Читать книгу Once Upon A Christmas - Jennifer Joyce, Darcie Boleyn - Страница 13

Day Three

Sunday

Holly was woken by the sound of rain beating down on the roof of the house. She reached for her phone and saw that it was almost eight o’clock. The room felt pleasantly warm so that signified that the boiler was still working. She pushed the duvet aside, got up and walked through to the bathroom. As she did so, she heard the familiar clicking sound from downstairs of Stirling’s nails on the flagstones and a little whine of greeting.

‘Be with you in a minute, Stirling.’

She put the bathroom light on and took a good look at herself. Her recent walks in the fresh air were definitely doing her good and she had more colour in her cheeks. Whether she was as beautiful as the old man had said was debatable, but she was reasonably happy with what she saw. After cleaning her teeth, she ran her fingers through her hair and decided to wash it after she had taken the dog for his walk.

Downstairs, she was delighted to see that her improvised barrier – a suitcase – had been enough to keep the dog from coming up to jump into bed with her. He had relinquished his basket and was lying on the floor, with his nose at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for her. As she appeared, he jumped to his feet, the whole back half of him wagging along with his tail, as he made delighted whining sounds. Holly removed the suitcase, stepped off the stair and gave him a hug. It was, she reflected, rather nice having somebody so pleased to see her in the morning, especially as she had only just climbed out of bed.

‘Hello, handsome, ready for your walk?’ As ever, he rushed to the door with great enthusiasm. Holly pulled on her new Wellingtons and buttoned herself into the yellow oilskin. She picked up a hat and unlocked the door. It was noticeably warmer outside than the previous days, but there was a gusty wind and the rain was relentless. Even Stirling hesitated before venturing out. Holly pulled up her hood, locked the door and set off along the stream with him. By now, dawn should have been breaking, but it was still pitch black. Nevertheless, after a few minutes, her eyes became accustomed to the gloom and she was able to pick her way alongside the now far fuller stream as it rushed past, swollen by the rain. They did an abbreviated circuit this morning and were back at the house by half past eight, by which time a grey glow was visible in the eastern sky and she could begin to make out shapes and objects. As she opened the door, she glanced over to Jack’s house and was pleased to see the bag with the bottles had disappeared, hopefully before the onset of the rain.

No sooner had the dog got inside the house than he shook himself, sending water everywhere. Holly struggled out of her waterproof gear, hung the coat on the back of the door and grabbed an old towel. She called the dog over and set about drying him. Within a very short time, the towel was soaked, as was she. The dog obviously loved all the attention and was doing his best to reciprocate by rubbing himself up against her. Her jeans were now wet, her jumper soaked and even her hair. There was an all-pervading smell of wet dog in the house and some of it, she realised, was now coming from her. Finally, she gave up. He still wasn’t completely dry, but at least he had stopped dripping. However, no sooner had she released him and stood up than he shook himself once more and she could still feel droplets landing on her.

‘Oh, God, dog! What a bloody mess.’

Just at that moment, Stirling ran across to the door, tail wagging, and three seconds later, the doorbell rang. Holly went over and opened it to find Jack on the doorstep, getting wet. She motioned him inside. ‘Hi, come in. I’m terribly sorry, but this place, this animal and I all stink to high heaven.’

He came in as instructed, shaking raindrops from his arms and shoulders as he did so. He gave her a broad smile. ‘Smell? I can’t smell a thing apart from that haunting perfume you’re wearing.’

‘Eau du dog, I think you’ll find it’s called. I’m just about to make tea, if you can stand the smell and the mess.’

‘I don’t want to interrupt. I just came round to thank you for the amazing wine. There was no need for that.’ He crouched down on his heels and stroked the dog as she went over to fill the kettle. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched him. He had strong arms, broad shoulders and, squatting down, his jeans were really rather tight-fitting. Once again she found herself surprised to be feeling attraction, if that was what this was, to somebody so different from her normal choice of man. Jack was scruffy, Jack was an outdoor type and, putting it bluntly, he wasn’t exactly as well off as most of her men had been. Hastily, she busied herself with the teapot. The kettle boiled and she filled the pot. By this time, the dog was hinting strongly that he would quite like a bit of breakfast as well. Remembering the biscuits she had bought the previous day, she dug out the packet and gave him one. He settled down on the floor to crunch it up. Holly put the tea, milk and mugs on the table and sat down.

