted to see everything, including the stables and surrounding gardens, restored to their former glory.
The second job was to renovate and update a once-famous hotel on the south coast. The owners hoped
the facelift would go a long way in helping the hotel regain its former popularity. Palm courts, complete with string quartets and Earl Grey tea at four o’clock were no longer high on the average traveler’s lists. The old place needed considerably more than a quick fix and a lick of paint. It needed something new and innovative. The owners knew this and they’d met the challenge in spades. Once their ideas for updating were transformed into reality, I could see it becoming one of the hottest spots to stay along that section of the coast
I made a few brief notes as to how we might save costs in a couple of areas on both jobs. I then closed down the computer and said goodnight to the receptionist on my way out of the office.
The streets outside were dry but I was greeted by an icy wind that felt and smelled like the promised snow. I pulled up the collar of my winter jacket. Although tempted to head for the hotel for dinner and an evening of TV, with Christmas just over two weeks away, I turned the other way into Oxford Street. I usually loved this time of year, with the family gatherings, the gift giving, and all the trimmings that were so much a part of the season. The stores were doing their part, displaying the usual festive decorations, and everywhere was crowded with shoppers. Sadly, my family was thousands of miles away in Canada. We wouldn’t be all together this year and the last thing I wanted to do was spend the holidays alone.
I’d been invited to spend Christmas with Michael and his family at their home near Henley, a small town on the River Thames. The plan was for us to drive down Christmas Eve in time for dinner, and return to London the day after Boxing Day. I’d met Michael’s parents a couple of times and really liked them, so I’d been looking forward to the visit. Now, with Michael in his present mood, I didn’t know what to think. If the trip was off, or even in jeopardy, the least he could do was to let me know. Give me chance make alternative arrangements of some kind. Perhaps even make it home to Toronto. I paused outside a travel agent’s window. Even this close to the big day, there were teasers for a dozen or more last minute things such as ski trips, country inns, and several cruises. A couple of them looked quite interesting, but I needed to call Michael first. Find out if I was worrying for nothing or if he had indeed moved on.
I knew Michael was fine physically. I’d seen him only the day before while waiting to cross the street. He’d been too far away for me to call his name, then the lights changed and he’d disappeared into the crush of pedestrians before I could catch up. The moment I got to the office, I’d tried to call him, but his phone was turned off. I’d tried a couple of hours later with the same result.
I promised myself to try him again when I got back to Jasper’s. If I could lure him out for a drink or two, perhaps I could also get him to open up and tell me what was going on. There was definitely something and I wanted to know what it was.
* * *
I waited until after dinner to call Michael. He answered on the third ring.
I didn’t want to come across as pushy or make it sound as if I was checking up on him, so I said, “Hi, it’s Drew. How’s things?”
“Can I call you back?”
It was the same thing he’d said the two other times I’d called and I was still waiting for a call back. Three times in a row was way too much. My internal radar was flashing red alert and I wasn’t about to get brushed off. “Why? You busy or something?”
“I am kind of. Is this important?”
I sighed loudly in the hope he’d hear me. “You mean you have company?”
“No. I umm... Look, Drew. I’m busy. I have a headache, and I really don’t feel like chatting.”
“What’s wrong, Michael? And please don’t say nothing. I’m not stupid or thick, so I know damn well there is. If we’re done, please say so. Otherwise, an explanation would be nice.”
“Okay! So I’m tired, overworked, and I really do have a headache. Satisfied?”
“No, I’m not satisfied. Far from it. You’ve been pulling this overworked and overtired shit on me for weeks. It’s getting old. You don’t want to talk, you don’t want to go anywhere, and now you don’t even return my calls. All of which I take to mean you don’t want to see me. If this is your way of saying we’re over, then spit it out. I’m a big boy, Michael. I can take it. What I can’t take is living in limbo like this.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Drew. I don’t want us to break up. That’s the absolute last thing I want. If I did, I would have said.”
“Then prove it. I haven’t seen you in ages. Let’s get together for a drink. Either here at Jasper’s or I can come over there to you.”
“Sure, but can we please do it some other night?” I heard him suck in a deep breath. “I’m sorry. It’s not you. It’s me. I have a few problems. Things I need to deal with. I wouldn’t be very good company.”
“So what? I thought we were a couple.”
“We are.”
