A Winter's Dream

by Sophie Claire

  Then it came back. Poppy Cottage. Lottie. Alex.

  Her heart rate gradually returned to normal, and she closed her eyes to replay the vivid dream that had catapulted her from sleep. She’d been flying through the air on a rollercoaster, screaming, when it had flown off the rails and careered down a snowy hill towards a crossroads where a car was waiting for the traffic lights to change.

  As Liberty drew closer, the driver at the wheel of the car came into focus and she realised it was Carys – Carys, whose mouth was wide with terror because Liberty was heading straight for her. Liberty panicked. She tried to stop, her feet stamped on the brake, but there was no pedal, nothing, and she couldn’t do anything to stop—

  Her eyes snapped open. It had just been a dream. Probably brought on by the alcohol she’d drunk, combined with the cocktail of complicated emotions Alex had stirred up when he’d come here. Breathe, Lib, breathe.

  She peered into the darkness. Embers still glowed in the fireplace, and the baby monitor calmly glowed green. Alex’s breathing was regular and quiet, but she wasn’t sure if he was sleeping. He couldn’t be very comfortable down there on the floor. She hoped his shoulder wasn’t too sore.

  Her whispered confession ran through her mind on loop: I don’t feel anything for Ethan. The realisation had felt like a lead weight. She’d known in her heart that Ethan wasn’t The One, so why had it taken Alex to point it out before she’d acknowledged it?

  Because she’d wanted it to work. It would have been so safe and easy with Ethan, everything falling into place. But maybe wanting it so much was precisely what had made her overlook that one vital element was missing: the physical, the spark, the magic. She glanced at the grey shadow on the floor.

  She didn’t light up around Ethan the way she did with Alex. He didn’t even have to be near her: just the sight of him across a room was enough to make her feel heady, as if the sun had come out from behind the clouds.

  Disappointment weighed her down. Wasn’t it just typical that she felt lukewarm about the man who was perfect, and responded with fire and ice to the one who was totally wrong for her?

  Don’t get attached. I never stick around.

  She thought of what he’d told her about his dad, about his past relationship. What had happened? Clearly he’d hurt someone. Did that surprise her? A man who lived for adrenalin rushes and high-speed racing was hardly likely to be the loyal dependable kind, was he? Still, it was sad that he didn’t trust himself to commit to anyone again. Sad that he’d chosen to be alone.

  She pushed this aside. It was nothing to do with her. He was just a lodger in her house, and he’d be gone by Christmas.

  Alex sighed. ‘You can’t sleep either?’

  In the darkness her head whipped round. His accent and the way he exaggerated his vowels had become so familiar so quickly, and she found it endearing. ‘No,’ she whispered.

  She pictured him as she’d seen him earlier, wearing nothing but jeans, his chest bare, bronzed, muscular. Heat unfurled at the memory. Silence stretched. Her heart beat in a quick tempo beneath the blanket. A triangle of navy sky peeped through the top of the curtains where they didn’t quite meet.

  ‘Why did you come to the ball tonight?’ she asked quietly. ‘You said you weren’t going to.’

  There was a long pause before he answered. ‘I changed my mind.’

  ‘Why?’ she insisted.

  Another silence filled the darkness, although her eyes must have adjusted because now she could see the outlines of the coffee-table, the armchair and Lottie’s toy box.

  ‘I wanted to see you.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘You.’ She heard the smile in his voice.

  ‘But you knew I’d be with Ethan.’

  She waited, holding her breath, for the reply, but it didn’t come. She sighed. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Neither do I,’ he confessed finally.

  The monitor lit up, a string of lights, as Lottie turned over. Then the lights flickered out.

  ‘You looked stunning tonight,’ he said. Was that his explanation, or was he changing the subject? ‘That dress, your hair …’

  Her thighs squeezed. Desire licked at her. She smiled weakly into the darkness. ‘You should have used that as your opening line instead of passing judgement on my relationship with Ethan.’

  ‘You’re right.’ She heard the regret in his voice. ‘But I had to say it. I can’t hide how I feel. It’s not in my nature.’

  ‘So …’ she began, then swallowed.

