Читать книгу Once Upon A Christmas - Jennifer Joyce, Darcie Boleyn - Страница 15

Day Five

Tuesday

Next morning, after a long walk on the moor with Stirling, it was full daylight by the time they came back down the path by the churchyard. The sky was clear, but clouds were building on the horizon and there was a bitterly cold wind blowing in from the north. Sight of the church reminded Holly of something she had been meaning to do for some days now. At the end of the wall was the old gate into the lychgate to the churchyard, sheltered underneath a pitched roof. She pushed it open and walked up the narrow path towards the church, the dog trotting happily at her side. Ahead of her was the yew tree mentioned by Donny the postmaster. It was unmistakable, even to a city dweller like herself. It was as high as the Christmas tree at the Castle and the width of an average house. It had no doubt been there for centuries.

She walked past the tree and immediately saw the row of new grave stones, at the end of which was a plain wooden marker. She stopped in front of it and looked down bleakly at her father’s last resting place. The sign read simply, George William Brice 1955-2015. There was nothing else on the marker, but Holly was surprised to see a fresh bunch of lilies in a pot in front of it. She glanced around. Very few other graves had flowers to be seen. One or two had old wreaths lying beside them, but his was the only one with flowers clearly less than a few days old. It felt very good to know that he was still remembered. Holly crouched down and reached out her hand until it rested on the sign. She wasn’t a religious person, but she whispered a little prayer under her breath all the same. Here he was – her father.

She crouched there for some minutes until she felt the dog’s nose nudging her side. She opened her eyes and turned towards him, suddenly conscious that her face was wet with tears. She stared into the Labrador’s brown eyes and reached out to stroke his head.

‘He’s here, Stirling. He’s here.’ A wave of emotion crashed over her as she remembered how deeply she had loved him all those years ago and how, here in his home village, she was beginning to know and love him all over again. If only she had been able to see him and talk to him before his death, there was so much she could have heard from him and so much she could have told him about her life. She sobbed out loud and even the comforting presence of the dog couldn’t make her stop.

Finally, after a good few minutes, she was disturbed by the sound of an engine. She pulled herself to her feet and did her best to dry her eyes, as a gardener approached with a mower. He paused as he reached her and grunted a greeting. Holly gave him a little smile. ‘Good morning, I don’t suppose you’ve any idea who put the lilies on my father’s grave by any chance?’ Holly realised as she said it that it was probably a silly question. After all, there were scores of graves in the churchyard. To her surprise, he released his hands from the mower and the engine spluttered and died.

‘Your father?’ Holly nodded. The man’s weather-beaten face split into a smile. ‘So you’re George’s daughter, are you? I’d heard you were in the village.’ He held out his hand. ‘I’m very pleased to meet you. My name’s Cookson, Bob Cookson. I farm around here and some years ago I made the mistake of volunteering to cut the grass in the churchyard from time to time. It shouldn’t need cutting now in December, but it’s been a funny autumn. I thought I’d give it a final trim before the snow comes.’

‘Snow?’ Holly shook his hand.

‘That’s what they’re saying on the TV this morning.’

‘And you believe them? A white Christmas?’ She gave him a smile. ‘Is there any old country lore to support this? You know, sheep lying on their sides or crows flying backwards.’

He smiled back. ‘I don’t know if it’s country lore, but my dodgy back’s been playing up this morning. You never know, they might be right. I’m going to bring my cattle down from the moor this afternoon just to be on the safe side.’ He remembered her original question. ‘The flowers on your dad’s grave? I couldn’t say, I’m afraid. Could be anybody; he was well-loved around here.’ His smile broadened. ‘Especially by the ladies. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d better get on. There’s a lot of grass to cut.’

He bent forward to pull the starter cord. The mower sprang into life and he continued on his way between the gravestones, leaving Holly wondering what he had meant by his last remark.

After breakfast, Holly pulled out her phone and laptop and set about checking up on her father’s business in Australia. There was a surprising amount on the internet about GWB Wines of Sydney and Melbourne. In particular there was a page on the current GWB Wines website entitled George Brice, Founder of GWB Wines.

From this, Holly learnt that her father had set up in Sydney in a small way at first. As the business grew, he moved heavily into exporting Australian wines to Europe, America and elsewhere. He finally sold out to a consortium made up of his employees in the year 2008. But the most fascinating thing on the page, as far as Holly was concerned, was a good, clear photograph of him, probably taken when he was in his forties. He looked fit, happy and handsome, but, nice as it was to have an image of her father, that wasn’t what really interested Holly. What interested her was the woman at his side and the caption beneath: George Brice and his wife, Lynda.

Holly sat back and stared at the screen. The woman described as his wife was of medium height, slim and very pretty, probably about the same age as him. She had short blonde hair, not dissimilar to Holly’s mother’s hair, and she was wearing a very smart cream dress that showed off her tan to perfection. She was holding Holly’s father by the hand and gazing up at him with an expression of deep affection.

The phone started ringing. Holly shook her head in an attempt to clear it before reaching over and picking it up.

‘Hello.’

‘Hi, Holly, it’s me. I haven’t caught you at a bad time, have I?’

Holly’s head cleared. ‘Hi, Justin. It’s good to hear from you. I’m still getting over the mountain of clotted cream I ate at the Castle on Sunday.’

She heard him laugh. ‘Well, that’s sort of what I was calling about. I don’t suppose you’d be free for dinner some time soon, would you? I so enjoyed our conversation the other day and I’d love to see you again.’

‘That sounds lovely, Justin.’ She had a pretty good idea what, or rather who, would be the main topic of conversation – but the idea of an evening out was appealing, even if they did end up talking about his wife. She enjoyed his company and if she could help by letting him talk things through, so be it. He and his father had been good friends of her father after all. ‘I’m out for lunch today, so dinner as well might be a bit much. How about tomorrow?’

