Winter Wishes at Swallowtail Bay: a heartwarming romantic comedy perfect for curling up with this Christmas for fans of Jill Mansell (Swallowtail Bay, Book 3)

by Katie Ginger

  Hotel and wedding bookings were coming in thick and fast, including Stella and Miles’s, which Nell was very excited about, and enquiries were through the roof. She’d received so many they were having a whole new brochure put together to send out with pictures from the weddings she’d organised so far. The dining room was open two evenings midweek, and on Friday and Saturday with different local chefs deciding the menu. They’d loved the challenge and chance to be a bit more experimental and her guests and the town were loving it too.

  Careful not to step on the skirt of her wedding dress, Nell took each step with mounting excitement. Tom turned to watch Nell, adjusting his head so he could see her properly and drink her in. His sight wasn’t deteriorating as quickly as they had at first feared and his eyes glistened at his wife-to-be. He was having regular check-ups and so far, his central vision was still intact. As he’d lost so much of his peripheral vision, he couldn’t drive anymore but they’d hired a delivery driver and things were working out well.

  Nell’s long dress floated around her feet, and the bodice showed off her shoulders. As with Cat, there was no torturous underwear, no enormous pants to hold everything in. In front of her, Nell carried a small bunch of ranunculuses and winter roses studied with greenery. Janie had done all the wedding flowers and now she was sitting next to Brenda, even more cheerful than usual. She had begun to take on more and more of the duties at the florist’s and was enjoying every minute of it. She was shaping up into a great manager. When the time came, Tom would be happy to step back further, knowing that she was in charge and that his business would go on.

  At the top of the aisle, in the lounge, next to the twinkling Christmas tree decorated with traditional wooden decorations, Nell stopped in front of the celebrant and the music faded. She let go of her dad’s arm and he, Cat and Kieran went to sit down. Tom gently took her hand and she turned to face him. This time, it was she who imprinted his face in her memory, wanting to remember this moment forever. The photographer snapped a picture then moved back. They’d talked honestly with him and been clear about particular shots they wanted so that Nell and Tom could look at them for as long as his sight remained.

  ‘Welcome everyone,’ the celebrant began, ‘to the wedding of Nell and Tom.’

  As they held hands and the ceremony began, their eyes never wavered from each other. When it came to reciting their vows, they both took a deep breath before Tom began. After writing their own in secret, it was with a mixture of excitement and nerves that Nell listened.

  ‘Nell, I’ve always loved you and that love has grown with each year that has passed. You’re my best friend, my soul mate and my true love.’ Grandad Nigel gave a loud sniff and they both glanced over to see the old man pull out a handkerchief and wipe a tear from his eye. ‘Last Christmas, when you agreed to marry me, you made me the happiest man in the world and I know that no matter what the future holds we’ll face it together and that I’ll get to see your face every morning. When my sight fails—’ At this Tom’s voice cracked and Nell didn’t know if she’d be able to breathe again, her body was so full of emotion. ‘When my sight fails, I’ll be able to feel you with me every morning because you’re the other half to my whole. I vow to love you, cherish you, protect you and always be faithful to you. I love you.’

  Now, it was Nell’s turn, and for a second, she looked down at his hand holding hers, summoning her strength to get the words that meant so much to her out of her mouth. ‘Tom, you’ve been my friend for so long, it took me a while to realise how much I love you because it was a love so deep and so strong I hadn’t realised it was already a part of me. I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you as your wife. I vow to …’ Trying to keep her eyes on his face she willed back the tears obscuring her vision. ‘I vow to be your heart when yours is heavy, your shoulders when troubles become weighty and – and …’ She took another deep breath as the tears began to fall. ‘Your eyes when you can’t see. I love you.’

  Without a dry eye in the house, they were declared husband and wife, ready to start the next chapter of their lives. They exited the lounge into a flurry of fake snow from a snow machine Tom had organised without her knowing. As the snow drops danced around her, she couldn’t believe how lucky she was to have a man who cared for her as much as Tom did, even trying to give her the white Christmas wedding she’d dreamed of.

