Christmas With the Laird

by Scarlet Wilson

  “What’s square slice sausage? And sausage shouldn’t be square.”

  He winked at her. “That’s in the fridge for tomorrow’s breakfast. Another Scottish delicacy. Don’t say I don’t introduce you to all the highlights of Scotland.”

  She sipped her tea and turned towards the box on the floor next to her. She flipped open the cardboard flaps. “The smell from that tree is filling the whole room – probably the whole house. I’ve never had a real Christmas tree before. I didn’t realise they smelled so good.”

  He took a deep breath and she saw something flit across his eyes. She had to keep reminding herself how many memories this must be evoking for him.

  Inside the cardboard box was a whole host of wrapped up tissue paper. She lifted out the first one and pulled back the paper. A clear glass bauble with a little snow scene inside looked at her. It was obviously old, but it was so intricate it made her gasp. “This is beautiful.” She held it up in front of the fire. “Wow, Andrew. I’ve never seen a Christmas decoration like this. How on earth did they make it?”

  Silence.

  After a few seconds, his hand reached over and took the dangling bauble from her fingers. He was caught in something, some memory of a different time and place. She didn’t speak, didn’t break his moment. Was his hand trembling a little?

  Finally, his face broke into a half-smile. “I haven’t seen these in such a long time. My mother collected them.” He leaned over and looked into the box. “Some of them might be broken. They are incredibly fragile. She used to buy a few every year from some specialist shop in Edinburgh. He put different little scenes in every one.” The sad smile widened. “Douglas and I were never allowed to touch them. We were typical boys – too rough and too clumsy.”

  She sat the snow-scene bauble on the rug and unwrapped the next one. This time the glass was red instead of clear with a little pile of multi-coloured parcels inside. “This one is gorgeous too.” She spun it around. “These are so much nicer than the modern decorations. No wonder your mother wrapped them up so safely.”

  Andrew reached over and took one from the box, unwrapping it and holding it up too. “I’d forgotten what some of these were like.” It dangled on the thin gold strand from his fingers. “This was mine – the one with the Christmas train inside. Douglas’s should be there too. Our mum gave us the chance one year to choose one in the shop. His was green with Santa’s sleigh inside.”

  There was such a sad tinge about his words. Memories of Christmases gone by. As they unwrapped each glass bauble, a whole village scene was revealed, along with Rudolph and Christmas elves. When they’d finally finished, there were around forty precious glass baubles sitting on the rug in front of them.

  Andrew looked over at the bare branches of the tree. “I guess we should hang them up.”

  “Of course we should.” Juliette stood up, “No. Wait. There’s something else.” She walked over to the corner and picked up the tree lights. “Shouldn’t we put these on first?”

  “Where did you get them?”

  “From the man that’s probably secretly Santa in the village.”

  A frown laced across Andrew’s brow. “Bert?” A look of realisation came over his face and he threw back his head and laughed. “You think he’s Santa Claus?”

  “Oh, come on, Andrew. I’m in the middle of a TV movie here. “The butcher? Rudy? Well, he’s got to be Rudolph. As for Mrs McGregor, I’m pegging her as Mrs Claus. And if Bert King doesn’t climb on to his roof at midnight tonight and take off in his sleigh then I’ll eat my hat.” She raised her eyebrows at him, “Or your Christmas dinner.”

  He stood up next to her. He wasn’t just laughing a little, he was doubled over. “You’ve got to be joking.”

  “Why? It makes perfect sense.”

  “To a crazy person!”

  He reached out and grabbed her around the waist, pulling her closer. “You think I brought you up here to a secret Santa town?”

  Her hands rested on his bare forearms, the dark hairs on his arms tickling the palms of her hands. “I think you brought me up here for something.”

  Her voice had lowered. They were only inches from each other. But it felt good. It felt comfortable. Almost as if it were meant to be.

  “But what?” he whispered, his deep green eyes fixed on hers. Her head was spinning. She was tempted to open her mouth and start babbling. It was what she always did when she was nervous. Probably not the best trait in a TV presenter.

