How long they would have stood there she had no idea, but there was a crash from the kitchen and she fled, her heart in her mouth.
She found Josh on the floor looking stunned, a biscuit in his hand, the wire rack teetering on the edge of the worktop and a chair lying on its side, and guilt flooded her yet again.
‘Is he all right?’
‘I think so.’ She gathered him up, and he clung to her like a little monkey, arms and legs wrapping round her as he burrowed into her shoulder and sobbed. ‘I think he’s probably just frightened himself.’
And her. And Sebastian, judging by the look on his face.
He reached out a hand and laid it gently on Josh’s back. ‘Are you OK, little guy? You’re really in the wars today, aren’t you?’
‘I’ve told him so many times not to climb on chairs.’
‘He’s a boy. They climb. I was covered in bruises from falling off or out of things until I was about seventeen. Then I started driving.’
She gave him a dry look. ‘Thanks. It’s really good to know what’s in store.’
He smiled at her over her son’s head, and this time it was a real smile. His soft chuckle filled the kitchen, warming her, and she sat down on the righted chair and hugged Josh and examined him for bumps and bruises and odd-shaped limbs.
Just a fright, she concluded, and a little egg on the side of his head, but that could have been from standing up under the desk.
‘Tea?’ Sebastian offered, and she nodded.
‘Tea sounds like a good idea. Thank you.’
‘Universal panacea, isn’t it? When all else fails, make tea.’
He put the kettle on and went back to his study to bring his mug and the uneaten biscuit, pausing for a moment to take a few deep breaths and slow his heart rate. He’d had no idea what they’d find, and the relief that Josh seemed to be OK was enormous.
Crazily enormous. Hell, the little kid was getting right under his skin—
He strode briskly back to the kitchen, stood his mug on the side of the Aga so it didn’t cool any more and made her a fresh mug.
‘How is he?’
‘He’s fine, aren’t you, Josh? It’s probably time he had a nap. I usually put him down after lunch for a little while. I might go up with him and read for a bit while he sleeps.’
He frowned as he analysed an unfamiliar emotion. Disappointment? Really? What was the matter with him?
‘Good idea. I’ll get on with my work, and then we’ll decorate the tree later.’
* * *
‘Mistletoe?’
He’d cut mistletoe, of all the things! Like that was really going to help—
‘I know, I know,’ he sighed shortly, ‘but it is Christmassy, and everything else was out of reach or too tough, and I could cut it with scissors, and I have no idea where the secateurs might be. I made sure it didn’t have berries on, either, in case Josh should try and eat them, because they’re poisonous. But there is one bit of holly—for the Christmas pudding.’
She tipped her head on one side and eyed him in disbelief, trying not to laugh. ‘The Christmas pudding?’
‘Absolutely. You have to have a bit of holly on fire in the middle of the Christmas pudding when it’s brought to the table. It’s the law.’
She suppressed a splutter of laughter. ‘Is that the same law that says that lights must be white? My, aren’t we traditional?’ she teased, but he just folded his arms and quirked a brow.
‘Absolutely. Christmas is Christmas. It has to be done properly. Have you got a problem with that?’
She smiled slowly. ‘Do you know what? You’ve got a good heart, Sebastian Corder, for all you’re as prickly as a hedgehog. And no, I don’t have a problem with that. Not at all.’
He cleared his throat. ‘Good. Right. So, what’s next?’ he asked, avoiding her eyes and fluffing up his prickles.
Still smiling, she handed him the boxes of stock cubes and a few other little things she’d found that could be wrapped, and they sat down at the table, gave Josh a piece of paper and a pencil to do a drawing, and made little parcels for the tree.
She’d snapped off some twigs from a shrub outside the sitting room window, and once the other parcels were done they made them into little bundles to dangle on the tree.
‘Finger,’ he demanded, and she put her finger on the knot and he tugged the gold ribbon tight, and made a loop to hang it by.
‘You’re good at this. You might have found your vocation.’
‘I have a vocation.’
‘What, making money?’
He sighed and put the little bundle of sticks down on the growing pile.
‘George—’
She raised her hands. ‘It’s OK, I’m sorry, cheap shot.’
‘Yes, it was. And I don’t just spend it all on myself. I employ a lot of people, and I support various charities and organisations—and I really don’t need to explain myself to you.’
She searched his eyes. ‘Maybe you do,’ she said softly. ‘Maybe you always did, instead of just rushing off and doing.’
‘Yeah, well, there’s been a lot of water under the bridge since then, and as you were kind enough to point out to me when I was asking about David, it’s actually none of your business. Now, are we going to finish this tree or not?’
He got to his feet, scooping the little parcels up in his big hands and heading out of the door. She grabbed the fir cones, ribbon and scissors and stood up. He was never going to change, never going to compromise. The word wasn’t even in his vocabulary.
‘Josh, come on, we’re going to decorate the tree,’ she told her son, and he wriggled down off the chair and followed her into the sitting room.
CHAPTER SIX
‘IT LOOKS GOOD.’
