by Liz Fielding
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake,’ he said, closing the door and coming after her. ‘Here,’ he said, taking her arms and putting them around his neck. She scarcely had time to react to his irritable command before he’d bent and picked her up. ‘Hang on.’
He didn’t need to tell her twice and she hung on for dear life, arms around his neck, cheek in the crook of his warm neck as he walked across to the wooden chalet, carried her up the steps and set her down on a chair.
‘Stay there and try not to get into any more trouble,’ he said, picking up her foot and turning another chair for it to rest on. ‘Okay?’ his said, his face level with hers.
‘Okay,’ she said a touch breathlessly.
He nodded. ‘Right. I’d better go and make sure Xandra doesn’t pick out something that would be more at home in Trafalgar Square.’
‘Wait!’ she said and, before he could straighten, took his chin in her hand as she searched her pockets for a tissue.
He must have shaved last night after he’d left her, she realised, feeling only the slight rasp of morning stubble against her palm as she reached up and gently wiped the grease off his cheek. Then, because he was looking at her in a way that made her insides melt, she said, ‘George Saxon and Son has a reputation to maintain.’
She’d meant to sound brisk, businesslike, matter-of-fact but her voice, trained to deliver a speech to the back of a banqueting hall, for once refused to co-operate and it came out as little more than a whisper.
‘And what about Annie Rowland?’ he asked, his face expressionless.
‘What? I haven’t got grease on my face, have I?’ she asked, instinctively touching the same place on her own cheek.
‘Not grease,’ he said, lifting her glasses off her nose and slipping them into the top pocket of his overalls. ‘Something far worse.’
‘Oh, but-’
He stopped her protest by planting a kiss very firmly on her lips. For a moment she tried to talk through it but then, as the warmth of his lips penetrated the outer chill, heating her through to the bone, a tiny shiver of pleasure rippled through her and she forgot what she was trying to say.
Instead, she clutched at his shoulder, closed her eyes and, oblivious to the woman sitting by the till, she kissed him back. Let slip a tiny mew of disappointment as he drew back and the cold rushed back in.
She opened her eyes and for a moment they just looked at each other before, without another word, he turned and walked out of the door.
The woman behind the counter cleared her throat as, slightly dazed, Annie watched George follow the path his daughter had taken between the trees.
‘Are you all right?’ she asked.
‘I’m not sure,’ she said, raising cold fingers to hot lips. ‘I’m really not at all sure.’
‘Only there are signs warning about the uneven paths,’ she said defensively.
‘Are there?’ She watched George until he disappeared from sight and then turned to look at the woman.
‘It says we’re not responsible-’
‘Oh!’ Annie said, finally catching onto the fact that she wasn’t referring to the hiccup in her heartbeat, her ragged pulse rate. Or the way George had stolen her glasses before kissing her.
The woman was only concerned about the fact that she’d apparently injured her ankle in their car park and might decide to sue the pants off them.
She shook her head. ‘Don’t worry about it. I hurt it yesterday,’ she said, reassuring her. ‘Today was no more than a reminder.’
‘Well, that’s a relief. You wouldn’t believe…’ She let it go, smiled, then followed her gaze as she looked along the path that George had taken. ‘It’s good your man is so caring.’
‘Oh, but he isn’t…’
Her man.
She’d only met him last night. Barely knew him. And he didn’t know her at all. No one who knew her would dare to kiss her the way he’d kissed her.
And yet she’d been closer to him in that short time than almost any man she’d ever known. She already cared about him in ways she had only dreamed of. And his daughter.
She’d grown up without a father of her own and if she could heal the breach between them she would go home knowing that she’d done something good.
‘Can I get you something while you’re waiting? Tea? Coffee? Hot chocolate?’
The little wooden chalet was, it seemed, more than simply a place to pay for the trees, the bundles of mistletoe and holly stacked up outside.
