A Winter's Wish

by Alice Ross

  But he didn’t.

  Because, at that exact moment, a voice piped up, ‘I thought you might need an extra pair of hands.’

  Ella spun round to find Dan in the doorway.

  ‘What’re you doing in the dark?’ he asked.

  ‘Looking for the light switch,’ muttered Jake, fumbling about to the right of the door.

  ‘It’s on the other side,’ Dan informed him. ‘Which, I must admit, isn’t the most obvious place.’

  Moving over Jake located the switch and flicked on the lights. ‘There you go,’ he declared, beaming at Ella. ‘Now, where are these glasses?’

  Never, in all her eighteen years – not even when she’d received her A-level results and observed the look of disappointment sweep over her parents’ faces – had Ella been more devastated than when Dan bowled into the tearoom, interrupting that exquisite moment between her and Jake. She was certain something had been about to happen – certain he’d been aware of the sizzling chemistry between them, the smouldering attraction. But then in barged Dan, ruining everything. Again.

  After that crushing disappointment, Ella would have liked nothing more than to make her excuses and crawl home. But she didn’t. Partly because she couldn’t face her siblings. And partly because going home required energy that she sadly lacked at the moment. Instead, she perched on a chair in the corner, cradling yet another glass of Prosecco. Ideally, she would have knocked it back in one, followed by another, and another. But, unused to alcohol, the two glasses she’d had before the ignominious jaunt to the Stables had already made her tipsy. That carefree feeling, though, had lasted only until Dan’s unwarranted appearance. Subsequently replaced with crashing tiredness and a splitting headache.

  ‘You all right?’ Annie enquired fifteen minutes later. ‘You look very pale.’

  Ella managed a weak smile. ‘Just a bit tired,’ she replied, avoiding eye contact. The fact that she’d almost been in a passionate embrace with the woman’s husband did nothing for her sinking mood.

  ‘Well, you’re in for a treat,’ rattled on Annie, evidently oblivious to the treat Ella would much rather have had. ‘Dan’s going to give us a tune on the piano.’

  ‘Dan?’ Ella screwed up her nose in disbelief. ‘I didn’t know he played the piano.’

  Dan, Ella discovered a few minutes later, not only played the piano, but played it very well. After a beautiful piece by Chopin, which mesmerised the entire room, he launched into a couple of popular carols which had everyone – Ella included – tapping their feet and singing along.

  When he finished, after a tumultuous round of applause, much stamping of feet, and several whistles, Ella decided to call it a night.

  ‘Leaving so soon?’ Dan asked, appearing suddenly at her side as she pulled on her coat.

  She nodded. ‘Sorry. I’ve got a splitting headache.’

  He grimaced. ‘Oh God, it wasn’t my piano playing, was it?’

  Despite feeling like a limp rag, Ella laughed. ‘No. You were really good. I’m just a bit knackered, that’s all.’

  ‘Right.’ His expression suddenly turned serious. ‘Well, I’ll, er, see you tomorrow.’

  ‘Yes,’ muttered Ella, desperate to crawl under her duvet and block out thoughts of everyone and everything – apart from Jake. ‘You will.’

  *

  Perfume? Lingerie? Jewellery? Wandering listlessly round Harrogate, Stan realised he didn’t have a clue what to buy his wife for Christmas. All the aforementioned personal gifts seemed far too intimate somehow. And “intimate” was a million miles away from describing their relationship at the moment. Indeed, following Bea’s “let’s have another baby” announcement, and his still-niggling suspicion that she’d stopped taking the Pill the night she’d ravished him after their meal at Aubergine, Stan had kept a very safe distance from her. The mere thought of having another child made him want to—

  His phone beeped with a text. From Annie’s sister, Amelia. They’d exchanged numbers when making plans for Phil’s leaving party. As Jake and Annie were both up to their eyes in stuff, and because he’d already finished work for the holidays and was desperate to be out of the house, he’d offered to brave the Cash and Carry to purchase the long list of items Annie had compiled for the bash.

  ‘And Amelia can go with you,’ she’d added. ‘If she doesn’t mind.’

  ‘I don’t mind at all,’ Amelia had replied with a diffident smile.

  Which, for some reason, had boosted Stan’s spirits immeasurably.

