Christmas at the Castle

by Marion Lennox

  ‘It is, too,’ his mother said thoughtfully. ‘I never thought of it, but...your father really was a frightful man. He had charm by the bucketload but he was emotionally empty.’

  ‘I know that.’

  ‘So this Holly...’

  ‘She’s not emotionally empty.’

  ‘And you?’ his mother demanded. ‘I’ve often thought...’

  ‘That I’m emotionally empty?’ Angus demanded, remembering all those accusations that had hurt so much. But then he thought that maybe he had been. If so, it was from years of practice, though, and years of training. Head, not heart.

  But now wasn’t the time to recall the past. Now was simply the time for saying it like it was.

  ‘When Holly’s around all I seem to feel is emotion,’ he said simply. ‘Mom, the ring thing...we did it to persuade Delia to let her kids come here for Christmas. Holly’s my pretend fiancée, but I’m hoping...well, you know what I’m hoping. Come and meet her and see why.’

  ‘I’m coming,’ his mother said. ‘I’m on my way!’

  CHAPTER TEN

  HOLLY AND HER grandmother had planned a Christmas that would live in the memory of those present for ever.

  It started at dawn. The great bell attached to the castle chapel pealed all over the valley. The chapel hadn’t been used—who knew?—maybe for centuries. Stunned, Angus grabbed a robe and headed out there—and found Holly swinging from a bell rope.

  He’d been in this chapel just once on his first tour of inspection. The windows had been boarded up, the place was full of cobwebs and he’d taken one look and backed out.

  But now someone had taken the boards from the windows, someone had stripped the cobwebs, someone had dusted and polished.

  The tiny chapel was exquisite. The first weak rays of morning sun were shimmering through ancient stained glass. The pews were polished, the flagstones scrubbed and a massive bouquet of wild foliage stood on the altar.

  And, above the nave, a girl in crimson pyjamas was pulling the bell rope for all she was worth. It was so high she almost lost her footing as the bell swung to its extremities. She was swinging with it, flushed, beaming—a ridiculous, red-headed urchin with her eyes full of mischief.

  ‘Merry Christmas,’ she gasped as she saw him. ‘I thought this was the best way to get you up. There’s egg nog and pancakes, and porridge for Dougal, and even pavlova because Mary said that’s Delia’s favourite food and I want her to eat something for breakfast. A week out of hospital and she’s still as weak as a kitten. I’m so glad we have two nurses. But Angus, it’s going to be a huge day and if I don’t get breakfast into you all soon it’ll be time for Christmas dinner and think of the waste! So up an’ at ’em, Castle Craigie.’

  She hauled the rope again and the force of the great brass bell almost lifted her off her feet.

  She was irresistible. He wanted to walk forward and take her into his arms. Instead he walked forward, caught the rope and took over the pulling. ‘You’ll wake the entire valley!’ he said but he kept pulling. The great booming chimes were echoing all around them. Christmas, here, now, they said—and something else. The pealing in of a new chapter of his life?

  Including Holly?

  ‘Excellent,’ she said and plumped down on the nearest pew, giving weight to his new realisation that bell-pulling was harder than it looked. ‘Santa believers will be up anyway and if you don’t believe in Santa, you should.’

  ‘Why did you clean the chapel?’

  ‘We wanted to. Your mother and I did it yesterday when you took the kids out sledding. She remembered it. She says she used to come here and sit when she was at her loneliest. We snuggled Delia up in cushions and rugs and she supervised.’

  ‘My mother and Delia...’

  ‘Apparently Delia was a scared housemaid when your Mom was here. Now they seem the best of friends. Your Mom even approves of me giving her the ring.’

  She did. What was happening here was truly astonishing. Helen had arrived ready to be appalled, but no one could be appalled for long in the Holly-and-Maggie Christmas Castle. They’d transformed it and those who arrived were sucked right in. The Castle was almost full. Dougal was here with his nurses—and with Scruffy-Mac permanently glued to his knee. Delia was here with her astounded mother. The kids and Melly the cat were here, whooping, whooping, whooping, filling the Castle with their life and laughter. Teasing Angus. Being bossed by Holly. Making this place a family home.