There was a little counter for serving hot drinks, cakes and mince pies and the walls were lined with shelves displaying seasonal decorations made by local craftsmen, although she was the only customer for the moment, despite the cars lined up outside. Obviously everyone else was out in the plantation picking out their trees.
Annie ordered a mince pie and a cup of hot chocolate and then, while she was waiting, instead of ignoring the decorations as she usually did, she looked around her, hoping to find something that would amuse Xandra.
There were beautiful handmade candles, charming wooden decorations. All perfectly lovely. All so wonderfully…tasteful.
Outside, a child climbed in the sleigh alongside Santa. His mother put a coin in the machine and it began to move in a motion designed to make over-excited children sick, while it played Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.
Not tasteful at all.
‘Here you are.’ The woman brought her chocolate and mince pie. ‘Would you like the paper?’ she asked, offering her one of the red tops. ‘Something to look at while you’re waiting.’
About to refuse, she changed her mind, deciding to check out the kind of coverage she’d got yesterday. Make sure there was nothing that would rouse the slightest suspicion in an eagle-eyed editor or set alarms bells ringing if anyone in her own office took more than the usual cursory glance.
‘Thanks. That would be great.’
A picture of Lydia leaving the Pink Ribbon Lunch had made the front page. With rumours of a wedding, that was inevitable, but the hat, a last-minute special from her favourite designer featuring a Pink Ribbon spangled veil, had successfully blurred her features.
She’d seen so many photographs of herself, her head at just that angle as she’d turned to smile for the cameras, that even she found it hard to believe that it wasn’t actually her.
And if Lydia had a bloom that she’d been lacking in recent months, the caption writer had put his own spin on that.
Lady Rose was radiant as she left the Pink Ribbon Lunch yesterday before flying to Bab el Sama for a well-earned break before Christmas at King’s Lacey, her family home. The question is, will she be on her own? See page five.
She turned to page five, where there was a double-page spread including a recent picture of her, smiling as she left some event with Rupert. Thankful it was over, no doubt.
There was a huge aerial photograph of Bab el Sama, and another distant shot of the beach taken from the sea, along with many words written by someone who had never been there-no one from the press had ever set foot in the place-speculating on the luxury, the seclusion of a resort that was, apparently, the perfect place for lovers.
Put together the words ‘radiant’ and ‘lovers’ and read between the lines…
Yuck.
But, then again, it was only what she’d expected and with luck the possibility would keep the paparazzi fixed to the spot, hoping for a picture that would earn them a fortune.
She smiled. Sorry, chaps, she thought, as she closed the paper, folded it over so that the front page was hidden and put it back on the counter. Then, brimful of goodwill despite rather than because of the season, she said, ‘I don’t suppose I could persuade you to part with Rudolph, could I?’
‘You’d be surprised how many people have asked me that,’ she said, ‘but we’ve only got him on hire during December.’
‘Pity.’
‘Believe me,’ she said as the child demanded another ride and the song started up again, ‘after the first hundred tim
es, it feels like a lifetime.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
G EORGE followed his daughter down the path to the area where the farmer and his son were harvesting the trees.
The boy, seventeen or eighteen, brawny, good-looking, smiled as he looked up and caught sight of Xandra.
‘Can I help?’ he asked.
‘I need a tree,’ she said, with the cool, assessing look that women had been giving men since Adam encountered Eve in the Garden of Eden. ‘A big one,’ she added, turning away to inspect trees that had already been dug up and netted.
It was a move calculated to draw the boy closer and he followed as if on a string. It was like watching the rerun of an old movie, he thought. She was younger than her mother had been when she’d looked at him like that, but she already had the moves down pat.
‘With roots or without?’ the boy asked.
‘Without,’ he replied for her, stepping forward to make his presence felt.
‘With,’ Xandra countered, not even bothering to look at him. ‘I want to plant it in the garden after Christmas.’
‘Okay. If you’d like to choose one I’ll dig it up for you.’