  Tom offered her a glass of champagne but when Nell refused, he frowned in confusion. Before he could ask what was wrong, she took his hand and began leading him to the holly bench once more. She couldn’t wait to tell him her news – the best Christmas present she could give – and giggled at the fact he hadn’t noticed anything yet. Her enormous Christmas jumpers had come in handy this time around and with any luck, he’d get to see the face of their baby before his sight failed any more. If he didn’t, she’d describe their baby to him and guide his fingers over a tiny nose, tiny cheeks and soft skin. She’d already pictured it in her mind, careful not to go too far this time. No problems were insurmountable when they were together, there were only different ways of doing things. And as Tom liked to point out, she’d always been just a little bit different.

  THE END

  If you loved spending time with Nell, don’t miss out on Katie’s brand-new novel, The Secrets of Meadowbank Farmhouse, which you can order now!

  Click here if you’re in the UK

  Click here if you’re in the US

  Carry on turning the pages for an exclusive sneak peak!

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  Acknowledgements

  So that’s it! The final instalment of my Swallowtail Bay series. I feel quite sad saying goodbye to this lovely place but I’m very excited for the location of my next series and I hope you’ll visit too.

  I always find writing the acknowledgements quite hard because there are so many people who go into making a book and I worry about missing people out. Of course, I need to thank my friends and family for bearing with me while I’m beavering away at my little desk in the corner. They’re so understanding and I’m really grateful for their support.

  There are also all the lovely folk at HQ Digital. My fabulous editor, Sarah Goodey, always does an amazing job in figuring out what I want to do but aren’t quite pulling off yet. Thank you, Sarah! It’s such a pleasure to work with you and I can’t wait till we can actually meet properly! But I’d really like to thank everyone at HQ Digital from the cover designers and marketing team, the sales guys who have worked hard to get me promotions, and everyone else for everything they do. All your work behind the scenes is really, really appreciated. Thank you also to Lisa Milton Executive Publisher of HQ. You did a fabulous job of keeping us all going during a very difficult and unsettling year and it was always helpful and reassuring to receive your emails.

  I normally like to give a shout out to all the book bloggers who spend their time reading and shouting about our books because I wouldn’t be anywhere if it wasn’t for you guys. Thank you!! This time, I’d also like to say a massive thank you to Rachel’s Random Resources for her amazing blog tour skills! Thank you, Rachel! We love you!

  Turn the page for a sneak peek at

  the glorious new novel from Katie Ginger, The Secrets of Meadowbank Farmhouse.

  Coming March 2021

  Chapter 1

  Paris

  The sights and smells of the Paris flea market were almost too much for Amelia’s hungover senses to bear. Only her excitement at living in the city she adored and a need to be out of her apartment, led her forwards.

  Though the baking emanating from the nearby shops smelled delicious, the aromas changed with every step causing her stomach to roil and calm in equal measure. One minute the strong scents of garlic and onion were overtaken by that of sweet pastries and butter. The crowds wove around her, all heading for the farmer’s market at the bottom of the tiny street or carrying bags laden with fresh produce a
s they made their way back up the hill. In between, shopkeepers cast open their windows displaying the eclectic range of goods they had to offer. Her eye fell on numerous chandeliers that hung from the ceilings of one store, onto antique vases stood side by side on a small side table. Traditional French furniture lined up outside alongside paintings all stacked together. On the other side of the street, smaller objects like perfume bottles, vintage jewellery and trinkets glittered as the sun hit the windows.

  All around, the sound of chatter penetrated her ears, resonating through her sluggish brain. Fluent in French, Amelia could make out most of what was said, but when so many voices merged and the locals spoke so quickly, she struggled to keep up. Amelia pushed her large round sunglasses further up her nose to shield her eyes from the sun’s strong glare and as her stomach rumbled loudly decided a stop at the nearest café was a good idea.

