Читать книгу A New Year Bride - Scarlet Wilson - Страница 13

‘WHAT’S WRONG WITH you today?’ asked Alice.

Grace was staring out of the window, lack of sleep making her woozy.

She turned her attention back to Alice. ‘Nothing, I’m sorry. I’m just a little tired.’

Alice narrowed her gaze with a sly smile on her face. ‘I’ve seen that kind of distracted look before—just not on you.’

Grace finished making the bed and turned to face Alice. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

The last thing she wanted to do was admit to Alice the reasons that sleep had evaded her. It would be easy to say it was excitement about the job offer. Stress about whether she could actually do the job. But the truth was—while they might have contributed—the main sleep stealer had been the face that kept invading her mind every few seconds.

There was something so enigmatic about Finlay Armstrong. It wasn’t just the traditional good looks, blue eyes and sexy Scottish accent. It was something so much more.

And there was no way she could be the only one that felt it.

A successful businessman like Finlay Armstrong must have women the world over trying to put themselves on his radar.

She had no idea how he behaved in private. Five years was a long time. Had he had any hook ups since his wife died? Probably. Surely?

She didn’t even want to think like that.

It was just…that moment…that moment on the roof. The expression in his eyes. The way he’d looked at her when he’d reached up and touched her cheek.

Grace hadn’t wanted to acknowledge how low she’d been feeling up there. She hadn’t wanted to admit how she was missing her gran so much it felt like a physical pain.

But for a few seconds—up on that roof—she’d actually thought about something else.

She’d actually only thought about Finlay Armstrong.

‘Grace?’ Alice Archer had walked over and touched her arm.

‘Oh, sorry, Alice. I was miles away.’

Alice raised her eyebrows. ‘And where was that exactly?’

Grace bit her lip and pulled some folded papers from her white apron. ‘I’ve to help choose some Christmas decorations for the hotel. I was up half the night trying to find something appropriate.’

Alice gave a little smile and reached her thin hand over to look at the printouts. Grace swallowed. She could see the blue veins under Alice’s pale skin. A few of her knuckle joints were a little gnarled. They must give her pain—but she never complained. Another reminder of how much she missed her gran.

Alice glanced over the pictures, her eyes widening at a few. Grace had spent hours tracking down themes and stockists for particular items. All of them at costs that made her blink.

Alice gave her a thoughtful look as she handed the pictures back. She patted Grace’s hand. ‘I’m sure whatever you choose will be perfect. It will be nice to have some Christmas cheer around the hotel.’

Grace couldn’t help but smile. ‘Christmas cheer, that’s exactly what I’m trying to capture. Something to make people get in the spirit.’

Alice walked over to her Louis XV velvet-covered chair and sank down with a wince.

‘Are you okay? Are you hurting?’

Alice shook her head proudly and folded her hands in her lap. ‘No. I’m not sore, Grace. I’m just old. I’ll have some lemon tea now, if you please.’

‘Of course.’ Grace hurried over to complete their morning ritual. She sliced the fresh lemon and prepared the tea, boiling the water and carrying the tray with the china teapot and cup and saucer over to the table at Alice’s elbow.

Alice gave a grateful sigh. Her make-up was still impeccable but her eyes were tired this morning. ‘Maybe you should have some help? Someone to give you some confidence in your decisions.’

Grace was surprised. ‘Do you want to come with me? You’re more than welcome to. I would be glad of the company.’

Alice laughed and shook her head. ‘Oh, no. I don’t mean me. I was thinking more of someone else…someone else who could use a little Christmas spirit.’

Grace had poured the tea and was about to hand the cup and saucer to Alice but her hand wobbled. She knew exactly who Alice was hinting about.

‘I don’t think that would be appropriate. He’s far too busy. He’s far too immersed in his work. He wouldn’t have time for anything like that.’

She shifted uncomfortably. She had a pink shirt hanging up in her locker, ready to change into once she’d finished her chambermaid duties. Alice was staring at her with those steady grey eyes. It could be a little unnerving. It was as if she could see into Grace’s head and see all the secret weird thoughts she’d been having about Finlay Armstrong since last night.

Gran had been a bit like that too. She’d always seemed to know what Grace was going to say before she even said it. Even when she’d been twelve years old and her friend had stolen a box of chocolates from the local shop. The associated guilt had nearly made Grace sick, and she’d only been home and under Gran’s careful gaze for ten minutes before she’d spilled everything.

Alice Archer was currently sparking off a whole host of similar feelings.

Her eyes took on a straight-to-the-point look. ‘He asked you to get him some Christmas decorations, didn’t he?’

Grace set the cup and saucer down. ‘Yes,’ she replied hesitantly.

‘Then, he’s reached the stage that he’s ready to start living again.’

The words were so matter-of-fact. So to the point. But Alice wasn’t finished.

‘It’s time to bring a little Christmas magic to The Armstrong, Grace, and you look like just the girl to do it.’

One hour later the black shirt was crumpled in a bag and her long-sleeved deep pink shirt with funny little tie thing at the collar was firmly in place. She grabbed some more deodorant from her locker. She was feeling strangely nervous. A quick glance in the mirror showed her hair was falling out of its bun again. She pulled the clip from her hair and gave it a shake. Her hair tumbled in natural waves. She was lucky. It rarely needed styling. Should she redo her lipstick?

She pulled her plum lipstick from her bag and slicked some on her lips. There. She was done. She took a deep breath, reaching into the apron that she’d pushed into her locker for her array of pictures. Her last touch was the black suit jacket—the only one she owned. She’d used it for her interview with Clio some months ago and thought of it as her good luck charm.

Finally she was satisfied with how she looked. She’d never be wearing designer clothes, but she felt presentable for the role she was about to undertake.

