Читать книгу Once Upon A Christmas - Jennifer Joyce, Darcie Boleyn - Страница 11

Day One

Friday

‘Hello again, Holly. Have you come to stay this time?’ Mr Trimble, the postmaster, had a good memory for faces and names.

‘Hello, Mr Trimble. No, seeing as it’s Christmas, I’ve taken a couple of weeks’ leave and I’m here to go through my father’s things and to get the house cleaned up before putting it on the market.’

‘It’s Donny. Everybody calls me Donny. Oh, what a pity. Sorry to hear you’re thinking of selling the house. We need some new young blood in the village.’ He lowered his voice. ‘There are an awful lot of folk here who won’t see seventy again.’ He gave her a little smile. ‘Your dad was one of the younger ones. What was he? Barely sixty, I bet.’

‘Yes, that’s right. He was sixty last February.’ Over the past couple of weeks, Holly had been studying the documents the solicitor had given her and had been learning quite a bit more about her father as a result. There was still so much more to learn so, as she was the only customer in the shop, she took advantage of Mr Trimble’s willingness to chat. ‘Did you know him well, Donny?’

‘Yes, pretty well. We used to play tennis together. He was really good. Told me he’d picked it up over in Australia, but the way he played, I reckon he must have started as a youngster.’ Holly nodded to herself, the image of her father tapping a tennis ball across a low net in the back garden clear in her mind.

‘Are there tennis courts here in the village, then?’ Considering that there can’t have been more than forty or fifty houses altogether, it sounded remarkable.

Donny smiled. ‘Sort of. There’s a good court up at the Grange and a scruffy one in Bob Cookson’s field when he remembers to mow it. He’s the local farmer and you’re bound to bump into him sooner or later. His tractors are always blocking the road and spreading manure where they shouldn’t. He plays as well, but none of us were as good as George, your dad.’

‘What sort of man was he, Donny?’ Holly hesitated. ‘You see – he and my mum split up when I was little and I hardly know anything about him.’

‘I know. He talked about you a lot, you know.’ Now it was his turn to hesitate. ‘I think he felt very sad, maybe bitter, about that.’

‘Did he ever say why they broke up?’ For a fraction of a second, it looked as if Donny might know something, but he shook his head.

‘Can’t say I remember him talking about that.’ He hastily changed the subject. ‘But what I can tell you is that your dad was a real gent. He was kind, friendly and very generous. And of course his family’s from here, but presumably you already know that.’

Holly shook her head. ‘I wondered if the house might have been in the family, but I had no idea really.’

Donny did a bit of mental arithmetic. ‘You’ve got to be the fourth generation of Brices to live there. I just about remember his dad. His name was George as well. He died when I was a little boy. And I’m sure Old George said his father had lived there before him. Anyway, what’s not in doubt is that your dad was a well-respected man. Quite a few of us went to the service at the crematorium in Exeter and most of the village turned up for the burial of his ashes here.’

‘And where’s that?’

‘Far corner of the churchyard, just past the big yew tree. You can’t miss it. The headstone’s been ordered, but I don’t think it’s arrived yet. Last I saw, there was just a wooden marker.’ The bell at the door tinkled and an old lady walked in, pulling a bag on wheels. Holly decided to leave Donny to it. She thanked him, paid for her bottle of milk, and walked back down to Brook Cottage.

She glanced up at the sky. The village was set in a dip between two hills and, as a result, it was a lot more sheltered than up on the open moorland. The downside of this position was that there was very little visible advance warning of approaching bad weather. For the moment the sky was clear, but she knew that could change in the space of a few minutes. That morning, driving down from London, she had gone through torrential rain all the way to Exeter. Since then, the sky had cleared, but the temperature had started to drop like a stone. Mind you, she thought to herself, it was December sixteenth after all. The shortest day would be upon them soon.

Inside the house it was definitely feeling warmer. She had managed to get the central heating to work, after a struggle. She felt fairly sure that if she hadn’t had an interest in mechanical things, she would never have managed. As it was, the boiler was noisy and a bit smelly, but at least it was working, and all the radiators were now hot. She closed the door behind her and filled the kettle. It was just starting to boil when she heard a ring at the door. She went across and opened it. It was the old lady she had seen five minutes before in the shop.

‘Holly? Holly Brice?’

‘Yes, I’m Holly.’

