The Christmas Promise

by Sue Moorcroft

  I think you’re dating that bloke I saw you with in Blaggard’s.

  I’m giving drinking a rest.

  If you’re not dating anyone, why not start seeing me again?

  Ava finally answered: Repeat: I’m not dating anyone, INCLUDING you.

  By the time she had her peacock feathers, carefully protected in a cardboard tube, it was past five and she was dying for the loo. Jermyn’s was only a couple of streets away and she hurried towards it, texting Izz as she went. Are you at the agency? Can I come and use the ladies? Bursting.

  No reply. She turned into Fashion Street, texting the same message to Tod.

  No reply. Left onto Brick Lane, hurrying along the narrow pavements past restaurants, shops and graffiti. Past the glittering edifice of the mosque and within sight of the Old Truman Brewery, she saw the door to the building that housed Jermyn’s. With no time to spare for the bell marked Jermyn’s – communications agency to be answered, she brushed past someone on their way out with a hasty, ‘Thanks! I’m meeting Tod and Izz,’ and raced up to the first floor. Catapulting into Jermyn’s reception area she almost ran into Wendy and Vanessa.

  Wendy beamed. ‘Ava! Oh.’ She halted. Her smile broadened. ‘Are you here to meet Sam?’

  ‘Actually—’

  At that moment, Sam strode up the corridor. He stopped short when he saw Ava. Before he could speak, Wendy got in, ‘We didn’t realise you had plans with Ava. We can easily get a cab back and look after ourselves.’

  Sam looked uncomfortable. ‘Not necessary.’

  Ava glanced from one to the other. She wasn’t sure why Wendy would think she was lying in wait for Sam but Sam could clear it up while she took care of urgent business. ‘Sorry,’ she interrupted breathlessly. ‘But please may I use your ladies’ room? Like now?’

  ‘Of course.’ Sam turned back the way he’d come with Ava dancing impatiently in his wake. He turned a corner into another corridor. ‘Second on the left.’

  ‘Thanks.’ She abandoned her purchases at the side of the corridor and sprinted past him, clattering through the doors and into a stall with a ‘Hoo-ee!’ of relief.

  When she had washed her hands and smoothed her hair, she found Sam leaning against the wall of the corridor outside. His suit just the charcoal side of black and shirt crisp white, he reminded her of the Hugo Boss Christmas man. But better. ‘You didn’t need to wait.’ She swooped up her packages. ‘Sorry to barge in but I was desperate and neither Izz nor Tod answered my texts.’

  ‘Izz left before five today so she may already be down in the underground. Tod’s with a client.’ He cleared his throat, shoving his hands into his pockets. ‘I sort of need a favour.’

  ‘From me? What?’ She peered into the cardboard tube to check that her precious feathers hadn’t suffered from being dumped on the floor.

  ‘It’s going to sound so lame.’

  Intrigued by the strangled doom in his voice, she switched her attention to the colour that had risen up to emphasise his cheekbones. ‘What is?’

  He inhaled loudly. ‘Mum assumed that you were here to meet me.’

  ‘But you can explain that my friends work here and I wanted to use the loo.’

  ‘I could.’ His gaze slid away and then returned to her. ‘But she’s sitting out there in reception, hoping that you’ll come home to dinner with us. Expecting me to be persuading you, in fact.’

  Ava puzzled over his obvious discomfiture. ‘Why?’

  ‘You’re not making this easy.’

  Putting her bags back down, she folded her arms. ‘Tell me what “this” is and I might. Are you embarrassed that they’ve asked?’

  His brown-gold gaze levelled. ‘Yes, I’m embarrassed. They’ve asked because they think we’re seeing each other.’

  Sam forced himself to keep meeting Ava’s gaze, willing her to ‘get it’. In vain, it seemed, judging from her wide-eyed bafflement.

  ‘Why would they think that?’

  His shirt collar would choke him if his awkwardness index went any higher. ‘Because I told Mum we’re seeing each other.’

  Bemused brows quirked. ‘Why?’