She pushed everything else back into the locker and did her final job—swapping her square-heeled black shoes for some black stilettos. She teetered for the tiniest second and laughed. Who was she trying to kid? She pulled open the locker again and slid her hand into the inside pocket of her black bag. There. Drop gold earrings that her gran had given her for her twenty-first birthday. She usually only wore them on special occasions but in the last few months, and particularly at this time of year, she missed her gran more than she could ever say. She slipped them into her ears and straightened her shoulders, taking a deep breath.

There it was. The little shot of confidence that she needed. She glanced down at the papers in her hand and smiled.

She was going to give this hotel the spirit of Christmas no matter what.

He could hear a strange noise outside his room. Like a shuffling. After more than a few seconds it was annoying.

Finlay’s first reaction was to shout. But something stopped him. Maybe it was Alice Archer? Could she have come looking for him?

He sat his pen down on his desk. ‘Is someone there?’

The noise that followed was almost a squeak. He smiled and shook his head. ‘Well, it’s obviously an infestation of mice. I’d better phone the exterminator.’

‘What? No!’ Grace’s head popped around the door.

Grace. It was funny the odd effect that had on him.

She kind of sidled into the office. ‘I’m sorry if I’m disturbing you, Mr Armstrong.’

He gestured towards the chair in front of him. ‘It’s Finlay. If you call me Mr Armstrong I’ll start looking over my shoulder for my father.’

She shot him a nervous smile and walked hesitantly across the room towards the chair.

He tried his best not to stare.

Grace had already caught his attention. But now, she wasn’t wearing the maid’s outfit. Now, she had on a black suit and stiletto heels.

Finlay Armstrong had met a million women in black suits and heels. But he’d never met one quite like Grace. She had on a pink shirt with a funny tie at the neck.

And it was the colour that made him suck in his breath. It wasn’t pale or bright, it was somewhere in the middle, a warm rose colour that brought out the colour in her cheeks and highlighted the tone of her lipstick. It suited her more than she could ever know.

Her hair swung as she walked across the room. It was the first time he’d seen it down. Okay, so the not staring wasn’t going to work. Those chestnut curls were bouncing and shining like the latest shampoo TV advert.

Grace sat down in the chair opposite him fixing him with her warm brown eyes. She slid something across the desk towards him.

‘I just wanted to check with you.’ She licked her pink lips for a second. ‘How, exactly, do I use this?’

He stared down at the company credit card. ‘What do you mean?’

She bit her lip now and crossed one leg over the other. Her skirt slid up her thigh and he tore his eyes away and fixed on her eyes.

Big mistake.

‘I mean, do I sign—can I sign? Or do I need a pin number or something?’

‘You haven’t used a company credit card before?’ He hadn’t even considered it.

She shook her head. He could see the slight tremble to her body. She was nervous. She was nervous coming in here and asking him about this.

‘Sorry, Grace. I should have left you some instructions.’ He’d just left the card for her in an envelope at Reception. He scribbled down some notes. ‘This is what you do.’

She leaned forward on the desk as he wrote and a little waft of her perfume drifted towards him. He’d smelled this before. When he’d been inches from her in the penthouse he’d inhaled sharply and caught this same scent, something slightly spicy with a little tang of fruit. He couldn’t quite place which one it was.

He finished writing and looked up. ‘Have you had some ideas about what you need for the hotel?’

She nodded and lifted up some papers in her hand, unfolding them and sitting them on the desk. She still looked nervous. ‘I know quality is important to you. But, because you’ve left things so late this year, I can’t really pre-order or negotiate with anyone for a good price. We’ll have to buy straight from the retailer. So…’ she pressed her lips together for a second ‘…I’ve prepared three price ranges for you. You can let me know which one you prefer and we’ll go with that one.’

He waved his hand. ‘The price isn’t important to me, Grace. The quality is.’

Her face fell a little. Wasn’t that the right answer he’d just given her—that she had no limits to her spending? Any other designer he’d ever met would have cartwheeled out of the room at this point.

She shuffled her papers.

‘What is it?’

She shook her head. ‘Nothing.’

There were a hundred other things he could be doing right now. But since he had worked on the plane on the way home most things were up to date. Just as well really. After his experience last night, sleep hadn’t come quite as easily as he’d expected.

Oh, he’d eventually blacked out. But he’d still managed to spend a few hours tossing and turning.

Her brown eyes were now fixed on those darn papers she was shuffling in her hands and he was strangely annoyed. He reached over and grabbed them.

It didn’t take long to realise what he was looking at. He started to count them. ‘Nine, ten, eleven, twelve… Grace, how many versions of these did you do?’

‘Well, the first one was my absolute wish list. Then, I thought maybe you wouldn’t want lights, or the big tree, or some of the other ideas I had, so I made a few other versions.’

He couldn’t believe it. He’d only sprung this on her yesterday. The last company he’d worked with had taken three months just to give him a quote for something.

He shook his head. ‘How long did this take you?’

She met his gaze again. It was clear she didn’t really want to answer.

‘Grace?’

She pulled a face. ‘Maybe most of last night.’

‘Until when, exactly?’

She pulled on her game face. ‘I’m not sure exactly.’

He smiled and stood up, walking around towards her. She knew exactly how long it had taken her. He guessed she’d hardly had any sleep last night.

He put one leg on the desk, sitting just a few inches away from her. ‘Grace, if I gave you free rein today, where would you go and what would you buy?’

She was silent for a few seconds. Then, her head gave a little nod. To his surprise she stood up.

Because he’d changed position she was only inches from his face. From close up, he had a much better view of her curves under her suit. He could see the upward and downward movements of her chest beneath the muted satin of her shirt.

Even more noticeable was her flawless complexion. There was a warmth about Grace. It seemed to emanate from her pores. Something trustworthy. But something else, a hint of vulnerability that just didn’t seem to go away.

He’d seen other little glimpses. A spark of fire when he’d obviously annoyed her in the penthouse. She’d taken a deep breath and answered him back. Grace didn’t like people treating her like a fool. She knew how to stand up for herself.

His smartphone buzzed and he glanced at it. An email he should deal with. But the truth was he didn’t want to.