  *

  Residing in one of Europe’s most exciting, vibrant, cultural cities for almost a decade, Amelia would have thought a little-known village in Yorkshire would be the last place for new experiences. She could not have been more wrong. Not only was life in The Cedars – with the children – proving a revelation, but the visit to the Cash and Carry proved yet another first.

  She’d driven into Harrogate, where she’d left her car and jumped into Stan’s. The first thing she’d noticed when she climbed into his Audi was that it smelled exactly like him – earthy and male, with a hint of peppermint. It had been strange sitting beside him in such a confined space. Strange but … nice. Continuing the rigid round of self-analysis into which she seemed to have enrolled the moment she set foot in Buttersley, it occurred to her that, with the exception of Doug, she’d never really spent time alone with another man. Another situation for which, yet again, she had only herself to blame.

  After three trips around the car park, Stan eventually happened upon a space. ‘Right,’ he puffed, switching off the engine. ‘You ready to buy some kangaroo steaks and jellied boomerangs?’

  Despite her previous melancholy, Amelia returned his grin. ‘Don’t forget the koala crisps,’ she added.

  Stan snorted with laughter. ‘Joking aside, I hope you’re prepared to do battle with the Yorkshire Christmas shoppers. Judging by how busy the car park is, the place is going to be mobbed.’

  Amelia nodded. ‘I don’t mind. It’s not like I have anything better to do.’

  Gazing directly into her eyes, Stan said, ‘Neither do I,’ in such a caressing tone that Amelia had the sensation of something very warm and smooth whooshing through her veins.

  Stan’s assumption proved correct. The Cash and Carry was so crammed with people that, on one occasion, he’d grabbed hold of her wrist and skilfully manoeuvred her through the throng. The gesture had been both caring and masterful, and had left Amelia slightly light-headed. She had, however, quickly pulled herself together. Obviously, feeling rejected by Doug, she was clinging on to any shred of hope that another man might find her attractive. Which was pathetic. Stan was a happily married man with a gorgeous baby. He was merely being chivalrous – and ensuring no one trampled on her.

  By the time they’d battled their way through to the booze section of the vast shop, she’d regained her equilibrium, thankful Stan seemed oblivious to her fanciful musings.

  ‘God, imagine heading off for a brand new life Down Under,’ he sighed, as they loaded up the trolley with cans of lager. ‘Phil’s one lucky man.’

  ‘I’m not sure he thinks so,’ said Amelia. ‘In fact, I really don’t think he’s all that keen on the idea.’

  Stan ceased his loading and jerked up his head to her. ‘Not keen? Christ. He must need his head examining. I’d give anything for a fresh start like that.’

  At the intensity of his tone, Amelia gulped. Why on earth would Stan, who appeared to have the perfect set-up, blurt out something like that? And with such meaning. Before she could reply, he’d shaken his head as if to clear it, and plastered another smile onto his face. The trip had then continued in the jolly vein in which it had started, but with that one off-the-cuff comment he’d revealed another side of himself. A vulnerable side. Which, along with his dry wit, amusing observations and gurgling laugh, Amelia found she rather liked.

  By the time Amelia arrived back at The Cedars, she was both exhausted and exhilarated. It was only when Stan had dropped her of
f in Harrogate to pick up her car, and she’d checked her mobile to discover no missed calls or messages, that she realised she’d scarcely thought about Doug all day. Was that a good thing? Or a bad thing? She couldn’t decide. Nor did she have long to ponder the question, as the minute she stepped through the front door, she found Annie scurrying down the stairs with Thomas behind her.

  ‘Perfect timing,’ she exclaimed. ‘How did you get on at the Cash and Carry?’

  Amelia smiled. ‘Really well. It was packed but we found just about everything on the list. Stan’s dropping it all off at the Stables on his way home.’

  Annie clapped her hands together. ‘Brilliant. Well done. Anyway, don’t bother taking your coat off. I’m under strict instructions to whisk you up to the manor to meet Portia – immediately.’