  As his mother had walked into the Castle, Holly had swooped on her with joy. ‘You must be Helen. We are so, so happy that you’ve decided to come. I need to tell you before you come an inch further in that I’ve given away your ring, but please don’t hate me.’

  Any reservations Helen might have held had died right then. She’d been given the old Earl’s room but Holly and Maggie had redecorated in a fashion that took her breath away. She’d come down to dinner that night in her customary elegant black but Polly and Mary had looked at her in astonishment.

  ‘Why are you wearing a black dress?’ Polly had demanded, ten years old and obviously not one to keep her feelings to herself. ‘Everyone’s pretty except you. Okay, Maggie wears black but only when she’s being boss of the world as Castle Housekeeper. She wears pretty at night.’

  Maggie had choked on her champagne and there’d been general laughter. His mother had smiled it off too, but, to Angus’s astonishment, she’d made him take her into Edinburgh the next day. She also rejected the twinset and pearl place. She’d come back with colours.

  His mother had been wearing colours for six days now, not quite as vibrant as Holly’s but almost, and Angus, who couldn’t remember his mother wearing colour ever in his life, was astounded every time he looked at her.

  It was down to Holly. His miracle-maker.

  He tugged the bell while she got her breath back, the great bell rose and fell, rose and fell; he looked down at the girl at his feet...

  ‘I didn’t buy you a diamond for Christmas,’ he said before he could stop himself, before he could even think that this was hardly the place, hardly the time. ‘But I wanted to. I still want to. Holly, I’m laying ghosts all over the place and, employer or not, I can’t wait. As soon as the shops open after Christmas, can I take you in and make it official? Holly, I know I hired you as my temporary fiancée, but the position’s now been declared permanent.’

  She didn’t reply. Maybe she couldn’t because the bell was still ringing out and it seemed vitally important that it keep ringing. Maybe he was afraid that if he stopped there’d be silence, and into that silence would come refusal.

  ‘You’re pretty amazing,’ she said at last between peals and he paused and there was a hiccup in the ringing but she shook her head. ‘No. Not everyone’s up yet. Keep pulling.’

  ‘I believe,’ he said between pulls, ‘that I’ve just proposed. I think I need to go down on bended knee.’

  ‘Don’t do that.’

  ‘Holly...’

  ‘Yeah, I know you want to,’ she said, almost thoughtful. ‘It’s dumb. This feeling between us...it’s like a spell. Neither of us thinks it’s sensible...’

  ‘Why isn’t it sensible?’

  ‘Well, I’m broken-hearted for one,’ she said, and he had to strain to hear above the peals. ‘Practically jilted at the altar and robbed of all my worldly goods as well as my pride. If I said yes now it’d be on the rebound.’

  ‘Would it?’

  ‘I think so,’ she said cautiously, and it was too much; he released the bell rope and the great bell slowly swayed to silence. He sat down on the pew beside her and she turned to face him. She looked...puzzled. Was puzzled how a woman was supposed to look after a proposal of marriage?

  ‘I’m scared,’ she said but she didn’t look scared at all.

  ‘Why?’

 
‘Because I don’t trust myself? Because this feels like a Cinderella story? Because I’ve made one ghastly mistake already—and I knew Geoff for years before I agreed to marry him, so how can I fall for you in two weeks? My parents died and I felt...empty. When Geoff left I copped that emptiness all over again and how can I expose myself to that sort of hurt again?’

  ‘I wouldn’t...’

  ‘I don’t know you wouldn’t,’ she said inexorably. ‘What do I know about you other than you had a fiancée once you hate to talk about and you’re scared you might be like your father?’

  Those qualms were reasonable. He could answer them—except the last.

  The last made him feel ill.

  ‘I was engaged to Louise when I was twenty-one,’ he said. ‘She was after a rich husband. I was young and dumb. I was humiliated to the core, which is why I don’t talk about it, but Holly, a love affair at twenty-one might just possibly be classified as irrelevant now. But for the rest... If you think I might possibly, remotely be like my father then you should run a mile. But it’s irrelevant, too. I’m not the Lord of this castle. It’s not who I am. I’m selling and running.’