  Don’t say it, don’t go there, Lib.

  But she couldn’t stop herself. She needed to know. ‘… what are you feeling now?’

  The pause before he answered lasted an eternity. Heat filled her cheek and she cringed. Oh, God, she’d blown it now. What had she been think—

  ‘I’m feeling …’, his deep voice reached her through the darkness, ‘… that I want you very much.’

  She lit up with joy – and disbelief, too.

  There was a rustle, and when his silhouette appeared in front of her she sat up. He perched on the sofa next to her. Their arms found each other and he kissed her. Tentatively. Queryingly.

  Then it became feverish and urgent. Just like when they’d been snowed in, only this time it wasn’t a surprise, and she wanted this. She longed for this. Desire had been simmering beneath the surface ever since that kiss among the feathers.

  She slid her fingers through his hair, savouring its satin smoothness and breathing in his familiar scent. Her hands ran over his shoulders, back, biceps, relishing the heat of his skin, the rough curl of hair. She leaned back, drawing him to her, and her body sparked as he touched her. She arched against him, loving how he made her feel all woman. He excited her more than any man had before – why? Because she knew this couldn’t lead to anything? Rational thoughts melted away as he began to drop kisses along her chin and her neck, and she pushed the blanket away, tugging at her pyjama top, wanting his lips to go lower. His knee slipped between hers and she gripped it, rubbed against it, breathing his name on a rush of air—

  The sharp scrape of a key in a lock made them still. Liberty heard the front door open and click quietly shut.

  ‘It’s Luc,’ Alex breathed. Reluctantly, he untangled himself from her and got up. She fastened her top and watched as he reached down for his blanket to wrap around himself. ‘Can I put the light on?’ he whispered.

  ‘Um – yeah.’

  She blinked against the bright light and heard him open the lounge door. ‘Luc, hi. How’s Natasha?’

  ‘Tout va bien.’ Liberty sat up and saw Luc’s beaming smile in the doorway. He reverted to English for her benefit. ‘We have a baby boy. Arthur,’ he said proudly. ‘It all happened quickly this time, but there were no problems and he’s gorgeous. He looks just like Nat. Has her blue eyes.’

  Liberty smiled. He was grey with exhaustion but his eyes were radiant.

  ‘That’s wonderful! Congratulations,’ said Liberty.

  Alex slapped his friend on the back. ‘Bravo,’ he said, and muttered something else in French as he hugged him.

  Luc looked a little dazed. The sound of Lottie stirring upstairs made them all glance up.

  ‘Why don’t you get some sleep and I’ll look after Lottie this morning?’ Liberty suggested, getting up. She could take the little girl out to the park, maybe stop for cake at the bakery.

  ‘It’s okay,’ said Luc. ‘I’m too excited to sleep. And I want Lottie to meet her little brother as soon as possible. I’ll take her to the hospital in a few hours. Give Nat the chance to rest first.’ He looked from Alex to her and back again, then grinned. ‘So you both stayed, huh?’

  ‘Alex brought me an overnight bag,’ she said quickly. ‘And he helped me with Lottie. He was very good with her.’

  ‘You two go home,’ said Luc. ‘Sleep in your own beds. It can’t have been very comfortable on the sofa.’ He winked, and Liberty blushed furiously.

  Alex, on the other hand,
seemed unfazed. ‘If you’re sure.’

  They got dressed, collected their belongings, and left as quietly as possible so as not to disturb Lottie. The car Alex had borrowed was parked in front of the cottage. In the darkness she couldn’t see what colour it was, but its shape was distinctive: a low sports car with an enormous bonnet that looked as if it had been stretched. It suited Alex perfectly.

  ‘What is this car?’ Liberty asked, not wanting to talk about what had just happened back there. Her cheeks were still hot at the memory of Luc’s interruption. Imagine if he’d come into the lounge and caught them.

  ‘A TVR.’ Alex shrugged. ‘I don’t know this brand. Jake said it’s British.’

  The engine didn’t catch on the first attempt and she watched him as he coaxed it to life.

  ‘Probably very valuable.’

  ‘Yes. I’m sure.’

