Escape for Christmas: A Novella (The Escape Series Book 2)

by Ruth Saberton

  Parking the car in the courtyard, Gemma let herself into Kenniston through the back door. Built on the same scale as Blenheim Palace, the place was vast; sometimes Gemma felt that she needed a satnav just to find her way around. Angel had pointed out that most of it was uninhabited and crumbling away, but even the parts where the Elliotts lived were bigger than most people’s houses. Angel and Laurence occupied the West Wing and had been busy converting it into a comfortable apartment. It was this work that Builder Craig and his crew had been doing for months – when they weren’t posing about with their shirts off, that was.

  Tonight’s supper was to celebrate the completion of the kitchen and the idea was that they would all be sitting at the table in the new kitchen in a very informal Nigella kind of way while Angel dished up food, which she claimed to have cooked herself. Since Angel could burn water, Gemma doubted this very much; she strongly suspected that Daisy and a couple of other apprentices from the bakery had been drafted in to help. It seemed like cheating to Gemma but, as Cal was always telling her, there was nothing real about reality TV.

  Angel’s kitchen was huge, double the size of most people’s, and already it was full of beautifully dressed guests clutching glasses of wine and chatting. Helping herself to one, Gemma glanced around the room admiringly. Craig might be the Narcissus of the building world but he and his team had done a great job. From the glittery black slate worktops to the salvaged flagstone floor to the enormous kitchen island, the room was stunning. There was a huge Rayburn, a giant American-style fridge and a stainless steel Lacanche oven that looked fit for a restaurant. The irony was that all this would be totally lost on Angel, who lived on salad. Still, it looked nice – which Gemma guessed was the point, because it was to all intents and purposes a set for the show. Take the massive scrubbed pine table, for example, at the far side of the kitchen and set beneath the glass roof. That would easily accommodate fifteen people, all of whom could be filmed beautifully as they sat beneath the stars sipping their drinks, toying with their food and hopefully creating enough drama to keep the viewers hooked.

  Well, not me, thought Gemma rebelliously. They’d just have to shoot around her.

  “Gem! There you are, darlin’. I was starting to get worried.” Cal slipped an arm around her waist and dropped a kiss onto the top of her head. He looked gorgeous in brown cords and a periwinkle-blue shirt that picked out the gold in his hair and the sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of his nose. The curls had grown much longer and now they brushed his shoulders, making him look like a sexy throwback to an eighties’ rock band – and Gemma had always had a guilty thing for Jon Bon Jovi. She nestled into Cal, leaning her head against his shoulder. Just breathing in the closeness, the Calness of him, was the emotional equivalent of sinking into a hot bath. God, she was such a muppet sometimes. Cal was his usual sweet self. Of course nothing was going on.

  “You didn’t find anything to wear?” Angel was asking, rather unnecessarily, seeing as Gemma was still in her jeans and hoody. Angel, on the other hand, was looking stunning in a red shift dress with her hair piled up on her head in glossy ringlets. She sighed. “You are such a hopeless shopper, Gem. I knew I should have come with you.”

  “Sure, but weren’t you far too busy cooking to go shopping?” said Cal, catching Gemma’s eye and winking. “All this food must have taken ages to prepare.”

  “Oh yes, of course I was,” replied Angel, who was completely shameless and hadn’t a clue what they were about to eat. “I was flat out all afternoon err… chopping stuff up and boiling it and things.”

  “She’s more full of the auld blarney than me,” Cal whispered to Gemma as they took their seats at the enormous table. “Daisy and Adam have been busy all afternoon; she paid them a wad to do this. I had to draft a couple of the crew in to help me.”

  “If anyone can carry it off, Angel can,” Gemma whispered back. “Look how she managed to convince half of Rock she was a millionaire’s daughter while we were actually living in that tatty caravan.”

  Cal reached under the table and laced their fingers together. “I have some wonderful memories of that caravan, so I do. I won’t hear a word against it.”