‘What’s your idea for the hotel?’ he asked Grace.

She blinked at the suddenness of his question, but she didn’t miss a beat. She held out her hands. ‘I’m going to bring Christmas to The Armstrong. The hotel is missing something. Even you know that.’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘And you’ve given me the job of finding it.’

He picked up the phone on his desk and stared at her. ‘Tell me where you’re going and I’ll order a car for you.’

She waved her hand and shook her head. ‘I can catch the Tube.’

This time it was him that raised his eyebrows. ‘Aren’t you going to have some purchases to bring back?’

She put her hand up to her mouth. ‘Oops.’

He asked again. ‘So, where do you want the car to go?’

‘First Selfridges, then Harrods, then Fortnum and Mason.’ She didn’t hesitate.

‘You really think you can do all that in one day?’

She shook her head. ‘Oh, no. I can do all that in an afternoon. You’ve obviously never met a professional Christmas shopper, Finlay.’

It was the first time she’d said his name. Actually said his name. And it was the way she said it. The way it rolled from her tongue with her London accent.

He spoke quickly into the phone on his desk, put it down and folded his arms across his chest. He smiled as he shook his head. ‘No, I don’t think I have.’

She wrinkled her brow. ‘How old are you, exactly?’ She matched his stance and stood in front of him with her arms folded across her chest.

It was almost like a challenge.

He stood up to his full height and stepped a tiny bit closer. He could take this challenge. ‘Thirty-six.’

‘Oh, dear.’ She took a step backwards and put her hand up to her head. She looked out from under her hand with a wicked glint in her eye. ‘Did you play with real live dinosaurs as a boy?’ Her smile broadened as she continued. ‘And shouldn’t we watch the time? I guess you make all dinner reservations for around four-thirty p.m.—that’s when all the early bird specials are, aren’t they?’

He’d met a lot of people in this life—both before and after Anna—but he’d never met anyone who had the same effect as Grace. Even though she was officially an employee, he kept seeing glimpses of the woman underneath the uniform. Whether it was fun and jokes, a little melancholy or just a hint of real.

That was what it was.

Grace felt real. She was the only person who didn’t seem to be watching how they acted around him—watching what they said. He liked the fact she was teasing him. Liked the fact she didn’t treat him as if he were surrounded by broken glass.

‘Seriously?’

She nodded. ‘Seriously.’ But it was clear she was teasing.

He laughed and shook his head and countered. ‘You’re probably not that much younger than me. You’ve just found some really good face cream.’

He handed over the company credit card as his phone rang. ‘On you go and have some fun buying up any Christmas decorations that are left.’ He answered the phone and put his hand over the receiver. ‘I look forward to seeing what a professional Christmas shopper can do.’

Sixty minutes later Finlay Armstrong didn’t look happy at all. He looked as if he were about to erupt.

Grace cringed as he strode across the store towards her. She was already feeling a little intimidated. Three security guards were standing next to her. She’d understandably almost been out on the street. That was what happened when you couldn’t remember the pin number for the credit card you were using or answer any of the security questions.

Finlay walked over to the counter. ‘What’s the problem?’

Once she started talking she couldn’t stop. She’d been having the time of her life. ‘I’ve bought a huge Christmas tree for the foyer of the hotel, along with another two large trees for the bar and the restaurant.’ Then she held her hand up towards the counter and the serious-faced woman behind it. ‘Well, I haven’t really bought them. I got here and…’

She held up the piece of paper that he’d given her. It had managed to get smudged and the numbers on it were indecipherable. She leaned forward. ‘Please tell them I really do work for the hotel. I’m not on their list and don’t know any of the questions they asked me.’

Finlay’s jaw tightened, but he turned and addressed the woman with impeccable politeness. ‘I’m Finlay Armstrong. I own the company. I can either use the correct pin, or answer any of the security questions you need.’

The woman gave a nod. ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to do both on this occasion. And, Mr Armstrong, if you add another member of staff onto the card—you really should let us know.’

Grace wanted to sink through the floor. This shopping trip definitely wasn’t going to plan. She was behind already.

Finlay was finished a few minutes later. ‘If I give you the number, do you think you can remember it again?’

The staff member cleared her throat behind them, ‘Actually, Mr Armstrong, your card has already been flagged today. You might be asked security questions if you use it again.’

Grace gulped. ‘What does that mean?’

Finlay glanced at his watch. ‘How much longer will this take?’

Grace glanced down at the list still in her hands. She wanted to lie and say around five minutes. But London traffic would be starting to get heavy. ‘Probably another couple of hours.’

Finlay rolled his eyes. He stared off into the distance for a second. ‘We need the decorations for the hotel,’ he muttered. ‘Okay, let’s go. The car’s outside.’

The cold air hit her as soon as they came outside and she shivered. ‘Where’s your coat?’ he asked.

She shrugged. ‘I just got so excited when you gave me the card and told me there was a car outside, I forgot to go and get my coat and gloves.’ She shook her head. ‘It doesn’t really matter. We’ll be inside for most of the time.’

The car pulled up and he held the door as she slid inside and he climbed in next to her. He was talking on the phone—obviously still doing business.

It wasn’t deliberate. But all her senses seemed on alert. The wool from his black coat had brushed against her hand sending weird vibes everywhere. The aroma of his aftershave was slowly but surely drifting towards her in the warm atmosphere of the car. And even though it was cold outside, she was praying her pink shirt wouldn’t show any unexpected perspiration marks.

It was only early afternoon but the sky already had a dark purple tinge at its edges.

Finlay glanced at his watch. There was a tiny shadow around his jaw line. The hint of a little stubble. Mixed with those unusual blue eyes it was enough to make any warm-blooded female catch her breath.

Part of her heart was going pitter-patter. So many expectations. What if he hated her ideas? What if he couldn’t see how they translated to The Armstrong?

He closed his phone and leaned forward to speak to the driver. ‘How much longer?’

‘Just another ten minutes,’ was the reply.