‘Tomorrow’s fine. If you haven’t already been, I thought I could maybe take you to the Bricklayer’s Arms. In spite of the name, it’s one of the best places round here for seafood, if that appeals. Otherwise there’s a really good Indian restaurant in Moreton or the Duck and Grouse down the road on the way to Exeter. You choose.’

‘The seafood place sounds great.’

‘Excellent. I’ll pick you up around seven-thirty tomorrow. That all right?’

‘Terrific. See you tomorrow, Justin.’

‘Bye.’

Holly put the phone down, glad to have spoken to him and pleased about the dinner invitation, although she was a little fearful that it might turn into a marriage guidance session. She wasn’t able to dwell on it as her head was still spinning from what she had learnt on the internet a few minutes earlier. She decided to resume reading her father’s letters, in the hope that these would give her more information. She went through to the sitting room and opened the box on the coffee table. As she did so, there was a familiar clicking sound as Stirling came through to join her, and the thought occurred to her that he might need to have his nails clipped. Did that mean a trip to the vet, or were there beauty salons for dogs? She rather thought there were, but her canine expertise was still at a basic level. As he slumped down on the rug by the fireplace and resumed his nap, Holly vowed to check when she had time, but for now, her father’s letters were totally absorbing.

She picked up the next envelope in the row and immediately noticed that it felt thicker than the others. Her pulse quickened as she unfolded five handwritten sheets. This one was dated April 10^th 2000; a week before her eighteenth birthday. It started as ever with the words My Dearest Holly, but they were followed by a first paragraph that soon had her sitting bolt upright as she read what he had to say.

Now that you have reached the age of majority, it’s time for you to know the full circumstances surrounding our separation. It’s a story that does me no credit. There can be no doubt that I behaved appallingly towards your mother and, by extension, to you, Holly. All I can do is to tell you the truth of what happened in the hope that, even if you cannot forgive me, you will at least understand me.

The telephone in the kitchen started ringing, so she reluctantly set down the letter and went through to answer it.

‘Yes, hello.’

‘Is that Holly Brice?’ It was a woman’s voice, but unfamiliar to her.

‘Yes. Can I help?’

‘Holly my dear, my name’s Melissa Michelmore. I met you the other night in the Five Bells. My husband was celebrating his retirement… His name’s Bertie.’

‘Of course. I remember. He very kindly gave me a glass of champagne.’ So Marge Simpson was in fact called Melissa.

‘I only found out afterwards that you’re George’s daughter. We all knew him very well, you know. Lovely, lovely man. It’s a bit short notice, but with Christmas coming up at the end of the week, there’s not a lot of time. I was wondering if you might like to come along for a cup of coffee tomorrow morning. I only live just a few minutes up the road from you. There are one or two other ladies from the village who would love to meet you. Could you come?’

Holly groaned inwardly. She remembered her mother’s coffee mornings with a procession of ladies coming in, sitting around, eating biscuits, and exchanging gossip. Her problem was that her mind was so taken up with the discovery of her father’s second wife and his letter, she couldn’t think of an excuse. Weakly, she accepted.

‘Oh, lovely. Say about half past ten? We’re in Honeysuckle Cottage, just beyond the green. It’s a white house with a big oak tree by the gate. You can’t miss it.’

As Holly put the phone down, it immediately started ringing again and Holly snorted. What had Marge Simpson forgotten, she wondered? But it wasn’t her. It was the plumber with good news. The new boiler had arrived and would be fitted tomorrow. She thanked him and hurried back to the lounge. The dog was fast asleep, dreaming of something that involved him making little yelping noises while his legs trod water vainly in mid-air. Holly sat back down again, picked up the letter and read it with great attention and growing fascination.

When her father was a schoolboy, growing up in Brookford, his first ever girlfriend had been called Lynda. They were inseparable as teenagers until her parents emigrated to Australia, taking Lynda with them. The years went by and they lost contact. In the late seventies, he met Holly’s mother and they fell in love, or so he thought. They married, Holly was born, and all was fine until, in 1989, Lynda appeared in Brookford on holiday. As usual, Holly and her parents were having their summer holiday in the village and her father met up with Lynda once more. While they were here, the old passion was rekindled. Unable to separate from her a second time, he broke the news to his wife that he was leaving and he followed Lynda to Australia.

His letter was full of remorse for the appalling way he had treated his wife and daughter. One word he used time and time again was selfish. He knew he was acting selfishly, but he was powerless to do otherwise. The other expression he kept using was, I had to do it. It was as if he was being compelled to do this by some outside force that was beyond his control. He wrote of the tears streaming down his cheeks as the aircraft took off from Heathrow airport. By this time, tears were once more streaming down Holly’s cheeks and she knew she had to get up and do something. Carefully folding the letter, she replaced it in its envelope and returned it to the box. Where, she wondered, was his second wife now?

At twelve o’clock precisely, Holly saw the magnificent old Rolls pull up outside. Seen in the daylight, it was even more beautiful than when she had seen it the night before – its deep indigo blue coachwork polished like a mirror, the chrome gleaming in the last rays of sun escaping from the increasingly cloudy sky. A young man wearing gloves and a flat cap was driving. As she left the house, leaving Stirling with a large biscuit to soften the blow of her departure, the driver held the car door open for her to climb in. Inside it was all red leather and highly polished wood. He gave her a smile.

‘Good morning, Miss. My name’s Geoffrey. Mr Redgrave asked me to collect you. It should only take a few minutes, but if you’re cold, there’s a plaid here.’ He indicated a fine tartan blanket resting on the seat beside her. The hood was down and she felt very grand, and just a bit foolish, as they drove majestically through the village. Luckily, she didn’t see a soul.

