Читать книгу What Happens At Christmas... - T Williams A - Страница 12

Day Two

Saturday

All in all, Holly had a reasonable night’s sleep. The only interruption came at around three o’clock in the morning, when she was woken by a noise. By this time, moonlight was flooding into the room and she got the shock of her life when she saw the bedroom door swing open. She was already backing away to the far side of the bed, looking for a weapon of any description, when the dog’s head appeared.

‘Oh, for Christ’s sake, Stirling…’

The dog must have interpreted her use of his name as an invitation, as he proceeded to climb up onto the bed, where he dropped on top of her with a sigh. She had to struggle for a few moments to push him off her and down onto the floor again. ‘No, Stirling. Bad dog.’ He sat down beside the bed and stared at her. She could see two little moons reflected back at her in his big eyes. ‘Go downstairs, Stirling.’ He didn’t move. ‘Oh, for crying out loud please go back to your bed, would you? I want to go to sleep.’ She closed her eyes and lay back down again, hoping that he would take the hint. She counted silently up to sixty and then risked opening her eyes a fraction. His face was still there, his gaze unblinkingly fixed on her.

‘Oh, God…’ She swung out of bed and reached for a pair of shoes. It was cold in the room, although the thick feather duvet had kept her warm in bed. She retrieved her jumper from the chair and led the dog down the stairs. In the kitchen, it was warmer, but the stove was now cool enough to touch. She went over to the table, lit one of the candles and looked down at the dog, who was still staring at her impassively.

‘Listen Stirling, we are not going out for a w… W, A, L, K. Got it? It’s the middle of the night and we both should be asleep. Go in your basket.’ She had to repeat it a few times and add a few gestures, but finally he got the message and climbed into his bed. He slumped down, but his eyes were looking so mournful that eventully she grabbed a cushion and settled on the cold stone floor beside him. She stroked his head and he stretched out a huge paw and pressed it against her. She caught hold of it in her other hand and they stayed like that for some minutes, as his eyes gradually closed and he settled down.

As she sat there, looking at him, she reflected that only a few months ago, her father might have been here, doing the same thing. Maybe that was what was disturbing Stirling. She looked around the room, but there were few personal objects on display. Her dad’s jacket still hung on the back of the door, a strong pair of walking boots peeked out of the broom cupboard and a cricket bat leant against the window seat. She closed her eyes and conjured up the image of his face from the photo beside his bed. Seeing it had brought back so many memories; from a sandy beach holiday, to a trip to the hospital when they thought she had broken her arm. Her dad’s loving, comforting face had been there with her on those occasions and so many others and then, just like that, he had disappeared from her life, forever.

She wondered, as she had done for much of the past week, what he had meant in his letter about having tried unsuccessfully to contact her on one occasion. Surely he would have left a message or even a note if he had missed her. Could it be that he had spoken to her mother, but that her mother had chosen not to tell her? If Holly hadn’t had the comforting presence of the dog beside her – the closest remaining link she had to her father – she would have cried again, but she didn’t. Instead, she leant forward and kissed the dog softly on his head, then she relinquished her hold on him, stood up and snuffed out the candle.

She woke up at seven o’clock next morning with somebody trying to strangle her. A heavy weight was pinning her to the pillow, while a muscular arm pressed down upon her windpipe. She opened her eyes, but it was still pitch dark in the house. As the panic began to build, a long, warm tongue began to lick her cheek.

‘Oh, God, Stirling, stop that, will you. And your breath stinks. Get off this minute. Please, Stirling.’ With difficulty she managed to dislodge the dog from her throat and tip him over the edge of the bed onto the floor. He landed with a thud. Staying under the duvet, she shimmied across to the edge of the bed to check that he hadn’t hurt himself. She peered down into the dark. A large back nose appeared right in front of her and he would have licked her again if she hadn’t retreated. She lay there for another five minutes, conscious of the dog’s staring eyes, before accepting the inevitable. She pushed back the covers and climbed out of bed. Reaching for the matches, she lit the candle and looked down at the dog.