  ‘It’s not just the Lord thing.’

  ‘I think it is,’ he said roughly. ‘Every one of the long line of title-holders has lived in this place and lorded it over their minions. I’m going back to New York, Holly. I’m renouncing the title and all it entails. I’m going back to who I was before my father died, and I want, very, very badly, to take you with me.’

  ‘You can’t go back to who you were before your father died,’ she said, still looking puzzled. ‘You’re different. Like me... I’m a whole different woman to the woman Geoff dumped. I doubt myself now.’

  ‘Don’t doubt me,’ he said, strongly now, taking her hands in his and holding. ‘Holly, I don’t have doubts. I know it’s fast, but you’re wonderful. More than wonderful. Marry me and come and live in Manhattan. Bring Maggie if you like. I’ll set you up in a restaurant. You’d be amazing—Manhattan would love you.’

  ‘Have you been into my egg nog?’ she demanded. ‘I know I have. I had to get up and make it so of course I’ve tried it while I was stuffing the turkey. So now I’m sitting in an ancient chapel in red pyjamas and I’ve had two lovely swigs of egg nog and you’re here making too-much-egg-noggy statements. Angus, this is crazy.’

  ‘This is true.’

  ‘No. It’s nuts. And I’m cold,’ she said inconsequentially and she shivered to prove it.

  He started to haul off his robe but she stood and backed away.

  ‘Cold feet,’ she said, but he looked down and saw her gorgeous thick furry boots, courtesy of her finally located luggage.

  ‘Figuratively,’ she said. ‘Inside, I’m all a wobble.’

  ‘Does that mean you’re turning me down?’

  ‘Not...’ Still that puzzle remained on her face. ‘Not yet. Not today. But I’m not saying yes, either.’

  ‘Holly, I am not my father,’ he said steadily. ‘I swear. We will leave this castle behind.’

  ‘What your father was about was never about the castle.’

  ‘I think it was. My mother’s here making a pretence at keeping cheerful but I see her staring at these walls and I see her shudder. The ghosts here could never let us be happy. Besides,’ he said, smiling, ‘Manhattan’s warmer. Anywhere’s warmer than Scotland in winter.’

  ‘So it is, but Scotland in winter’s where we are and where you’re proposing,’ she said. ‘And it’s where I need to make up my mind. But if I’m not to serve breakfast in red pyjamas then I need to run. You’ve employed me as a chef as well as a fiancée, Lord Angus, so now I need to put my chef hat on and let Christmas run its course.’

  * * *

  He’d never had such a Christmas. Even the surly Stanley was seen to smile. Holly and Maggie had woven Christmas magic, and if the new owner of the estate turned out to be someone who’d raze the castle and turn it into a golf resort then so be it, the castle was going out in style.

  There was so much food—magnificent food. Everyone was groaning by mid-morning but still fronting up for Christmas dinner and then still staggering to the tea table.

  Angus felt weird but fantastic, Lord of all he surveyed, head of a sort-of-family that he’d never known existed. At Holly’s insistence, he stood at the head of the table feeling almost out of body, carving a turkey that looked as if it had been on steroids. How had Holly managed this? For a start, how had she managed to find such a turkey, because she swore—to the always-enquiring Mary—that it was both free range and organically farmed.

  Not that Mary would have suffered if she hadn’t been able to eat turkey. The vast table was almost groaning, and Angus looked around at his strange mix of assorted guests and tried to figure how Holly could have them all mixing, laughing and happy.

  Because that was what they were, right down to Scruffy-cum-Mac and Melly the cat.

  There was Christmas music all around them. Ben was apparently a techno whizz and Holly had put his talents to use, even if as a self-respecting adolescent Ben thought woofers and sub woofers and associated coolness were wasted on Jingle Bells. His pay-off was that every fourth song was one of the ones he’d been recording with his mates.

  There were games inside and out, and there were gifts for everyone.