“Well, for your information, couples are supposed to share things—the good times, the bad times, and especially the problems. Or didn’t you read the memo?”
Michael’s soft chuckle sounded a tad strained. “Insistent bugger aren’t you?”
“I’ve been called worse, but I can live with that, too. I’ll see you shortly.”
* * *
Michael must have been watching for me because he was waiting at the door when I reached the top of the stairs.
Once we were inside the apartment, I heard “Meooow!” and Marmalade shot between Michael’s legs to greet me. I dropped my jacket on a chair, picked up the cat and snuggled his warm, furry body against my face.
“I think he missed me,” I said as Marmalade began pushing his cold, wet nose against my cheek. “I missed you, too, little buddy. Howya been?”
“What about me? I missed you, too.” Michael smiled as he closed the door, and I noticed his shoulder-length locks had been replaced with a short, sexy, spiky hairstyle that really suited him.
“I like the hair.”
“Me, too. I’d been meaning to get it cut for ages, then one day I came home and I found a bunch of discount coupons under my door. One was for a new men’s salon offering half-price on everything as an opening special, so I figured why not?”
Taking possession of the cat, he gently placed Marmalade on the floor. He then put his arms around me, hugged me hard and kissed me on the mouth. “I really have missed you.”
I hugged him back. “Whose fault is that? You’re the one who hasn’t been returning calls,” I muttered as he began nuzzling my lips. “And you’ve been off for weeks.”
He gave a soft chuckle. “Off? You mean as in moldy, inedible, unusable, and past my ‘best by date’?”
“Also as in sour, moody, distant and unreachable.” I grasped his shoulders and pulled back far enough so I could look him straight in the eye. “What’s going on, lover? It’s not my imagination, and don’t insult my intelligence by saying it’s nothing.”
Michael pulled me close again and began massaging my ass. A guaranteed way to divert the conversation by turning me on. Or so he hoped.
I admit his magic touch was having the intended effect, but I refused to let myself become totally distracted. We needed to settle this now before he managed to avoid the question by achieving his goal. “Hey. I’m waiting.”
He opened my pants and tried to slip a hand inside.
I pushed him away and took a half step back. “Please, Michael? Just tell me.”
“It’s nothing, honest. Like I said its only work.”
“I’d still like to hear the details. Right now I can’t decide if you’ve replaced me or contracted a terminal disease.”
He shrugged and tried for a smile that didn’t quite make it. “I may soon be out of a job.”
“Why? Something you did?”
“No. One of the larger publishing houses is trying to buy the house I work for. And if the deal goes through there’s a good chance they’ll shut us down and use it as a tax loss.”
“You know this for sure?”
“No
, but they’ve done it in the case of a couple of other small acquisitions. If the deal goes through I’d say it’s pretty much a given. The big guys taking over the little guys in any business is a way of cutting down on everything, including the competition. Everyone seems to be doing it these days. Small business is a thing of the past. It’s all international conglomerates, big box stores, supermarkets and online shopping. No wonder there are no jobs.”
“You’d have trouble finding another job in your field?”
“Probably. The fewer publishing houses there are the less editorial positions. And that’s not all the bad news.”
My stomach did one of those nasty flips like when you go to the dentist for a routine cleaning and he says you need a root canal. “Okay?”
He began to pace back and forth the length of the room. “My lease on this flat is up in a few weeks and the owner won’t be renewing. He can’t. Apparently, the building needs massive renovation and the authorities have deemed it unsafe. I should have seen it coming. I knew there were problems with the plumbing, and the electrics are all shot to hell, but I’d hoped we could muddle along for a while longer.”
“How many tenants are there?”
“The people on the floor above moved out in October, so there’s only me and the bookstore downstairs. We have until the end of January to find alternative accommodations.”
“So that gives us about six weeks to find something.”
Michael stopped pacing, raised his eyebrows and gave me an inquiring look. “And who do you suppose is going to rent to someone who is unemployed? I’ll tell you ...no one in their right mind.”
I sat on the sofa and stroked Marmalade’s silky fur. “I have secure employment, so that’s not a problem. We’ve talked about finding a place together and that’s what we’ll do. We’ll find somewhere for the three of us, and if you do lose your job, then we’ll be fine until you get yourself resettled.”
“I don’t need your charity, Drew. I can work something out for myself.”
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