‘You’re a pain in the backside. You know that, don’t you?’ Delighted to hear her talking to him, he jumped to his feet and started wagging his tail. ‘God, it’s bloody cold.’ She pulled her jeans and jumper on over the top of her pyjamas and slipped on her warmest shoes; a gorgeous pair of Jimmy Choo ankle boots she had found in the Harvey Nicks sale last January, at less than half price. She took the candle and followed the now very excited dog downstairs into the kitchen. It was equally cold in there, so she put the candle down on the table and set about lighting the stove.

Once she had got a good fire going, she plucked up the courage to go to the loo. As she feared, the bathroom was freezing cold. She came back downstairs, went across to the window and looked out over the back garden. Dawn wouldn’t be for another hour, but it was not totally dark out there. The moon had disappeared, but there was still enough light from the stars for her to be able to distinguish shapes of bushes and trees in the garden. Closer to her, Greta the Porsche was sparkling with frost, the starlight reflecting in the host of ice crystals that covered all the horizontal surfaces. As Holly looked out, she ran her fingers across the inside of the glass. She wasn’t surprised to see them come away with a thin layer of ice on them. She went back over to the stove and packed another couple of logs into it.

‘I’d give my eye teeth for a cup of tea.’ She gazed wistfully at the electric kettle on the worktop, idly wondering to herself what eye teeth were. Stirling was standing beside his basket, unsure whether he should be gearing up for a walk or whether he would be told to go back to bed. Holly gave a little smile as she saw that he had somehow collected her father’s old jumper and brought it downstairs. A grey sleeve was hanging over the side of the basket. She stared at it for a few seconds before taking a deep breath and deciding she had better take the dog for a walk. He was delighted.

Outside, with a clear sky, it was absolutely freezing, but the lack of clouds and the lack of street lighting meant that she had an amazingly clear view of the stars. Even an astronomical novice such as she was could see the Milky Way and a brighter star, maybe a planet, just above the hills that formed the horizon. The view, as much as the cold, was breath-taking. She pulled her woolly hat down over her ears, blessing the instinct that had made her pack it along with what Julia called her Doctor Who scarf. She wrapped this round her neck three times and followed the dog, who was much more familiar with the surroundings than she was. She spared a though for Julia and her date the previous night. She was a very good-looking girl, intelligent and witty, but she had an uncanny knack of picking the wrong type of man. They had known each other since childhood and Julia’s past was littered with weirdoes, nutters and, in at least one case, psychopaths. Holly resolved to phone her later on to see how the opera and its sequel had gone.

Stirling led her up a track alongside the stream. Holly was finding by this time that she could see just about enough to be able to pick her way behind him without too much difficulty, although icy patches had her slipping and sliding from time to time. They crossed over the water by means of an extremely slippery wooden bridge before the path started to slope steeply upwards between drystone walls. She followed the dog, hoping that her boots wouldn’t get ruined in the process. Apart from these, all the other shoes she had brought with her were smart, but fairly flimsy. With hindsight, Tods and Prada were not really the most sensible choice for a village dweller with a dog to walk. She added shoes to her mental shopping list alongside candles, matches and dog biscuits like the ones Jack from next door had.

By the time the path reached open moorland, Holly had very definitely warmed up. This was, she reflected, just about the furthest she had walked for months and she was perspiring freely. It was also getting lighter. A glance at the sky showed her that the stars had all but disappeared, but an orange glow from the east told her the sun would be up before too long. They reached a wooden stile. The dog stopped at the barrier and gave her a questioning look. Holly was still wondering how to get him over the series of wooden steps when he started scratching the wooden fencing with his front paws. Only then did she realise that by lifting a vertical strut, a gap emerged that he could get through. Presumably he and her father had walked up here on many occasions.