Geoffrey the driver was right. To Holly’s surprise, five minutes later, he turned into the entrance of the Castle hotel and drove her up to the front door. Howard Redgrave was waiting for her on the step.

‘Holly, how terribly good of you to come.’

She went over to him and kissed him on both cheeks. Glancing round, she lowered her voice. ‘Howard, this place costs a fortune. We could have gone to the Five Bells.’

For some reason, the old man thought this hilarious. He led her up to the door and ushered her in, leading her across the entrance hall, past the Christmas tree, to an unmarked door. A porter bowed respectfully as they walked inside.

‘Welcome to my humble abode.’ Howard was grinning mischievously. She must have looked blank. ‘So you really didn’t know that I own this place?’ She shook her head in amazement. If she had thought to open the envelope he had brought with the invitation to the Christmas Ball, she would have seen where he lived. But it was still propped up against the toaster where she had left it. While she was still staring around blankly, the porter relieved her of her jacket and withdrew.

‘Come in, come in.’ Howard waved her into a magnificent lounge. The room was large and comfortable. The windows looked out onto a private garden and the walls of the room were hung with oil paintings of distinguished-looking gentlemen.

‘Your ancestors, Howard?’

He turned and grinned at her. ‘We were too poor to have oil paintings, or ancestors. I come from very humble origins. No, most of the paintings and furniture came with the house.’

Surprised, Holly caught his eye. ‘Forgive me for being personal, Howard, but I totally had you pegged for a member of the upper crust, some kind of aristocrat. Surely that’s what you are, what with your father’s love of English war heroes – and, be honest, your accent isn’t exactly Del Boy, is it?’

The old man stepped a bit closer and lowered his voice. ‘Not many people know this, but I told your dad, so I can tell you. My father was valet, chauffeur and wartime batman to his Lordship who owned this place. His Lordship was a very good and a very generous man and he paid for us boys to go to a very posh school. That’s where the accent came from.’ He grinned again. ‘No, I’m common as muck, me.’

‘Well you could have fooled me. In fact, you did fool me. So you ended up buying the place from his Lordship?’

Howard nodded. ‘When he died twenty years ago, it was put up for sale. I managed to get it at auction so it sort of stayed in the family after all. Now, let’s have a drink.’

A bottle of champagne lay in a silver bucket on top of a grand piano, a crisp white linen cloth laid across its neck. Howard went over to open it.

‘In honour of your father, I’ve dug out a bottle of the ’85. You know he had a nose for fine wines and he told me this was one of the best. Thought I’d better lay down a few dozen.’ Holly saw that the label was Dom Perignon and she could only guess at how much a thirty-year-old bottle of champagne might be worth. He poured two glasses and passed one across to her. He glanced down at a piece of paper beside the champagne bucket. ‘I asked Gaston to print out the tasting notes off the internet. They say this wine has, an aromatic, almost herbaceous nose with greengage and honeysuckle – very complex. Palate is rich and fresh with notes of grass, apple and honey. This is a big, flamboyant champagne. Let’s see if they’ve got it right, shall we? Here’s to you, Holly.’

‘And to you, Howard, and thanks for having me.’ They touched glasses and then sipped the wine. It was a rich golden colour and tasted wonderful, even if Holly’s taste buds couldn’t catch a whiff of honeysuckle or greengage. They sat down on an enormous sofa by the fireplace where two massive logs glowed as they kept the room temperature high. Holly slipped off her jumper and laid it on the back of the sofa. ‘It’s wonderfully warm in here.’

‘Too warm for your dad.’ Howard spotted Holly’s interest. ‘He and I used to spend a lot of time together. Every time he came round here in winter he’d complain that it was too hot. Kept taking off his jacket and trying to open the windows. Strange really, seeing as he’d spent most of his life in Australia.’

‘So, what did you talk about, Howard?’ As ever, Holly was keen to learn as much as she could about her father.

‘Oh, the usual, you know. Cricket, wine, investments, women; that sort of thing.’

‘Talking of women, I spoke to Mr Cookson the farmer this morning and he told me the ladies all loved my dad. Was that so?’

‘Yes, they all loved him.’ Howard was looking into the fireplace.

Holly took a deep breath. ‘But what about his wife, Howard? His Australian wife, the one he met as a child and never stopped loving?’ Both of them heard the emotion in her voice.

His head turned towards her. ‘I wondered if you knew the whole story.’ He sounded relieved that she knew the truth. She nodded.

‘I only found out a few hours ago. Did he tell you about the letters he wrote to me?’ Howard shook his head, so she explained, observing his reaction as she revealed the contents of the cardboard box.

He gazed at her in awe. ‘That’s truly amazing.’ He paused for reflection. ‘But it’s the sort of thing I can imagine him doing. He was a complex man, your father, and he could be stubborn when he wanted.’ He caught her eye. ‘And have you read them all?’ Holly shook her head.

‘I’ve got as far as the year 2000. In fact, when I get home this evening, I plan to carry on. What I now need to know is what happened to his second wife.’ She hesitated. ‘Do you know, Howard? Is she still alive? Have I got a stepmother, or whatever she is, over there in Australia?’

Howard dropped his head and kept his eyes fixed on the logs in the fireplace as he answered. ‘She’s dead, Holly. She died in 2008 I think. It was after her death that he decided to sell up and come back here.’

Holly digested the news. ‘How did he handle it?’

Howard looked up. ‘She died while they were both living in Australia. I wasn’t over there, so I can’t tell you how he reacted initially. But, by the time he moved back over here a few months had already passed and he was coping. As far as the outside world was concerned, he grieved and then moved on. But he never did move on; not really.’ Holly met his eyes. ‘I know it’s bound to be difficult for you to hear, but she was his one true love. Her death was a crippling blow for him. I’m no doctor, but I’ve asked myself many times whether the cancer that killed him was born when she died.’