‘I’m Diana Edworthy. I live in the cottage with the willow tree, just along the road. I wanted to talk to you about George… your father.’ She was bracing herself against the door frame and Holly could see that she wasn’t too steady on her feet.

Holly remembered the wording of her father’s will. ‘You’re the lady who looked after my father?’ The old lady nodded and Holly moved backwards. ‘Would you like to come in and sit down?’ She glanced back into the kitchen. ‘I’m just making tea, if you’d like a cup.’

‘That would be lovely, my dear. Very kind.’ Mrs Edworthy hobbled into the kitchen and made for a fine carver chair with strong arms. Leaning heavily on them, she lowered herself down and gave a sigh of relief. ‘That’s better. They’re supposed to be giving me a new hip, but goodness only knows when that’ll be.’

Holly dropped a couple of teabags into the pot and poured in the hot water. Then she turned back to Mrs Edworthy, glad of the opportunity to talk to her. ‘I’m so pleased to meet you. The solicitor told me you looked after my father in his last few months.’ She saw a slight nod from the old lady. ‘I can’t thank you enough for doing that. It was really good of you.’

‘It was the very least I could do. He was always so very good to me.’ She raised her eyes. ‘My Wilfred was George’s cousin, and after he died, your dad helped me a lot.’ She shuffled uncomfortably in her seat. ‘And then he went and left me all that money. He didn’t need to do that.’

Holly reached out and touched the old lady’s hand on the table top. ‘He must have been very fond of you. And thank you again. You know the family history, I’m sure. I’ve only just found out about his death so I couldn’t be with him at the end, but it’s comforting for me to know that he was well looked after.’ She poured two mugs of tea. ‘Do you take sugar? I expect there’s some in here somewhere.’

‘Two spoons please, and the sugar’s in the coronation tin.’ Sure enough, Holly found the battered blue and gold tin to be half full. She took two spoonfuls and stirred the mug before passing it across. ‘You must know this place better than me.’

Mrs Edworthy nodded. ‘I certainly know where most things are.’ She picked up her tea and sipped it, even though it was boiling hot. ‘So, Holly, tell me all about you. I was trying to work it out. You must be in your thirties now?’

Holly nodded. ‘Yes, I’m thirty-three.’

‘Thirty-three, right. So, where do you live, what do you do? George and I often wondered that.’

They chatted for half an hour before Mrs Edworthy looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. ‘I must go off home now. Stirling’ll be wondering where I’ve got to. Now, are you quite sure you’ll be able to take him? You see, I’m off tomorrow to my boy’s for Christmas. I would have taken Stirling with me otherwise. He’s such a dear, but Stephen’s house isn’t very big and they’ve got the cat, you see. When Donny told me you’d arrived, I thought that’s perfect.’

Holly was a bit bewildered. She helped Mrs Edworthy to her feet and ensured that her wheelie bag was to hand. ‘Erm, Mrs Edworthy, who’s Stirling?’

The old lady looked up in surprise. ‘Why, he’s your dad’s dog, that’s who he is.’

Stirling the dog was a large, very friendly, black Labrador. As soon as Mrs Edworthy opened the door, he came bouncing out, almost knocking the old lady over in his eagerness to greet them.

‘No, Stirling. Down boy.’ Mrs Edworthy steadied herself against the wall and turned to Holly. ‘He’s ever so friendly, but he’s a youngster, you see. Your dad only got him a year back. He’s little more than a puppy really and he’s got so much energy. I can’t take him for much in the way of walks these days, so it’s just lovely that you’ve come when you did.’ She lowered her voice uncomfortably. ‘And I can’t bend down any more to pick up his… you know, offerings.’ Holly grinned in spite of herself. ‘But you’re young and you’ll be able to take him out all right. There are lots of lovely walks around the village and for a young girl like you, you can be up on the moor in half an hour. Now, let me collect his things for you.’

As the old lady pottered about, fetching the dog’s bed, his food bowl, which inspired considerable interest on the part of the dog, and all the other bits and pieces, Holly’s mind was racing. She knew nothing at all about dogs. The only pet she had had while growing up was a fat old tabby cat, and her only contacts with dogs had been at a few friends’ houses. And she had absolutely no experience of such a big dog. True, he really did look friendly, but what, she wondered, would he be like if he decided he didn’t want to be friendly? There were a lot of teeth in that mouth.

‘Why don’t you take his bed and his bag of food over to your house now, and then you can come back for him in a minute?’ Mrs Edworthy was still producing rubber toys, tennis balls and other bits of canine bric a brac.