She put the baby monitor on the coffee table, sat down at the other end of the sofa and studied the tree with satisfaction.
Not exactly elegant, with its slightly squiffy little parcels and random bunches of twigs and soggy fir cones—well, the top half wasn’t so bad, although there were a few odd bits up there just to link it in so it didn’t look like a game of Consequences—but it looked like a proper, family Christmas tree.
And that brought a huge lump to her throat.
Josh had had so much fun putting all their home-made bits and pieces on there, and Sebastian hadn’t turned a hair when he’d pulled too hard and the whole tree had wobbled. He’d just got a bit of string and tied it to a hook on the beam above so it couldn’t fall.
‘It does look good,’ she said softly. ‘It looks lovely. Thank you.’
Sebastian turned his head and frowned slightly at her. ‘Why are you thanking me? You’ve helped me decorate my tree.’
‘And we’ve done it for my son, which has meant not being able to use all your lovely decorations and smothering the bottom of it in all sorts of weird home-made bits and pieces, which I’m perfectly sure wasn’t your intention, so—yes, thank you.’
The frown deepened for a moment, then cleared as he shook his head and looked back at the tree.
‘Actually, I rather like all the home-made things,’ he said after a moment, and she had to swallow the lump in her throat.
‘Especially the gingerbread trees and stars,’ she said, trying to lighten the moment. ‘And don’t think I haven’t noticed that every time you “accidentally” bump into the tree another one breaks so you get to eat it. Between you and Josh there are hardly any left.’
He grinned. ‘I don’t know what you mean. And if we’re running out, it’s your fault. I told y
ou to make plenty.’
She rolled her eyes and rested her head back against the sofa cushions with a lazy groan. ‘This is really comfortable,’ she mumbled.
‘It is. I love this room. I think it’s probably my favourite room in the whole house.’
Because they’d never made any plans for it? Maybe, she thought, considering it. Or had they? Hadn’t there been some mention of it being a playroom for all the hordes of children? But they hadn’t spent any significant time in it. Not like the bedroom. Maybe that made the difference.
Or maybe he just liked it.
She rolled her head towards him and changed the subject.
‘So, what’s the programme for tomorrow? Since you have such strong opinions on how it should be done...’
Another grin flashed across his face. ‘Cheeky.’ He hitched his leg up, resting his arm on the back of the sofa and propping his head on his hand so he was facing her, thoughtful now.
‘I think that probably depends on you and Josh. What are you going to do about presents for him? Are you going to wait until you’re with your parents?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t think so. He was really excited about the tree and he knows there will be presents under it because they had them at nursery, so I think there probably should be something for him to find tomorrow, otherwise it might be a bit of an anti-climax.’
‘You don’t think it will anyway, with just us and a few presents instead of a big family affair? Wouldn’t you rather wait?’
‘Do you think I should?’
He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. It’s up to you, but it makes me feel a bit awkward because there isn’t one from me, and it’ll look as if I don’t care and I’d hate him to think that, but obviously I haven’t got anything to give him. Either of you.’
She stared at him, unbearably touched that he should feel so strongly about it—and so wrongly. She reached out a hand to him, grasping his and squeezing it.
‘Oh, Sebastian. You’re giving us Christmas! How much more could we possibly ask? You’ve opened your home to us, let us create absolute havoc in it, we’ve taken it over completely so you haven’t even been able to work, and—well, frankly, without you we might not even be alive for it, so I really don’t think you need to worry about some gaudy plastic toy wrapped up and stuck under the tree! In the grand scheme of things, what you’ve given him—given us—is immeasurable, and whatever else is going on between us, I’ll never forget that.’
Sebastian frowned again—he was doing that a lot—and turned away, his jaw working.
‘He’s just a kid, George,’ he said gruffly.
‘I know,’ she said softly. ‘And for some reason that really seems to get to you.’
He shrugged and eased his hand away, as if the contact made him uncomfortable. ‘I don’t like to think of kids being unhappy at Christmas. Or ever. Any time. And as I’ve said, I’ve got nothing else to do and nowhere else to be. So—presents, or not presents?’
She thought about it for a moment. Her parents had spoiled him on his birthday just four weeks ago, and he’d had so many presents he hadn’t really known what to play with first. And there was nothing here in the house, really, that he could play with safely.
And then she had an idea that would solve it all. ‘I think—presents? Or some of them, at least. I’ve got him a wooden train set, and it comes in two boxes. There’s the main set, and there are some little people and a bench and trees and things in another box. You could give him that, if you’re really worried about him having something from you under the tree.’
‘Don’t you mind?’
She laughed. ‘Why should I mind? He’s still getting the toy, and it would give him something constructive to play with while we’re stuck here. And I’ve got a little stocking for him from Father Christmas. That ought to go up tonight because he’s bound to get up early.’
‘Does he even know who Father Christmas is?’
She smiled ruefully. ‘I don’t know. We went to see him, but I’m not sure he was that impressed. He looked a bit worried, to be honest, but it might make him like the old guy a bit better if he brings him chocolate.’
They shared a smiled, and he nodded.
