Christmas Secrets in Snowflake Cove

by Emily Harvale

  Christmas Secrets

  in

  Snowflake Cove

  Emily Harvale

  Copyright © Emily Harvale 2017

  All rights reserved

  Emily Harvale has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this work.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organisations, businesses, places and events other than those clearly in the public domain, are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Published by Crescent Gate Publishing

  E-edition published worldwide 2017

  ISBN 978-1-909917-26-2

  Print edition published worldwide 2017

  ISBN 978-1-909917-27-9

  Cover design © JR and Emily Harvale

  Edited by Christina Harkness

  This book is dedicated to all the lovely members of Emily Harvale’s Readers’ Club – that’s all the subscribers to my Readers’ Club newsletter and the members of my exclusive, Readers’ Club Facebook group. Here’s to a very Merry Christmas for all of you, and to lots more fun, laughter and general silliness in the future. You’re all stars and I am so, so grateful to each and every one of you for your constant friendship and support.

  Table of contents

  Title

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Acknowledgments

  Contact

  A note from Emily

  Coming soon

  Also by

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Evie Starr eased open the blackened-oak front door of Snowflake Inn and smiled. Were things finally taking a turn for the better? Had her dad been right all along when he said that it would all sort itself out by Christmas? Christmas was a time for miracles and magic and the Big Day was less than a week away. Had it already started sprinkling its magic dust over the tiny village of Snowflake Cove?

  Her gran, Jessie Starr was always the first to know everything concerning Snowflake Cove and its much larger neighbour, Michaelmas Bay, so there was no reason to doubt the news. If Jessie said Zachary Thorn was bringing his TV show to town – he was. And that was an opportunity not to be missed. This could be the gift that kept on giving. The answer to all their problems. With any luck.

  Evie struggled to contain her excitement as the centuries-old hinges of the door creaked and groaned. Her gran had made similar sounding protests a few minutes earlier when Evie told her that her help was required in the kitchen. That meant she had to move from her armchair beside one of the inn’s three, roaring log fires.

  ‘Things are grim,’ Jessie said, making it clear that getting to her feet required considerable effort, ‘when an eighty-eight-year-old still has to work for her bed and board. Life in the workhouse would have been a holiday compared to living here.’

  Jessie Starr might be getting on in years but she was as fit as a fiddle. If Evie had a penny for each time she heard that statement, the Starr family wouldn’t have any money worries. And they wouldn’t need to get Zachary Thorn on their side.

  ‘I know, Gran. Mum and Dad have no pity. But how can Mum make Jessie Starr’s famous shortbread and mince pies without the help of the one and only, star baker – Jessie Starr herself?’

  Jessie grinned at her. ‘You’ve got a silver tongue, my girl. I thought you, your father and Raven were going to check outside. If the roof survived last night’s storm intact, I’ll be surprised, let alone those lights. You want that whippersnapper Thorn to see this place at its best, don’t you? Not much point in getting him here in the hope of drumming up business if there’s no roof on the inn. What are you waiting for? Christmas?’

  Evie smiled and bent to kiss her. Despite the warmth from the fire, Jessie’s ivory complexion didn’t have a hint of redness on her tissue-like skin and it was cool against Evie’s lips, like filo pastry taken from the fridge and rolled over porcelain bones. ‘On my way, Gran.’

  Evie had a great many things to do if the Starrs were going to ‘shine’ on TV screens all over the planet. OK, perhaps the planet was a bit of an exaggeration, but Zachary’s live TV show: ‘Thorn On Your Side’ was one of the most-watched primetime shows, according to the rankings. The play on words for the title was a bit crass, but if anything, it seemed to attract viewers rather than put them off. So many shows were about making fun of people or exposing a person’s worst traits or getting them to compete for some coveted prize like inept gladiators in a Big-Screen version of an amphitheatre. Zachary’s show wasn’t like that. It was about helping people achieve their goals, which ranged from starting a business to overcoming a phobia of some kind, by giving them advice and support. Negativity was banned and viewers were left with a feel-good factor, not baying for blood, figuratively speaking. Everyone in Snowflake Cove watched it. Not that that counted for many. There were only thirty-eight permanent residents in the tiny village, including the Starr family – although technically they lived on Snowflake Isle. But despite the fact that the inn sat on a miniscule island, two hundred or so metres from the mainland, it was connected to it by a long, narrow wooden bridge and had always been part of Snowflake Cove.

  ‘We must get this door fixed, Dad,’ Evie said, as she stepped outside. ‘I’m always worried the hinges will snap, they’re so ancient. Shall I add it to my list, or yours?’

  ‘It’s already on my list but I’ll move it nearer to the top.’

  A shaft of light streamed past from the reception area, dappling the rain-soaked cobbles with a golden glow and turning puddles on the path into liquid caramel. Evie glanced behind her to smile at her dad – and splashed straight into one. Thank heavens she had worn boots rather than shoes. The water level settled above her ankles.