‘Here, come and have a seat, Jack. How about breakfast? I’ve got some fresh cereal if you want it.’

He sat down and shook his head. ‘No, thanks. I’ve already had some toast, but don’t let me stop you.’ Holly took another look at his amazing greeny-blue eyes. They were friendly, but somehow mysterious. As she poured the tea she found herself reflecting that when it came to neighbours, this one would do very nicely indeed.

‘Here.’ She passed the mug across.

‘Thanks.’ There was a slight pause while she wondered what to say. She realised that part of her very much wanted to ask him about his relationship with Dolores, but she couldn’t think of a way of doing that without sounding pathetic. Seeing as they were both English, she tried the weather.

‘Wet weather gear needed today.’

‘The forecast’s for the rain to last all morning, maybe all day. I’m afraid Brookford gets more than its fair share of rain. By the way, they were saying this morning the bookmakers have reduced the odds of a white Christmas right down. Some big depression supposed to be coming across from America.’

‘That would be fun.’ She glanced out of the back window. ‘Not so much fun in Greta, though.’

‘Greta?’

‘Greta the Porsche. The first three letters on the number plate are GRE, so it seemed a logical choice of name.’

‘The first three letters of my old heap are XYX. Not a lot you can do with those. But, name or no name, the Land Rover’s just about the best vehicle around if we really do have a white Christmas.’

Just then, the phone started ringing; not Holly’s mobile, but her father’s old landline. Nobody had used it up till now and Holly had to dig around under a pile of clutter before she found it. She gave Jack an apologetic smile and picked it up.

‘Hello.’

‘Hello, is that Holly Brice?’ The voice sounded familiar. ‘It’s Justin Grosvenor. I wasn’t sure if the phone was still connected.’

‘Hi, there. You’re the first phone call I’ve had since I got here.’

‘Well, look, Holly, I was wondering if you were free this afternoon. How would high tea sound?’

High tea sounded impossibly old-fashioned if the truth be told, but the idea of spending some time with Justin Grosvenor had distinct appeal. ‘That sounds lovely. Where and when?’

‘How about I pick you up at three?’

‘That would be great. See you then.’ As she put the phone down and turned back towards Jack, Holly found herself thinking rather naughtily that the last thing she had been expecting down here in the wilds of the country was that she would end up having tea with two handsome men on the same day. The fact that one of them was most probably married and the other one a bit too rough and ready for her normally rather discerning taste was something she decided to shelve for now. She wondered what Julia would think when she told her.

Jack had finished his tea by this time. Beside him, the dog had demolished his biscuit and exhausted his search for crumbs. Both of them stood up, the dog heading for his basket, Jack heading for the door. He paused when he reached the doormat.

‘The forecast for tomorrow’s very good and I’m planning on going up to the north Devon coast. I don’t know if you’re familiar with it, but it’s very lovely. Maybe if you have time you might like to come with me? We could have lunch in a little café I know.’ Holly had no hesitation.

‘That would be great, Jack. I don’t know the coast at all. What’ve you got to do up on the coast?’

He looked a bit sheepish. ‘To be honest, the forecast isn’t only good as far as sunshine’s concerned. There’s also supposed to be a good wave coming in.’ Seeing her incomprehension, he explained. ‘Surf. I’m afraid I’m an addict, and they’re talking about good clean waves tomorrow, six to eight feet.’

‘Is that good?’

‘For Devon, it’s awesome.’

‘But it’ll be freezing cold, surely?’

He shrugged. ‘Wetsuit, hood, gloves; I’ll be okay. Besides, the sea temperature at this time of year’s a good bit higher than the air temperature. Anyway, unless you want to come into the water with me…’ He saw Holly shudder at the thought. ‘If you bring Stirling, you can give him a run on the beach. I’ll only be in the water for an hour or so.’

Holly glanced across at the window where the wind was driving the rain into the glass. It looked awful. ‘Only an hour…?’ She left the rest of the sentence unsaid.

Jack gave her a smile. ‘Excellent. How about we leave around ten-ish? That way I can get a surf in, and then we can go and warm up indoors at lunchtime.’ He grasped the door handle. ‘Thanks for the tea and thanks again for the bottles of wine.’

