A Winter's Dream

by Sophie Claire

  Clouds had pushed in, but that didn’t bother Liberty as she read back over the last few days’ entries: the Christmas village, the hairy drive up that winding road to the beautiful hilltop village with incredible views, and last night’s glamorous party on the yacht with a stunning firework display. Her week in Provence had ended, quite literally, with a bang.

  ‘You’ve done a lot in one month, hein?’ said Alex, leaning in to read it too.

  Pride swelled in her and she nodded. ‘And it’s changed me. I’m not the same person any more.’

  ‘What have you learned from doing this challenge?’

  She brushed a crease out of the skirt of her green dress and thought hard. ‘I’ve learned that the idea of doing something is often worse than the reality. The voice in my head used to stop me doing so many things by telling me I wouldn’t cope, I might get hurt, or focusing on everything that could go wrong. Now I don’t let it.’

  She’d set herself this challenge because she’d believed her life was lacking excitement, risk, love. And because she’d felt lonely. But during the last month she’d learned something, and not just that she was more courageous than she’d believed. She’d learned to value her life, quiet as it was, and to accept who she was.

  Yes, she missed Carys, and she might still be alone, but now she appreciated how lucky she was to live in a place where friends were like family. She could count on Natasha and Evie to be there when she needed them. She adored her cottage, her walks with Charlie, her job, and she couldn’t wait to get back. Willowbrook was her home, and she knew now that she could get along just fine by herself.

  Although she hoped she wouldn’t be by herself.

  Alex got up and leaned against the balcony rail, his features relaxed as he looked out over the slate-coloured water and the darkening sky.

  She swallowed, because there was still one difficult, frightening thing she hadn’t done. She’d put it off, tried to push it away – but she knew the time had come to bite the bullet.

  Alex watched the waves jump and curl. The sea was agitated, the sky masked by a dirty grey filter.

  ‘Alex, there’s something else.’ Liberty’s voice made him turn. It sounded thin. Uncertain.

  She was standing beside him and he touched her cheek. ‘What is it?’

  ‘There’s – something I need to tell you.’

  A sober feeling washed through him. Why did she look so unhappy, so afraid? His skin prickled uncomfortably.

  ‘It’s quite simple, really,’ she said quietly. Her smile was watery. She fiddled with the belt of her dress, twisting the end around her finger, then unwinding it and starting again. ‘I love you.’

  He blinked. The words settled like dust after an explosion. Horror snaked through him and he fought the urge to jump up and run. Or throw his head back and sigh with exasperation, because he’d been so clear about his position on this.

  ‘I know it’s a shock,’ she went on, ‘and, to be honest, I’m as surprised as you are. I mean, I didn’t think you were my type and – well, it doesn’t make any sense. But there you are.’ She gave a small shrug. ‘This is how I feel.’

  Silence stretched. His heart thudded angrily.

  He should never have let things get to this stage. He shouldn’t have gone after her in Tourmarin – he shouldn’t have done any of this. He noticed she’d twisted the belt so tight her finger was white. Deep grooves dug into her brow.

  He swallowed. ‘Lib, what do you expect me to say?’

  She tilted her head and considered this. ‘You could tell me how you feel. So I know where I stand.’

  He felt a hammering in his temples. He was pretty sure she didn’t want to hear that. Choosing his words carefully, he said slowly, ‘You know how I feel. We’ve talked about this before. Our worlds are too different.’ His voice carried a warning note.

  ‘They’re not so different, though, really. I have Charlie and Carys, and you care about your mum and your brothers.’

  ‘I’m talking about how we live our lives, not who’s important to us. You like your routine, village life. I don’t live like that.’

  She watched him as if he held her heart in his hands. He bit back a curse. It was Solange all over again. ‘But you could. You don’t need to move around any more,’ she said, in a small voice.

  He didn’t have an answer for that. The hope in her eyes made him twist with guilt. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he couldn’t give her what she was hoping for. ‘I don’t – I can’t …’ His throat felt thick. ‘I’m sorry.’

  Silence stretched. Then she placed her hand on his and said, ‘It’s okay.’