It was well after eight o’clock and the sky light enough for her to be able to distinguish car number plates by the time they got back home. She was boiling by now after all the exercise and had unwrapped the scarf from around her neck. She noticed that there were lights on in the house next door and she spared a thought for Jack the neighbour, as she had done quite a few times since the previous evening. She wondered if he was somebody who had chosen to drop out of the rat race and look for a more laidback lifestyle in the wilds of the country. Although he worked as a woodsman, or so she assumed, his accent was well-educated, although nowhere near as plummy as Justin’s. Certainly, his choice of reading matter would appear to back up that hypothesis. Why he should have chosen to take refuge in the depths of rural Devon was something she hoped to discover as she got to know him better. And she was beginning to think that she would rather like to get to know him better.

She was just inserting her key into the door lock when she heard a tapping noise. It was coming from Jack’s front window on the other side of the garden wall. Seconds later, it opened.

‘Good morning. Fancy a cup of tea?’ Her spirits soared.

‘Jack, you say the nicest things. That would be fantastic. Just let me dump the dog.’

‘Bring him in. I’ll make him some breakfast too.’

Inside his kitchen, it was warm, dry and bright. Holly found herself blinking as she came in from the darkness outside. Stirling rushed past her to say hello to Jack and then settled down by the radiator with one of his special biscuits.

‘Come in, Holly.’ Jack had cleared the table since last night and there was now a blue and white check tablecloth on there, along with two plates, two mugs and a selection of cutlery. Clearly, he had been planning this. He shook his head apologetically. ‘I’m not very good at breakfasts to be honest. I haven’t got any juice and I’ve just looked in the cereal packet and decided what’s in there is more suitable for the mice, assuming they haven’t already been in there.’ He shook his head ruefully. ‘There are some rather suspicious looking little black bits in there, I’m afraid. Anyway, if you’re up for toast, butter and jam, there’s plenty of that and it’s guaranteed mouse-free. And I can offer you tea or coffee.’

‘Tea would be perfect, please.’ As Holly pulled off her hat, she could feel her sweaty hair sticking to her head. As she removed her jacket, she realised she was still wearing her pyjamas and no underwear. Suddenly this felt somehow improper in a strange man’s house. She was also very conscious of the fact that she hadn’t washed, nor had she even cleaned her teeth. She took a deep breath and sat down on the far side of the table.

He filled a bowl with water and set it down on the floor for the dog. Stirling wasted no time in slurping up half of it, splashing water all over the floor as he did so. Holly caught Jack’s eye. ‘Sorry about that. He’s a very messy drinker.’

‘That’s one thing about three-hundred-year-old stone floors; you can do what you like to them and it doesn’t matter. So, what sort of night did you have? At least you didn’t freeze to death.’ He looked at her critically. ‘You certainly don’t look cold now though. Has Stirling had you up on the moor?’

She nodded as she reached up and wiped her forehead. After the cold outside, she could feel her cheeks burning. As she did so, she spotted a stripy blue and white pyjama sleeve, not dissimilar to the colour of Jack’s tablecloth, sticking out of the wrist of her jumper. She felt her cheeks glow even redder as she hastily tucked it out of sight. ‘I’m sorry. I must look a terrible mess.’

‘Not from where I’m standing.’ He turned away and busied himself making tea and toast.

She decided to take advantage of his friendship with her father to find out more about his life. ‘Jack, you said you and my dad saw a lot of each other. Can you tell me anything about him?’

‘What sort of thing?’ Jack brought over the first slices of toast. ‘Here, dig in while they’re hot.’

Holly did as she was told. The greengage jam looked good, so she picked it up. The lid remained firmly closed, in spite of her best efforts. Jack reached down, took the pot from her grasp and twisted it open. As he handed it back to her, their fingers touched and she felt an unexpected thrill. Funny, she thought to herself, and he’s not even my type. She cleared her throat before replying.

‘I presume you know that he and I weren’t in contact.’ Jack nodded. ‘So, you see, as a result I really know so very little about him. A few people have told me he was a very nice man, but what sort of man was he? Was he into hunting, shooting and fishing? Did he paint pictures, write books?’ As she asked, Holly was tempted to ask Jack about his own background and interests, but for now, she stayed on the original topic. ‘Like I say, just anything about him, really.’

‘Let’s see. Well, you won’t be surprised to know that he was an engineer. But probably you already knew that?’