  The flickering flames were sending a warm glow over his skin. It looked inviting. As if it was just waiting to be touched. Her fingers itched to reach up and brush along the dark shadow on his chin.

  She hadn’t answered. She couldn’t answer because right now her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth. Everything all day had been leading up to this. It was inevitable. Almost written in the Christmas snow globe in her head. But she felt frozen.

  There had never been anything between them before. She’d just been dumped. Dumped and humiliated.

  Being in this house was obviously stirring up a whole host of ghosts for Andrew – and not the ones that were supposed to be there.

  She didn’t want to tilt her chin towards his, to lick her lips, just to find out later that this was all a mistake. This was all just a reaction of two people, in a set of circumstances that neither had expected.

  Maybe it was the fact she was still a little raw. Maybe it was the fact that she was feeling vulnerable.

  She wanted Andrew to be attracted to her. To want to kiss her. To want to be with her. She didn’t just want to be the nearest warm body to touch.

  She didn’t want to be a distraction from facing up to how he really felt about being back home.

  “Why did you buy lights for our tree?” His voice was husky, almost a whisper. He was as affected by their closeness as she was.

  Our tree.

  That’s what he’d said. A tiny wave of panic started to wash over her. This was too quick. This was too soon. She wasn’t ready.

  But her mouth was already open. “You said your decorations were old – hadn’t been used in years. I thought if you had any tree lights they’d be too old to use now.” She couldn’t pull herself back. She couldn’t bring herself to step back out of his arms. “Every Christmas tree should have lights. It’s part of the magic of Christmas.”

  His eyes cast downwards. What had she said that was so wrong?

  “You think Christmas is magic?”

  “I think Christmas is supposed to be magic. I think Christmas should be magic – for everyone.”

  But it was him that made the move, not her. His hands released their grasp on her waist, and he stepped backwards.

  He bent down and picked up the box with the tree lights, pulling them out and starting to unfurl them. “Maybe we should plug these in and check if they work before we put them on the tree?”

  Just like that.

  It was almost as if she’d imagined the last few minutes – they hadn’t really happened.

  Stepping away from the fire made her realise how cold the rest of the room still was. It was marginally better than a few days ago. It was unlikely that any drips from her nose would form icicles immediately. The chill from the air was gone – temperature-wise anyway. As for the other chill?

  Her body went into automatic pilot, taking the cable from his hand and bending down to plug it in, while her brain whirred constantly. It didn’t feel good to think that Andrew might have had the same doubts that she had. Those doubts were only viable when they were in her brain, not his. Should she feel insulted he’d stepped away?

  She flicked the switch and the lights turned on, flickering white in the semi-lit room. She walked to the main switch and put the overhead light out, plunging the room into darkness.

  There was something so different about a room filled with orange flames and white flickering Christmas lights. Almost magical – how ironic.

  She flicked the main light back on. “They seem to b
e working fine. Why don’t you put them on the tree and I’ll start with the glass baubles.” She picked up the one from the rug that she’d liked the best. Mr and Mrs Claus dressed in red suits. “I think we should do some filming tonight. I’ve prepared the script and it might be more atmospheric if we do it at night.”

  “I thought you wanted to prepare the food for Christmas day.”

  “You mean we wanted to prepare the food for Christmas day,” she corrected him quickly. No way was the Christmas dinner disaster being left to her. “We can peel the veg tonight. But as long as we prepare and put the turkey in the oven first thing tomorrow morning, we should manage everything else fine. I’ve already sorted out dessert.”

  She lifted another few glass baubles. “It’s not as if we have anything else to do, is there?”

  It was childish. It was ridiculous. But Andrew understood the barb perfectly. He smiled sweetly at her as he finished stringing the lights. “Why don’t you go and freshen up then, I’ll meet you at the bottom of the stairs in an hour.”