  The small gesture of compassion was so unexpected, his head lifted. He stared at her, steeling himself for tears or the slamming of doors. But she met his gaze square on and told him, ‘Really. It’s fine. I promised I wouldn’t ask more than you were willing to give and I understand you don’t return my feelings. But I still love you.’ She moved to go back inside. ‘I’ll find a hotel and stay there until I leave.’

  He blinked. Her honesty – her fearless honesty – took his breath away. ‘You’re leaving?’

  She nodded. ‘I’ll book a flight for tomorrow.’

  ‘So soon? You’ll miss the race …’

  ‘Are you still going to take part in that?’

  ‘Yes.’ It wasn’t overly competitive but it might be one of the few opportunities he had to race. He’d hoped she’d be there, but now … Now he didn’t know what he hoped any more.

  ‘I’m worried you might get hurt.’

  He shrugged off her concern. ‘It’s nothing like MotoGP. It’s old bikes and sometimes old men too. My father took part in it every year until two years ago. I enjoyed beating him,’ he added wryly.

  ‘You don’t have anything to prove now, Alex.’

  ‘I know.’

  She nodded and said quietly, ‘I’ll go and pack.’

  He raked a hand through his hair, frustrated and confused. She loved him but she was leaving. He didn’t do love, yet he didn’t want her to leave. But he didn’t want to hurt her, either. This was all spinning out of his control. ‘I thought you liked it here.’

  ‘I do. But my life is in Willowbrook. My cottage, my job, my friends, and Charlie. This has been fun, but I need to get back.’

  Putting some distance between them was exactly what they should do now. Cut the ties and walk away – for her sake. So why did it feel as if his world was splintering?

  She added quietly, ‘You could come with me. You don’t have any ties, after all.’

  His features hardened. No. Not now she’d told him she loved him. ‘I told you, I don’t do commitment.’

  She smiled and asked gently, ‘You say you don’t, but if your mum and your brothers need you, you’re always there for them, aren’t you?’

  ‘That’s different.’

  ‘Is it?’ She blinked hard and he saw the hurt in her eyes. His chest tightened, yet he couldn’t step forward and take her in his arms. He couldn’t.

  She continued, ‘I think you’re afraid.’

  ‘Afraid? Don’t be ridiculous. I’m—’ Anger reared up in him, hot and vivid. ‘Okay, believe that if you want to, but the only thing I’m afraid of is that I might hurt you like I hurt Solange!’

  ‘For goodness’ sake, stop using her as an excuse!’ Her cheeks flooded with colour. ‘That happened years ago. You were young and she wasn’t me.’ Her pulse flickered angrily at the base of her throat. She took a deep breath, obviously trying to compose herself, and said more quietly, ‘You know what I think? You’re not just afraid of hurting me. You’re afraid of being hurt yourself.’

  He stiffened. ‘No.’

  ‘Like your dad hurt you.’

  An icy chill trickled down his spine. He stared at her.

  She forged on: ‘But love doesn’t always have to hurt, Alex. You know that, somewhere deep inside you. You’re just afraid to take a chance and risk your heart by letting anyone into your life.’


  ‘I’m not afr—’ he began.

  Her sigh cut him off. ‘Goodbye, Alex.’

  As she turned and made her way indoors, her words ricocheted through his head. Was he afraid? Had the belief that love hurt embedded itself in him?

  He knew love was possible: he’d seen how happy his mum was now, and his brother was happily married, Luc too.

  He shook his head. Liberty was wrong. He wasn’t afraid. He was just doing the right thing, the responsible thing.

  So why, as she walked away from him, did it feel so wrong?

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Friday, 2 January

  Liberty cried all the way home. She sobbed like a child. Or, rather, like a grown woman whose heart had been ripped in half. Who had she thought she was, saying she was brave enough to love him even if he didn’t love her back? Her stupid challenge had made her overconfident. It had pushed her too far and given her false hopes – unrealistic hopes – that he would return her love.

  Well, now she was getting her comeuppance. This was what happened when you got too big for your boots, Liberty McKenzie. You were hit by pain stronger than a rocket’s g-force.