Grace felt nervous. Jumpy around him. Small talk seemed like the best solution.

‘You mentioned your mum and dad earlier—are you spending time with them this year?’

He frowned. She wondered if he wasn’t going to answer, then he shook his head. ‘No. My parents are still in Scotland. My sister is expecting their first grandchild and will probably be fussed over non-stop.’

The answer was brisk. It was clear Christmas was still an issue for him—even if he was agreeing to decorations for the hotel.

As she went to speak again, her hand brushed against his. He flinched and then grabbed it. ‘Grace, your hands are freezing.’ He started rubbing his hands over hers. She was taken aback. After the frown it was a friendlier gesture than she might have expected.

His warming actions brought the aroma of the rose and lavender hand cream she’d used earlier drifting up between them. She hadn’t even thought about how cold her hands were.

The car pulled up outside one of London’s oldest and most distinguished department stores, Fortnum and Mason. Grace was so excited she didn’t wait for the driver to come around and open the door—she was out in a flash. She waved at Finlay. ‘Come on, slowcoach. Let’s get started. We need Christmas wreaths and garlands.’

She walked swiftly, darting her way between displays and heading for the elevators. But Finlay’s footsteps faltered. It was like…whoosh!

Christmas everywhere. Every display. Every member of staff. Perpetual Christmas tunes piping overhead. Grace had even started singing along. Did she even notice?

It was like Christmas overload.

It was clear he’d unleashed the monster. He hadn’t seen someone this enthusiastic about Christmas since his sister was five years old and thought she might get a horse. She did—but it was around twelve inches.

He pushed back the wave of emotions that was in danger of rearing its ugly head. He’d chosen to be here. He’d decided it was time to try and move forward. The perpetual little ache he felt would always be there. But should it really last for ever?

They walked through the tea hall that was jostling with people. ‘I love the Christmas shop in here. There’s so much to choose from.’ She kept talking as they darted between shoppers.

The lifts were small and lined with wood. He found himself face to face with her, their noses inches away from each other. In this confined space he felt instantly protective, his hand reaching up and resting on her hip.

She smiled and tipped her head to one side. ‘Did you listen to a single word I said?’

He shook his head as the doors closed and the piped music continued. ‘Not a single word,’ he admitted.

She gently slapped his chest. ‘Shocker. Well, remember only these words: I will not complain about the price.’

He rolled his eyes. ‘Grace, what are we buying in here?’

She still looked happy. It was obvious Christmas decorations were something that she just loved. ‘I told you. Christmas wreaths and garlands to decorate the foyer, the bar, the corridors, the restaurant and the elevators.’ She counted them off on her fingers.

He blinked for a second. Wreaths. He’d forgotten how often they were used as Christmas decorations now. It was almost as if the world had misplaced what they actually were.

They were lucky: no one else rode to the top floor with them. The elevator pinged and she looked over her shoulder. ‘This is us.’ She wiggled around, her backside pressing straight into him.

Finlay felt numb. No matter how she’d joked, he was still a young guy. And like any young man, his body reacted to a woman being up close and personal—even if it was unintentional.

Grace seemed not to have noticed anything. She dodged her way through the bodies.

As soon as they stepped outside the lift Grace almost started skipping. She handed him a basket and picked up a few delicate glass and white tree decorations. Then, she walked over to the counter. ‘I phoned earlier about a special order. Wreaths and garlands—you said you’d put them aside for me.’

The clerk nodded. ‘They’re through here. Do you want to see them before you pay?’

Finlay let Grace work her magic. She was loving this. This wasn’t the vulnerable woman that he’d seen on the rooftop. This was in control and in her element Grace. Within a few minutes he’d handed over the company credit card and heard her arrange for delivery in a few hours’ time.

Grace let out a squeal. ‘My favourite ever Christmas song—“Last Christmas”—let’s sing along.’

He looked at her in surprise. ‘This is your favourite song? It’s not exactly cheery, is it?’

But Grace was oblivious and already singing along. A few fellow shoppers gave him an amused stare. She really was singing and didn’t seem to care who was listening. The fleeting sad thoughts disappeared from his head again. Grace had a little glance at her lists and made a few random ticks before folding them up again and belting out the main part of the song.

The pink flush in her cheeks suited her. But what caught his attention most was the sparkle in those dark brown eyes. He wouldn’t have thought it possible. But it was. He sucked in a breath. If he didn’t watch out Grace Ellis could become infectious.

Grace came back and pressed her hand on his arm. ‘I’ve seen a few other things I like. You stay here or it’ll spoil the fun.’ She waved her hand. ‘Have a look around. I’ll only be five minutes.’

He frowned as she disappeared. Fun?

He wandered around, watching people gaze in wonder at all the decorations. The garlands in store were beautiful. They had a whole range of colours and they covered walls, shelves and the Christmas fireplaces that had been set up in store. Next to them was a whole range of wreaths: some holly, some twisted white twigs, some traditionally green decorated with a variety of colours. He stopped walking.

He was looking at wreaths and not automatically associating them with Anna. Guilt washed over him. Shouldn’t she always be his first thought?

But she hadn’t been. Not for the last few months. It was as if his head was finally lifting from the fog it had been in these last five years. But Christmas time was a little different. It seemed to whip up more memories than usual. It made the thought of moving on just a little more tricky.

A little girl walked into him as she stared at a rocking horse. He bent down to speak to her. She was like something from a chocolate box. A red double-breasted wool coat, a little worn but clearly loved, dark curls poking out from under a black hat. She hadn’t even realised she’d walked into him—her eyes were still on the white rocking horse with a long mane decorated with red saddle. She let out a little sigh.

‘Come along, Molly,’ said a harassed voice. ‘We just came here for a little look. It’s time to go.’

He lifted his head instantly. The woman looked tired—her clothes even more so. Her boots were worn, her jacket was missing a few buttons and the scarf she had wrapped around her neck looked almost as old as she was. But it was her accent that drew his attention.