‘So he sold his business and came back to Devon after her death? And there was nobody else in his life from then on?’

‘Just you, Holly. Just you.’

It was a while before either of them spoke again. Finally, Holly carried on with her original query. ‘So the ladies here all liked him, but was there maybe one lady in particular? I see there are fresh flowers on his grave.’

‘I don’t think there was ever anyone special, you know. He just enjoyed female company and they clustered around him like flies.’ He looked up and he was smiling again now. ‘Bit like me, really, only I’m much more handsome.’ Without giving her time to comment, he raised his glass, drank some more champagne and muttered to himself. ‘Big and flamboyant. They’ve got it dead right. This really is a rather good wine.’

He reached for the bottle and topped up both glasses, then, serious once more, he took hold of her hands and looked straight into her eyes. ‘Holly, I know it’s hard for you to bear, hard for you to understand. There was never another woman in his life after Lynda died. The fact is that she was his everything. He loved her the way Romeo loved Juliet, Abelard loved Heloise. He would have died for her. Her death was a crippling blow to him and he never recovered. When he came back here, he met people, made friends; men and women, but there was nobody who could replace Lynda. With one exception, Holly, and that would have been you, but you had been torn out of his life. Or rather, he had torn himself out of your life.’ He released her hands and took a mouthful of wine.

Holly blew her nose into a tissue and they sat in silence for quite a while before he stirred himself, reached out and produced a large white envelope that he set down on the coffee table.

‘I found a few photos of your father. I wondered if you’d like to see them.’

‘Oh, Howard, that’s so very kind. I’m still going through his stuff, but so far I’ve hardly found any photos of him at all. Just the one of him on the GWB website with his second wife.’ She hesitated, then spoke the name. ‘With Lynda.’

‘Well, let’s see if you like these.’ He tipped the contents of the envelope onto the table. There were a number of shots of cricket teams, celebrations and some more formal events. Holly’s father was in all of them. Howard leant a bit closer and talked her through each of the photos, from the victorious 2009 cricket team to her father opening the new cricket pavilion. Her father looked healthy, handsome and happy in all the photos and Holly felt a thrill of pride to see him so obviously well-respected in the community.

The one marked Christmas Eve 2012 was interesting. A large group had been assembled on the elegant stairs of the Castle, the men dressed in dinner jackets, the women in ball gowns. She recognised a number of the faces she had spied in the pub the other night, among them Bertie and his blue-haired wife Melissa, aka Marge Simpson. Right beside her father, Holly couldn’t miss a busty redhead in a green silk gown. She looked a lot younger than him, but from the way she was looking at him, she clearly liked him a lot. Might this be the woman putting flowers on his grave, she wondered.

Anxious that she might be showing too much interest, Holly half-turned towards Howard, pointing to a different woman, her arm linked with Howard’s. She was tall, elegant and spectacularly beautiful. She could have been an ageing film star.

‘The stylish lady in the black gown, is that your wife?’

For a moment, Howard showed his age as a shadow crossed his face. He nodded slowly. ‘Yes, that was my Bella.’ He looked up. ‘Not her real name. She was French and she was called Odile. I always thought it was a terrible name, so I called her Bella, from the Italian. Means beautiful, you know. Most beautiful woman in the world, I always thought.’ He summoned up a little smile. ‘Present company excepted, of course.’ He took a mouthful of champagne and carried on. ‘She died of that damned cancer, just like your father. It was in the spring of last year, but she’d been dying slowly for six months. We were together for almost forty years, you know.’

‘I’m so sorry, Howard. She certainly was a very beautiful lady.’

‘She was, she was.’ Howard turned away and cleared his throat.

Holly transferred her attention back to the photos, allowing him time to compose himself. The group photo for 2014 showed Howard standing alone in the middle of the bunch. Her father was just to his right and, this time, there was an attractive brunette at his side, a look of adoration on her face. She saw other familiar faces, among them Justin and Jack, both in tuxedos and both looking very desirable. There were women near both of them, but none exhibiting the sort of visible affection of the brunette beside her father. The farmer had been right. The ladies had evidently all loved her dad. When Holly had studied all the photos, she slipped them back into the envelope and glanced up at the old man. He was looking more serene now.

Holly risked a question about his wife. ‘So, where did you meet your wife? Over here or over there?’

‘We met in Paris. I worked over there most of my life until I decided to retire, sell the company and buy this place.’

‘What was it you used to do in Paris?’

He looked up and caught her eye. ‘Now, you’re not going to laugh at me, are you?’

‘I wouldn’t dream of it.’ Holly held her breath, waiting for the revelation.

‘Lingerie. Women’s underwear.’

Holly gawped. ‘Women’s underwear? You sold women’s underwear?’

‘Only wholesale. Used to design the stuff.’

‘You used to design women’s underwear?’ Somehow, Holly had assumed this would have been done by women. ‘Isn’t that a bit like me trying to design a jockstrap?’

‘Takes a bit of getting used to, but you soon get the hang of it. Got to love the subject, of course.’ He looked up and gave her a grin. Following this revelation, Holly realised that she was also feeling more cheerful now. ‘Always have. Always will. And I studied engineering too, a long time ago. Comes in very useful. You see, that’s something you and I’ve got in common. We’re both engineers, just that my kind of engineering doesn’t make your fingernails black.’ He grinned more broadly at her. ‘Although it’s good if you have warm hands.’

Holly giggled into her wine. ‘Are you famous? Should I have heard of you?’

‘You’ve probably heard of the company.’ He went on to name one of the best-known names in lingerie. Holly gulped.

‘Wow! And that was your company? It’s got to be one of the most famous in the world. And I had no idea it was an Englishman behind the name.’