Holly spent the rest of the morning making a start on her father’s stuff. She began in the living room, sifting through books ranging from classic fiction to engineering handbooks. By the look of the titles, he must have been very interested in machinery of all types and in stainless steel in particular. She set aside a dozen or so books for her own use and added the others to a growing pile, behind the sofa, of things to be sent to the charity shops. From there, she moved into the under stairs cupboard and it was there that she made her first significant discovery. Underneath a pile of junk, ranging from old tennis shoes to back copies of Engineering World magazine, she spotted a steel ring, set into the floor. She gave it a tug and discovered a trap door and a steep old wooden ladder, leading down into a cellar. There was a light switch at the top of the ladder so she tried it. It worked. With great care she climbed down and looked around.

Her first reaction was one of disappointment. The tiny stone-walled room, more of a priest hole than a storeroom, was almost empty. It was freezing down there and the walls were cold and damp. Over to one side there were a series of bays, made out of slabs of slate, presumably to take bottles and jars. There were half a dozen boxes, some wood, some cardboard, sitting there, but that was all. She looked inside a few of the boxes and saw that they contained bottles of wine. She pulled out a couple at random and carried them back upstairs again. One was a white Burgundy and one a Bordeaux red. She put the white in the fridge and set the red on the Welsh dresser. At least now she would have more than enough wine, along with the bottles she had bought the previous day, to last through until well after Christmas, even with Julia coming to stay.

By lunchtime, she had cleared all of the ground floor, apart from the kitchen. She had found a few items of interest, among them a good tennis racket, but otherwise nothing really worth keeping. Until she bought a bigger flat in London, she had very little spare space, so she decided to be ruthless. No doubt the charity shops in the towns around the edge of Dartmoor would be grateful for anything she didn’t want.

By this time, the rain had finally stopped, so she took Stirling out for a longer walk before lunch. Then, after tidying up the worst of the mess in the kitchen, she went upstairs to have a shower and wash her hair. She had no idea where Justin intended taking her for tea but, as he was always so immaculately turned out, she decided she had better dress up, just to be on the safe side. She chose a short skirt that emphasised her long legs and a light pink jumper she had bought in Harrods some months previously. She completed the outfit with a very stylish, though rather uncomfortable, pair of Jimmy Choo heels.

Justin drew up outside at exactly three o’clock. Holly gave the dog a biscuit and told him to be good. As a precaution, she put the suitcase back across the stairs.

‘Holly, you’re looking wonderful.’ Justin opened the car door for her rather formally, but Holly had already worked out by this time that he was a fairly formal sort of man – from his behaviour to his clothing. As she approached the car, she immediately recognised she had a problem. Her skirt was not only short, but tight, and there was no way she could step up into the high vehicle without hitching the skirt up around her waist. Her intention had been for Justin to get a good look at her legs, but maybe not quite that much of them; at least not at the beginning of a first date, if that was what this was. Luckily, she wasn’t the first girl in a tight skirt to try to get into the Range Rover. Justin was familiar with the problem, and the solution. ‘You’ll find that if you go in bottom first and then swing your legs round, you’ll manage it with your modesty intact.’ She took his advice and slid easily and demurely onto the white leather seat. He closed the door and came round to the driver’s side. Holly gave him a big smile.

‘This is very kind of you, Justin. Where are we going?’

‘The Castle, if it’s all right with you.’ He must have seen the expression on her face so he explained. ‘Don’t tell me you haven’t heard of the Castle. It’s one of only a handful of hotels in Devon with two Michelin stars. Its high teas are legendary and it’s even attracted royalty; junior royalty, but still royalty. It’s barely a couple of miles away and, in fact, on a better day, we could’ve walked across to it. You must have seen the golf course as you came into Brookford. That belongs to the Castle and there’s a public footpath across it. I tell you what – if you’re still here in the summer we’ll walk it.’

‘Somehow I doubt it. I’m here to get Dad’s house ready for sale.’

His face fell. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. You’d make a wonderful addition to our little community.’

‘Somebody else told me that, but I’ve got a job in London.’

He started the engine. It purred quietly, unlike the throaty roar that Greta gave off as she warmed up. ‘Is it a job you enjoy?’

