Table of Contents
Christmas with the Book Lovers
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
A Note from the Author
About the Author
Also by Victoria Connelly
Christmas with the Book Lovers
Victoria Connelly
Cuthland Press
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Victoria Connelly asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
Cover design by J D Smith.
Published by Cuthland Press
in association with Notting Hill Press.
Copyright © 2017 Victoria Connelly
All rights reserved.
A very Merry Christmas to all my readers!
Contents
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
A Note from the Author
About the Author
Also by Victoria Connelly
Acknowledgements
Thank you to Ellie Mead for lending me her wonderful M R James editions and to Robert Lloyd Parry for his marvellous M R James performances.
1
When Callie Logan met and fell in love with Sam Nightingale she’d had no idea that she’d be welcomed into his family so wholeheartedly. As an only child, with parents who always seemed rather surprised by her presence, it was a unique experience to be made welcome each Sunday for lunch by his parents, grandparents, brother and three sisters. She took part in their conversations and joined them on their rambling country walks with the family dogs and truly felt like an honorary member of the family when she became the butt of one of Josh’s jokes.
Wrapping Sam’s Christmas present now, she felt so lucky to be a part of life with the Nightingales. It amazed her that she’d only known Sam since September, and how she counted her blessings that she’d walked into his bookshop that day and been caught sniffing one of his books. It had been a little joke between them ever since.
‘Of all the books in all the bookshops in all the world, she came and sniffed mine,’ he’d tease. She loved that.
Sealing the wrapping paper and writing the label, she smiled. This, she thought, was the perfect present. She’d known the instant she’d seen it on the shelf of the tiny bookshop in the backstreets of Cambridge. Her eyes had watered at the price but it was a first edition. A first edition of a very special book. She’d simply had to buy it and she couldn’t wait to see Sam’s face when he unwrapped it.
She’d been a little tempted to keep it herself, she had to admit. Indeed, she’d placed it on her shelf of beloved hardbacks just to see what it looked like. But wasn’t that the test of a really good gift? If it truly hurt you to give it away then you knew that it was a good present.
She’d chosen some beautiful cream and gold paper which complemented the old cloth cover and its buttery-white pages, and had placed acid-free tissue paper around it first. She’d never felt so excited to give a present in her life.
She looked out of the living room window of Owl Cottage. The Suffolk countryside was locked down under a layer of frost, the ground had hardened to iron and the air was filled with the delicious scent of wood smoke from the cottage chimneys that jostled around the green at Newton St Clare.
Sam was picking her up in a few minutes and they were off to spend Christmas Eve at his parents’ home, Campion House. Christmas was always a special time at the Nightingales’, Sam had told her, and Callie couldn’t wait to experience it. She’d finished writing the latest chapter of her new children’s novel that morning and was now ready to embrace Christmas full on.
And there he was. Callie waved a hand in excitement as Sam pulled up outside her cottage. A moment later, after checking her blonde hair was neat and tidy, she opened the door to him and they kissed – a long, loving kiss that lingered like a beautiful dream.
‘You ready for the onslaught?’ he asked, his warm brown eyes gazing down into hers from behind his glasses.
‘Absolutely ready.’
‘Are you sure? You’ve not seen my family once the mulled wine starts to flow.’
‘I’m sure they’re delightful.’
‘I’ll remind you of that when Grandpa Joe gets up on the coffee table and starts singing bawdy songs!’
Callie laughed. ‘I’m looking forward to it.’ She put her coat on and grabbed the bag that contained her present for Sam and the box of homemade goodies from a local farm shop which she’d bought for his family.
They drove through the country lanes which were mud-splattered and full of potholes, but so very beautiful with their berry-bright hedgerows and views across the ploughed fields. A hare ran across the road in front of them and a dizzy pheasant almost got himself run over as they turned a corner.
‘Did you ring your parents?’ Sam asked.
‘Yes.’
‘And?’
‘The usual,’ she told him. ‘They’re not doing much and they didn’t ask me what I was doing.’
‘Really?’
Callie nodded.
‘I can’t believe they didn’t invite you to spend Christmas with them. I mean we’re happy that they didn’t, of course, because it means we get you for Christmas. But it’s a bit odd, don’t you think?’
‘It’s hard to say,’ Callie confessed. ‘I grew up with odd, so it seems normal.’
Sam reached out a hand and squeezed her gloved ones.
‘I remember sneaking downstairs one Christmas Eve,’ she told him. ‘I must have been about six or seven. My parents were in the front room. We had a little tree that year. We didn’t always have one. I think they stopped buying them once I went to high school. Anyway the tree lights were on and I could see them sparkling through the door which had been left open a little. And I could hear Mum and Dad talking and the unmistakable sound of Sellotape being ripped and I knew they were wrapping my presents. Or rather present.’
‘Present? You mean just one?’
‘Yes, I heard Mum say, “One present is adequate. We don’t want to spoil the girl.”’