‘You could hang it from the beam over the fire.’
‘I could. We might need to let the fire go out first, though, so the chocolate buttons don’t melt.’
‘Ah. Yes, of course. Good plan. Well, if we let it die down now, it should be all right by the end of the evening. It can go at the side, out of the direct heat. And, yes, please, if I can put my name on the other box of train stuff, that would be good. But you must let me pay you for it.’
She just laughed at that, it was so outrageous. ‘You have to be kidding! The amount you’re spending on us already? I’ll have you know I eat a lot on Christmas Day.’
‘Good. Have you seen the size of the goose?’
‘We have goose?’ she said, her jaw dropping open in delight. ‘Oh, wow, I love goose! What stuffing?’
‘Prune and apple and Armagnac,’ he told her, and she sighed with contentment and slumped back onto the sofa cushions, grinning.
‘Oh, joy. Deep, deep joy. Bring it on...’
He laughed and stood up, slapping her leg lightly in passing. ‘That’s your job. I have no idea how to cook a goose, especially not in an Aga, so I was hoping you’d do it. Shall I get the presents?’
‘I’ll come. I only want a few. Where did you put them?’
‘In my room.’
Ah.
Was her face so transparent? Because he took one look at her and smiled and shook his head.
‘You’re perfectly safe, George. I’m not going to do anything crazy.’
No. And wishing she wouldn’t be quite so perfectly safe was crazy. Utterly crazy. Good job one of them was thinking clearly.
She nodded slowly and stood up. ‘OK. We’ll just get the train set boxes and the stocking and leave the rest for when I’m with my parents. Then I can just put the whole bag in the car when I leave.’
* * *
He didn’t want her to leave.
It dawned on him suddenly, with a dip in his stomach, as they went upstairs to the bedroom, walking up side by side as if they were going to bed.
And he needed to stop thinking about that right there before he embarrassed them both.
He pushed the door open and flicked on the light. ‘They’re in here,’ he said, and let her through the communicating door into his dressing room. It had been cut in half, the half with the window becoming the bathroom, this half now lined out with wardrobes fitted with racks and shelves and hanging space.
He’d dumped the bag of presents inside one of the practically empty cupboards, and he pulled it out and turned to find her looking around, studying the wardrobes minutely.
‘Useful. Really useful. What sensible storage. They’re great.’
‘They are. How anybody managed with that little cupboard in the bedroom I have no idea.’
‘Maybe they didn’t have as many clothes. Or maybe they just used it to play hide and seek?’ she said lightly.
She was bending over the presents as he held them, and he stared down at the top of her head and tried to work out what was going on in there. Why had she said that? Why chuck something so contentious into the mix?
Although it was him that had raised the subject of the cupboard in the first place...
He had to get out of there. Now.
‘Right, why don’t I leave you to sort out what you want to bring down, and I’ll go and get on. I’ve got a few loose ends to tie up before tomorrow. Just stick them back in the cupboard when you’re done.’
And he handed her the bag and left. Swiftly, before he gave in to the temptation to grab her by the shoulders, haul her up straight and kiss her
senseless.
* * *
‘Here. This is the train set stuff. Did you want to wrap yours in different paper?’
She put the boxes down on the kitchen table and he studied them thoughtfully. ‘Does it matter if they’re the same?’
‘Not necessarily.’
He gave a slight smile. ‘I’ll do whatever, but I have to say my wrapping paper doesn’t really compete with little trains being driven by Santas.’
She smiled back. ‘Probably not. And he won’t think about the fact that they’re the same. He’ll just want to unwrap them. He knows what presents are now, having just had a birthday.’
‘When was his birthday?’
‘Three days after yours.’
His eyebrows crunched briefly together again in another little frown, and she wondered what she’d said this time. Was it because she remembered his birthday? Unlikely. She’d always remembered everyone’s birthdays. That was what she did. Remembered stuff. It was her forte, just as his was making money.
She gave up trying to work him out.
‘So, lunch tomorrow or whenever we’re having it. Are we going for lunchtime, or mid-afternoon, or evening, or what?’
He turned his hands palm up and shrugged. ‘Look, this is all for Josh. I don’t care what time we eat, so long as we eat. I’m sure we’ll manage whenever it is. Just do whatever you think will suit him best.’
‘Lunch, probably, if that’s OK? What veg do you have? And actually, where is the goose? It’s not in the fridge so I hope it’s not still frozen.’
‘It’s in the larder.’
‘Larder?’ The kitchen had been so derelict she hadn’t even realised it’d had a larder. Or maybe he’d created one?
He walked across to what she’d assumed was a broom cupboard or something, and opened the door. A light came on automatically, illuminating the small room, and she saw stone shelves laden with food. So much food.
‘Wow. And this was just for you and your family?’
He gave a wry smile. ‘I told you my PA had gone mad.’
Not that mad, she thought, studying the shelves. Yes, there was a lot of food, but much of it would keep and it was only the goose and the fresh vegetables that might struggle.
SNOWED IN WITH THE BILLIONAIRE Page 9