Howard grinned. ‘Yes, that’s why we went with a very French name for the company from the start. I’m very glad we did. English underwear these days tends to conjure up the image of Bridget Jones.’ He swallowed the last of his wine and stood up. ‘And now, if you’re feeling hungry, I think we could eat. Keep the photos. They’re for you. I’ve got copies.’

Lunch was delightful and taken at a leisurely pace. It was almost three o’clock when Howard finished his little cognac and sat back. Holly could see the fatigue in his eyes. ‘And now, my dear, I really have to have a rest. When I lived in Paris, a few hours in bed after a good lunch would have been an energetic way of working off a few calories. Now, at my ripe old age, all I want to do is snooze.’

Holly stood up and went over to hug him. ‘Howard, that was a wonderful meal, wonderful wine, wonderful hospitality in your wonderful home, and you are a wonderful host.’

‘And you, my dear, are a wonderful guest. I think I told you this before, but I love the company of beautiful women.’ He held up his hand. ‘All right, all right, you’re too English to accept a compliment. Let me just say how fortunate I feel to have had you to myself for a few hours. Beauty, brains and a charming personality; your father would have been delighted at the way you’ve turned out, you know. Delighted and proud. Thank you Holly.’

‘Thank you, Howard. And thank you so much for helping me to get to know my father.’ She kissed him on both cheeks and turned away, feeling quite emotional.

Howard accompanied her to the door and saw her out to the car. Geoffrey drove her home at a sedate pace and Holly took advantage of the gentle ride to ask a few technical questions about the car. At first surprised that a girl should show such interest in cars, and then even more surprised that she was able and willing to chat to him about the advantages and disadvantages of the straight-six engine, he told her all about the car and about the three other classic cars in Howard Redgrave’s possession. As he dropped her off outside her house, she had to admit that Howard must have sold a lot of bras to be able to afford this sort of lifestyle. For somebody who had started life in his own words as common as muck, he had done very well for himself.

She went into the house and received a boisterous welcome from Stirling. After giving him a hug, she walked through into the lounge and sat down on the sofa. She had drunk quite a lot of wine this lunchtime and she was feeling drowsy. She closed her eyes and almost immediately fell asleep.

When she opened her eyes again, it was pitch dark and she was boiling hot. Or, to be more precise, her stomach was boiling and quite uncomfortable. For a moment she wondered if she might have contracted food poisoning, before the penny dropped. She reached down with her hands and encountered a warm body, sprawled across her.

‘Oh, Stirling.’ She couldn’t bring herself to really scold him and she scratched his head as he stretched and yawned. ‘You shouldn’t be on the sofa, you know. Now I’m going to have to wash this jumper or I’m going to smell of Labrador. And it’s one of my good ones, too.’ He gave no sign of concern or contrition.

With her free hand, she reached for her phone and checked the time. To her surprise, she saw that it was half past five. She had been asleep for two hours. In the glow cast by the telephone screen, she spotted the table lamp and switched it on. Blinking in the sudden light, she lay back, still stroking the dog, and gave serious thought to just what was going to happen to Stirling once her two weeks in Devon were over. She had become very attached to him in a very short space of time and she knew, without doubt, that she really didn’t want to be separated from him.

With the huge pot of money that her dad had left her, she knew she could afford to buy a place in London with a bit of garden for Stirling, although the problem she had to face up to there was her lifestyle. The dog would find himself spending a lot of time on his own and, as his current close proximity to her proved, he liked company. She rarely worked less than a nine hour day and she went out most evenings, either socialising, playing tennis, or to the Classic Car Restoration course she was following at the local college. She smiled as she reflected that very few of her female friends were likely to share her dream of restoring a vintage car to full working order. One of the most wonderful things about her father leaving her all that money, was that she knew that this dream could now become reality.

There remained two other alternatives. One was to take Justin’s advice and move out of London, choosing to work from home. She knew this idea wouldn’t be popular with her present employers, but she was confident they wouldn’t want to lose her expertise and would ultimately agree. Where this home might be was the second part of the conundrum. She had only been in Brookford for a very few days but she already felt a strong bond, brought about most of all by the affection the community felt for her father. She was sensible enough, however, to realise that life in such a tiny, remote and potentially suffocating environment might prove to be too different from the busy life of London.

The other possibility was the one she had had the other night and it was worthy of consideration. Although it would separate her from Stirling, she felt sure it would be an excellent solution for the dog if Jack would agree to take him. They got on well together, Jack’s life was based locally, he didn’t work full time and he loved the outdoors. If he would agree to take Stirling, it would be a most satisfactory solution, even though Holly knew deep in her heart that she would find separation from the big dog very hard to bear, even after just these few days. The added advantage of this plan would, of course, be to provide an excuse to see Jack again from time to time. She really didn’t want to lose either of them if the truth be told. She looked down at the dog’s comatose form sprawled across her and smiled. Yes, she would really miss him.

‘Stirling, you’ve been lying around here all day. How about a walk?’

The dog was off her lap in a flash, heading for the door. She pulled off her good jumper that now most definitely smelt of dog, and replaced it with an everyday one. Stepping into her Wellingtons boots, and taking her jacket and hat, she opened the door and they went out. They did the now familiar half hour loop around the village, her eyes soon acclimatising to the darkness. While she walked, she did a lot more thinking about the future direction of her life. Partway through, she got a call from Julia.

‘Hi, Hol. You all right?’

‘Hi, Jules, I’m fine. How did the dinner party go?’

‘Really great. I mean really, really great.’ Holly knew her well enough by now.

‘And was the food a success as well?’

‘Do you know, Hol? I think it was, probably.’ Clearly the food had not been the high point of the evening. ‘He certainly ate everything and said some very nice things about it. Anyway, I just wanted to run something across you. I know it’s all very short notice, but I was wondering. Would you mind awfully if I brought Scott on Friday?’