He straightened up and held out his hand. ‘Hi, Finlay Armstrong. What part of Scotland are you from?’

She was startled by his question and took a few seconds to answer. He could almost see the recognition of his own accent before she finally reached over and shook his hand. ‘Hi, I’m Karen. I’m from Ayrshire.’

There was something in the wistful way she said it that made him realise this wasn’t a visit.

He kept hold of her hand. ‘Have you been in London long?’

She sighed. ‘Three years. I had to move for work.’

He nodded his head towards the rocking horse. ‘Your little girl was admiring the rocking horse.’

Karen winced. ‘I know. I asked for one every year too as a child.’ She glanced down at her child again then met his gaze. ‘But we can all dream.’

He sucked in a breath. When was the last time he’d done something good? He’d been so wrapped in his own mourning for the last five years he hadn’t really stopped to draw breath. Even when it came to Christmas presents he normally gave his PA a list and told her what kind of things his family preferred. That was as much input as he’d had.

He thought about the prettily wrapped present that Mrs Archer had left for him at reception. He hadn’t even opened it yet.

He kept his voice low. ‘How about Molly gets what she wants for Christmas?’

Karen looked shocked, then offended. He knew exactly how this worked. He shook his head. ‘I work for a big company. Every year they like us to do a few good deeds. A few things that no one else finds out about.’ He pulled the card out of his pocket, still keeping his voice low. ‘There’s no catch. I promise. Give the girl at the desk an address and time for delivery. That’s all.’

Karen sucked in a breath. ‘I don’t want to be someone’s good deed.’ He could see her bristle.

He gave a nod of acknowledgement. ‘Then how about a gift from a fellow Scot who is also missing home?’

Her eyes filled with tears and she put her hand to her throat. ‘Oh…oh, then that might be different.’

He glanced down at Molly and smiled. ‘Good. Just give the girl at the desk your details. I’ll arrange everything else.’

‘I don’t know what to say, except thank you. And Merry Christmas!’

He gave her a nod. ‘Happy Christmas to you and Molly.’

He ruffled Molly’s curls and walked away, not wanting to admit to the feelings that were threatening to overwhelm him. That was the first time he’d wished anyone Happy Christmas in five years. Five long, horrible years.

What had he been doing? Had he been ignoring people around him like Karen and Molly for the last five years?

He heard an excited laugh and Grace walked through with one of the sales assistants from another room. Grace’s cheeks were flushed pink with excitement and she was clapping her hands together again.

The girl really did love Christmas.

One part of him felt a selfish pang, while the other dared itself back into life. In a way, he’d felt better sticking his head in the sand for the last few years. Some of this Christmas stuff made him feel decidedly uncomfortable. Parts of it were making him relive memories—some good, some bad.

But the thing that he struggled most with was feeling again. Feeling.

The thing he’d tried to forget about.

He touched the saleswoman’s arm as she was still mid-discussion with Grace. ‘I need you to add something to the order.’

Grace’s head shot up. ‘What?’ Then her expression changed. ‘Really?’

He gave a nod and gestured to the white rocking horse. ‘The lady in the dark coat, her name is Karen. Can you make delivery arrangements with her?’

The saleswoman shot a glance from Grace, to Finlay and then to Karen, who was still standing in the distance with Molly.

‘Of course,’ she said efficiently, adding the purchase to the bill.

What was he doing? All of a sudden Finlay was feeling totally out of his depth. ‘Let’s go,’ he said to Grace abruptly.

She looked a little surprised but glanced at her watch. Did she think he wanted to beat the traffic? ‘Thanks so much for your assistance. I’ll be back at The Armstrong for the delivery.’

She rubbed her hands together again. Something sparked into his brain. The one thing he’d thought to do back at the hotel.

He pulled out his phone and spoke quietly as they hurried back outside to the car. The light had almost gone completely now and most of London’s stores were lit up with Christmas displays. The journey to Harrods didn’t take quite as long as he’d imagined.

Grace gave a sharp intake of breath as soon as the gold lights of the store came into view, lighting up the well-known green canopies.

He touched her elbow. ‘We need to do something first in here before we go to the Christmas department.’

She looked surprised. ‘Do you need some Christmas gifts for your family?’

He shook his head. Thick flakes of snow were falling outside. ‘That’s taken care of. This was something I should have done earlier.’

They stepped outside as the chauffeur opened the door and walked in through one of the private entrances.

A woman in a black suit with gold gilding met them at the entrance. ‘Mr Armstrong?’

He nodded. She walked them towards some private lifts. ‘This way, please.’

The journey only lasted a few seconds before the doors slid open on women’s designer wear. Grace frowned and looked at him. ‘We need to go to the Christmas department.’

He waved his hand. ‘In a few minutes. I need to get something here first.’ He turned to the personal shopper. ‘Do you have anything the same shade as her shirt? And some black leather gloves please, lined.’

Grace was still frowning. ‘Who is this for?’

He turned to face her. ‘You.’

‘What?’ It was a face he recognised. Karen had worn the same expression thirty minutes earlier. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’

Finlay held out his hands. ‘Look at me. I’ve dragged you halfway across London in the freezing cold with snow outside.’ He touched her arm. ‘You’re only wearing your suit and a shirt. You must be freezing. I feel like an idiot standing beside you in a wool coat.’

She tipped her head to the side. ‘Then take it off. It’s too hot in here anyhow.’

She said it so matter-of-factly. As if he should have thought of it himself.

He shook his head. ‘But once we get back outside, you’ll freeze again. You were rubbing your hands together the whole time we were in the last two stores. It was obvious you were still cold.’

The personal shopper appeared carrying a knee-length wool coat in the exact shade of pink as Grace’s shirt. She held it up. ‘Is this to your taste?’

He smiled. ‘It’s perfect.’ He gestured towards the coat. ‘Go on, Grace, try it on.’

She was staring at it as if she didn’t quite know what to say. Then she shook her head. ‘You are not buying me a coat.’