‘Yes, very much.’

‘Are you good at it?’ He pulled the gear lever into drive and they moved off almost soundlessly. She felt as if she were sitting in a truck, compared to the low-slung Porsche. She had to admit that it certainly improved visibility.

She caught his eye and grinned. ‘I’m very good at my job.’

They passed the village green and headed up the lane. From this height she could easily see over the stone wall beside them right onto the tees and fairways of the golf course beyond. The grass was immaculately mown and the greens like mirrors. Four middle-aged men were waiting to tee off, one even wearing old-fashioned plus four breeches. Specimen trees dotted the course, some of them quite evidently hundreds of years old. Presumably, prior to becoming a golf course, this had been the park around a stately home. She strained her eyes for a glimpse of the house, but all she saw were more trees, a lake with an island in the middle of it and, beyond the confines of the park, bare, open moorland. Beside her, Justin was still thinking about her job.

‘And do your employers know you’re so good at your job?’

‘I rather think they do. They pay me shed loads of money so that must mean something.’

He nodded. ‘And couldn’t you do it from down here? More and more people are working from home these days. Or are you out and about all the time?’

Holly had to think about that one. ‘I suppose I probably could, if I had to. Just about all my time’s spent in the office these days. If a visit’s needed, I’ve got people who do that for me.’ She went on to give him a brief description of what she did and how her engineering qualifications and experience were so important in calculating insurance risk.

‘Sounds like they wouldn’t want to lose you. So, think about it, stay here and make us all happy.’ He caught her eye. ‘I’m sure that’s what your dad would have wanted.’

Holly sat back and thought about it. Yes, Brookford was a lovely little place and she had met some very nice people so far, but would she want to live here full time? That, she thought to herself, would depend very much on the person with whom she might be living. She shot a glance across at Justin as he was looking away from her and wondered idly if she might want to live with him. Almost as soon as the thought had come, she squashed it. Let’s see how I feel after three dates. Maybe Julia wasn’t wrong about her after all. Besides, she wasn’t totally sure yet that this was a date. Maybe he was taking her to meet his wife…

The Castle was a splendid Victorian building, built in the Gothic style and set in grounds so vast that the drive alone must have been over a mile long. Spectacular trees rose up on both sides and huge clumps of rhododendrons would, no doubt, provide a wonderful display in the spring and summer. Justin parked right outside the main building and a porter in a spotless white shirt with a red and gold waistcoat ushered them into a magnificent panelled hall. In the middle of the room was just about the biggest Christmas tree Holly had ever seen outside of Trafalgar Square. The room itself was well over fifteen metres high and yet the tree almost touched the ceiling.

‘Tradition dictates that the tree is always at least fifty feet high.’ Clearly, Justin was enjoying acting as her guide and watching her reaction.

‘As an engineer, I’ve been wondering how they got it in through the revolving doors.’ The tree was festooned with silver and gold baubles, tinsel and lights, and decorating it must have involved some serious scaffolding. Holly caught his eye and smiled. ‘I also wonder what this has done to the hotel’s insurance premiums.’

‘Spoken like a true professional.’

‘Well, whichever way you look at it, that’s one hell of a tree.’

Justin smiled and she walked with him into the dining room. This, too, was magnificent. The immaculate headwaiter accompanied them to a table for two, looking out over a formal garden with perfectly trimmed box hedges, stylish statues, and a central fountain that looked like it had come from the palace of Versailles. Although it was still only mid-afternoon, the sky was overcast, and the water was already illuminated with green and yellow lights. As she sat down, the waiter gently pushed her chair in for her. Seconds later he picked up her napkin, shook it open and laid it on her lap. She gave him a smile and he nodded regally before doing the same for Justin and then withdrawing.

Holly looked across the table and caught Justin looking at her. ‘What a place!’ For a moment she thought about asking him if he often brought girls here, but she decided against it. Somehow she rather thought he did. Certainly he seemed very familiar with the surroundings. And the surroundings were magical, with wood panelling all around the room, stone mullions at the windows and intricate plasterwork on the ceiling. Christmas decorations in here were very stylish – white and gold ribbons and balls, along with holly, ivy and pine branches. In the middle of the room stood a grand piano, half concealed under a mass of Christmas decorations. A distinguished-looking old man with a shiny bald head was playing a medley of film tunes, just loud enough to be audible, but not loud enough to be intrusive. The other guests were a mixture of adults and children, all remarkably well behaved.