  Eventually, he got it going and pulled away. She noticed he drove carefully, easing the classic car round the bends, slowly through the sleeping village.

  The streets of cottages huddled together in the dark, punctuated by orange spots of lamplight here and there. They drove over the bridge and pulled onto the main road, which was deserted. She cast Alex a covert glance. His jaw was set, and his hands were clenched around the steering wheel.

  What would happen when they got home? Did she want to carry on where they’d left off?

  Finally, they reached Damselfly Cottage. Alex killed the engine and turned to her. He looked as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

  Her throat tightened. She needed time to work out how she felt, she wasn’t sure what—

  ‘It won’t happen again,’ he said quietly. ‘I promise.’

  She blinked. She hadn’t seen that coming. It was a slap in the face.

  Before she could say anything, he opened the car and got out. Stunned, Liberty watched as he strode towards the cottage.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Alex marched towards the front door. He hadn’t drunk any alcohol last night, yet this morning he felt as if he had the worst hangover in the world.

  Regret. That was what this grey ache in his head, in his stomach was. Regret and remorse – and anger with himself.

  ‘Hold on a minute!’ Liberty called after him. He stopped. She caught up, breathless. ‘What do you mean it won’t happen again?’

  The sky was turning violet in anticipation of the sun. A crow called from somewhere high above.

  What the hell was the matter with him? Ever since he’d arrived here he just kept screwing things up, saying the wrong thing. ‘It shouldn’t have happened. I shouldn’t have let it—’

  ‘You shouldn’t?’ She jabbed a finger at her chest. ‘What about me? I was there too, remember? Does what I want count for nothing?’

  Her hair was messy and its colour dulled by the bluish dawn light, but her eyes blazed and her brow was creased in a furious knot. She was vibrant. Fiery. Beautiful.

  He said quietly, ‘I’m thinking only of you, Liberty. I don’t want to hurt you.’ He pushed a strand of hair back from her face and touched her cheek. It was as soft as the fleece lining of the mittens she’d made for him. ‘We want different things, you know that. Which is why I can’t believe I allowed that to happen …’ He gestured in the vague direction of Luc’s. She deserved so much better.

  He rubbed a hand over his face and sighed. ‘I promise I won’t let it happen again.’

  Wednesday, 17 December

  It was only a couple of miles to Guy’s garage, so Alex had walked there. He had all the time in the world, so why not? Through the woods, across the main road, then following the stream and the winding path it traced to Willowbrook village. Although it was winter and most of the trees had lost their leaves, nature was still lively: he’d spotted squirrels, rabbits, even a fox. He’d become aware of the orchestra of bird calls: the high trills of small birds, and the lower guttural rasp of crows and magpies. Details he hadn’t appreciated when he’d first arrived in this tranquil place. And each day the stream played a different piece of music for him. After the snow had melted, it had gushed, loud and full; on clear days, it was calm and melodic.

  By the time he reached Guy’s garage, his head always felt clearer, his mood was brighter, and he was really looking forward to working on the Triumph. Guy had even given him his own overalls.

  He was in the workshop taking apart the headlamp when a well-dressed lady came in. ‘Mr Ricard?’ she said.

  Alex looked up. ‘That’s me.’ A few weeks ago he would have been wary, but he’d found that no one here seemed over-impressed by his name or reputation.

  She shuffled her feet. Wearing a smart tweed jacket and cashmere jumper, she looked out of place among the oil-stained metal and machinery. ‘My name’s Anna. I brought my car in yesterday and Bob mentioned you were helping here.’

  ‘Ah. I’m sorry, Bob’s not in today. Guy might know where you can find him.’

  ‘Actually, it’s you I came to see. About your letters. I heard you’re looking for someone who … knew your dad.’

  He put the lamp down. She had his full attention now. ‘That’s right. A woman whose name begins with M.’

  What had she said her name was? Anna. She looked as if she might be in her late fifties. The right age.

  Anna smiled. ‘She was called Mary.’

  His heart jumped. ‘You know her?’

  ‘No,’ she said quickly. ‘Not any more. She didn’t live here long, just a couple of years. But I remember she met your dad when she was working at the hotel in town – the hotel where he stayed.’