Holly did as instructed, all the while wondering just how on earth she was going to cope with looking after a huge great animal like Stirling. She did, however, concede that Stirling was a rather fine name, particularly for somebody like herself with an interest in classic sports cars. She dumped the stuff in the kitchen and returned for the dog. Mrs Edworthy was just dropping the last toy into a big bag. When Stirling spotted Holly, he insisted on standing up on his hind legs and making a fuss of her. As he did so, his claws scratched some serious marks across her very expensive Marc Jacobs belt, but she gritted her teeth and smiled at him. ‘Good dog, Stirling.’

Mrs Edworthy looked up with a smile. ‘You’ll love him. I’ll be sorry to lose him, to tell the truth, but it’s so much better for him to be with somebody younger and more active.’ Holly didn’t have the heart to tell her that there was no way she would be able to look after a big dog in her London flat – apart from the fact that she was at work nine or ten hours a day most days. Anyway, for the moment she just had to grin and bear it.

Before leaving with her unwanted house guest, she managed to find out how often the dog needed to eat, how much and what his meals consisted of, as well as how often he needed to do what Mrs Edworthy euphemistically described as ‘his business’. At last she ran out of questions so she headed for the door. She hesitated, her hand on the door handle.

‘What about a lead? Do I need to put him on a lead?’

‘Oh, dearie me, his lead. I’d clean forgotten. Here it is.’ Mrs Edworthy unhooked a piece of rope from the back of the door and handed it to Holly. The effect upon the dog was electric. He gave a strangled whine of delight and jumped up against Holly, sending her crashing backwards into the door. Mrs Edworthy looked on sympathetically. ‘He gets very excited when he knows he’s going for a walk. Now, you only need to put him on the lead when you’re on the road. Otherwise, just let him run around. Your dad trained him well and he’ll always come back to you. And, best of all, he doesn’t chase sheep.’

Whether or not the dog chased sheep was the least of Holly’s problems at the moment. First, she had to work out the basics of cohabitation with him. She reflected that Stirling would be the very first male with whom she had ever cohabited. In fact, she had studiously avoided any serious relationships up till now, preferring her independence. Now the arrival of seventy pounds of not very sweet-smelling bone and muscle promised to be a serious challenge. But, anyway, for now the die was cast, and she had to make the best of it.

She clipped the rope lead to the dog’s collar, said goodbye to Mrs Edworthy, turned the door handle and then found herself propelled along the road so fast, she almost fell on her face. This time she had chosen more sensible shoes, although they were Kurt Geiger and hadn’t been cheap, and she heard an ominous scratching sound as the dog tugged her past a bush; ironically, a holly bush. Fortunately, seconds later, Stirling screeched to a halt and cocked his leg against a tree in long, leisurely fashion and Holly had time to collect herself, take a firmer grip on the lead and then march him along to Brook Cottage. As her first experience of dog walking, it was not auspicious.

It was immediately apparent that he knew his way around the house and that he instantly recognised it as his home. He set off on a tour of inspection, nostrils flared, that took him through every room downstairs. He hesitated before venturing upstairs, so Holly decided to try imposing a bit of discipline. As he placed a large paw on the first step, she put on her sternest voice and gave him his orders. ‘No, Stirling! Not upstairs!’ She was heartened, and surprised, to see him step back and turn away from the staircase. As her first experience of dog training, it was at least slightly more auspicious than the dog walking.

She placed his big wicker basket on the flagstones to one side of the fireplace, where she thought she could see marks on the floor made by a basket. No sooner was it down than the dog climbed into it and flopped down, his chin resting on the edge, his huge brown eyes trained on her every move. Feeling rather self-conscious, she set about emptying the bag of toys and filling his water bowl. She placed it on the floor near the back door and waved at him. ‘Water?’ He gave no sign of interest. She placed his empty food bowl beside it and that got him excited enough to sit upright but, once he had established that it was empty, he slumped back down again. She went over to the sink and washed her hands, still very apprehensive about her ability to take care of an animal that probably weighed at least half what she did.

She was just washing Mrs Edworthy’s teacup when her phone rang. It was Julia.

‘Hi, Jules, how’s things?’

‘I’m fine. Scott’s asked me to go to the opera with him tonight.’ Scott was Julia’s latest and very recent conquest. Holly had yet to meet him, but she definitely got the impression that her friend was rather keen on him.