‘You’re kidding?’
Callie shook her head. ‘And Dad murmured something in agreement.’
Sam looked shocked by her story and she smiled at him. ‘I hope it was a good present,’ he said.
‘It was a doll.’
‘A doll that you wanted?’
She sighed. ‘Not really. But she was the biggest seller that year and was in all the shops. I guess it was an easy present to get.’
‘And what did you want?’
‘A different doll. A friend of mine had this other doll. She wasn’t as well known as the famous doll in all the shops. Her hair wasn’t as bright and her clothes weren’t as fancy but I liked her better. She had a sweeter face.’
‘So your parents never asked you what you wanted?’
‘They never asked and I never dared tell them.’
‘You never wrote a letter to Santa?’
‘Oh, no! They told me quite plainly that he didn’t exis
t.’
‘No way! You grew up without Santa Claus?’
‘And the tooth fairy. They said they didn’t want my head full of nonsense.’
‘Perhaps that’s why you became a children’s writer,’ he said. ‘Rebellion.’
Callie laughed. ‘Yes. I spent years secretly reading fairy tales and then started writing my own.’
Sam shook his head. ‘I don’t know how you survived such a childhood. It couldn’t have been much fun. Being on your own as well.’
Callie looked out of the window as they passed a row of thatched cottages, their windows twinkling with Christmas lights.
‘It’s funny but I never felt lonely. I read a lot and I guess all those fictional characters kept me company.’
‘Your childhood made you the writer you are today.’
‘Exactly,’ Callie said, ‘so I can’t exactly be cross or sad about it, can I?’
Sam smiled. ‘You’re amazing,’ he told her. ‘You see the positive in everything.’
‘Well, I’m feeling very positive today,’ she told him. ‘I’ve been looking forward to Christmas with your family.’
‘Good.’
‘So, tell me about your Christmases,’ she said, eager to turn the attention away from herself.
Sam took a deep breath. ‘Well, after a special Christmas Eve tea, we all sit around the fire in the living room and take it in turns to read all those wonderful old Victorian ghost stories by the likes of M R James, Sheridan le Fanu and W W Jacobs. Sometimes we dip our noses into a bit of Bram Stoker or Mary Shelley, choosing the spookiest passages.’ Sam gave a laugh.
‘What?’
‘I was just remembering – we have to finish with something lighter like Charles Dickens. Mum and Bryony always complain that the dark stuff gives them nightmares. Bry says, “I can’t go to bed with Dracula’s fingernails or that monkey’s paw in my head!”’
They both laughed.
‘And you read out loud?’ she asked.
‘Of course.’
‘It must be really special to read to one’s family like that. To all gather around and share stories.’
‘There’s no getting away from it in our family,’ he confessed. ‘We all went through that awkward teenager stage where we’d rather have been doing our own thing, usually involving a computer, but Mum and Dad would drag us into the front room and force feed us fine literature.’
‘I bet you’re glad they did now.’
‘I guess I didn’t really mind at the time either. I gained so much from it. There are so many wonderful passages I remember by heart because of reading them aloud. Take the opening from Sheridan le Fanu’s The Dead Sexton: “The sunsets were red, the nights were long, and the weather pleasantly frosty”.’
‘Ooooh, gorgeous!’
‘Isn’t it? I love the rhythm of that sentence. You’d be able to enjoy it reading it in your own head, but there’s far more joy by reading it aloud.’
‘That’s one of the things I wish I could enjoy more as an author,’ Callie said, ‘reading aloud. I’m always asked to do it for audiences and I get so nervous.’
‘You just need to practise,’ Sam told her.
‘Maybe,’ Callie replied, ‘but I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to shake that awful knot-in-the-stomach feeling when I have to do something like that.’
Sam slowed the car down and turned into the driveway of Campion House. The Georgian home looked splendid with each of the sash windows glowing with lights, and a large evergreen wreath hanging on the front door tied by a red ribbon.
‘Take a deep breath and, with any luck, you’ll emerge alive in a few hours,’ Sam said, giving her cheek a kiss before they got out of the car and knocked on the door.
They didn’t have to wait long. The door opened to Sam’s mother’s warm smile and the sound of excited dogs barking from the depths of the house.
‘Sammy! Callie, darling!’ Eleanor chorused, ushering them inside. She was wearing a pretty red cowl neck jumper and her dark hair was swept up and held with a diamante pin. ‘Come on in out of the cold. Hasn’t it turned bitter? I took the dogs out this morning and I swear my fingers turned blue.’
‘I’ve just had an extra pile of logs delivered,’ Callie said. ‘I thought I could get away with buying the odd bag from the local garage.’
‘Says someone who’s never spent a winter in the country,’ Sam laughed.
‘I’ll have you know that I’ve spent plenty of winters in the country, only we never had a wood burner and I didn’t realise how greedy they were,’ Callie explained as she took off her boots and Sam helped her with her coat.