  After the physical – not to mention emotional – ordeal of the Cash and Carry, Amelia had planned on a long soak in a steaming-hot bubble bath. But she’d realised over the last few days that time on her own was not productive – it inevitably led to yet more naval-gazing and more fretting over Doug. Neither of which, after the fun she’d had with Stan, particularly appealed. Besides, it’d be interesting to meet Portia Pinkington-Smythe, the owner of Buttersley Manor, at last. She’d been Annie’s best friend since school, and was the reason Annie had ended up in Buttersley, Portia having offered her the manor’s gatehouse cottage when Annie’s relationship in London had failed, leaving her alone with Sophie when the child had been only weeks old.

  Amelia hadn’t thought much about it at the time. She’d been far too immersed in her own life. But it now occurred to her just how special it must be to have a friend who was there for you in times of crisis. How comforting it would be to have someone there for her now who she could confide in about Doug. As much as she’d toyed with the idea of telling Annie, she couldn’t quite bring herself to do it. Maybe it was because their sisterly bond was far too fledgling; or because she simply wasn’t used to confiding in other people. But, whatever it was, something inside her steadfastly refused to press the release button.

  Portia Pinkington-Smythe, Amelia concluded the moment she set eyes on the woman, was just as beautiful in real life as she appeared in many of the photos in The Cedars. With her long suntanned limbs, mane of glossy dark hair, huge brown eyes, and exquisite bone structure, she wouldn’t have looked out of place on the cover of any high-fashion magazine.

  Thomas and Sophie – both dressed as Santa’s elves, in matching red pointed hats, complete with ears, green tunics and striped trousers, dived on her the moment they entered her private living quarters at the back of the manor, smothering her in kisses.

  ‘Goodness me,’ exclaimed Portia, when they’d finished. ‘That was some welcome home. You’d think I’d been away for months rather than a couple of weeks. Come and sit down.’ She indicated the cosy arrangement of chairs and sofas around the roaring fire in the grate. ‘It’s so lovely to meet you at last, Amelia. I can’t believe I’ve known Annie all these years and we’ve never come across one another before.’

  Amelia grimaced. ‘I know. And I blame myself. I’ve been too busy working to have anything resembling a life.’

  ‘Er, I think we’re both to blame actually,’ piped up Annie. ‘I could have made more of an effort too. Plus, not having mum and dad here doesn’t help matters. We’re all hardly likely to trot over to Goa every Sunday for tea.’

  Portia giggled. ‘Well, it’s great you’re spending time together now. I would have loved to have had a sister. You’re both very lucky.’

  ‘We are,’ agreed Annie, smiling warmly at Amelia. ‘And this is merely the first of many of Amelia’s visits to Buttersley. We’re going to spend lots of time together from now on.’ Then, turning back to Portia, ‘And talking of spending time together, how did you and the gorgeous Jed get along on holiday?’

  Portia gave a knowing smile. ‘Well…’ She leant forward resting her forearms on her knees and raising her left hand to her chin, wiggling her fingers suggestively. ‘You could say it was a productive trip.’

  ‘Oh my God!’ squealed Annie. Leaping up from her chair, she rushed over to her friend and grabbed her hand, the fourth finger of which sported a huge diamond engagement ring. ‘I knew it! I said to Jake the minute you told me Jed had booked the holiday, that he’d propose. Oh, I’m so happy for you,’ she gushed, embracing Portia. ‘I knew he was The One the moment I met him.’

  ‘Which is more than I did,’ huffed Portia, as Annie returned to her chair. ‘I couldn’t stand the sight of him.’

  ‘Yes you could. You just didn’t want to admit it,’ said Annie. ‘Why on earth didn’t you tell me on the phone?’

  ‘Because I wanted to see your face. And believe me, it was worth the wait.’

  Annie shook her head in mock despair. ‘So when’s the wedding?’

  Portia rolled her eyes. ‘Give us a chance. I haven’t got my head around being engaged yet. What I do know, though, is that I want Sophie and Thomas to be the ring bearers.’

  Annie clapped her hands together. ‘Oh, thank you so much. They’d love that. Although you do know they may turn up dressed as the Teletubbies.’

  Portia snorted with laughter. ‘Who cares? I’m honestly not bothered as long as they’re there. And I’d like you to be my Matron of Honour.’

  Annie squealed again and stamped her feet. ‘Oh my God. We are going to have so much fun arranging this wedding.’