‘The opera? That sounds exciting. What’re you going to see?’

‘La Traviata, the inside of a couple of glasses of champagne, and his bedroom ceiling hopefully. Not necessarily in that order. What about you?’

Holly proceeded to tell Julia all about her unexpected guest. If she had been expecting sympathy, she didn’t get it.

‘I knew you’d settle down with some big hunky male one of these days. Two legs, four legs, who cares?’

‘Somehow, I don’t think this particular relationship is going to stand the test of time.’

‘So what’s new, Miss Three-dates-and-you’re-out?’

‘I’m not quite that bad.’

‘Well, you try counting them.’ Julia then proceeded to reel off the last half dozen men Holly had been out with. Grudgingly, Holly had to admit that her friend might have a point. None of them had lasted more than a few dates before Holly had been taking giant steps in the opposite direction. She had often tried to work out just why she had this aversion to serious commitment. Somehow she had a feeling her mother and father’s split might have more than a little to do with it. That, and the fact that most of the boys she had dated up to now had turned out to be remarkably superficial and pretty stupid. She heard the triumph in Julia’s voice. ‘What is it about you and relationships?’

‘It’ll happen, Jules. I just wasn’t expecting the next one to be a big hairy thing with bad breath.’

‘Are you talking about that Irish boy, Finn or Findlay or whatever his name was?’

‘No, I’m talking about this hairy monster here.’ She turned towards the dog, or rather, to where the dog had been. The basket was empty. ‘Jules, I’d better call you back. Stirling’s disappeared. I’d just better go and see where he is. There’s a grand’s worth of shoes on the floor upstairs. If he decides to start chewing them, this relationship might just stop before it’s begun.’

She dropped the phone down on the table and hunted for the dog. It didn’t take long. She found him upstairs in her father’s bedroom. She was about to give him a rocket when she saw what he was doing. He had somehow found an old jumper belonging to her dad and had rolled himself into it. He was lying on it, his head on his paws, a woollen sleeve across his front legs, his eyes staring mournfully up at her. Immediately, her irritation left her and she knelt on the floor beside him.

‘You know who that belonged to, don’t you?’ The very tip of his tail began to wag uncertainly. ‘That was your dad’s jumper. My dad’s jumper.’ Her voice gave her away. She was feeling in her pocket for a tissue when she felt a touch on her leg. Stirling had crawled across the floor to her and laid a large, heavy paw on her thigh, as much as to say, ‘I understand, and I share your pain.’ She found herself stroking his head as she snuffled to herself. Somehow, the presence of the dog was very comforting. He had, after all, belonged to her dad. He had loved the young dog just as he had loved her, and he had left them both all alone. She hugged the dog to her and cried some more.

After a good while, she glanced out of the window. It was five o’clock and it was now pitch dark outside. Mrs Edworthy hadn’t specified when Stirling had last done his ‘business’, so, for safety’s sake, she decided to take him for a walk around the village. It was bitterly cold by now and she didn’t see another soul, unless you counted a black cat who took off like a thunderbolt as soon as it glimpsed the dog. Stirling gave token chase for a few feet and then returned to Holly’s side when she called. She was impressed.

Holly decided to go to the pub for a meal that night. Following Mrs Edworthy’s instructions, she fed the dog before she went out and made sure that his water bowl was full. She even left the television on for him. It was a documentary about Arctic wolves, which struck her as particularly appropriate.

The pub was called the Five Bells. It was set back from the village green and approached across a patio area that would most probably have been delightful on a warm summer evening. On a freezing midwinter evening on the other hand, it was far from inviting. Holly headed for the front door and pushed it open with her shoulder. A smell of wood smoke and blessed warmth greeted her. The ceilings were terribly low and she found herself ducking as she passed under some of the dark timber beams. There was a restaurant area to the left, while a sign to the right pointed to the bar. She chose the bar.

It proved to be a good choice. There was a fine fire blazing in a huge granite fireplace, even bigger than the one in her dad’s kitchen. The room was warm and cosy and there were a couple of spare tables. She dumped her jacket on the one nearest to the fire and went over to the bar. The carpet was predominantly red, with a complex pattern, no doubt designed to hide stains. The bar itself was made of the same dark wood as the beams and it looked as if it had been there for centuries. A row of taps and beer engines along the counter indicated how many beers they had on draught. Not really a beer drinker, Holly avoided the Dartmoor Jail Ale and the ice cold super strength lager and asked the barmaid for a glass of white wine and the menu.