‘Of course not.’ Holly was doing a bit of quick thinking. They could have her room with the double bed and she could move into one of the other two bedrooms. ‘Will you both be travelling down on the same train? All it’ll mean will be you having to squash yourself into what Porsche optimistically refer to as the rear seats.’

‘No need. His folks live in Cornwall and he’s coming by car. He can’t get away till later on, but he’ll drive down and come straight to your place early to mid evening. Are you sure it’s all right?’ There was pause. ‘I mean, it won’t bother you having us bonking like rabbits in the next room while you’re staring at the ceiling dreaming of Mr Range Rover.’

‘You’re both welcome any time, but any damage to the bedroom furniture will be added to your bill at the end of your stay. Anyway, you may be interested to know that Mr Range Rover and I are just good friends, but I still haven’t given up on Mr Land Rover.’ She had a sudden thought. ‘By the way, if Scott’s going to be here on Christmas Eve, I’ll need to ask my sugar daddy for another invitation to the ball.’

‘The ball? What’s all this, Cinderella?’

‘You and I are invited to a ball in a very swanky hotel. And you’ll need to bring something spectacular to wear. When I say swanky, I mean swanky. But I’ll need to get an invite for Scott.’

‘No, no need; he’ll head off on Christmas Eve to see his family. Now, tell me all about the ball, the swanky hotel and your sugar daddy.’

Holly told her about her lunch with Howard Redgrave. Julia was suitably impressed. ‘You seem to have a knack of finding the rich ones. So, should I be thinking about dumping Scott and trying to seduce this Howard person on Christmas Eve?’

‘I’ll give you my verdict after I’ve met Scott. So when’re you seeing him next?’

‘Tonight. At his place. He’s getting a takeaway and I’m the dessert.’

Despite having decided not to eat anything after the huge lunch she had had, Holly found she was feeling quite hungry after the walk. She opened the fridge and was trying to decide whether to have some cheese or some salad when the doorbell rang. Stirling got up and trotted over to the door, tail wagging. It was Jack.

‘Evening, Jack.’ She gave him a big smile, realising that she was really very pleased to see him; in fact, remarkably pleased to see him. She wondered about holding out her arms for a kiss, but decided against it.

He gave her a smile in return and walked in, reaching out to catch the dog’s paws as he reared up on his hind legs to greet him. ‘Hello, Stirling, old pal, old buddy. You’re looking good.’ He was carrying a bottle of Meursault. ‘As are you, Holly. I wondered if you felt like drinking some of that amazing wine you gave me. I opened this a few minutes ago and tasted it and I just had to share it with you.’ He set the bottle down on the table along with a small package wrapped in brown paper. ‘And, if you’ve nothing better to do and if you haven’t eaten yet, I brought some fresh goat’s cheese from a place I know down on the southern edge of the moor.’

‘I’ve been drinking all day. I really shouldn’t, but, seeing as it’s open…’ Holly went over to get two glasses, feeling very pleased to see Jack. He was wearing a baggy old fisherman’s jumper that badly needed darning around the wrists and his same faded jeans, but he still looked very good; very good indeed. He was clean shaven tonight and it made him appear five years younger. ‘Jack, tell me you were joking when you said you were thirty-eight.’

He looked up with a smile. ‘Nope. My birthday’s next week so, in little over a year’s time, I’ll be forty. For what it’s worth, you still look thirty-three.’ He grinned at her.

‘Thanks a lot. I know who not to ask next time I want a compliment.’

‘You don’t need compliments. You’re gorgeous and you know it. Now, do I put the cheese in the fridge or do you want to try it?’

Holly did her best to ignore the unexpected compliment. ‘Well, I was just thinking about having a little snack, and your cheese would be great. Thanks a lot for bringing it, by the way. If you’re happy with cold stuff, do stay and eat with me. I’d like the company. I’ve got some good bread, some olives and some duck pâté. That should go well with the cheese.’

He raised a finger to his lips. ‘Shh, we don’t want Mr Mallard out there to hear that we’re eating one of his relatives.’ After washing his hands at the sink, he came over and took a seat at the table, opposite her.

He filled the two glasses and passed one across to her. The wine was very good indeed. She caught his eye. ‘I’ve had an exciting day. I was invited for lunch today by a man called Howard Redgrave.’ She immediately saw that he knew the old man. ‘We were drinking unbelievably expensive wines, but this one stands up to comparison very well.’ She smiled. ‘And I’m not just saying that because I bought it.’

‘Did you get a ride in the Roller?’

‘All 7.7 litres of her. Phenomenal.’

‘Howard’s a lovely old chap. He and your father were very close. I often got invited for meals with them and some of the wines they put on the table were out of this world.’

Holly got up and busied herself with cutting bread and getting cutlery and plates. She also filled a jug with water from the tap and set it down on the table along with another couple of glasses. Any more wine and she really would fall over. She made sure that he helped himself to food and poured glasses of water for them both before picking up a piece of bread and pâté. She nibbled it as they chatted amicably. Holly found she managed to eat more than she had expected, but she soon started to flag. Finally, she lifted her napkin off her lap and sat back. Jack was still chewing his way through some bread and cheese.

‘Jack, did you know my dad married again?’ She wasn’t totally sure why she asked him. Maybe it was just because she felt remarkably relaxed in his company. He looked up in surprise, swallowed, and wiped his mouth with his napkin.

‘Yes I did. I wasn’t sure if you did, though, so I’ve rather kept off the subject.’