  ‘Well, I should just point out that it won’t be for a while yet. Jed’s working on a massive new development near Leeds, which is totally stressing him out. He couldn’t handle the pressure of a wedding as well. But you won’t have to wait too long for a wedding here. I bumped into an old journalist pal of mine in Antigua. Her mother’s been diagnosed with cancer so she’s decided to get married in a hurry so her mum can be there. I offered her the manor – under the proviso she sorted everything out herself – and she leapt at the chance. The wedding’s next week – on Christmas Eve. It’s all a bit of a whirlwind but then again, the Forster-Browns always did like a bit of drama. And none more so than Imogen.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  ‘What’s … qui-oh-ah?’ asked Charmaine Dunn, a glittery purple fingernail scratching under one of the many rolls of fat on her blubbering belly.

  Phil’s heart, already lurking somewhere near Southampton, dropped into the Channel as Eddie Dunn’s “missus”, the other half of the prospective new pub management team, peered at the Duck’s meticulously tried-and-tested menu through narrowed eyes lined with sparkly blue liner.

  ‘It’s pronounced keen-wah. It’s a wheat-free alternative to rice,’ he explained wearily.

  Charmaine wrinkled her nose. ‘What’s wrong with scampi and chips? We did a bomb on our scampi in Manchester, didn’t we, Eddie?’

  Eddie puffed out his huge belly. ‘Straightforward grub, that’s what people like. None of this poncey rubbish.’

  Phil didn’t say anything. Words, it seemed, had completely failed him. And no wonder. He’d spent months perfecting the Duck’s menu. Months experimenting, researching, sourcing recipes, calculating profit margins, trialling dishes. And now this dynamic duo was about to scrap it all in favour of scampi and chips, and boil-in-the-bag-curry nights. ‘Maybe you’d be better off leaving the menu as it is for a while so you can see what sells well and what doesn’t,’ he suggested, his power of speech thankfully returning.

  ‘Nah,’ replied Charmaine, shaking her brassy auburn hair-do, and causing her huge hooped earrings to swing from side to side. ‘We’ve been in the game long enough to know what’s what, haven’t we, Eddie?’

  Eddie nodded, setting off some serious chin wobbling. ‘Aye. We’ve a few years on you, lad. And there’s no substitute for experience.’

  ‘Anyway, what about the flat?’ demanded Charmaine, obviously bored with the menu. ‘Can we have a look at it? I want to see if I can fit my mirrored bedroom furniture in.’

  A sliver of ice-cold fear shot down Phi
l’s spine. He didn’t want them in the flat. It was his space. His haven. Only it wouldn’t be his for much longer, would it? He’d be living in a cardboard shoebox in the stifling heat.

  ‘How big’s the shower?’ asked Charmaine, winking lasciviously at Eddie. ‘Can you fit two people in?’

  At the raucous laughter the two of them broke into, Phil shot off to the loo. Where he promptly chucked up his breakfast.

  *

  Since her near-miss first intimate encounter with Jake, Ella had thought of little else. She’d replayed the moment over and over again in her mind, taking the liberty of embellishing the scene with what – she was convinced – would have happened had Dan not detonated the moment.

  And talking about Dan, he looked extremely pleased with himself when he entered the tearoom that morning.

  ‘Guess what?’ he said.

  Laying the tables, Ella wasn’t remotely interested in guessing anything. Dan was still firmly lodged in her bad books and unless he was about to announce that he’d bought her a whole new wardrobe of clothes, or was paying for her to have her hair permanently straightened, there he would remain.

  ‘I’ve just had the best Christmas present. I passed my driving test,’ he announced, euphoria lighting up his face.

  ‘Good for you,’ muttered Ella, her neutral tone belying the fact that she was secretly impressed. In typical Ella fashion, she’d failed her test twice and had zero motivation to try again.

  ‘Fancy coming out for a drive with me after work? We could go for a drink or something.’

  Setting a sugar bowl on the table, Ella wrinkled her nose. Why on earth would Dan think she’d want to go for a drink with him? He was the last person she’d choose to spend time with. ‘I can’t,’ she replied, not taking her eyes off the bowl. ‘I’m busy tonight.’

  ‘Right.’

  At his knowing tone, she slanted him a look. Yet again she found him gazing at her in that way that made her feel more transparent than a sheet of cling film. She averted her eyes back to the table.