  Spring in Paris was a magical affair as flowers bloomed around the city giving an overwhelming floral scent. She’d been there for six years now, but the capital never failed to impress her. Each season affected the city differently, but whereas summer could be searing and the streets hazy with heat, spring gave all the golden glow but with a much more temperate feel.

  Pausing at a small café with an eclectic mix of folding metal and wicker chairs and tightly packed circular tables, she took a seat and ordered a café crème and a buttery, flaky croissant. The perfect thing to soak up the rest of the wine lingering in her system and wake her up while she waited for Océane to join her. She’d want to know all about her date with Bastien last night. By the time Amelia had something to eat and chatted to Océane, she’d look again for the perfect items to finish off the job she was working on. As an interior designer, Paris, with its chic fashions and varied shops was the perfect place for her business, and so far, Amelia had never regretted leaving the tiny English village she’d grown up in the second she was able to. She hadn’t left much behind.

  Twenty minutes later, Océane arrived and ordered the same as Amelia. Amelia asked for another café crème before the waiter disappeared, knowing the questioning was soon to begin and a second caffeine hit would help her endure it. Her friend didn’t exactly mince her words.

  ‘So?’ Océane asked in her heavy French accent. ‘How was your date last night? Was Bastien attentive? Did he buy you champagne?’

  ‘No, he brought me wine. And lots of it,’ Amelia said, adjusting her sunglasses once more as the sun moved across the sky, climbing higher. The coffee was helping her headache, but she still felt a little fragile. This morning she had hastily scraped her black hair into a chignon and swiped her lips with bold red lipstick knowing it would give her pale cheeks some colour. Over the years she had absorbed the Parisian style of dressing: classic, expensive pieces, simple lines, graceful, but if she didn’t make the effort, it only took a moment with a real Parisian to make her feel sloppy and slobbish. Océane was just the sort of stylish friend Amelia had always pictured herself with. She had a natural elegance as well as innate confidence and style. Amelia made a mental note of her outfit today; grey ankle length jeans, plain black ballet pumps and a camel coloured crew neck jumper just visible under the black jacket and large grey scarf keeping her warm. It made her own all black ensemble of cigarette pants and short sleeved jumper seem dull.

  Océane swiped her blonde hair over her shoulder. ‘You do look a little how do you say …’

  ‘Under the weather?’

  ‘Pasty.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Amelia giggled.

  ‘Did you not have a good time? He is very handsome, non?’

  ‘We had a very good time.’ For once, Amelia was grateful that she wasn’t prone to blushing as thoughts of his intense and passionate kisses rang through her head. ‘And yes, he is very handsome. He took me to an expensive restaurant, wined and dined me, paid me compliments, made me laugh, but I’ve left him to make his way home while I’m out.’

  ‘You are avoiding him?’ Her tone was incredulous.

  Bastien was almost perfect and she liked him well enough, but Amelia couldn’t stand that boring small talk made the morning after the night before. It served no purpose as far as she was concerned and more often than not it led to those men she’d brought home wanting more than she was prepared to give.

  ‘But you will see him again?’ Océane asked. ‘You know that he wants you to be together. He is in love with you, I think.’

  ‘Well, I’m afraid he’s going to be disappointed because I don’t love him.’ Amelia paused while the waiter delivered their drinks. As she said it, she realised how callous it sounded. She took a sip of coffee and saw the imprint of her red lipstick on the rim of the cup. For a second, she wondered about the imprint she was leaving on the world. Not much of one, it seemed. She put her mood down to feeling maudlin because of her hangover. ‘You know I’m not really in the market for that sort of thing.’

  Océane took a moment to understand the phrase, but realisation quickly dawned. ‘You are mad and will break his poor heart.’

  ‘I don’t think so. I’m sure he’ll have left the apartment by now and won’t even think of me again. Even if he does like me, he’ll find someone else pretty quickly.’

  ‘You know that is not true. You are a cold woman.’