Holly nodded. ‘I only found out this morning. I was checking his firm out on the internet and there was a photo of him with her.’ She looked up into his amazing eyes. They were more green than blue today and she found herself comparing them with Justin’s warm brown eyes. She could happily have kept that thought going, but she returned to the matter in hand. ‘Do you know what I realised? She looks very much like my mum. I’ve been thinking about that. Did he tell you he and Lynda knew each other as kids?’ Jack nodded. ‘When they were separated, when she went off to Australia, he then either consciously or subconsciously chose another woman who looked like her.’ She was still looking into his eyes. ‘My mum didn’t stand a chance, really, did she? As far as my dad was concerned, she was the next best thing.’ She felt the emotion building and struggled to stay objective.

‘It can’t have been easy for her – the break-up.’ Jack took another sip of wine. ‘Especially with a little child.’

Holly nodded, taking a few deep breaths. ‘To be totally honest, over this last fortnight, since I heard about my dad’s death and then coming here and starting to get to know him better, I’ve been feeling more and more bitter towards my mum for keeping me away from him. But, now that I know the truth about what happened, I find myself torn. On the one hand, I sympathise with my dad for having had to choose between two women he loved and, on the other hand, I now realise the depth of the trauma my mum must have gone through. I’m not sure I wouldn’t have done the same as her. In her mind, any man who could treat her and her child so callously, must have been a complete and utter bastard, and she must have felt she was protecting me by keeping us apart.’ She wiped a hand over her eyes and picked up her wine.

Jack reached across the table and took her hand. The fact that he was touching her only served to further stir her emotions. ‘I never met your mum, Holly, but she must have been quite some lady. Keeping it all together after a blow like that took guts, and bringing you up, all on her own, must have been tough.’ He gave her hand a little squeeze and smiled at her. ‘And she did a really good job on you.’

Then he released her hand and concentrated on finishing his cheese while Holly got herself under control again. She reached for a tissue and blew her nose. After a few minutes, she took a few big mouthfuls from her water glass and changed the subject. Maybe now was the moment to get him to open up a bit more about himself. She looked across the table at him.

‘Tell me, Jack, what is it you do apart from hauling logs and reading history books?’ She saw him hesitate and then, after a pause, he told her.

‘I’m a writer.’ She waited for more, but got nothing. She gave it a few more moments and then did a bit of digging.

‘So, what sort of writer are you? Books, magazine articles, comics, undiscovered, bestseller or what?’

‘None of the above, really. I write screenplays.’

‘Really? Anything I might have seen?’

‘Depends how often you go to the cinema, but maybe.’

‘Go on, don’t be coy.’

Jack took a mouthful of wine and then, reluctantly, reeled off the names of four movies Holly had not only heard of, but had seen in the past few years. She was impressed. ‘Wow, that’s amazing. I had no idea I was in the presence of a Hollywood star.’ A shadow crossed his face and she suddenly wished she hadn’t said that.

‘So, have you been to Hollywood?’ Again there was that shadow that crossed his face, but this time he did reply.

‘Oh, yes.’ Once again she waited for him to add something, but in vain. Finally, she had to prompt him.

‘Oh yes it was lovely, or oh yes it was horrid?’ Holly watched him carefully. His carefree face had left him.

‘I suppose a bit of both. It’s a fascinating place and the whole movie business is a world of its own. It came as a real shock to the system, I can tell you. Everything’s exaggerated. You aren’t keen on something – you’re totally passionate about it. You don’t dislike something or somebody – you hate, loathe and detest them. It’s never just a good movie – it’s spectacular, awesome and unbelievable. You, for example, you wouldn’t be a lovely-looking girl. You would be a stunning beauty and I wouldn’t just like you, I’d be head over heels in love with you after, what is it, three days?’

‘So you do like me?’ She knew she was on thin ice here, but the Meursault was giving her confidence.

‘Of course I like you.’ The hypnotic eyes caught her once more. ‘I like you a lot, Holly.’

‘That’s good to know. I wasn’t sure.’

There was a longer silence this time, during which he occupied himself topping up their glasses. Then he replaced the bottle and stared down at his hands on the table. ‘So, do you like me?’

‘Of course I bloody like you, you idiot. What did you think?’

He looked up, the beginnings of a smile on his face. ‘Well, that’s good to know.’

Holly sat back and reflected; a few seconds’ touch of the hand and an acknowledgement that they liked each other. This certainly wasn’t a whirlwind romance. Even so, she found herself smiling in her turn. Seeing his obvious discomfort at talking about these things, she changed the subject back to his career.

‘How long were you in Hollywood, Jack?’

‘Um, seven, maybe eight years.’

‘But you didn’t really like it?’

He caught her eye. ‘I did a runner, you know?’

‘Did a runner?’

‘Legged it. I’d been there for long enough. I was amazingly lucky with my first film script. A chance conversation between a girl I was dating at the time and her agent resulted in one of the big Hollywood studios taking an option on it and then, wonderfully, actually turning it into a movie. When that happened, I moved to LA.’ He was looking down at Stirling who was lying on his back, all four feet in the air. ‘I was only twenty-five.’

Holly had picked up on his comment about dating a girl. This would seem to add strength to her contention that he wasn’t gay. The feeling she had got inside when he took her hand, in spite of her upset, also definitely added strength to the argument. If he was gay, she was a monkey’s uncle. She adopted a casual tone. ‘And the girl you were dating at the time?’

‘It didn’t last.’ There was a finality to his voice. She had another sip of wine and gently prompted him.

‘But career-wise, it went well?’

‘Yeah, it went well. To be honest, it’s still going well. Only last week I was summoned to London to meet Mighty Max. He wants me to write something set in the 1960s.’

‘Ah, so that explains the twentieth century history book on your table. But who’s Mighty Mouse?’