  Angus hadn’t thought of gifts—or he had but Holly had just groaned when he’d mentioned it on Christmas Eve and chuckled and said, ‘Thank heaven the world doesn’t depend on men to keep it running.’ The gifts were small but awesome—dumb games, movies of old comic-book characters. And cup cakes, individually designed, each an exquisite work of art personally designed for the recipient. Even Stanley got a kick out of his, a cup cake with a clever construct of Stanley with his ancient tweed cap and his great hook nose somehow softened to make him look fun.

  Holly...

  Holly.

  When had he fallen in love with her? he wondered as the day wore on and he watched the life and laughter surrounding her. When had she bewitched him? For bewitched he was. She might still have reservations, but he had none. If she’d accept him, he wanted this woman with him for the rest of his life.

  He thought of his life in Manhattan, as it had been and as it could be. This joy and laughter for ever. Was it greedy to want it to start now?

  Maybe he shouldn’t have asked her this morning. Maybe he’d rushed it.

  No matter. He’d just keep asking. She’d lose her scruples the moment he got her out of this castle, with all its memories. This place was nothing to do with him. His father’s history was nothing to do with him. Without this castle, she could fall in love...

  Patience. Time.

  ‘Oi. We’re going outside to make snow angels and then we’re taking plastic bags up the hill and riding down. You want to come or you want to stand daydreaming into the fire all day?’

  It was Holly—of course it was Holly—bundled up like a snow bunny, her cheeks already glowing in anticipation of the cold.

  Merry Christmas, Holly, he said silently to himself as he shrugged on his coat and prepared to follow Holly and the whooping kids. ‘Every Christmas will be merry now that I’ve found you.’

  * * *

  Take your time, she told herself. Don’t let yourself believe you’ve fallen in love. He’s rushing you. He wants to marry you before he even knows you.

  But... There were two Holly voices in this conversation, each as strong as the other. But he’s heart-stoppingly gorgeous. He’d kind, he’s gentle, he’s rich...

  Since when was rich important?

  If all other things are equal, rich is very handy, thank you very much. It’d be soooo nice to be out of debt.

  You’d let him pay your debts?

  I might.

  That’s immoral.

  So I have an
immoral streak. Get over it.

  This internal conversation was doing her head in. She should be concentrating on steering her plastic bag but, try as she might, the plastic bag took her exactly where it wanted. Soft snow was mounded at the bottom of the run; she knew she’d end up buried so she might as well chat as she went.

  You’ve fallen in love; you know you have.

  And that’s why it’s so important to keep your head. Otherwise you’ll end up as a kept woman in some Manhattan apartment and you’ll be in as big a mess as his mother was.

  He says Maggie can come too. That’s hardly the action of a man intent on isolating his lover.

  Yes, but that’s a con. Take Maggie away from her beloved Scotland? He knows she’d never leave.

  So what will she do?

  What will you do?

  Whumff! She hit the snow bank head-on, and in she went, buried to her ears in soft snow. The kids, who’d learned quickly the skill of hauling back on their bags to avoid the ignominy of burial, hooted with laughter, but a gorgeous man in a kilt strode across, reached out his hands and hauled her out.

  She came up too fast. She was too close.

  She was breathing far too hard.

  ‘You’re a very bad driver, Ms McIntosh,’ he told her, smiling down at her with that smile that made her toes curl.

  ‘I’m bad at lots of things,’ she managed, now totally breathless.

  ‘You’ll fit in fine in Manhattan. Wait and see.’

  ‘No, you wait and see,’ she retorted. ‘Angus...’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Just wait and see. Please.’

  * * *

  She couldn’t sleep. It had been the most wonderful Christmas of her life. She’d worked harder than she ever had, she’d played harder, she’d put more thought into gifts, she’d worried more about who was enjoying themselves, she’d set herself a target of sending everyone to bed happy and she thought she’d succeeded. Old Dougal had gripped her hands before his Christmas-sated nurse had helped him to bed and said, ‘I don’t even mind going back to that place now. I’ll remember this forever.’