  Chapter Eight

  ‡

  Boy, she scrubbed up well. He’d always thought that about Juliette but as she stood in front of him now with her freshly washed blonde curls and her curvy red suit and heels, she was a knockout. Her makeup was a little more defined than usual and her full lips covered in a matching red lipstick. He didn’t even want to consider where she could leave those lipstick imprints.

  It was as if the gloves were off and he was free to finally admire Juliette Connolly in all her glory. Before, she’d been off limits. She’d been someone else’s girlfriend. Now, she was a free agent, and so was he. If only he didn’t have the shackles of this house weighing him down.

  He shouldn’t have moved earlier. He’d obviously offended her. And that hadn’t been his intention. But her words had resonated with him in a way he hadn’t expected. If they were back in London, he would feel free to act on the attraction between them.

  But here things were different.

  He seemed to have left all logic at the front door before he entered Garnock Hall. He should have come back before this. And he should have come alone.

  Being back here was throwing up a whole host of emotions that he should have dealt with years before. He’d made too many excuses not to come back. Work. Life. Love. His mother’s illness. And now, when he’d finally run out of excuses, there was Juliette.

  A couple of days ago this had seemed a perfect solution to an untenable situation. He didn’t care about the contract clause. If filming another episode was what it took to give injured Bailey’s parents some breathing space, then so be it.

  Any decent human being would do the same. His brain had thought this would be an easy, and almost practical solution. Maybe not for Juliette, but certainly for him.

  But he hadn’t expected to feel like this.

  He hadn’t expected to see a different childhood memory with every step he took. Games on the stairs. Hide and seek throughout the rooms. The green chair in the drawing room that his mother sat in, on the day of Douglas’s funeral. The smell of the tree in the house. Memories of happy Christmases filled with family. And now Juliette.

  On top of the overwhelming sensations of being back in the house, there was the whole Juliette effect. That’s what he’d started to call it in his brain. Even now some kind of strawberry smell was winding its way across the room towards him. It must be her shampoo.

  She was moving up and down the stairs as he tried to adjust the light so it was suitable for filming, the sway of her hips in that slim skirt stopping him from concentrating on the things he should be concentrating on.

  On one hand – the sooner he got this filming over with, the better. On the other? It would be a long, frosty night in a house with a woman he’d inadvertently offended.

  His father would have been disappointed in him. His mother would have been horrified. Douglas would have laughed.

  He finally focused and fixed the lights. There. Capturing her perfectly. Her curvy red figure, glossy hair and full red lips. “Ready, Juliette?”

  She gave him a little nod and he gave the three, two, one countdown with his fingers.

  Her professional face fell into place and she switched on her presenter charm as she stood at the top of the stairs.

  “For years there have been rumours of Garnock Hall being haunted. There have been reports of cold drafts, slamming doors, objects moving from place to place, and lots of suggestions of feeling a ‘presence’ in the building. But no one actually knows who is doing the haunting. I’ve spent some time going through the family records and come up with the three most likely suspects.” She turned and held out her hands. “So, Garnock Hall. Are you ready to reveal your secrets?” She shot her trademark killer smile at the camera.

  He’d watched Juliette through his camera for the last few years, but all of a sudden her perfect smile was doing things to his pulse. She stood in front of the portrait at the top of the stairs.

  “This portrait is over 200 years old and shows us Elizabeth Campbell, the wife of Robert Campbell who lived in Garnock Hall. The first thing you notice about this portrait is how sad she looks. According to records in Garnock Hall, she was twenty-eight when this was painted and already had two sons to Robert Campbell. Household records also show us that she lost another three children – two girls and a boy.”

  Juliette moved away from the portrait and stood at the top of the stairs as he continued to film. The colour of her suit lit up her face from the sombre surroundings. He was half-convinced that Juliette’s wardrobe was the reason most women watched the show.

  But it was her delivery that captured his attention. She’d done her research well. She didn’t need cue cards or prompts. Everything flowed from her lips as if she were a tour guide for the house and had done this job for years.