Justin had the menu in his hands. ‘They offer traditional high tea or champagne high tea. As it’s Christmas, shall we go for the champers?’

Holly nodded and smiled. ‘I’ve got nothing against tea, but there’s something so special about champagne.’ Justin called the waiter over and placed the order. Then he turned back to Holly and gave her an appraising look.

‘Well if they were giving out prizes for who’s got the most beautiful girl with him, I’d win hands down.’

Holly inclined her head towards him in finest Regency style. ‘Why thank you, kind sir.’ She grinned. ‘And you scrub up pretty well yourself.’ As usual, he was looking very smart.

‘So, how’s it going with the clear up in your dad’s house? It can’t be easy, having to sift through all his stuff. You must keep finding things that bring back so many memories.’ He suddenly realised what he had said. ‘But, of course, you don’t really have those memories as far as your dad’s concerned, do you?’

Holly shook her head. ‘Of course, you know the story, don’t you? Pretty much everybody in the village seems to know it. He just disappeared from my life and never bothered to make contact again.’ She dropped her head. The afternoon had been going so well up till then.

‘I wouldn’t be so sure about that, Holly. Maybe when he was in Australia he couldn’t stay in contact, but I’m sure he must have tried when he came back here. Didn’t your mother say anything?’ He had a thought. ‘My father might remember. He and George were great friends until my dad went off to South Africa to live. I’ll give him a ring one of these days and ask him.’

At that moment two waitresses appeared with a trolley and they both sat back. The girls began piling more food onto the table than Holly had eaten in the past week. There were scones, clotted cream, four types of jam, gorgeous homemade biscuits, no fewer than three different types of cake, éclairs, little sandwiches, some on brown bread, some on white, naturally with the crusts cut off. These were filled with cucumber, smoked salmon, or roast beef and horseradish sauce. In deference to the season, there were also two slices of Christmas cake with thick icing, studded with little silver balls. A wine waiter brought a bottle of champagne, opened it with only the slightest hiss, set it in an ice bucket on an elaborate stand beside Justin and laid a pristine white cloth across the top. The staff all bowed and withdrew, leaving Holly wondering how on earth they were going to be able to eat even a fraction of what was on the table.

‘Bloody hell, Justin, what a spread!’ She immediately rather regretted not saying ‘gadzooks’ or ‘upon my word’, rather than ‘bloody hell’. It was that sort of place.

‘We’ll let the champagne sit for a moment, shall we?’ Holly nodded. She couldn’t help thinking that he looked completely at home in these fine surroundings. He gave her a smile. ‘I’m sorry for the interruption. I was asking you about your mother.’

Holly had been doing a lot of thinking about her mother over the past couple of weeks. As she heard more and more about her lovely, generous father who had apparently been adored by all around him, the suspicion had started to form in her mind that maybe her mother had lied to her about him – all her life. It was a difficult concept to handle. Her mum had been there for her all through her life and she owed her so much. She had certainly been an inflexible character and they hadn’t always got on, but there had never been any doubt as to the love they bore for each other. The idea that Holly had been deliberately tricked into hating her own father by her mother stuck in the throat. She looked at Justin across the monumental pile of food on the table and did her best to be objective.

‘I loved my mum, you know. She brought me up single-handed and it can’t have been easy.’ She caught his eye. ‘And I was a real pain all the way through school. It was easy for me to blame it all on my not having a dad, but other girls were in the same boat and they didn’t rebel half as much as I did.’ She saw the disbelief on his face. ‘It’s true; I may sound like Alice in Wonderland now, but I was Attila the Hun for a good few years.’

‘I see you more as Sleeping Beauty.’ He was smiling, doing his best to put her at her ease after inadvertently opening a potential can of worms with his question.

‘Are you trying to imply that I look dozy?’ She managed a smile in return. ‘If my dad did try to contact me, and my mum didn’t tell me about it, I know it must have been because she wanted to protect me. Rightly or wrongly, she was convinced he was a bad lot and a bad influence, so she did her best to shut him out of both our lives. It seems harsh when you look at it from his point of view, but she must have had her reasons.’