  ‘Mind that–’ Her dad, John Starr hadn’t been so sensible, but her warning came too late. She shook her head and tutted as he peered down at his submerged, brown leather lace-ups, pulling a face when, no doubt, the ice-cold rainwater began seeping in. ‘I told you to put your wellies on.’

  ‘Drat,’ he said, hanging his head like a naughty child. He shook one leg after the other and found a few puddle-free cobbles to stand on before grinning at her. ‘Dry land. This’ll be like playing hopscotch when I was a kid, except with puddles instead of numb
ers.’

  Evie couldn’t help but return his grin. John Starr was well known for his knack of being able to see a bright side to everything. He could even see a light amongst the Starr’s financial worries. Or perhaps he was simply putting on a brave face whenever any of the family tried to discuss the problem by reassuring them that things weren’t that bad and that it would all sort itself out by Christmas.

  Evie had doubted that – until today. With the festive season already underway and Christmas Day less than a week away, the future hadn’t looked particularly bright for the Starrs. Her gran’s news about Zachary Thorn was a beacon of hope.

  ‘At least we still have a roof over our heads,’ John said, as if reading her mind. ‘Or I hope we do. This TV thing could be just what the doctor ordered.’ He winked at Evie and turned his attention to the roof to search for missing tiles and any other signs of damage.

  ‘I hope so. I’ll take a look at the lights, and Raven … Raven?’ Evie tilted her head to look past her dad and back inside towards the reception in search of her fifteen-year-old niece. ‘Where’s she gone? She was right behind us.’

  ‘She’s probably flown the nest.’ Chuckling at his little joke, he gave Evie a brief hug and ambled away, every now and then hopping over a puddle before splashing into another. He hummed ‘White Christmas’, got it mixed up with ‘I Saw Three Ships’ and ended up with something unrecognisable. But at least it sounded jolly.

  Evie wished she could be more like him and not worry so much about everything, but at thirty-four, there was no chance of changing the habits of a lifetime. She was one of life’s worriers and that was that.

  The front door was wide open and Evie turned back to close it to keep the heat from escaping. Roaring log fires in the reception area, lounge, dining room and bar made Snowflake Inn feel like the tropics, but a few minutes of an open door or window and the temperature would soon start to drop. The storm may have abated since last night but bitter winds still blew in from the hills to the north of Snowflake Cove and whistled their way through Michaelmas Great Wood. Earlier, Jessie had insisted she could smell snow in the air. That was all they needed. It had been an atrocious summer with little sunshine. Autumn brought more rain and with it came several storms, so bad that the Met Office had given them names. A winter of snow and blizzards, they could definitely do without.

  Evie let out a long, low sigh. She couldn’t worry about snow right now. She had far too many other things to think about. A long list of things. And Raven was supposed to be helping. Where was she?

  Perhaps her niece had indeed flown the nest and was heading to the train station in Michaelmas Bay instead of standing out here freezing to death. Evie shivered as the wind found its way to an exposed area of her neck and bit her freckled skin. She wrapped her scarf tighter. The quicker she checked the lights, the sooner she’d be back inside, warming herself by the fire and breathing in the spices her mum and gran would be using to make Jessie Starr’s famous shortbread and mince pies.

  That’s probably where Raven was. She had been right behind Evie a few minutes earlier. She’d probably headed to the kitchen instead of coming outside. And who could blame her? Ice crystals were forming around the edges of the puddles. Great. Another thing Evie would need to add to the list. The entire path from the front door to the bridge linking Snowflake Isle to the mainland would need to be covered with grit and sand. They didn’t have many guests – only two at the moment – but they couldn’t take any chances on someone slipping on ice and breaking their hip or something. And if Evie could find a way to get Zachary Thorn and his TV crew to visit Snowflake Inn, knowing her family’s luck, it would probably be the man himself who took a tumble. The Starrs would have a law suit to add to their growing pile of debt.

  An image of Zachary Thorn lying injured in her bed, his long honey blond eyelashes fluttering against his tanned cheeks, his equally bronzed, bare chest rising and falling dramatically, his strong arms resting atop her snowman-covered Christmas duvet, made her smile even though it shouldn’t. Quite why the handsome hunk was in her bed and not in one of the guest bedrooms – or in hospital – was a mystery to Evie, and he wouldn’t be half-naked if he had any sense. Despite all the other bedrooms being kept at the ideal temperature thanks to the back boilers served by one of the fires and the aged Aga, the radiator in her bedroom had a mind of its own. It veered between stone-cold and tepid. The man would freeze to death if he didn’t wear pyjamas.

  Somehow, she couldn’t quite envision Zachary Thorn in Christmas-themed PJs. Her family all wore Christmas themed nightclothes during the festive season which, in the Starr household, began on the day the first chocolate was taken from each of their advent calendars. Chocolate-filled advent calendars were another Starr family tradition.