She returned to her table and sat down. After a mouthful of wine, she raised her eyes and surveyed the other customers in there with her. A group of men drinking pints over at one end of the bar looked and sounded like locals, while three tables were occupied by couples, presumably out for a romantic evening. It was, after all, a Friday night. The landlord had made a lazy effort at celebrating Christmas by wrapping some tinsel round the horns of a stag, whose glass eyes stared out blindly from his moth-eaten face hanging over the middle of the fireplace. A token bunch of mistletoe suspended at the far end of the room was low enough to graze the heads of most people who walked past.

Holly checked the menu, looking for something light like Parma ham or some sushi, but most of the food on offer was traditional rural English; pies, pasties and sausage and mash. After a few minutes’ thought, she decided to go for River Teign mussels. After placing her order, she sat down to reflect on the day and wonder whether the dog was chewing up anything of value in her absence. She had had a long drive that morning and an emotionally wearing afternoon and, before long, she felt her eyelids droop. As her chin touched her chest, she jerked her head up guiltily and glanced round to see if she was being observed.

She was.

Standing at the bar was a tall figure she remembered. He detected recognition in her expression and crossed the room to greet her, ducking as he passed under the main beam.

‘Good evening. I didn’t know you were a local.’

Holly had a good memory for names. ‘Good evening, Mr Grosvenor. I wondered if I might meet you here.’ This sounded a bit too flirty, so she hastily qualified it. ‘I saw from your card that you live here in Brookford.’

‘It’s Justin, please. And I’m afraid I don’t know your name.’

‘My name’s Holly, Holly Brice. My father used to live here.’

Justin Grosvenor’s face broke into an even broader smile. ‘So you’re George’s daughter. Well I never. He talked an awful lot about you, you know?’

Holly nodded. ‘I’m beginning to get the picture. He was well-known in the village.’

‘Well-known and well-loved. He and my father were very close and he often came round to our house.’ Justin Grosvenor caught her eye. ‘He was very generous and always ready to help out. Why, there’s even the George Brice pavilion down at the cricket field. He put up the money to build that.’

‘There’s a cricket field? I only just learnt today that there are tennis courts. I wouldn’t have thought there’d be a flat enough field for cricket.’ Underneath the bland conversation, Holly found herself yet again having to come to terms with the fact that the awful man who had blighted her mother’s life as well as her own maybe wasn’t the foul monster she had been led to believe.

‘I’ve got the only court worth playing on up at my house. You’d be very welcome any time if you fancy a game. Mind you, if you’re even half as good as your father, the rest of us wouldn’t stand a chance.’ Holly could sense his eyes on her, checking her out. She was glad she had chosen to put on a smart top, recently purchased in the pre-Christmas sales. He was more casually dressed than the last time she had seen him, wearing a check shirt and heavy green jumper, a tweed outdoor jacket hanging over his arm. He looked more like a member of the landed gentry than a financial adviser. A very good-looking member of the landed gentry. In many ways he reminded her of a number of the men she had dated over the past few years; good-looking, well-heeled and well-spoken. Somehow she always seemed to gravitate towards alpha males. It was just a pity that none of them had turned out to be as alpha as she had hoped so far; indeed, some falling far short of the definition. What about Justin Grosvenor, she wondered to herself, but then noticed a heavy gold ring on his finger. She was unsurprised. Now that she had reached her thirties, she was increasingly finding that the good ones were already taken.

He glanced down at her half-empty glass. ‘Can I get you a drink?’ He cocked his head to one side. ‘What is that you’re drinking? It looks a bit suspicious to me. Sure they haven’t watered it down?’

She grinned. ‘It’s rather nice, actually. It’s a Pinot Grigio; they’re always very pale. Anyway, thanks for the offer, but I’ve had a long drive and a pretty stressful day today, so I think I’ll go onto water when I finish this or I’ll fall over. And, besides, I’ve got a guest back at the house waiting for me and I’d better stay sober in case he causes trouble.’ Seeing the expression on Justin’s face, she explained about Stirling the dog. He, too, was a well-known local character.

‘You should have brought him. It’s funny; your dad always used to sit at this table, too, and Stirling would sprawl out in front of the fire. Next time, do bring him. Well, if you’re sure, I’ll just get you a glass of mineral water.’

‘Tap water’s fine. I imagine it’s rather good out here, not like the stuff that comes out of the taps where I live.’