‘What’s wrong with those?’ George said, nodding at the trees that were ready to go.
‘I want to choose my own,’ Xandra said.
‘And it’s best to get it as fresh as possible,’ the boy added. Wanting to flex his muscles for a pretty girl. ‘I’ll get a decent root ball with it and wrap it in sacking for you. That’ll give it a better chance.’
‘Thanks,’ she said before turning, finally, to acknowledge his presence. ‘Where’s Annie?’ she asked, realising that he was on his own.
‘She hurt her ankle getting out of the Land Rover. I left her in the shop with her foot up.’ Then, in an effort to move things along, he indicated a nicely shaped tree and said, ‘What about that one?’
‘It’s not tall enough.’
Clearly whichever tree he’d chosen was going to be rejected but he pressed on. ‘It’ll be at least two feet taller once it’s out of the ground and in a pot.’
He looked at the boy, who was smart enough to agree with him. ‘It’s a lovely tree,’ he added, but if he hoped to curry favour he was talking to the wrong man. He’d been eighteen once, and this was his daughter.
Xandra shrugged. ‘Okay. But I want one for outside as well. A really big one.’
About to ask her who was going to put it up, he stopped himself, aware that the boy, if he had anything about him, would leap in with an offer to do it for her.
She’d had sixteen years without him to put up a tree for her. Maybe one really big one would make a bit of a dent in the overdraft.
‘No more than ten feet from the ground,’ he told the boy and, when she would have objected, ‘I won’t be able to carry anything bigger than that on the roof of the Land Rover.’ Even that would be a push.
Then, beating down the urge to grab her by the arm, drag her back to the shop where he could keep her within sight, he said, ‘Don’t take too long about choosing it. I want to get Annie back into the warm,’ he said, turning to go back to her.
‘Is she badly hurt?’ She sounded concerned.
‘She’s putting a brave face on it,’ he said, rubbing the flat of his palm over his jaw, where he could still feel the warm touch of her fingers, despite the chill.
It had been the same last night. After leaving her he’d taken a shower, shaved, anything to distance himself from the touch of her hand that had burned like a brand on his arm. Somehow he doubted that even a cold shower would have saved him from the pink bunny.
Now he’d kissed her again, just to shut her up for a moment, he told himself, but this time she’d kissed him back. Yet still he was left with the extraordinary sense that for her it was all brand-new.
How crazy was that? She had to be in her mid-twenties at least.
Xandra hesitated, but only for a moment, before turning to the boy. ‘Okay, I’m going to trust you to choose the big tree-’
‘I know just the one,’ he said eagerly. ‘A real beauty. You’ll love it.’ And Xandra bestowed a gracious smile on him before, just a touch of colour darkening her cheekbones, she quickly turned away and swept off up the path.
For a moment they both stood and watched her, each lost for a moment in his own thoughts.
The boy was only seeing Christmas coming early.
His thoughts were darker as he remembered the moment when, not much older than the youth at his side, she’d been put in his arms, the realisation that she was his little girl. The shattering need to protect her. Make her life perfect.
Remembering the beautiful little girl with dark curls who’d run not to him, but to his father for hugs. Who had called Penny’s second husband-living in the house he’d paid for-‘daddy’.
Annie looked up as he followed Xandra into the chalet.
‘Did you find what you were looking for?’ she asked, her eyes narrowing as she looked at him.
‘I think I can safely guarantee that our trees will be the best that money can buy.’
She still had her left foot propped up and, ignoring the empty chairs, he picked it up, sat down and placed it on his knee, leaving his hand on the curve between ankle and foot.
It was a slender foot, a slender ankle and there wasn’t the slightest sign of a swelling.
‘Trees?’ she asked.
‘A six-footer for inside the house. Something rather more stately for outside.’
‘Oh, trees plural. You’re going to need a ton of tinsel, Xandra,’ she said, watching her as she wandered around the shop, checking out what they had to offer.