Holly sat up in surprise and shook her head. ‘I was only seven when he left. I don’t even know what he did for a living, although I’ve heard that it was something to do with wine.’ She carried on, more for her own benefit than his. ‘And fancy him being an engineer and me being an engineer. I really didn’t know.’ Somehow, the fact that she had followed in her father’s footprints served to bring him even closer to her. ‘That’s weird.’

‘Not really – he was your dad after all, so you’ve probably got it in your genes. But I know he was involved with wine one way or another when he was in Australia. I’m not sure of the details, but he had his own company.’ Holly’s ears pricked up.

‘Was that an engineering company?’

‘No, wine, I’m sure, but whether it was making it or selling it or even importing it, I never found out.’ The toaster spat out two more slices of toast and Jack picked them up and set them on the table. He filled the teapot, brought it across and sat down opposite her. Holly looked up and caught his eye. She had to wait until she had swallowed a mouthful of hot toast, butter and jam before being able to ask her next question.

‘So if he was in Australia, when did he come back here?’

‘About the same time I arrived in Brookford. That would be about six years ago now.’

‘Oh, so he’d only been living in the village for a relatively short period of time?’

‘That’s right, but of course, his family were from Brookford and his house has been in the family for generations. Me, I’m the real newcomer.’

‘So you don’t have any local roots?’

‘No…’ Just then there was a tap on his door and a female voice called through his letter box. ‘Morning, darling, are you going to let me in?’

Stirling gave a loud woof that made Holly spill her tea, jumped to his feet and trotted over to the door. Jack gave Holly a smile that contained more than a hint of embarrassment and followed the dog. He opened the door and a woman came in. As she saw Holly, she stopped dead, her expression one of surprise and maybe hostility. She was a very beautiful olive-skinned girl, probably in her early thirties like Holly and, clearly, she hadn’t been expecting to find another woman having breakfast with Jack. Now it was Holly’s turn to feel just a bit embarrassed. Jack closed the door and came over to make the introductions.

‘Dolores, this is my new next door neighbour, Holly. Holly, this is Dolores Jefferson. If you think you recognise her, it’s from the telly. She’s one of the news anchors on local TV.’ He turned towards the other girl. ‘Holly’s had a power cut and she’s got no electricity or heat in her house. Cup of tea?’

‘Maybe a small coffee, please darling.’ Dolores was looking reassured. The brief, but measured, forensic examination she then gave Holly, from her tousled hair to the pyjama collar sticking out of her jumper, evidently reassured her that she was not in the presence of a serious competitor for Jack’s affections. Holly felt the eyes on her and had to struggle to supress a sense of annoyance. She did her best to think what she would be feeling if the roles were reversed. From the way Dolores addressed him, it seemed pretty clear to her that the hunky woodsman and the beautiful TV girl were an item. When all was said and done, Holly knew that she was the interloper here, innocent as she might be. She took another mouthful of tea and summoned her friendliest smile.

‘How exciting, Dolores. So, do you enjoy being on television?’

The other girl’s face showed what a stupid question that was. Of course she loved it. It was television! But she made a visible effort to restrain herself and replied equally sweetly. ‘It’s a good job. It’s not so appealing when I’m on the early shift and have to get up at four o’clock in the morning, though.’

Jack looked back over his shoulder from the cooker. ‘Dolores’s mum’s from Spain. She speaks Spanish like a native.’

Dolores smiled sweetly at Holly. ‘Are you fluent in any foreign language, Holly? I do think it’s such a wonderful talent to have.’

Holly shook her head, repressing a snort. ‘Afraid not, Dolores. I can barely speak English some days.’

Jack came back to the table with a cup of coffee, the expression on his face clearly showing how pleased he was to see the two women getting on so well. Holly did her best not to disillusion him. ‘And you’ve chosen a gorgeous little village to live in.’

‘Dolores lives in the next village and she’s only been here for a few months. But you love Dartmoor, don’t you?’ Jack spread butter and jam on a piece of toast and offered it to Dolores. She shook her head.