He took the coat from the personal shopper and held it open. ‘You’re right. I’m not buying you a coat. The Armstrong hotel is. Think of it as part of your official uniform.’

She slid her arms along the black satin lining of the coat as he pulled it up onto her shoulders. The effect was instant. The coat brought out the darkness of her chestnut hair and dark eyes while highlighting her pink cheeks and lips. It was perfect for her.

He felt himself hold his breath. Grace turned and stared at her reflection in a mirror next to them. Her fingers started automatically fastening the buttons on the double-breasted coat. It fitted perfectly.

The sales assistant brought over a wooden tray of black leather gloves. Grace stared down in surprise and looked up at Finlay. ‘They’re virtually all the same. How am I supposed to choose?’

The personal shopper looked dismayed. She started lifting one glove after another. ‘This one only skims the wrist bones. This one has a more ruffled effect, it comes up much further. This one has a special lining, cashmere. We also have silk-lined and wool-lined gloves all at different lengths. Do you have a specific need?’

Finlay could tell by the expression on Grace’s face that she was bamboozled. He reached out and ran his fingers across the gloves. Some instantly felt softer than others. He selected a pair and turned them inside out. ‘These ones must be cashmere lined. The leather feels good quality too. Want to try them?’

He had no idea what size or length they were. Somehow he thought his eyes might be similar to Grace’s—all the gloves looked virtually identical. But they didn’t feel identical.

She slid her hands into the pair he handed her and smiled. ‘They’re beautiful…’ She gave them a little tug. ‘But they seem a little big.’

In an instant the personal shopper handed her an alternative pair. Grace swapped them over and stretched her hands out. ‘Yes, they feel better.’

‘Perfect. Add this to our bill, please,’ he said. ‘We’re going to the Christmas department.’

‘But…I haven’t decided yet.’ Grace had her hand on the collar of the coat.

Finlay shrugged. ‘But I have—the coat is perfect. The colour is perfect. The fit is perfect and the length is perfect. What else is there to say?’

He started to walk away but Grace wasn’t finished.

‘But maybe I’m not sure.’ Her voice started to get louder as he kept walking, ‘What if I wanted a red coat? Or a blue one? Or a black one? What if I don’t even like coats?’

People near them were starting to stare. Finlay spun around again and strode back over to her, catching her by the shoulders and spinning her back around to face the mirror.

‘Grace. This is you. This is your coat. No one else could possibly wear it.’ He held his hands up as he looked over her shoulder.

Her dark brown eyes fixed on his. For a second he was lost. Lost staring at those chocolate eyes, in the face framed with chestnut tresses, on the girl dressed in the perfect rose-coloured coat.

There was a tilt to her chin of defiance. Was she going to continue to fight with him?

Her tongue slid along her lips as her eyes disconnected with his and stared at her reflection. ‘No one has ever done something like this for me,’ she whispered at a level only he could hear. She pulled her hand from the leather glove and wound one of her tresses of hair around her finger as she kept staring at her reflection.

‘Just say yes,’ he whispered back.

She blinked, before lowering her gaze and unwinding her finger from her hair. She pulled off the other glove and undid the buttons on the coat, slipping it from her shoulders.

She handed it to the personal shopper. ‘Thank you,’ she said simply, then straightened her bag and looked in the other direction. ‘Right,’ she said smartly, ‘let’s hit the Christmas department. We have work to do.’

She wasn’t joking. The Christmas department was the busiest place in the entire store.

And Grace Ellis knew how to shop.

She left the personal shopper in her wake as she ping-ponged around the department, side-stepping tourists, pensioners, kids and hesitant shoppers.

He frowned as he realised she was picking only one colour of items. ‘Really?’ He was trying to picture how this would all come together.

She laid a hand on his arm as she rushed past. ‘Trust me, it will be great.’ Then she winked and blew into her fingers, ‘It will be magical.’

She was sort of like a fairy from a Christmas movie.

He was left holding three baskets and feeling quite numb as she filled them until the contents towered. Lights. Christmas bulbs. Some weird variation of tinsel. A few other decorations and the biggest haul of snow globes. He hadn’t seen one since he was a child.

‘Really?’ he asked again.

She picked up a medium-sized one and gave it a shake, letting the snow gently fall around the Santa’s sleigh above a village. ‘Everyone loves a snow globe…it’s part of our theme.’

Our theme. She was talking about the hotel. Of course she was talking about the hotel. But the way her eyes connected with his as she said the words sent involuntary tremors down his spine. It didn’t feel as if she were talking about the hotel.

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. Maybe he should have started much smaller. Grace’s enthusiasm for Christmas had only magnified as the hours increased. Was he really ready for such a full-on Christmas rush?

She tugged at his sleeve. ‘Finlay, I need you.’

‘What?’ He winced. He didn’t mean for the response to be so out of sorts. The truth was, he wasn’t quite sure what he was doing here, or how he felt about all this.

Five years ago he’d still been numb. Five years ago he’d spent September and October sitting by his wife’s bedside. The year before that he’d been frantically searching the world over for any new potential treatment. On a bitter cold November day, he’d buried her.

Anna had been so much better than him at all of this. She’d been devastated by the news. Devastated by the fact no treatment had worked. But she’d been determined to end life in the way she’d wanted to. And that was at home, with her husband.

No one should have to watch the person they love fade a little day by day. But Finlay knew that every day the world over, there were thousands of people sharing the same experience he had.

Grace was standing in front of him, her face creased with lines. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing.’ He shook his head. ‘Nothing. What do you need?’

She nodded to the snaking line in front of them. ‘We’ve reached the front of the queue. I need you to pay.’

Pay. Something he could manage without any thought.

He walked to the front of the line and handed over the credit card. The personal shopper was putting all the purchases into some trolley for them to take to the car. He stopped her as she started to wrap the coat in tissue paper. ‘Don’t,’ he said. ‘Just take the tags off. Grace should wear it.’