  Lost in some very happy memories, Gemma daydreamed most of her way through the mushroom-and-cognac pâté starter. It had been a long day – Exeter on the last Saturday before Christmas was not a destination for the fainthearted – and the hours of elbow wars and basket rage were starting to take their toll. By the time she was halfway through the steak stroganoff and a glass of red wine, Gemma’s eyes were heavy. Conversations ebbed and flowed around her. Now and then there would be a ripple of laughter as Lady Daphne said something funny, or an outcry (such as when Craig tried to eat the bouquet garni and almost choked), but generally it was a relaxed and chilled evening. Cal’s hand wandered up and down Gemma’s jeaned leg quite a lot and she was almost hopeful that when they got back to the Lion Lodge he might cuddle something a little more exciting than the hot-water bottle. Even the film crew and Dwayne didn’t seem as intrusive as usual.

  Gemma swirled her Merlot happily. She ought to drink red wine more often if it made her feel this mellow.

  It was only when she was halfway through her sticky-toffee pudding (sod it, she was already a fourteen, so she may as well enjoy herself and diet in the New Year) that Gemma tuned back into the conversation with a jolt. The topic of discussion had turned to Christmas and specifically the Christmas special. Not being a member of the Bread and Butlers cast, Gemma hadn’t really paid much attention to this to date, but now her ears were out on elastic, especially as Cal was joining in.

  “So we’ll all eat in the Great Dining Room,” Lady Daphne was saying. “We could eat naked like the Fifth Viscount did. That could be a hoot.”

  “Ma, we’d all die of cold,” Laurence drawled. “Besides, I don’t want to be put off my Christmas pud looking at everyone in the buff.”

  “Don’t be such a prude, Laurence,” said his mother mildly. “Your maternal grandmother served herself up naked for a hunting breakfast once, I’ll have you know.” Her eyes took on a faraway look. “Maybe I could do the same but with pigs in blankets and stuffing balls?”

  Laurence choked on his pudding at this idea and Angel had to slap him on the back several times.

  “I think us all eating starkers is a great idea,” Craig said excitedly, as only a gym-honed exercise junkie would; everyone else was looking horrified.

  “Well, you can count me out,” Cal told Daphne, shovelling in his pudding with gusto. “I’ll be eating Christmas dinner fully clothed, thanks. Sure, we don’t want to scare the viewers and put them off their dinners.”

  What was this? Gemma could hardly believe her ears. Were they really discussing Christmas dinner as though they would all be together and, even worse, spend the time being filmed? Over her dead (un-food-covered) body!

  “We won’t be here anyway, Cal,” she blurted out. “We’re having Christmas together and on our own.”

  The chatter petered away. A spoon clattered against a bowl. The tick-tock of the massive station-style kitchen clock seemed twice as loud. All eyes were suddenly on Gemma. The red eye of the camera light was blinking her way too, until Dwayne motioned for the cameraman to switch the shot to Cal.

  “Darlin’, we’re filming the live special on Christmas Day,” he said gently. “I’ll have to be here.”

  “It’s going to be brilliant,” Angel added. Her eyes shone like a religious zealot’s. “TOWIE did a live show once, but ours is going to be a million times better. We’ve got so many fantastic ideas to play with.” She paused, as if waiting for Gemma to slap herself on the forehead and say, Oh yes, silly me; I’d forgotten, and Don’t worry! We’ll be here after all. But that wasn’t going to happen.

  “Cal and I are having Christmas on our own,” Gemma repeated. “We never get time together and it’s my thirtieth birthday on Christmas Day too. We won’t be here because–” She took a deep breath. This wasn’t quite how s
he’d imagined telling Cal about Seagull Cottage, but it was time to come clean. “I’ve booked us a cottage in Cornwall, so we’re going to be there. Sorry.”

  There. The secret was out at last. Gemma turned to Cal, waiting for him to say that it was a wonderful surprise, that he couldn’t wait and, feck the show, he was going to spend Christmas with her.

  Only Cal didn’t do this. Rather than seeming overjoyed he looked utterly horrified. Gemma had a terrible cold sensation all over, like a hot flush in reverse. Oh God, it was the ultimate humiliation. Her boyfriend didn’t want to go away with her. The thought appalled him.

  Her instincts had been right all along. Cal was no longer in love with her.