‘Butter? Not on my diet, darling.’ She fluttered her long eyelashes at him. ‘A cup of coffee’s just fine.’ She transferred her attention across the table. ‘And what do you do, Holly?’

‘It’s a bit hard to explain. I work for an insurance company and my speciality is engineering projects. I studied mechanical engineering at university.’ Holly had been doing the job for long enough now to recognise the same expression of disbelief on Dolores’s face that the old petrol pump attendant had displayed on her first visit to Brookford. A woman engineer?

‘Oh.’

As a conversation stopper, it worked well. Holly dedicated herself to finishing her toast. Sensing a lull, Jack turned towards Dolores. ‘So, are you working today?’

She nodded and smiled graciously across the table towards Holly as she explained. ‘Saturdays are my busiest days, to be honest. I’m not normally in the studio, but my agent sets me up with all sorts of events; you know, fete openings, prize givings, that sort of thing. Today I’m at a children’s home in Plymouth, judging a painting competition. It’s just had a multi-million pound renovation and a government minister’s supposed to be coming. National TV should be covering it, which won’t do my profile any harm. And then, tonight I’m presenting medals to firefighters.’ She grinned across the table. ‘Handsome, hunky firefighters; I love my job.’

Holly decided she had better make a move. She stood up and gave Jack a warm and sincere smile. Beside her, the dog stood up and stretched. ‘Jack, you saved my life. I was dying for a cup of tea. Thank you so much. I’d better get off home as the electrician’s due any minute now.’ She gave Dolores an equally warm, but considerably less sincere, smile. ‘Lovely to meet you, Dolores.’

‘And you, Holly.’ Her eyes narrowed as Holly moved away from the table and she spotted the Jimmy Choo boots. Full price for them had been almost seven hundred pounds. Dolores had no way of knowing she hadn’t paid full whack for them, so Holly did a little gratuitous knife-twisting.

‘I really must get some more shoes. These are very comfortable, but they do show the dirt.’ She had the pleasure of seeing the other girl wince.

Outside there was smart little blue Fiat 500, presumably belonging to Dolores. Holly was delighted to see Stirling stop, cock his leg, and pee on her front wheel – but she immediately found herself wondering why Dolores annoyed her so much. Surely it couldn’t be anything to do with Jack. He so wasn’t her type.

Mr Fleming, the electrician, was a very big man. When Holly opened the door, she found him occupying most of the door frame and she had a moment’s hesitation. Undaunted, Stirling ran up to him, tail wagging. The big man bent down to scratch his ears.

‘Hello, Stirling. And how are you this morning?’ He gave Holly a broad smile and held out his massive hand. She took it nervously, but he was remarkably gentle. ‘Miss Brice, how really good to meet you. I’ve often heard your father talk about you.’ His expression became more sombre. ‘Poor man, so sad.’

Holly ushered him in. ‘I would offer you a cup of tea, but I’m afraid the power’s off.’ Realising that this was a pretty stupid thing to say to an electrician who would not be there if the power were on, she went on to explain what had happened. While she talked, he went over to the broom cupboard. Clearly, he was familiar with the property. The lights flickered a few times and the power crashed off again. His head reappeared.

‘I’m afraid it’s the central heating boiler. It’s pretty ancient and it needs replacing. You really need a new one as soon as possible because it’s shorting out. I’ll have a go at getting it working for you, at least for now, but we’d really better get a plumber round.’

‘I don’t suppose you…?’

The electrician nodded and pulled out his phone. ‘I’ll get straight onto him.’ He dialled a number and waited for a few seconds. ‘Bob? Tom. Yeah, I’m fine. Listen, I’m over at George Brice’s place and the boiler’s packed up. His daughter’s here and she’s freezing to death. Yes, I know. Anything you can do?’ There was a short pause before Mr Fleming spoke again. ‘That’s great, Tom. I’ll tell her. Yes, I know. It’s the least we can do.’

He ended the call and turned to her with a smile. ‘He’s on a job this morning, but he says he’ll be round at two.’

‘But, today’s a Saturday. Is that all right?’