  Now he had to look away, as he struggled to explain. ‘Mum’s situation has made her emotional. This morning she was crying and trying to hide it. You appreciate,’ he paused and swallowed, ‘that there’s a chance she won’t be here to see another Christmas. A one-in-ten chance, if you want the stat. A three-in-ten chance she won’t see Christmas in five years. I appreciate that the odds are on her side but it’s still a shitty deal and she has months of chemotherapy coming up.’ He stole a glance in Ava’s direction. He wished she wouldn’t do the wide-eyed thing. For some reason it struck him as incredibly alluring and now was not the time for that feeling. ‘I brought up the subject of her Christmas hat as a distraction. I said something about seeing you several times lately. In stereotypically maternal fashion, she seized on the mere whiff of me “seeing” someone, although I didn’t initially realise I’d made it sound like “seeing” as in …’

  ‘“Seeing”,’ she supplied helpfully, nodding, as if completely seeing the ‘seeing’ thing.

  He ploughed on. ‘It distracted her from her cancer worries. It made her smile and even laugh and joke. That’s something I can’t buy. So now she and Aunt Van are hoping that you, the woman I’m “seeing”, will join us, and I’m hoping you’ll be my faux date for this evening. I’ll truly be in your debt and as seeing each other is a vague term and we have been in the same place at the same time a couple of times, it really doesn’t involve lying. As such. And,’ he added, ‘I promise that this is not some creepy plan B I’ve come up with because you turned me down for a proper date.’

  He waited.

  She regarded him thoughtfully for several seconds. ‘OK,’ she said.

  His stomach gave a somersault of surprise that it had been that easy. ‘OK?’

  ‘OK. If you honestly think that something that simple will cheer your mum up and she won’t expect us to get married on Christmas Eve or anything.’ Then she grinned. ‘It’s been quite fun watching you squirm.’

  He smiled faintly. ‘I admire your ability to hit on the positives of the situation.’

  ‘If I’m your faux date, you can carry my bags. And, obviously, be nice to me at all times.’ She thrust the bags into his hands and skipped off down the corridor.

  He followed, sighing. ‘Might be a challenge.’ Since Tod had first brought Ava out from behind his back at Blaggard’s, Sam’s occasional irritation with her had jockeyed uneasily with his almost constant wish to have sex with her. He wasn’t sure that combination came under the heading of ‘nice’.

  Chapter Ten

  Faux dating

  In the cab on the way to Stratford, Sam’s mother and aunt chattered enthusiastically about their afternoon ‘shopping’, which had involved admiring the Christmas lights strung across Oxford Street and drinking hot chocolate topped with marshmallows in Selfridges. Wendy looked tired and pale but the smile seldom left her face.

  Sitting on one of the jump seats, Sam was able to watch Ava under the guise of politely following the conversation. Her hair was loose today and tumbled by the winter wind. It was the only the second time he’d seen it falling free over her shoulders, and he liked it. It softened her. Made her look more carefree. The more he looked, the more he liked.

  When the cab dropped them at the modern elegant block of flats that his days handling PR for Chilly had allowed him to live in, Sam led the way through the security door.

  Ava gazed around the lobby approvingly as they waited for the mirrored elevator. ‘I love this building. Glass and class. Function and design. Awesome.’

  After gliding up twenty floors, he unlocked the door to the flat, saying to Wendy and Vanessa, ‘I’ll leave you to entertain Ava while I change.’ He deposited Ava’s bags beside the sofa.

  Ava sent him a look that said ‘don’t be too long’ and he smiled a reassuring ‘don’t worry’. Then he went to his roo
m, worrying. Had he absolutely and completely lost his mind? Why the hell had he entered a relationship charade? It might make a good plot for a chick flick but now he’d put himself in A Situation.

  Mostly that situation would mean being around Ava, which, as he’d already discovered, could be a frustrating experience.

  Then he thought of his mother’s expression that morning when she’d murmured, ‘Oh Sam. I didn’t realise that you’re seeing each other,’ and pleasure had replaced the mixture of fear, worry, stoicism and determination that had lurked in her expression since the diagnosis of ovarian cancer.

  With nightmarish clarity, his imagination replayed a scene from more than two months ago, when he’d sat beside Wendy in a cream-painted office and Doctor Russell had turned her sympathetic eyes on them and said, ‘It’s not good news I’m afraid.’ Clutching each other’s hands, unsure of who was comforting whom, Sam and Wendy had listened to Doctor Russell murmur gently about the trickiness of ovarian cancer, how positive it was that it had been caught so early, at stage I, but that effective treatment would include surgery and chemotherapy – to begin sooner rather than later.