  She went straight to the Old Hall to collect Charlie, who leaped into her arms and made her cry because he was so uninhibitedly pleased to see her.

  ‘Lib?’ said Evie, seeing her tears. ‘Are you—?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ she said quickly, and swiped at her wet cheek. ‘Just tired from the journey – you know, I don’t like flying and all that.’

  It was a white lie. It turned out that having a broken heart had been the best distraction from her fear of flying. She’d barely noticed the plane leaving the runway. She’d been so inconsolably wrapped up in her heartache.

  ‘Better go,’ she choked, bundling Charlie into her car. ‘See you at the Button Hole tomorrow.’

  When she got home, she lit the fire and poured herself a large glass of red wine. It didn’t normally feature in her routine for Friday nights, but stuff it. A small gift beneath the tree caught her eye. Its red packaging glinted. She picked it up, remembering Alex had said he’d left it for her. Her fingers lifted out a silver chain and pendant on which a damselfly was engraved, and the words:

  She believed she could, so she did.

  Her heart drilled and her fist closed around it as the tears began to flow once more.

  Saturday, 3 January

  ‘So you’re back on vanilla slices, then?’ Evie asked.

  ‘Yup. I completed the challenge, I collected my winnings, so January is going to be all about routine. Nice, safe, boring, predictable routine. It’s great!’ she said bitterly, and took a huge mouthful of vanilla custard filling. She licked her lips. ‘Delicious.’ At least, it would be when she was back to feeling normal.

  Evie’s eyebrows knotted in sympathy. ‘Are you okay? You look a little … tired.’

  Liberty laughed. ‘I look terrible, you mean.’

  ‘I didn’t say—’

  ‘You didn’t need to. I know I look a mess. I’ve got puffy red eyes and blotchy skin and – and—’ Here they came again, the sobs, racking her body, making her nose run. She hadn’t thought it was possible to cry as much as she had in the last two days.

  Evie scurried to the door, flipped the shop’s ‘open’ sign to ‘closed’, then steered her through into the back room. ‘Sit down,’ she said softly, and placed a box of tissues beside her.

  Liberty did as she was told.

  ‘What happened? Tell me everything.’

  So she did. From Alex’s unexpected appearance in Tourmarin to the New Year’s Eve party in Monaco and … well, everything.

  ‘So we spent a week together and it was exciting and eye-opening and wonderful and I fell in love with the place – and with him. But he doesn’t love me.’ His look of horror when she’d told him she loved him would stay with her always.

  ‘Oh, Liberty, you poor brave girl.’

  ‘If I hadn’t fallen in love with him I would still be the person I was before. I wouldn’t be hurting so much I can’t last an hour without sobbing!’ She sniffed.

  ‘You can’t help your feelings. And just think of all the things you’d have missed if you hadn’t gone to France and spent that time with him.’

  She thought of the nights, making love, sleeping curled up against him, having whispered conversations. Of celebratory meals with his wonderful family and seeing all those beautiful places: châteaux, hilltop villages, forests, the Mediterranean Sea. The quiet moments, the living crib, and watching him sleep. And the nights.

  She made a choking sound, half laugh, half sob. ‘You’re right.’

  ‘It might not feel like it right now but this has made you stronger.’ Evie hugged her. ‘I’m sorry it didn’t work out. He’s a fool. But you are a beautiful, sweet, caring girl and one day you will meet someone who will appreciate that and love you as you deserve to be loved.’

  Liberty rested her cheek on Evie’s shoulder and hoped her friend was right.

  Tuesday, 6 January

  Alex leaned against the wall, arms folded.

  ‘Ready in fifteen minutes, Mr Ricard?’ asked a marshal.

  He nodded. The marshal moved on.

  After yesterday’s qualifiers he was starting in pole position. He didn’t even need to worry about the competition or his race plan, he thought, sighing because the distraction would have been welcome. Instead, he had time to kill and only his thoughts for company. He kicked his heel and glared at the sullen sky.