  Chapter 12

  It was like one of those awful dreams when you’re in the middle of the supermarket and suddenly realise that you’re naked. Everyone is staring at you and all you want to do is run away and hide – but your legs can’t move and so you remain rooted to the spot, wishing that you could drop through the floor. Actually, this was worse: even though she was fully dressed, Gemma felt that she’d been stripped bare in every other way. The cameras were still filming Cal’s reaction and so far nobody else had dared to speak.

  “Aw, feck, Gem,” Cal said finally. The pudding spoon returned to his bowl, a sure sign if ever there was one that he was upset. “I had no idea you were planning this. I wish you’d said something.”

  He did? Gemma was actually wishing that she’d had her tongue removed at birth.

  “It wouldn’t have been much of a surprise then,” she said bitterly. Or maybe shock? Call it what you will. Cal was hardly jumping for joy.

  “The Christmas show will be lots of fun,” Angel said helpfully. “You’ll love it, Gemma, I promise. There are going to be loads of really cool guests.”

  Gemma ignored her. Sometimes Angel just didn’t know when to let up. Quite frankly her best friend could have invited Brad Pitt and Johnny Depp for Christmas at Kenniston, stripped them naked and covered them in chocolate and Gemma couldn’t have cared less. All she’d wanted was to spend Christmas and her special birthday somewhere quiet with the man she loved. They needed that break before being here broke them.

  “We couldn’t have gone anyway,” Cal was saying. “My family’s coming for Christmas, aren’t they? Sure, they’re really excited about it too. Especially Dougal!”

  If there was ever a straw to break the camel’s back, then this was it. The Souths were a noisy, scrapping bunch. The many times that they had been over – a brother or two at a time, or Mammy South and a couple of the sisters – were probably responsible for Gemma’s first grey hairs. Dougal, at twenty the eldest of the brothers and hell on legs, was going to cause havoc. Throw the whole bunch of them into the mix and it would be mayhem. Which of course was exactly why they had been invited.

  Gemma looked at Angel, who was suddenly studying the contents of her pudding bowl with great concentration.

  “Isn’t it strange that nobody thought to mention this to me?” Gemma said icily. Nobody could look her in the eye. Even Lady Daphne and Craig wore sheepish expressions. Great. Everybody had been in on this apart from her. Gemma’s stomach lurched. What other secrets could they be keeping? Glancing around at all of them, she added, “Didn’t you think I might notice nine Irish visitors rocking up to the Lion Lodge for Christmas?”

  Angel’s head whipped up. “They’re going to stay here, Gem. It’s not like we haven’t got the space – and they’ve agreed to be filmed, too. It was supposed to be a surprise. You won’t have to worry about a thing, honestly babes. It’s all going to be taken care of.”

  “It’ll be a great craic,” Cal added hopefully. “A real family Christmas. Christmas is all about family, Gem, isn’t it? We’ll have plenty of time to go away later on.”

  “It’s my thirtieth birthday,” Gemma whispered. Even to her own ears her voice sounded tight and weird. “It’s supposed to be special. I wanted to spend it with you.”

  “Darlin’, can we talk about this later?” Beneath the table Cal was trying to reach for her hand but Gemma snatched it away. No amount of sweet-talking or handholding was going to get him out of this one.

  “It’s my birthday,” Gemma said again. “I’m asking you to please come away for my birthday.”

  But she could see by the taut set of Cal’s mouth that, birthday or not, he wasn’t going to change his mind. For such a sweet and easygoing guy he also had a stubborn streak a mile wide.

  “Sure, I’d love nothing more than Christmas somewhere quiet, but I can’t just walk away,” he said firmly. “First of all it’s my family we’re talking about and I won’t let them down. Then there’s the business to take care of, and on top of that there’s also the show and the small matter of my contract. I have to be here, darlin’. I’m sorry but that’s a fact.”

  “We’ll do something here,” Laurence said quickly. He was always the first to try to smooth things over or find a solution, but even the UN would have struggled to solve this one. “We’ll throw you an amazing party.”

  “And as soon as the year is over you and I will go away,” Cal promised. “How about that, darlin’?”