  The anatomical diagrams and models scattered around the room had seemed to whirl in reds and blues on the periphery of Sam’s vision and Wendy’s hands had begun to tremble in a way that almost brought him to tears.

  So when he’d seen real happiness in Wendy’s smile this morning, his heart had tipped on its side, turning common sense’s face to the wall, and all Sam had wanted was to keep that light in her expression by any means possible.

  And it didn’t seem as if the charade was playing with Ava’s emotions, because she appeared to have her heart well under control.

  He was beginning to realise that it was his that was in danger.

  Ava paced along the floor-to-ceiling glass wall, staring out at Stratford station, the Olympic Stadium and, in the middle distance, the City of London, spread out like a black carpet bejewelled in many colours, awed that this apartment was apparently within Sam’s financial reach. It wasn’t huge but its uncluttered open plan made it feel spacious. Reluctantly giving the balcony a miss in view of the rain currently hurling itself across the rooftops, she turned back into the room, where Wendy and Vanessa had settled themselves expectantly on the chaise sofa.

  Casting around quickly for a conversation that wouldn’t involve her supposed relationship with Sam, she smiled brightly. ‘I’ve bought the materials for your hat, Wendy. I’ll show you.’

  As she emptied the rustling carrier bags, Wendy and Vanessa were satisfactorily impressed with the felt cone that was going to magically be transformed into a gorgeous hat – with just the addition of steam, stiffener, embellishments and Ava.

  ‘Gosh, you’re so clever. I wouldn’t know where to begin. I just do a bit of sewing and embroidery.’ Wendy brushed the peacock feathers across her cheeks.

  ‘I did train for quite a long time. I have to be able to sew, but there are other skills involved and I love the excitement of working in three dimensions. Do you remember seeing all those wooden blocks at my place? By the time I’ve wafted the cone around in the steam and stretched it over the correct block, your hat will be in the early stages of creation.’

  Wendy returned the peacock feathers reluctantly. ‘I suppose that Sam’s going to make me wait until Christmas Day to have my hat.’

  ‘I’m going to need most of that time, anyway.’ Ava displayed the hat’s lining material, tipping it to the light so that it shone with the dull iridescence of an exotic insect. ‘I have to block twice, and what with drying time, the lining and the decoration, it takes a while. I’d usually allow myself longer but I’m not madly busy right now.’ Understatement.

  Wendy sat back and curled her feet underneath herself. She dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘I’m so glad Sam’s seeing someone again.’

  Vanessa twinkled. ‘Don’t make her blush, Wendy.’

  ‘I’m not blushing.’ Ava instantly felt the curse of the fair-skinned scald her cheeks. She stowed the bags between the sofa and a chair so that they couldn’t be inadvertently stepped upon, giving herself time to formulate a suitably vague reply. ‘“Seeing” can mean almost anything, can’t it? We haven’t known each other long and only met because my friends work at Jermyn’s.’

  Wendy didn’t bother to hide her smiles. ‘But I’ve seen how he looks at you … I’m just pleased. I began to think he’d never quite get over Mariah. He was really bowled over by her. They were an item for a while.’

  Ava smiled politely. ‘Mariah?’

  ‘Wendy,’ Vanessa warned. ‘Sam probably never gives her a thought.’ She jumped up. ‘Let’s put the kettle on. Do you know Sam’s plans for dinner, Wendy? I could get started.’

  Preparing dinner proved a group activity as Sam’s sitting room and kitchen were separated only by a black granite dining counter, its shape reminding Ava of a speech bubble in one of Tod’s comic books.

  Wendy spent most of the time seated on a leather and chrome bar stool on the sitting-room side while Sam and Vanessa created enticing smells with lamb steaks, rosemary and onions. Ava made coffee, laid out the cutlery, and then sat with Wendy.

  She was struck by the easy family rapport. Sam and Vanessa didn’t trip over each other in the kitchen as the lamb browned. Sam teased Wendy and Vanessa gently. Wendy and Vanessa teased him less gently in return.