‘I’m working on it,’ she said, picking up one of the decorations, then putting it back.
‘How’s your ankle?’ George asked, reclaiming Annie’s attention.
‘Fine, really,’ she assured him, not quite meeting his gaze, adding to his certainty that she had faked the injury. But why?
Could it be that she saw the garage as a sanctuary? Wanted to stay on?
‘It was nothing that hot chocolate and a mince pie couldn’t cure,’ she assured him, making a move to put it down, but he kept his hand firmly in place.
‘Best to keep it up for as long as possible,’ he said.
She took her time about answering him, dabbing at the crumbs on the plate in front of her and sucking them off her finger before, finally, lifting her lashes with a look that went straight to his gut.
Was it deliberate? Did she know what she was doing?
Usually, when he looked at a woman, when she looked back, they both knew exactly what they wanted, but Annie wasn’t like any woman he’d ever met.
She left him floundering.
‘So,’ he said quickly, glad he was wearing loose overalls over his trousers so that she couldn’t see the disturbing effect she had on him, ‘what’s your plan for today?’
Her lips parted over perfect teeth but, before she could tell him, Xandra said, ‘She’s staying with us until after the weekend. Gran asked her,’ she added, glaring at him, daring him to offer an argument.
But if his mother had already asked her to stay, why would she-?
Oh. Right.
She’d seen an opportunity to throw him and Xandra together and, instead of seizing the moment, he’d gone in with both feet and made a complete cobblers of it.
‘Not that she’d be able to go gallivanting all over the place sightseeing with a dodgy ankle,’ she added.
‘Honestly,’ Annie said, looking at him, her eyes offering him her assurance that if he was unhappy she’d make her excuses and leave, ‘it’s not that bad.’
‘Best not take any chances,’ he said, attempting to unravel the curious mixture of elation and dismay he felt at the prospect of her staying on for several more days.
Relief that she wasn’t going to walk away, disappear. That he’d never know what happened to her. Who she really was.
Dismay because he wanted to protect her from whatever was out
there, threatening her. And that unnerved him.
‘I’m having some water,’ Xandra said, examining the contents of a glass-fronted fridge. She turned to him. ‘Do you want anything?’
To be back at his beach house with nothing on his mind more important than the design of a multi-million-pound software program, a mild flirtation with a pretty woman, he thought, as he reached for his wallet. One with curves and curls and an uncomplicated smile that let you know exactly what was on her mind.
Since that wasn’t an option, he said, ‘Coffee and-’
‘I don’t need your money,’ she snapped as he offered her a note. Then, perhaps remembering where the money in her own purse had come from, quickly said, ‘Black with too much sugar, right?’
‘Thanks.’
He’d been about to tell her to buy the angel she’d looked at, but decided against it. She wasn’t a little girl he could buy with a doll.
‘And?’ she added. He must have looked puzzled because she said, ‘You said “and”.’
‘And if you could run to a couple of those mince pies,’ he said, ‘it would fill a gap. I seem to have missed breakfast.’
‘Sugar, fat and caffeine?’ She shook her head. ‘Tut, tut, tut.’ But she turned to the woman behind the counter and said, ‘The water for me, a heart attack for George…And what’s that, Annie? Hot chocolate? Do you want a top-up?’
‘No, I’m good, thanks.’
‘Hot chocolate and a mince pie? Have a care, Annie,’ he warned her with a grin. ‘The food police will be after you too.’
‘At least I had a slice of toast before I left the house this morning.’
‘Buttered, of course. My father isn’t a man to have anything as new-fangled as low-fat spread in the house.’
‘Buttered,’ she admitted, smiling as she conceded the point. ‘But it was unsalted butter.’
‘Honestly. What are you two like?’ Xandra said disapprovingly. ‘You’re supposed to be mature adults. I’d get the “breakfast is the most important meal of the day” lecture if I ate like that.’
‘Not from me,’ he assured her.