While he went off to get her water, a girl arrived with her mussels in a big enamel pot. She lifted off the lid and placed it, upside down, on the table top alongside the pot to take the discarded shells. It was all steaming like a geyser. ‘Be careful. It’s all very hot.’ To Holly’s surprise, she also set down a bowl of chips. The mussels smelt wonderful and Holly realised she was feeling very hungry. The last food she had eaten had been an apple in the car on the way down the A303.

‘That smells terrific.’ Justin put a glass of water down beside her and commented. ‘I must buy you a drink more often. You’re very cheap to run.’

Holly shook her head. ‘You’d be wrong there. I have a very expensive habit when it comes to wine normally. Sancerre, Menetou Salon, Chablis; I love them all, and if they’re a premier cru or, even better, a grand cru, then I’m in heaven.’

Justin looked impressed. ‘That settles it then. You’ll have to come over to my place some time soon. I’ve got some excellent whites for you to taste. Mind you, your dad was the expert on wines. He and my father used to vie with each other to see who could come up with the best one every Christmas. He would have appreciated your shared interest.’

Holly nodded. There was so much she had to learn about her dad and it felt rather good to discover something they had in common. She wondered whether he had shared her interest in classic cars and found herself smiling; finding he had stashed an old Bentley in a garage somewhere would be nice.

Justin smiled back at her and then glanced at his watch. ‘Well, don’t let your mussels get cold. I must dash. I look forward to seeing you again, Holly.’

‘Me, too.’ He gave her a little wave, turned and left the bar.

Holly reached into the pot and pulled out the first mussel. It was excellent. As she ate, she found herself mulling over the events of the last week, from the unbelievable news that she was now a millionaire, to the unexpected discovery that she was responsible for a dog, and a particularly large one. She took another mouthful of wine and remembered what the solicitor had said the previous week. She had inherited her father’s house and the contents of his cellar. Her dad had been in the wine business and Justin had said that her father was a wine expert, so she really would have to seek out the cellar. Maybe there might be a few bottles of good Sancerre in there.

And what about Justin? Was he married or was he available? And, if he was available, was she interested? And, if so, would he last the test of time? Julia had been right about the way all Holly’s men tended to disappear after only a few dates. And she knew that this was down to her. Was it just because her standards were too high, or was there more to it than that? In a moment of honest self-analysis, she had to accept that the one thing lacking in all of the brief relationships she had had up till now had been love. With one or two, she had believed she had found it, but it hadn’t lasted. She found herself smiling weakly as she considered that the way she had hugged the Labrador on her father’s bedroom floor had been the closest she had come to a spontaneous expression of love for years. She found herself wondering, if Justin was available and if he became another of her men, how long would he last?

Having resisted the temptation to have a pudding, Holly returned home soon after finishing her meal, vaguely worried about what the dog might be doing in her absence. There were stars in the sky and it felt like the temperature had already dropped below freezing. She was grateful she didn’t need to drive anywhere for a few days. The Porsche was a lovely car, but on icy roads, she had long since discovered, it was lethal; slipping and sliding about at the lightest touch of the throttle.

She got a surprise as she reached Brook Cottage. It was in complete darkness. She had left the light on in the kitchen for Stirling and now it was off. For one irrational moment she wondered if the dog had found the light switch, but then common sense kicked in and she dismissed the idea. That left the possibility of a power cut or, more scarily, the notion that somebody had got into the house and had deliberately turned off the light. That was not a comfortable thought. She looked around and was disturbed to see lights in the windows of most of the houses, including her next door neighbour. This destroyed the power cut hypothesis and she was left with the notion of a break in or, more probably, some sort of failure of the aged electrics in Brook Cottage itself.

She went up to the door and put the key in the lock. No sooner had she done so, than she heard a volley of barking from inside. This, more than anything else, set her mind at rest. If the dog was barking, it meant he was guarding the house, and so it was fairly safe to say that there wasn’t an intruder in there with him. She turned the key and pushed the door open a crack. ‘Stirling, it’s me. Shut up.’ It probably wasn’t the sort of command that a dog training instructor would have recommended, but it did the job. The barking stopped immediately, to be replaced by little whining sounds. She pushed the door open and stepped inside, pulling off her jacket as she did so. The dog stood up on his hind legs and welcomed her home, his nails no doubt inflicting further damage to her expensive belt. She closed the door behind her and stood there, taking stock, one hand ruffling the big dog’s ears as he continued to produce a series of joyful canine greetings.