  He shifted the camera slightly. Lighting had proved to be a problem in Garnock Hall. He hadn’t really considered it beforehand, as everywhere else they went they had the proper equipment with them. He’d had to wire up two spotlights, one at the top of the stairs and one midway to try and project enough light for filming. Even then, it was still dark. But to be honest, it added to the atmosphere of the shots. She’d been right to suggest they film at night.

  “Elizabeth had been forced to marry Robert Campbell as part of a family dispute. The relationship between the two of them was known to be strained. In 1804, Robert Campbell’s cousin came to stay at the house. Rumour has it that Elizabeth and Hugh Campbell got on very well.” Juliette lowered her voice and nodded towards the camera. “Some might even say, their relationship was a little inappropriate.”

  “On the 17th of October, 1804 a furious fight erupted between husband and wife. Elizabeth had lost a baby only a few weeks before and was described by the family doctor as being overwrought. In the 1800s woman had no legal position in society. They were literally ‘owned’ by their husbands. If they were wealthy before marriage, they were stripped of their wealth and it was given to their husband. They had no right to vote, or to a proper career. Women were expected to bear children and keep house. It appears that Elizabeth Campbell wanted more from her life. It is reported that she argued furiously with her husband at the top of these stairs over his spending of her inheritance – on, allegedly – a prostitute. During the argument, she,” Juliette said, lifting her fingers and gesturing, “‘fell’ down the stairs.” The light flickered above her head for a second and her foot momentarily stumbled on the stairs. Her eyes shot up and gave Andrew a look. But Juliette, always the professional, continued, “The family doctor pronounced her dead later that night.”

  Her face remained serious. She should have been an actress. She had a real sense of drama.

  “Cut,” Andrew shouted.

  She frowned. “Darn it. We’ll need to do that again.”

  He shook his head. “No way. That was perfect. We couldn’t have planned that better if we’d tried. The fact the light flickered and you stumbled
on the stairs will have the audience on the edge of their seat. They’ll think it was deliberate. I’ll bet that even back at the office, they won’t believe it wasn’t deliberate.”

  The momentary flicker of annoyance disappeared from her face. “You’re sure?”

  “I’m positive. Do you need some time to prepare for the next segment?”

  She shook her head. “No, I’m ready now.” She looked down into the wide hall. “Do you need to move the lights again?”

  “No. The lighting’s better in the main hall. We can start when you’re ready.”

  She walked down the few steps in front of her. He couldn’t help it. He could only stare at her swaying hips in the well-fitted skirt. He could almost hear the voices of all his single friends echoing in his ear.

  This was crazy. He had to keep things professional. This might be his home but they were here to work – no matter what the time of year.

  If only that suit didn’t highlight her curves quite so much…or her red lipstick didn’t emphasise the cupid’s bow of her lips.

  She shifted on her heels. “Eh, Andrew? Are you ready?”

  “What? Yes, yes of course.” He positioned the camera on his shoulder and gave her the countdown.

  “Our second potential haunters are two brothers. The portrait in the main hall shows Angus and John Campbell – part of the original Campbell Clan, the Highland Regiment and the Jacobite rising. Their history dates from around 1750. Details are sketchy. But what isn’t sketchy are these.” Juliette pointed to the wood-panelled wall with deep gouges. “As the brothers chased each other through the house, no wall was left unscathed. Not even this portrait of them.” She moved closer to the oil painting, showing the two brothers in full battle dress, complete with kilts, swords and axes. For a portrait that was so old the red colour remained vibrant. As did the stern expressions on the brothers’ faces. She pointed to the slash mark on the portrait. “Unofficial reports say that the brothers were fighting over a woman. But we can’t find anything to verify this. Unfortunately both brothers died a few days after the fight from their wounds. In modern day terms, it’s likely they developed infections in their wounds and died from septicaemia.” Juliette walked through the house. “It’s suggested that they might be haunting the house due to reports of doors being thrown open one after the other.” She turned to the camera and raised her eyebrows, “What do you think?”