There was a moment’s hesitation on Grace’s face as he handed the coat over. But after a few seconds she slid her arms back inside. ‘Thank you.’

‘No problem.’

By the time they got outside the air was thick with snow. It was lying on the pavements and surrounding buildings and roads.

Grace fastened her coat and slid her hands into the leather gloves while all their packages were stored in the boot of the chauffeur-driven car.

The journey back to the hotel was silent. He’d started this afternoon with the hope of a little Christmas spirit. It wasn’t that he wasn’t trying. But sometimes memories flared. Tempering his mood with guilt and despair.

Grace’s fingers fumbled over and over in the new gloves. She was staring at the passing shop windows. Her face serious and her eyes heavy. What was she thinking about?

When they reached the hotel he couldn’t wait to get out of the car. ‘I have an international videoconference,’ he said as he climbed out.

‘Good.’

He stopped mid-step. ‘What?’

She walked around to the boot of the car. ‘I don’t want you to see anything until I’ve finished. It’s better if you have something to do. I’m going to get Frank and some of the other Maids in Chelsea to help me set things up. I’d prefer it if you waited until I was finished—you know, to get the full effect.’

It was almost as if somehow she had switched gears from her sombre mood in the car. Grace seemed back on point. Focused again. Ready to complete her mission.

And right now all he felt was relief. He could retreat into his office. He could stop asking himself why he’d bought a stranger’s child a rocking horse and an employee a coat and gloves that were way outside her pay range.

Two of the doormen from the hotel started lifting all the purchases from the car. One of them gave her a nudge. ‘Frank says there’s a delivery at the luggage door for you.’

She was busy. She was engaged. She didn’t need him around.

Finlay walked back through the reception without acknowledging anyone. He had work to do.

It was finished. It was finally finished. Grime and sweat had ruined her pink shirt and black skirt. She’d swapped back from the stilettos to her lower shoes and spotted a hole in her black tights. Her hair had ended up tied in a ponytail on top of her head as it kept getting in the way. She must look a complete state.

Emma gave a sigh as she looked up at the giant tree. ‘If you’d told me this was what you had in mind when you asked for a hand…’

Sophie rolled her eyes. ‘As if you would have said no.’

Ashleigh was leaning against the nearby wall with her arms folded. ‘I think it looks spectacular. It was worth it.’

Grace couldn’t stop pacing. ‘Do you think so? What about those lights over there? Should I move them?’ She pressed her hands to her chest. ‘What about the colour scheme? Is it too much?’

The girls exchanged amused glances.

But Grace couldn’t stop with her pacing. ‘I’ll need to go and get him. I’ll need to make sure that he’s happy with it.’

Sophie walked over and put her arm around Grace’s shoulder. ‘Well, whoever he is, he’d be crazy if he didn’t like this.’

Ashleigh stepped forward. ‘I hope you’ve been paid for this, Grace. I’d hate to think this guy was taking advantage of your good nature.’

Emma folded her arms across her chest. ‘Who is he, exactly? You haven’t exactly been forthcoming.’

Grace hesitated. She wasn’t even quite sure what to say. She tried to slip the question by giving Emma a big hug. ‘Thank you for coming today. You’re not even a Maid in Chelsea any more. Should I start calling you by your fancy title?’

But Emma was far too smart for that. She returned the hug then pulled back. ‘I’m going to ask Jack if he knows anything about Finlay Armstrong.’

Grace shook her head—probably much too quickly. ‘I don’t think he will.’ She turned and looked at the finished decorations again. ‘I can’t thank you girls enough. I owe you all, big time.’

‘I think that’s our cue to leave, girls,’ said Ashleigh. ‘Come on. Let’s get cleaned up. I’m buying the drinks.’

They all gave Grace a hug and left by the main entrance of the hotel while she went to retrieve her jacket from behind the reception desk.

Should she wait? The hotel reception was quiet. She wasn’t even sure of the time. She’d asked the staff to dim the main lights a little to give the full effect of the tree.

Her stomach gave a flip-flop. He’d asked her to do this. He’d asked her. Surely he’d want to see that she was finished?

She walked slowly towards his office door, listening out to see if he was still on his conference call. She couldn’t hear anything and the office door was ajar.

She gave the door a gentle knock, sticking her head around it. Finlay was staring out of the window into the dark night. His office had a view of the surrounding area—not like the penthouse, of course, but still enough to give a taste and feel of the wealth of Chelsea. It was a wonder they didn’t ask for credentials before they let you off the Tube around here.

He looked lost in his thoughts. She lifted her hand and knocked on the door again—this time a little more loudly.

He jumped. ‘Grace.’ He stood up; his actions seemed automatic. He started to walk around the desk and then stopped, the corners of his mouth turning upwards.

‘What on earth have you done with your hair?’

She’d forgotten. She’d forgotten her hair currently resembled someone from a nineteen-eighties pop video.

She glanced down at her shirt too. Random streaks of dirt.

It wasn’t really the professional look she’d been aiming for.

She gave her head a shake. ‘I’ve been busy. This stuff doesn’t put itself up.’ Nerves and excitement were starting to get the better of her. ‘Come and see. Come and see that you like it.’

He raised his eyebrows, the hint of a smile still present. ‘You’re already telling me I like it?’

‘Only if you have exceptionally good taste,’ she shot back.

He had no idea how much her stomach was in knots. This was the guy who hated Christmas. This was the guy that had pulled down a single strand of lights she’d put in his room.

This was a guy that was trying to take steps away from his past Christmas memories. If she’d got this wrong…

She stepped in front of him. ‘It might be better if you close your eyes.’

‘Nervous, Grace?’ He was teasing her.

‘Not at all.’ She made a grab for his hand. ‘Close your eyes and I’ll take you outside. I’ll tell you when you can open them.’

For a moment she thought he might refuse. She wasn’t quite sure how long she could keep up the bravado. She stuck her hands on her hips. ‘Hurry up, or I’ll make you pay me overtime.’