  He used to believe that being alone was the best way for him to be. He’d been happy alone before. But now Liberty had gone it felt as if the life had been sucked out of his world. Everything was slow, soundless, hollow. He kept opening his mouth to tell her something or ask her opinion, but she wasn’t there.

  He pictured her at Damselfly Cottage and wondered if she had gone back to her old routine or if her challenge had changed that. He thought of Willowbrook village with its tiny cottages and friendly residents. He missed working in the garage and Guy and Bob’s friendly banter, being able to pop into Luc’s for a chat over coffee. He missed the calm of walking in the woods and the centring effect those walks had had on him. He even missed the damn cottage with its lethally low doorways and cosy rooms. It was calm and homely, and he missed Charlie too.

  But most of all he missed Liberty.

  He’d love to be there with her, walking Charlie in the forest, sitting with her by the fire. Little things but, he realised now, meaningful things.

  Well, he’d simply have to get used to it. This was how it had to be. It was best for everyone, and he had to stop dwelling on it.

  ‘Mr Ricard?’ a woman asked.

  He looked up. What now?

  A young woman stopped beside him. Her headset and hi-vis jacket marked her out as another race official. ‘We’re ready for you to go through. Good luck with your race.’ She eyed the track. ‘Conditions are good. I’m sure you’ll smash it.’

  Liberty guided the last of the quilt through the sewing-machine and snipped the threads. At least that was one job done, she thought irritably. She hadn’t derived any pleasure from working on this king-sized quilt, a bespoke order for an online customer. Black and white in a Rail Fence design, the zigzag pattern had sent her cross-eyed as she’d quilted it.

  She stood and stretched her back, then spread out the quilt to check it. The shop bell tinkled, signalling they had a customer – only the third today. January was usually quiet, but today had been deathly. It was as if everyone could sense her black mood and was keeping away. Probably wise. Good job Evie was out there to give them a cheery welcome. She folded the quilt and was about to check Evie’s notes for which fabric to use to bind it when a crease caught her eye. She stopped and peered closer at the quilt’s backing, and her hand automatically reached to smooth the deep crease in it. It remained fixed there – quilted into place by her.

  She swore. ‘Please tell me this isn’t happening,’ she ground out, and unfolded it.


  ‘Lib?’ Evie appeared in the doorway.

  ‘I’ve just finished quilting this and look.’ Liberty held it up for her to see. The crease ran right down the middle.

  ‘Oh,’ was all Evie could find to say. There was no silver lining this time.

  There was nothing for it but to unpick her work. Every last damn stitch. Liberty resisted the urge to stamp her feet – or punch something.

  ‘Dorothy’s here to see you,’ Evie said.

  ‘To see me?’ Liberty frowned. Dorothy sometimes came in to buy knitting patterns or wool, but she wasn’t usually picky about who served her.

  Glad to leave the accursed quilt, she went through to the shop.

  Dorothy’s white hair trembled as she waggled a finger at Liberty. ‘You forgot to come and see me.’

  She frowned, then remembered – at the ball, Dorothy had said something about having tea. ‘Oh, Dorothy, I’m sorry! There’s been so much going on.’

  ‘I heard about your adventures.’ Her eyes twinkled. ‘Why don’t you pop in after work tonight?’

  Liberty was tired and grumpy, and all she wanted was to change into her pyjamas and relax. ‘Well, actually, I’m—’

  Dorothy shook her head. ‘No excuses, young lady. I’ll be expecting you.’

  ‘Oh. Okay. Um – what’s it about again?’ She probably just wanted a chat. Dorothy could talk for England and she got lonely.

  ‘I’ll explain this evening.’

  Dorothy lived on Love Lane, a cobbled road too narrow for cars and only a short walk away from the Button Hole. A wreath of pine cones and mistletoe hung on the door of her terraced cottage, and the porch light glowed like a firefly in the dark winter’s evening as Liberty approached.

  Dorothy must have been waiting near the door because it opened as soon she knocked.

  ‘I’ll take your coat. You sit down, dear.’ Dorothy pointed to the living room where a vigorous fire was burning and a plate of mince pies lay on the coffee-table.