  She could offer to keep him warm. Kissing him better had great appeal. But that particular dream would never come true and besides, Zachary wouldn’t let a few broken bones keep him down. He was ex-SAS. Even his honey blond hair was trying to escape beneath the bandages swathed about his head in her imaginary scenario. He’d no doubt had more injuries than she’d had hot water bottles, and been in far colder places than her bedroom. She probably had more chance of joining the SAS herself than she did of sharing passionate kisses with Zachary Thorn. Her wild, ginger hair and a face splattered with freckles wouldn’t be Zachary’s idea of attractive. The man had women falling at his feet. He was drop-dead gorgeous. He was also a bit of an enigma, which added to the attraction.

  His career in the British Army special forces ended a little over a year ago after a ‘classified incident’ about which no one knew the facts, other than that a man under his command had been ‘lost’ during a training exercise and Zachary resigned his commission as a result. But his act of heroism in saving several people’s lives after an horrific, freak accident in London a few months later had set him on the unlikely career path of a TV presenter. His Adonis-like looks ensured he would have a glowing future on the small screen. Everyone loves a hero, and any previous ‘grey areas’ in his past were quickly forgiven and forgotten. Evie, along with half the population, would love to know the facts, but Zachary was a man of secrets and for once the media didn’t seem interested in delving into them, classified or not. At least for the time being.

  She cleared her mind of him – or tried to, and typed the words sand and grit into her phone and on to her ever-growing list. If the plan worked, Snowflake Inn would soon be heaving with people and the old wooden bridge crossing would be bowing under the weight.

  Oh God. What if it collapsed? The narrow channel of water separating the isle from the mainland was about an eighth of a mile wide, if that, but it was like one of those fast water rides in theme parks. When the tide came in, the rush of water could sweep people right around the isle like bobbing ducks at the fair, pushing them into any number of tiny inlets and bumping them into the sharp, sloping rocks of the snowflake-shaped isle, before carrying them into the wide, tidal waters of Michaelmas Bay. The natural rock harbour there, would offer shelter, but some poor souls could be washed through the gap and out to sea.

  Why on earth was she worrying about that? That kind of thing only happened in disaster movies. It was technically possible but most unlikely. She really needed to concentrate and not get carried away on these flights of fancy. How had she gone from picturing Zachary in her bed, to seeing people drowning? Oh yes... a rather over-active imagination and a tendency to worry about things that will never happen.

  She raised her eyes skywards. Another storm was on the way and it looked like rain or hail if the charcoal-grey clouds were anything to go by. At least there was plenty of wood for the fires. One advantage of living in Snowflake Cove was that Michaelmas Bay harbour virtually wrapped itself around the cove and the isle, thereby protecting them from the worst of the weather. Another was the fact that Michaelmas Great Wood was common land. It came with ancient rights for residents to ‘take wood for their fires’ – and that included the owners of
Snowflake Inn. That meant one less bill to worry about.

  At the beginning of the year, her dad had decided it would be a good idea to have solar panels fitted to provide electricity. Great, in theory. Not so good in reality. Due to the fact the building was Grade II listed and the roof was clearly visible both from land and sea, so as not to ‘detract from its authenticity’, the panels had to be set up on the ground, at vast expense, a short distance from the inn. But the sun had been noticeable by its absence this year and in spite of the panels resembling a mini, NASA array, Evie doubted there was enough energy stored to see the Starrs through this winter. She hoped for an early spring, because if the forecasters were to be believed, the next few months would bring nothing but rain, cloud, and for the rest of December, snow, snow and more snow. She loved snow, but it made things even more difficult as far as running the inn was concerned.

  The only access to Snowflake Inn was via the old wooden bridge and although it was solid, it was narrow. Too narrow for cars to cross. In any event there was no place for a car park on Snowflake Isle. The footprint of the inn took up most of it. Only the inn, the sun terrace and gardens on the part facing Michaelmas Bay, and the cobbled path and lawn at the front of the inn, stood on level ground. The rest of the isle consisted of sloping banks, jagged rocks and sandy inlets. During exceptionally high tides – of which there had been a few this year – the sea came within metres of the ancient, wattle and daub, timber framed building. Even if an area could be flattened for a car park, there was a distinct possibility of the vehicles being surrounded by water at such times. No one wanted that. Not that the Starrs could afford to build a car park. The last of their savings had been sunk into the solar panels.

  The Starrs did not own a car but Evie’s dad roared around on a motorbike. It was almost as old as him and was kept in the small stable-come-shed-come-wood store attached to the inn. To ferry guests from the mainland to the isle they still used the method adopted many centuries before: a horse and a long, narrow, covered cart with seats on only one side. Most guests found this mode of transport exciting, romantic, or at least, quirky, but some took an instant dislike to it and preferred to walk, moaning the entire way. That irritated Evie. It was clear on the website that the inn was on a little isle, joined to the mainland by a bridge. It was also made clear how guests would get across. It seemed some people couldn’t read. Admittedly, it was described as a ‘short but scenic carriage ride’, but the photos showed exactly what the ‘carriage’ looked like, both inside and out.