  His breath caught. A flurry of questions crowded his head, and it was difficult to know where to start. ‘Do you know her surname?’

  ‘Sorry. She rented a room in the house where my friend lived. I didn’t know her well. But I remember she told everyone who’d listen about your dad and how they were dating.’ Her lips made a thin red line. ‘She was – how to put it? – a party girl. We weren’t entirely surprised when she became pregnant. Sadly.’

  The judgement and disapproval were evident. Alex tried to put them aside and focus on the facts. ‘Do you have any other information about her or her baby?’

  She shook her head. ‘She left when her pregnancy became impossible to hide and she was sacked from the hotel. I’m afraid employers were less tolerant in those days. She moved away and we never saw her again.’

  Disappointment filtered through him. The story was only getting more tragic. She’d been alone, pregnant, then lost her job too.

  He scribbled his number on a scrap of paper and handed it to the lady. ‘If you remember anything else – anything at all – please call me.’

  She nodded.

  ‘What else can you tell me about this Mary? What was she like?’ he added, a little desperately.

  ‘She was very taken by your father’s fame and wealth. Mr Ricard, I know you’re doing a good thing in trying to find her, and she must have had a hard time raising a little one by herself, but …’, she appeared to choose her words with care, ‘… she wasn’t an innocent, not by any means. And I think she saw your father as a meal ticket.’

  ‘A meal ticket?’

  Anna shifted uncomfortably. ‘She was a gold-digger. And made no secret of it.’

  As he watched her leave, Alex mulled this over. Did it make any difference? By the sound of it, she’d been young, but the outcome of her liaison with his father would have changed her life irreversibly. Whatever her intention had been, she was left jobless and with a child to raise alone.

  No, he decided, it made no difference to him. In fact, what he’d learned today only made him more determined to help. He just hoped it wasn’t too late.

  Liberty was in the back room of the Button Hole, taking advantage of a quiet moment to press the seams of a new quilt top. It was made of long thin strips of fabric, which she’d machine-stitched together then laid diagonally; once it was finished and quilted Evie planned to display it in the s
hop to promote the packs of fabric strips known in the trade as jelly rolls. They made quilting a little easier for beginners because the fabrics were pre-cut and all the colours in a pack coordinated.

  The iron hissed as she lifted it to slide the fabric along. As she worked, her mind was going over the difficult conversation she’d had with Ethan. They’d spoken on the phone two days ago and he’d been a little resentful at first, but then he’d admitted, ‘I knew you didn’t feel the same way about me.’

  ‘You did?’ She felt bad.

  There was a moment’s hesitation before he added, ‘And I can’t compete with a French racing driver.’

  ‘Alex? But he – we’re not—’

  He gave a wry laugh. ‘You talk about him all the time.’

  ‘Do I?’ She felt pale all of a sudden.

  ‘And it’s understandable, I suppose. The bike, the money, the trophies – it makes the rest of us look dull in comparison.’

  She was astounded. And he was so wrong. Bikes and money didn’t excite her at all. Quite the opposite.

  ‘Ethan, that isn’t what this is about. I like you a lot. I just don’t feel that – spark.’

  His voice had softened. ‘Thanks for being honest with me.’

  Liberty put the iron down and finger-pressed the next section before gently lowering the iron again.

  Everything had changed between her and Alex now. Oh, he was still friendly and the last couple of days they’d had dinner together, walked the dog, and spent evenings in front of the fire. They’d even made plans to visit Luc and Natasha tonight and meet baby Arthur for the first time. But there was an elephant in the room, and she wasn’t sure how to deal with it.

  She had tried to forget about the night of the ball, but it was difficult. He’d been so antagonistic towards Ethan, as if he was jealous. Then he’d been so considerate in turning up at Poppy Cottage and staying to help, and in the night when he’d kissed her and held her …

  She couldn’t shake off the memory. She’d replayed it so many times, but the intensity of it never faded. And he’d said he didn’t want to hurt her, which was noble of him, yet as he’d spoken the words he’d touched her face with such tenderness, it had stolen her breath. It had been … unforgettable.