  Amelia raised her head at this remark. Was she cold? She didn’t think so. She had friends, had been through some decent relationships. She was just focussed on her life and living it to the full. She’d worked hard to get where she was. She was one of the foremost interior designers in Paris and wasn’t prepared to just invite a man into her life for the sake of it. She’d always done fine on her own and didn’t see the need to change now. She wasn’t really the type to get lonely either. She was far too busy. Océane continued.

  ‘I do not know how you can be so immune to his charms. Our men – French men – Parisian men – know how to win a woman’s heart.’

  ‘Your French men are pretty charming, but I’m perfectly happy keeping my heart to myself.’ Amelia sat back in her chair. ‘Besides, I’m far too busy with work to be worried about men.’

  ‘Don’t your parents want you to get married? Mine do. They say that I should marry Émile and have children before they are too old to enjoy being with them. They say my eggs will die.’

  ‘Your eggs?’

  ‘Eggs,’ Océane said again, motioning to her lap. ‘Your parents do not worry about your eggs?’

  A sharp pain shot into Amelia’s chest. ‘My parents are dead. They died when I was a child.’

  Océane’s hand paused as she tore off a piece of croissant. ‘You have never told me that. We have been friends for a year and yet you make no mention of this. Why not?’

  Amelia shrugged one shoulder. ‘It’s never come up before.’ She knew this was a lie and quickly changed the subject unsure why she had suddenly admitted it. Perhaps she was more tired than she realised. She’d been out with friends every night this week. Maybe a decent dinner cooked by herself – something easy with fresh ingredients from the market at the end of the street – and a quiet night in were in order. ‘Once we’re done here, I’d like to take another look around. I’m after some special pieces for an apartment I’m working on in Montmartre.’

  ‘You will have to do that alone; I have to meet Émile, but you must think about Bastien. There are many women who would like to take your place in his bed.’

  ‘He was in my bed.’

  ‘You know what I mean.’ Océane raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow. ‘You can be too hard, Amélie. Too independent. One day, you will push a man too far away and he will not bother coming back.’

  It always amused Amelia that Océane called her by the French version of her name when she was being serious, but whatever her thoughts on her relationship with men, she’d face that day when it came. ‘I have everything I need.’

  ‘You have a great business, yes. You have a great apartment, yes. But you are never alone. Always you are with friends. A person cannot exist o
n their own. Without love.’

  Pulling her compact from her large handbag Amelia topped up her red lipstick seeing as so much of it had been left on the cup. It was a romantic notion, but not one she believed in. ‘I’ve done fine so far.’

  After they had finished their coffees and talked about their plans for the rest of the weekend, Océane left and Amelia took another walk around the flea market. Temptation sat on her shoulder and whispered into her ear as her eyes fell on different objects that would look good in her already overflowing apartment. Some of her clients liked a minimalist style, but when Amelia saw something she wanted, it was almost impossible to resist. As a result, her small flat was now packed with possessions and her wardrobe overflowing with clothes.

  Amelia haggled with a vendor to buy an ornate perfume bottle – a finishing touch for the Montmartre apartment she was decorating – and a copper milk jug for her own place. She’d find somewhere for it to go later. Maybe the bathroom? And made her way back to the metro.

  As she climbed the steps from the metro station, the cold, fresh air blew through the elaborate dark green metal bars and under the glass ceiling. The station design was so iconic she had a picture of one in the living room of her apartment. She’d brought it shortly after moving in all those years ago, and though it had been fairly inexpensive, it was still one of her most prized possessions.

  Her apartment in Saint Germain was in a typical eighteenth-century block with white shutters either side of the windows and decorative ironwork across them. On hot summer days she would cast open the windows and let the light flood her apartment. As she stepped inside, she gathered her post and made her way upstairs. She pressed the key into the lock, hoping once more that Bastien had left by now. She really didn’t fancy talking to him. He’d try and convince her to spend the rest of the day with him and all she wanted was to nap on the sofa as the soft breeze blew over her.