  Gemma shrugged. What did it matter? Her lovely dream of a romantic Christmas was well and truly shattered. Cal had made it clear that she was right at the bottom of his list of priorities. A sob rose in her throat and, unable to bear the situation any longer, she pushed her seat away from the table and fled from the room.

  “I think that’s a ‘no’, mate,” she heard Craig say.

  And for once Craig was spot on.

  “Gemma! Gemma!” Cal strode into the bakery, flicking on the huge fluorescent lights and flooding the place with a bright white glare. “Jaysus! What a fecking thing to spring on me! Can we at least talk about it like adults?”

  Gemma had been sitting in the dark, trying to collect herself. As soon as she’d left Angel’s kitchen she’d burst into a storm of weeping. Unlike some women who sobbed prettily, Gemma knew that she looked dreadful when she blubbed. By the time she’d crossed the courtyard it would be snot and a red nose and eyes resembling those on Daisy’s much-celebrated cheese-and-pineapple hedgehogs. She’d thought about driving home in the Range Rover but she’d had several glasses of wine and was bound to end up in the lake. Walking all that way in her high-heeled boots hadn’t appealed either, so instead she’d bolted for the bakery and howled for a bit in the darkness. Now as she blinked up at Cal in the unexpected stark light she was surprised to find that her misery had been swiftly usurped by fury.

  “What a thing for me to spring on you? And just when were you going to let me know that the entire South clan was arriving here for Christmas? The day before? Or maybe you hoped I’d think that Santa had just dropped them down the chimney?”

  “Don’t be so fecking infantile!” Cal shook his head. “Gemma, I’m sorry I never mentioned it. To be honest Christmas couldn’t be further from my mind right now. I’ve got a lot on, so.”

  He stopped abruptly.

  “What?” demanded Gemma. “Don’t stop now, Cal. What have you got on that’s so important you forgot all about Christmas and my thirtieth birthday?”

  “That’s not fair. I’ve never forgotten about your birthday. I’ve been thinking about it loads,” Cal said. He looked hurt. “Anyways, you were the one who said you didn’t want to make a fuss. I thought we’d do something in the New Year.”

  Men! They really were from Mars – and to be honest, right now Gemma thought the world would be a far better place for womankind if they’d all bloody well stayed there too. Of course she’d said that she didn’t want a fuss for her birthday, but she hadn’t meant it, had she? Everybody knew that when a woman said she didn’t want a fuss that she in fact wanted the exact opposite! The kind of fuss that made Louis XIV in his Versailles heyday look understated and some jewellery so blinging that even Snoop Dogg would wince. Gemma hated herself for it, but a huge part of her had been hoping that maybe, just maybe, Cal was plann
ing to propose on her birthday. That would explain why he’d been so secretive lately, the chunk of money taken from their current account and even the mysterious trips to London.

  How wrong could you get?

  She wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “Cal, I really think we need some time out right now. I booked this gorgeous cottage for us to just spend some time together. It’s in Rock too. We’ll have such a wonderful time.”

  “Darlin’, I don’t doubt it. Believe me, I’d love to get away too, but I’m under contract until the end of the month. I can’t just walk away. Jaysus, Anton Yuri will have a hit out on me if I walk.”

  “Don’t use Anton Yuri as an excuse. If you wanted to go away then you would,” Gemma said bitterly. “You love that bloody show and the fame more than you love me.”

  Cal stared at her, his face bleak in the harsh lighting. “It’s nice to know what you really think of me. Can I just remind you for a fecking minute who it was who wanted to do this show in the first place? You, I seem to remember, Gemma – not me. I told you I was sick to the back teeth of reality shows and fame. Sure, it’s all bollocks. But you thought it was a good idea so I went along with it for you. It was the right thing, as it turned out, and all along I thought I was doing this for us. For our future.”

  “We won’t have a future if it carries on like this!” Gemma exclaimed. Bugger, she was crying again, big splashy tears that were plopping onto the spotless floor. “Please Cal, can’t you speak to Laurence? See if he can get you out of the Christmas show?”

  “Gem, how can I? We made a commitment to Seaside Rock. You may not be under contract anymore, but I’ve made a commitment – and I’d hope you know me well enough now to know I don’t break my word or lie.”