‘So what’s happened to the electricity, Stirling?’ She pushed the dog gently to one side and felt her way across to the fireplace. She had a vague feeling that she had seen a box of matches on the mantelpiece. She reached up and ran her hand across the stone shelf, and it was with considerable relief that she located a matchbox. She brought it down, reached inside and felt a handful of matches. She pulled one out and struck it. In the light of the match she checked the contents of the box and her heart sank. Almost all the remaining matches had already been used. There was only one other good one in there. At that moment, the match in her hand burnt down to her fingers and she had to drop it. She and the dog were returned to pitch darkness.

‘Bugger.’

She sat down at the table, the last remaining match in one hand, the box of duds in the other. She racked her brains as to what to do next. She seemed to remember having seen a candle somewhere in the house, but she couldn’t be sure. If she used this last match and still couldn’t find one, then she would be in trouble. At least, she thought with a start, she did know where the main fuse box was. She had had to turn the electricity on and off a few times earlier on when she was persuading the central heating boiler to start working. She got up and felt her way across to the broom cupboard by the back door. Inside, the cover to the fuse box was still hanging open. Muttering a little prayer, she struck the last match and saw that the main power switch had tripped. She grabbed it and pushed it back up again. The lights came on for a split second and then there was a loud bang and the switch flicked off again. Another second later, she felt the match burning her fingers and she had to stamp it out.

‘Bugger, bugger, bugger.’

She felt her way back into the kitchen. There was no alternative; she had to ask for help. She opened the front door, feeling Stirling slip out past her, and she followed him out of the garden gate. She turned left and walked the few paces to her neighbour’s gate. As she opened it, so the dog pushed past her once again. The moon had not yet risen, but the starlight allowed her to make out the dog’s silhouette in the dark, standing by the door. She followed him over and groped with her fingers until she felt a bell. She pressed it and was rewarded by a ringing sound. A few seconds later, there was the sound of footsteps and the door opened, flooding her and the dog with welcome light.

‘Hello, Stirling. And how are you tonight?’ The man reached down and stroked the dog.

Holly watched Stirling rise up on his back legs to greet the man at the door. With the only light coming from behind him, it was impossible to see the man’s face. He was tall, with longish hair, but she took comfort from the fact that the dog knew and liked him. She cleared her throat. ‘I’m very sorry to bother you, but I’m from the house next door and the electric’s off. I was wondering if you’ve maybe got some matches and a candle I could borrow for tonight.’

‘Of course, do come in.’ The dog, interpreting the invitation as being to him, dropped down onto all fours again and trotted into the house. Holly followed him, hearing the door close behind her. Like with her dad’s house, the door led straight into the kitchen which, while a good bit more modern in layout, was the same size and shape as next door. When she and the dog reached the middle of the room she turned round to face the man and got a surprise.

‘Oh, it’s you.’

He was smiling. ‘I wondered if my new next door neighbour might turn out to be you when I saw there was a rather nice old Porsche in George’s garden. Funnily enough, I saw one of them not so long ago when I was out delivering firewood. Scraped the exhaust on some stones as I recall.’ He held out his hand. ‘Hello, I’m Jack Nelson. Are you George’s daughter by any chance?’

Holly nodded, still surprised at the coincidence that the man with the Land Rover and the trailer full of logs was her next door neighbour. Of course, she told herself, with only about fifty houses in the village, it wasn’t really that unlikely. She shook his hand. ‘Yes, that’s right, I’m Holly. I’m very pleased to meet you again. I’m just sorry to interrupt you. Were you in the middle of something?’ There was an open book, lying on the table.

‘Nothing that can’t wait.’ He reached over, dropped a sheet of paper onto the book as a bookmark, and flicked it shut. ‘How amazing to meet you, Holly. George, your dad, spoke about you so often, I feel like I know you already.’

‘I’m afraid all I know about you is that you’ve got a Series 3 Land Rover and a trailer.’ She gave him a smile while surreptitiously giving him the once over. He looked as if he was maybe two or three years older than she was, probably in his mid-thirties. His curly black hair was still unruly and long, but he had evidently shaved in the last few days as the beard she had seen the previous week had been replaced by some rather enticing designer stubble. He was wearing what looked suspiciously like the same lumberjack shirt he had been wearing when she had last seen him. It did, however, look as if it had been recently washed, although his toes sticking out of holes in his woolly socks were a dubious fashion statement. But there was no doubt about it; a bit rough round the edges he might be, but he was a good-looking man. Holly found herself wondering what Julia would make of him up close.