He was looking more serious now. ‘Break-ups are tough, especially when there are children involved. I’m only glad my wife and I didn’t have kids.’

Her eyes inadvertently slid down to his wedding ring. ‘You were married?’

‘For ten years. Still am, just. I suppose it’ll have to go to the lawyers any day now.’

‘I’m so sorry.’

He shrugged, but she could see the effort it cost him to look nonchalant. ‘I think I’ve got over the worst of it, but it came as a real shock at the time.’ He pulled himself together and pointed towards the food. ‘Hungry?’

Holly filed away the information that the separation had, by the sound of it, been caused by his wife, rather than by him. Somehow, she had rather assumed that a handsome man like him might have been the guilty party. And there was no doubt at all that he was a handsome man; handsome, sophisticated and urbane. She looked back across the table, liking what she saw, and that wasn’t just the food. At the same time she found herself wondering, not for the first time, just what this was. Was it a date? Was he trying to get over his wife’s departure and move on with another woman? Or was he simply taking her out for tea because she was the daughter of one of his father’s best friends? Or was it neither of those things? She decided the best thing to do was to concentrate on the feast laid out in front of her. She gave him a smile.

‘I don’t really know where to start. I’m afraid I’m a high tea virgin. Is there an etiquette to this sort of thing? You know, scones first, éclairs afterwards or something like that?’

He was smiling again. ‘Just dig in, I think. Of course, there is a bit of debate over whether you put the cream on your scone before the jam or vice versa, but I’m not a purist. Eat what you want, how you want, and in the order you want. Now, let’s have some champagne.’ As he reached for the bottle, the wine waiter materialised from behind a nearby Christmas decoration, filled both glasses and then disappeared as silently as he had come. Holly nodded appreciatively, reflecting to herself that rural Devon was surprisingly sophisticated, as was her companion.

Holly raised her glass towards Justin. ‘Thank you for a very special afternoon out, Justin. Cheers.’ She leant forward and clinked her glass against his over the top of the chocolate éclairs.

‘And thank you, Holly, for being such a charming guest.’ All terribly formal, but then so was he and here, in these surroundings, it seemed appropriate.

The meal, for that was what it was, rather than a mid-afternoon snack, lasted almost an hour. During that time they talked a lot and she learnt more about her father. She also heard Justin refer repeatedly to his wife and the fact that she had gone off. He also told Holly about his hobby of sailing and his love of the islands of the Aegean and, after her third glass of champagne, Holly found herself imagining him on the deck of a fine yacht, clad only in a pair of shorts, with her lying in the sun beside him in her skimpiest bikini. It was an alluring picture.

It was pitch dark by the time they left. As they got into the car, she reached across and touched his arm. ‘Thank you, Justin. That was amazing.’

‘Thank you, Holly. We always used to love coming here.’ She noted his use of the first person plural and knew he must still be thinking of his wife. And, from his tone, he clearly still had feelings for her, in spite of her deciding to leave him. The image of the yacht and the bikini dissolved as she realised she would do well to treat this afternoon as tea with a friend, rather than anything with any romantic involvement. Handsome and charming he most certainly was, but you didn’t need to be Sherlock Holmes to see that he was still missing his wife.

When they got back to her house, he jumped out of the car and came round to open the car door for her. She swung her legs out and slid down to the ground.

‘Thank you again, Justin. That was a real treat.’

‘You’re very welcome. Bye, Holly.’

She kissed him on both cheeks and waited as he turned the big vehicle and set off up the road again until the tail lights finally disappeared round the corner after the green. Her mind was working overtime. She had enjoyed being with him immensely. The plush surroundings of the Castle had reminded her of similar episodes she had enjoyed with previous boyfriends in wildly expensive London clubs and restaurants. She had always enjoyed dressing up in her smartest clothes – particularly, she admitted to herself, her best shoes – and she had loved the glitter and opulence of that sort of place. Now, standing outside a granite cottage in a little Devon village with a faint, but unmistakable smell of cow shit in the air, she started to question her previous life. Were places like the Castle or men like Justin what she really wanted? Was all that maybe a bit phoney? And anyway, she thought to herself, it was looking pretty clear that Justin still hadn’t got over his wife so, even if she had wanted to take things further with him, that wasn’t likely to happen.