He laughed, shook his head, took her hand and closed his eyes.

His hand in hers.

She hadn’t really contemplated this. She hadn’t really planned it. His warm hand encompassed hers. Was her hand even clean?

The heat from his hand seemed to travel up her arm. It seemed to spread across her chest. She shouldn’t be feeling this. She shouldn’t be thinking thoughts like…

‘Are we going?’

‘Of course.’ She gave his hand a tug and started walking—too quickly to begin with, then slowing her steps to a more suitable pace.

Magda at Reception raised her eyebrows as they walked past. Grace couldn’t think straight for one second. This was it. This was where he would get the full effect. The effect that every customer walking into The Armstrong would get from now on.

She spun him around to position him exactly where she wanted him. Far enough away from the traditional revolving door at the entrance way to stop him getting a draught, but still with enough distance between him and the display.

She tapped his shoulder. ‘Okay. Open your eyes.’

Maybe he’d been hasty. Maybe he shouldn’t have made any of the suggestions about Christmas decorations. He didn’t know what he was doing. He’d spent the last few hours trying to get the image of Grace in that pink coat out of his head.

He opened his eyes.

And blinked.

And blinked again.

His hotel was transformed. In a way he could never have imagined.

The lights in the main reception area were dimmed. In normal circumstances the black and grey floor, walls and reception desk would have made it as dark as night.

But it wasn’t.

It was purple.

Purple in a way he couldn’t even begin to find words for. He started to walk forward, straight towards the giant Christmas tree at the end of the foyer that was just pulling his attention like a magnet.

The traditional green tree was huge. It was lit up with purple lights and a few white twinkling ones. The large purple baubles and glass snowflake-style tree decorations reflected the purple light beautifully. The strange-style purple tinsel was wrapped tastefully amongst the branches. Along either wall were more purple lights. It was a strange effect. They drew you in. Drew your gaze and footsteps towards the tree. At intermittent points all along were snow globes of various sizes.

There was a choking noise beside him. Grace’s face was lit up with the purple lights, her hands clenched under her chin and her eyes looking as if they might spill tears any second.

‘What do you think?’ Her voice was pretty much a squeak.

He couldn’t speak yet. He was still getting over the shock.

Christmas had come to The Armstrong hotel.

She’d captured it. She’d captured the Christmas spirit without drowning him in it.

The tree was giant, but the effect of only having one colour made it seem more sleek and exclusive than he’d expected. The intermittent snow globes were focal points. Something people could touch, pick up and hold.

The dimmed lights were perfect. It bathed the whole area in the most magical purple light.

‘Finlay?’ This time there was a tremor in her voice.

He kept looking, kept looking at everything around him, before finally turning and locking gazes with Grace.

‘I think Santa got everything wrong,’ he said.

Her eyes widened. ‘What do you mean?’

Finlay laughed and opened his arms wide. ‘His grotto. Clearly, it should have been purple.’ He spun around, relishing the transformation of his hotel.

He didn’t just like it. He loved it.

Never, even in a million years, did he think he’d feel like this.

He picked up Grace and swung her around.

She was still in shock. She put her hands on his shoulders and let out a squeal. She was still looking for verification. She needed to hear the words out loud.

‘You like it? You think it’s good?’

He set her feet back down on the slate floor. ‘I don’t think it’s good—I think it’s fantastic!’ He shook his head. ‘I can’t believe you’ve done this. I can’t believe you’ve managed to capture just what I wanted for The Armstrong without…’

His voice tailed off. That wasn’t something to say out loud. That was part of his private thoughts.

She stepped in front of him again. This time the tension on her face and across her shoulders had disappeared. The expression on her face was one of compassion, understanding. She touched his arm. ‘Without taking you back to where you don’t want to be.’ She nodded. ‘I wanted this to be about something new for you. Something entirely different.’ She lowered her gaze. ‘Not that there’s anything wrong with memories. Not that there’s anything wrong with taking some time.’

His heart swelled. He knew so little about Grace. This woman, that he’d almost threatened to fire, that had stood up to him, teased him, and shown him compassion and made him feel things he hadn’t in years.

He was thinking things and feeling things that had been locked away inside for a long time.

He’d been so shut off. So determined not to let anything out—not to open himself up to the world of hurt that he’d felt before.

But things felt differently than he’d expected. The world outside didn’t feel quite so bad as before. He recognised things in Grace that he hadn’t expected to.

It was time to start making connections. Time to start showing interest in those around him. And he knew exactly where to start.

He reached down and took her hand. ‘I owe you more than a coat.’

She shook her head automatically. ‘No, you don’t. And that coat is beautiful. Completely impractical and the kind of thing I wear in one of my dreams. Thank you for that.’

Her dark brown eyes met his. ‘Every girl should get to be a princess some time.’

There was a little pang inside his chest. ‘Come to the staff party with me.’

She dropped his hand. ‘What?’ She looked truly shocked.

‘I mean it.’

Her mouth opened and then closed again.

‘Every year there is a pre-Christmas staff party at the hotel. I haven’t gone for the last five years. This year—it’s time for me to attend again.’ He shrugged. ‘I can’t promise I’ll dance. I can’t promise I’ll play Santa Claus.’ He gave her a serious nod. ‘But I can promise you there will be music, spectacular food and champagne. If you want to be treated like a princess, then come to the party with me.’

She still looked a bit stunned. ‘I’ve heard about the staff party. I just wasn’t sure if I was going to go. What will the rest of the staff think if I go with you?’

He waved his hand. ‘Who cares?’

‘I care.’ She looked serious.

He shook his head and took both her hands in his. ‘Grace, they will think I’m saying thank you for the way you’ve decorated the hotel. The way you’ve managed to bring Christmas to The Armstrong in such a classy, stylish way. And they’d be right.’

She glanced over at the Christmas tree and finally smiled again.

She tilted her head to one side. ‘Well, when you put it like that…’