  Ava had time to return to her study of Sam’s home. It was decorated in monochrome colours with occasional accents of muted blue and green. In the kitchen, a black range oven gleamed and the counters were the same black granite as the dining section. It managed to be somehow functional, casual and beautiful. The lounge furniture was eclectic, grouped together like old friends. There were no plants, few ornaments, but the plain carpet was luxuriously thick and a rug in rich ocean shades was even thicker.

  Trying not to sigh over how long it would be before she could finance a home of her own, let alone one as fantastic as this, Ava was careful not to ask Sam how long he’d owned the flat, or whether he’d used a designer, in case they might be expected to have already covered that kind of basic getting-to-know-you stuff.

  In the event, Wendy and Vanessa made most of the conversation during dinner asking Ava question after question about her business. As it seemed a nice safe topic Ava was perfectly happy to explain how she’d arrived at where she was. ‘A designer called Ceri Mallory had seen my work at my degree show and liked it. Her creations were mainly for occasions like weddings and posh parties and so I fitted in well. I interned with her, then she gave me a job as her junior milliner and helped me hone my design skills. It was good experience but I wasn’t paid much and she let me believe that one day I’d be taken on as a junior partner, which didn’t happen.’ She made light of what had been a catastrophe at the time. ‘Also, she gave me the jobs she didn’t like, like demonstrating millinery techniques at her preview evenings. She preferred to loll around chatting about her current samples to the ladies of Kensington and Chelsea over wine and nibbles, subtly selling all the time. Fair enough, though; she knew her clientele and I quite liked doing demonstrations.’

  She halted.

  Vanessa was staring at her, fork poised. ‘You’d be perfect,’ she breathed. ‘It’s my regional Rotary Christmas Ball on Saturday and the speaker has had to cancel because of illness. Would you do it instead?’

  Ava tried not to choke on her wine. ‘I’m not sure—’

  ‘It’s a £300 fee plus expenses.’

  ‘Oh.’ Ava had been about to say that a little demo of blocking in front of a dozen targeted clients was a bit different to talking to a big room full of glammed-up people. But the £300 caught her attention. ‘Where’s the venue?’

  ‘In Port Manor, just outside of our village, Middledip. Very nice. I’ll be there with my boyfriend, Neale, and Wendy. You can stay over with us, if you want. Sam can drive you.’

  ‘But—’ Ava glanced at Sam, expecting him to say that he had pl
ans. But she found him looking thoughtful instead.

  In fact, he was nodding. ‘It could be good for picking up business. Lots of the female guests would be in your target market, Ava. You could take a stack of business cards and some of your samples. A hat display would be OK, Van, wouldn’t it?’

  Vanessa looked hopeful. ‘Perfect. A display, a demonstration, a fashion show – anything you want. People just like to be entertained for about forty minutes after dinner. So can I put you down for it? You’d be doing me a huge favour and if it would be good for business, as Sam says …’

  Ava felt a small buzz of incredulous excitement that something else good might be happening. She glanced at Sam. ‘But it sounds like I’d be trespassing on your good nature.’

  He grinned. ‘It’s as good an excuse as any to have dinner with you.’

  ‘As if you need an excuse!’ laughed Wendy. ‘It’ll be great for me, too, because I’m seeing a lovely lot of Sam at the moment but there’s no such thing as too much.’

  The conversation missed a beat, as if everyone paused to wonder how much more of anyone Wendy would see in the future. Ava saw pain flit across Sam’s features. ‘Any time, Mum,’ he managed.

  Another beat.

  Wendy kept up her smile as if it were her shield against the world. ‘I’m going to do a charity thing at the ball, raising money for ovarian cancer awareness and my women’s support group.’

  Ava didn’t feel there was much she could say about the spectre of ovarian cancer but she couldn’t help feeling curiosity over sweet little Wendy’s involvement with women’s support. ‘You’ve got a group?’

  Wendy dropped her gaze to her plate. She hadn’t eaten much of what was on it. ‘I’m no firebrand, but I get angry about women who find themselves in a bad place through no fault of their own. I sort of helped set the No Blame or Shame group up. Now there are proper professional counsellors, a helpline and message boards. Most of the people who come to us are women who’ve been attacked or threatened, but sometimes it’s one of their family members who needs support.’