‘Amazing… a woman who can tell a series 2 from a series 3 Land Rover. I don’t know what to say.’ There was genuine awe in his voice.

‘Everybody thinks I’m a bit weird, but I’m an engineer, you see, and I’ve got a thing about classic cars.’ She held up her fingers towards him and grinned. ‘Look, short fingernails.’

‘You sound like the person I need to sort out my old Land Rover. Mind you, the trailer wasn’t mine. I was doing a favour for a friend.’ He motioned with his hand. ‘Here, have a seat while I go and get Stirling one of his biscuits.’

Holly sat down as instructed. ‘You keep biscuits especially for the dog?’

‘We’re old pals, him and me. I would have taken him, after George… your father died, but my own dad’s been unwell, and I’ve been driving up and down to Bristol for the last few weeks.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that. I hope he’s feeling better now.’ Holly was looking round the room. Although it was a kitchen, the whole place was packed with books. Every available surface appeared to be covered with books or papers and there were writing pads and pens strewn all around. His garden might be tidier than hers, but his kitchen certainly wasn’t.

‘He’s a lot better, thanks. Now, can I get you a coffee or a tea or maybe a glass of wine?’

Holly shook her head. ‘No, thank you, but I’m fine. It’s just that I haven’t got any electricity…’

‘Of course. Right, well I can certainly let you have some candles and matches. Would you like me to come over with you and see if there’s anything I can do?’ He caught her eye and hastily added, ‘I’m not an electrician or anything. I’m just trying to sound as if I can help, really, to be honest. In fact, with your mechanical knowledge, you’re probably better qualified than I am.’

She smiled at him, nodding towards his book. ‘Don’t worry. I can see you’re busy. A couple of candles would be great and maybe if you know of an electrician? My phone’s still working, so I can call from home.’

‘Best if I make the call. We have the good luck to have an electrician living here in Brookford, but he’s in great demand and he might not come out for somebody he doesn’t know. As it happens, he owes me a few favours so, let me call him.’ He looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. ‘It probably won’t be till tomorrow now. Is that all right with you?’

Holly nodded. ‘Whenever he can.’ She listened as Jack Nelson made the call. The conversation only lasted a few seconds, but the upshot was that the electrician would come round first thing in the morning. Jack put the phone down and went off to find the candles. Curious, Holly took a quick look at the book on the table. It was a fairly hefty tome dealing with the history of the twentieth century, and it was very well thumbed. She looked up hastily as he returned with a packet of candles and a large household box of matches.

‘Here, you can hang onto these for future emergencies. I always keep a stock of them. Two winters ago we had a sort of mini tornado out here and a load of trees were blown down on the power lines. There was no electricity for almost a week and, since then, I always keep some in the house. By the way, your heating won’t work without electricity, but you should find a supply of logs in the store just outside your back door. Anyway, if it gets too cold or if you need anything at all, just come round. Your dad and I got on very well and next door is sort of a second home to me.’ He grinned. ‘And Stirling’s always been my best buddy.’ Holly and the dog stood up. For the first time she noticed that Stirling had positioned himself on the floor beside her. That felt rather good and she gave him a pat on the back. Jack accompanied her to the door, waved away her thanks and repeated to her not to hesitate if she needed anything.

Back home, she lit a few of the candles and set them on old jam jar lids around the kitchen, her mind still on her rather nice neighbour. Although different from her usual choice of man, there was something about him – and not just the fact that he kept a stock of matches and candles for damsels in distress. She opened the wood-burner and piled in some newspapers and kindling from the basket alongside the stove. She added some logs and, before long, had a good fire burning. The room rapidly started to warm up. She looked at her watch. It was only a quarter to ten, but she was beginning to feel really tired. She glanced down at the dog. ‘I suppose it would be too much to ask for me not to have to take you out for a walk?’

The dog’s word recognition skills extended only as far as the final word. He was jumping around in an instant.

‘Bugger.’

She pulled on her jacket, dug out a woolly hat and opened the door. In her pocket, she could feel the packet of little black bags Mrs Edworthy had given her for Stirling’s ‘offerings’, and rather hoped she wouldn’t need to use them. As it turned out, she needed two of them. Clearly, looking after a big, handsome pedigree dog wasn’t all glamour.