He smiled at her. ‘Mighty Max. He’s the Head of Acquisitions at the studio. It’s widely rumoured that God needs to stand in line for a meeting with him. We’re talking all-bloody-powerful.’ He tasted the goat’s cheese and urged her to do the same. ‘It’s fantastic, or as they would say in Hollywood, it’s fantastic!’ He reached for the bottle of wine and topped up their glasses again. Holly made a few feeble protests, but he brushed them aside. ‘You’re not driving anywhere tonight. If you get too drunk, I’ll take our friend here for a wal… I’d better not say the word. You know what I mean. I’ve done it often enough for your dad.’

‘If I get too drunk, I might not be responsible for my actions.’ A graphic image of his tight abs and hairy chest filled her mind and she hastily did her best to return her attention to his story.

He chose to ignore the remark and carried on with his tale. ‘Anyway, I did that film, then another film, and another film, and things were going really well. I was getting paid an obscene amount of money, so I did the whole Hollywood thing; you know, the house with the pool, the personal trainer, the Shelby Mustang…’ He grinned as Holly’s head snapped up. ‘I thought that would wake you up.’

‘You had a Shelby Mustang?’ Her hand stopped halfway to her mouth, her wine glass still held in her fingers.

‘That’s right. A 1968 GT500. It sounded amazing, drank fuel like there was a hole in the tank, and cost me a fortune in maintenance.’ His smile broadened. ‘I should have had you around to look after it for me.’

‘Now that’s an offer I would find hard to refuse.’

‘Love me, love my car?’

‘Well, we could start with the car and see what happens…’ She found she was enjoying flirting with him immensely.

‘The problem was, it wasn’t my world. Don’t get me wrong. I like swimming pools and muscle cars as much as the next man.’ He gave her a little grin. ‘Or girl. It was just the sheer insincerity of the whole thing. People saying one thing to your face and stabbing you in the back as soon as you weren’t looking. Then some stuff happened and I knew I needed to get out, so I came back to the UK and looked for somewhere away from it all and that’s how I got here. I work from home and only go back over there when I really, really have to. And I’m so much happier now, just doing my own thing, on my own, down here.’

Holly decided not to press him on what sort of stuff had happened to break the camel’s back and send him home to the UK. Instead, she surprised herself. ‘And what about Dolores?’ If Holly hadn’t been drinking wine most of the day she wouldn’t have dared ask the question. As she heard herself speak the words, she began to sober up remarkably quickly.

‘Ah, yes, Dolores. She’s very attractive, isn’t she?’ Holly had to agree, so she nodded and he went on. ‘I met her a few months back. She interviewed me for a promotional thing the studio bullied me into doing on local TV down here. She was looking for somewhere to rent within an hour of work. I have a little cottage a few miles along the road towards Plymouth that I bought as an investment a few years back so, hey presto, she’s renting that place.’

‘She seems very affectionate towards you.’

‘I’m just a loveable character, I suppose. Anyway.’ Now it was his turn to change the subject. ‘So how come you’re on your own, if you are?’

‘I’m obviously just not a loveable enough character.’

‘Come on. You’ve got the richest man in this part of England eating out of your hand. All right, so he’s seventy-odd, but he’s got impeccable taste, and you’d have free foundation garments for the rest of your life.’

For a moment, Holly was on the point of telling him she was invited for dinner with Justin the next night, but she decided not to say anything about him. Instead, she tried to give Jack an honest, rational answer. ‘I tell you this, Howard Redgrave’s a real sweetie. He reminds me of a benevolent grandfather.’ She paused for thought and then revised her description. ‘No, forget that; he reminds me of a slightly naughty old uncle. And he was very close to my dad, so that sort of strengthens the link as well.’

‘Well, leaving him out of the equation, it seems strange to me that you haven’t grabbed yourself some lucky guy, or am I barking up the wrong tree?’ There was a twinkle in his eye. ‘Or could it be that the raven-haired beauty beside you in the Porsche a couple of weeks back is your significant other?’ He winked at her. ‘Could it be that you prefer your Lassie to your Pal, to use a canine metaphor that our hairy friend lying down here on the floor might appreciate?’

Holly found herself giggling. ‘Funnily enough, that raven-haired beauty suggested something very similar about you the other day.’

He raised an eyebrow and smiled at her. ‘Really? Is that what you think?’ The atmosphere intensified around the kitchen table.

Holly shook her head. ‘Funnily enough, I don’t.’

There was silence between them for a full minute, during which Holly clearly felt her heart beating more rapidly, wondering if the next step would be for Jack to prove the veracity of his sexual orientation. She knew that she would have no intention of stopping him if he did. She dropped her eyes to her water glass and waited. Finally, he drained his remaining wine and stood up.

‘I’d better get off home. You’re looking tired.’

Holly got up as well, conscious of the tension in the room and rather fearful that she had been the cause of it. She went across to the door with him. When they got there, he stopped and turned back. ‘Thanks a lot for a very nice impromptu dinner. I enjoyed our chat, Holly. I really did. And I’m always happy to meet this old fellow.’ The dog had followed them to the door and was standing back, waiting to see if he was going to go out for a walk.

‘Thank you for coming and for the wine, Jack. But I bought that for you. You should drink it yourself. But, do come round any time. I’ll be very pleased to see you.’

He opened the door and left. No kiss, no hug, no handshake even. Nothing. Holly watched as he walked to the gate and then closed the door softly. She rested her back against the coats hanging there and shook her befuddled head to clear it. Of course he wasn’t gay. She had sensed a sexual tension in the room a few minutes earlier with origins that were most certainly heterosexual. But, at the same time, she was woman enough to sense his hesitation. Something was wrong, but what? And what about her? Now that her lumberjack had magically morphed into a Hollywood great, did this now make him more attractive? Did it matter if she found him attractive? Was he destined to just be a friend? She just couldn’t work him out.

Holly looked down into the two big brown eyes staring at her from the floor. ‘I think a breath of air will do us both good, Stirling. Coming for a walk?’

At least the dog’s response was utterly predictable.