A strangled half howl, half whine from the other side of the front door interrupted her train of thought. She found herself smiling as she reached for her keys.

‘Sorry, Stirling. I forgot you were there. I’m coming.’

That evening she didn’t have any dinner. She was so full from the high tea that, after a short walk with Stirling, who had behaved himself impeccably in her absence, she went upstairs and carried on with the task of clearing her father’s stuff. She started at the end of the corridor in the room he had been using as a study.

She began over to one side and gradually cleared the worst of the clutter. The floor was littered with boxes, books, piles of paper and files. There were even pieces of metal and models that she, as an engineer, recognised as pumps. It was when she had just about reached the far side of the room, her hands dusty and her fingernails black, that she made an amazing discovery.

It was an ordinary-looking cardboard box. She picked it up, wondering whether the contents should be binned or kept. Setting it on the desk, she sat down and started sifting through it. Within a very short space of time she realised she had stumbled across something incredible.

The box was full of letters, each meticulously folded and sealed into an individual envelope. There must have been hundreds of letters in there. And all of them had been written by her father to her.

It didn’t take long to work out that there was one letter every month, from the time he and her mother had separated, until just before his death. Most poignant of all was the fact that the first hundred or so were all in stamped envelopes that had been sent all the way from Australia to her mother’s home address; the same house where Holly had grown up. Each envelope was unopened and still sealed, and Holly recognised the firm handwriting of her mother across the front of each one: Return to Sender.

She counted them up. In all, there were a hundred and twenty-two sealed, stamped envelopes. He had written a letter to her every month from the day he left until her eighteenth birthday. From then on, the monthly letters continued all through her life, but in plain envelopes, unstamped and unsent, marked only with her name, Miss Holly Brice. There were tears in her eyes as she picked up the box and carried it down the stairs. She set it on the coffee table in the lounge and made herself a cup of tea. Then she sat down and started on the first one, dated 1^st June 1989.

Every one began with the same words: My dearest Holly. As she read her way into the letters, she began to get a real insight into the true nature of her father. At first the letters were simplistic and entertaining. After all, she reminded herself, her father had been writing to a seven-year-old girl. But one phrase cropped up time and time again. After I had to leave you. It made it sound as if he had been forced to leave, rather than choosing to go off with another woman, as Holly had always been led to believe by her mother. There was no attempt at an explanation but, of course, how could he explain such things to a little girl? She read for several hours, but she was no nearer to discovering exactly what had transpired to cause the separation. But she now knew, if she hadn’t known it before, just how much her father had loved her.

By the time she was too drained to continue reading, his letters had almost reached her eighteenth birthday. He had left Britain almost immediately after leaving her mother and had been living in Australia all that time. She folded the last letter and slipped it back into its stamped envelope, as ever scrawled on by her mother. She glanced at the next ones in the box. There were a couple more with stamps, but from then on, the letters had not been posted. Presumably he had accepted the fact that a distance between them of ten thousand miles, and an implacable ex-wife, now meant he no longer stood any chance of ever contacting the girl he still addressed as his Dearest Holly.

Holly felt emotionally drained. She did a quick calculation. She was thirty-three, so, at a rate of one a month, there had to be well in excess of a hundred and fifty letters still to be read. She closed the box and slumped back on the sofa. Now, as she relaxed, the tears began to flow for the father she had never really known. She pulled out a tissue and wiped her eyes, but to no avail. She found herself sobbing her heart out. There was a movement at her feet and she felt the sofa sway. Next thing she knew, the Labrador had climbed up and sprawled himself across her, his nose against her chest, his big, brown eyes staring up at hers with grave concern.

She looked down at him, knowing she should throw him off the sofa, but in the end settling for taking the big hairy head in her arms and hugging him tightly. They stayed like that for some minutes before the weight of the dog on her lap made her decide to make a move.

‘Right, Stirling, you know you should be on the floor, don’t you?’

Clearly he didn’t. In the end she had to manhandle him off her lap and slide him onto the floor. He sat there and surveyed her solemnly. She caught his eye.

‘I know, Stirling. You’re a very good dog and I love you dearly, but your job’s done now. I’m all right.’ She stood up, blew her nose and headed for the kitchen once more.