‘But there’s nothing like a real fire, is there?’ Eleanor said, linking arms with Callie. ‘Come and sit by ours. The living room’s lovely and toasty.’
Carrying her bag of presents with her, Callie gasped as she entered the room. The large Christmas tree – which was easily eight foot in height – sparkled in the far corner, its decorations a pleasing mix of traditional colours: silver, gold, green and red. Underneath lay heaps of beautifully wrapped presents, all tied with silky ribbons and glittery bows.
As Eleanor had promised, a fire blazed, instantly warming Callie, and lamps glowed around the room giving it a cosy, intimate feel, perfect for storytelling, she thought. She couldn’t imagine a place she’d rather be.
‘Where is everybody?’ Sam asked as he followed them into the living room and walked over to the fire to warm his hands.
‘In the kitchen stealing mince pies,’ Eleanor said. ‘I’d better go and rescue a few so there’s some left for you two. Have a seat, now, and I’ll get you a cuppa.’
‘Not opened the mulled wine yet?’ Sam asked.
Eleanor tutted. ‘Tea first. Wine later.’ She left the room and Sam pulled Callie into his arms.
‘Careful! Don’t crush the presents.’
‘What have you got in that bag of yours?’ Sam asked, trying to peer inside.
‘You’ll have to wait and see,’ she told him, leaving the warmth of his embrace to place her presents under the tree.
‘Hmmmm,’ he said, going to take a look. ‘Would that be a book?’
‘Sam Nightingale! You wouldn’t be the sort to spoil a present now, would you?’
He held his hands up. ‘Not going anywhere near it,’ he said with a chuckle. ‘At least, not until you’re out of the room.’
She gave him a warning glance.
‘It’s all so beautiful,’ she said. ‘I’ve never seen such a big tree in a home before.’
‘Mum loves Christmas. Dad too. They go and pick the tree together and Mum and Grandma spend hours decorating it together. We all used to – not just the girls either. Even Josh and I would get to choose some baubles to put on the branches.’
‘SAM?’ Eleanor’s voice called through from the kitchen. ‘Come and grab a mince pie mince pies before Josh eats them all!’
Sam laughed and they both went to rescue their treats.
After a tea in the dining room which included cinnamon scones oozing with butter, mince pies and copious cups of tea during which everybody talked themselves hoarse, they all gathered around the fireplace in the living room. Callie looked at the glowing faces of the Nightingale family. There was Grandpa Joe and Grandma Nell sitting in the upright armchairs which had been pulled closer to the fire. Callie had to confess to having a soft spot for Grandpa Joe. He’d been instrumental in bringing her and Sam together and she would always feel a huge debt of gratitude towards him.
Sam’s parents, Frank and Eleanor, were sitting on the smaller sofa, holding hands and laughing about something. Josh, Sam’s younger brother, was sitting next to them, texting something on his phone, his face earnest.
Callie and Sam were sitting on the large sofa along with Polly. Archie, Polly’s son, was round a friend’s house. He was too young for their ghost stories, Polly told her as she’d refastened her long dark hair with a tortoiseshell clip. No doubt he’d join in soon enough, though, Calli
e thought. It seemed you couldn’t be a Nightingale without reading your fair share of ghost stories around the fire at Christmas.
Bryony, the middle sister, who ran the children’s bookshop in Castle Clare, was sitting on a large cushion on the floor in front of the fire. She was wearing a long, silver scarf around her neck which caught the light, giving her an ethereal look. Callie adored the way Bryony dressed – she was all floaty fabrics and bold colours.
Beside Bryony was Lara, the youngest Nightingale, home from university. She was sitting cross-legged on the carpet, her long curly hair tumbling over her shoulders and her face full of smiling mischief as she told Bryony all about her latest boyfriend.
‘Right, then!’ Frank’s voice boomed through the chatter. ‘Who’s up first?’ He looked around the room. ‘Come on. Let’s have a taker!’
Eleanor caught Callie’s eye. ‘They’re always a bit nervous before the first glass of mulled wine,’ she told her guest.
‘I’ll go,’ Josh said with the authority of a teacher taking charge of a classroom.
‘And what have you chosen?’
‘My favourite M R James,’ he said. ‘A Warning to the Curious.’
There was a murmur of approval around the room.
‘Do you know it, Callie?’ Josh asked her.
‘I don’t,’ she confessed, feeling her cheeks flush as the Nightingale clan stared at her. ‘I mean, I know a little about M R James, but I’ve never read him.’
‘Never read...’ Frank began, only to have his wrist slapped by Eleanor in warning. ‘But he’s one of East Anglia’s most celebrated writers.’
‘Oh, I know,’ Callie said, ‘and I promise I’ll rectify that really soon.’
‘Well, you’re in for a treat,’ Josh told her, ‘because this is James at his best.’
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