Chapter Fifteen
The sitting room looked almost magical in the pale Christmas morning light, the big tree that should have been a little tree, glowing softly in the corner, tinsel and vintage glass ornaments sparkling as if in competition.
Jillian and Olivia sat cross-legged on the rug in their pajamas, stockings emptied and treasures spread around them—chocolate coins, foil-wrapped snowmen, iced cookies, tiny puzzles, several books for each.
Olivia already had one of her chocolate coins in her cheek while Jillian methodically lined her gifts in a neat row, pausing now and then to clear her throat.
Rhys crouched beside the hearth, coaxing the fire back to a proper blaze. “Right,” he said over his shoulder, glancing at the small stack of wrapped presents still under the tree. “We’ll open the rest after we’ve had something to eat.”
“That’s ages away,” Olivia groaned, leaning dramatically back on her hands.
“It’s maybe thirty minutes,” he corrected.
“Twenty minutes,” Cat called from the kitchen, “and nothing complicated.” She’d been bustling between the sitting room to watch the girls open their stockings and the Aga. “Hopefully, it’s not too American for you.”
“Mum is American,” Olivia said, sniffling still, but nothing like she was just a day ago.
Cat smiled to herself and plated the last of the cinnamon French toast. She’d cooked a plate of crispy bacon, cut up oranges, and made scrambled eggs the way Rhys liked them, soft and creamy—which was not how she liked them but it was Christmas after all.
Fifteen minutes later, she invited them all to the kitchen table, and there was no hesitation. Everyone was hungry, and they sat down quickly, elbows bumping, mugs of hot chocolate steaming beside their plates. Jillian picked at her bacon more than she ate it, frequent coughs shaking her shoulders.
Rhys frowned. “Jilly, that cough is getting worse.”
“It’s just a cold,” Jillian muttered, avoiding his gaze.
Cat met Rhys’s eyes over the table. That worried frown of his had deepened but he did nothing until breakfast was finished.
“I’ll ring Alec,” he said as Cat began collecting their dishes. “I need to let them know we won’t make it tonight, which is disappointing, but we have to be careful, not just with Jilly, but with their family too.”
Both girls looked up sharply.
“But Dad,” Jillian protested, “I’m not that sick.”
“Alec’s great uncle is in his nineties, and the aunts are in their eighties. He also has babies, and the toddlers catch everything. They won’t have a proper immune system for a couple years. We can’t expose any of them to something, not if we can protect them by staying home.”
He stepped outside, closing the front door behind him for privacy.
Cat busied herself scraping plates and rinsing mugs to avoid watching the girls sit and fret.
A moment later Rhys was back. “We’re staying home,” he said simply, “but they send their love and they have some little gifts for the girls they’ll be sending down later with Mr. Trimble. ”
Olivia’s face crumpled. Jillian pressed her lips tight, fighting the urge to cry. “It’s Christmas,” she whispered hoarsely. “And we’re going to be stuck here?”
“We’ll have a nice Christmas here,” Rhys said. “We already have.”
“But imagine Christmas at Langley Park! It would have been brilliant. All those trees and eating in their dining room.” Jillian impatiently wiped a tear away.
“And I’m not even that sick. I don’t have a high fever, not like Livy, and I don’t have a sore throat.
I just have this cough and a little headache. ”
“I’m sorry, love,” Rhys answered. “I can’t in good conscience expose any of Alec’s family to our bug. But I said we’d open the rest of the gifts after we ate. Should we do it now or wait until after your naps?”
The girls howled in protest saying they didn’t take naps, never mind on Christmas.
Cat hid her grin as Rhys laughed. “I’m teasing you,” he said. “Let’s open the gifts and then maybe later after we recover from our big breakfast we can play some games. I saw a box of Clue in the cupboard. I also saw Scrabble and Life.”
“And maybe later you can read a little bit,” Jillian said. “After Christmas dinner.”
Rhys shot Cat a quick look, aware they hadn’t planned anything for dinner, but she gave the smallest nod and smile, because Cat would figure something out. Even if it was leftovers heated up with a fancy red bow on top.
They opened the rest of the presents, everyone taking turns to make the fun last longer. The girls and Rhys liked the mugs Cat got them, the girls insisting they use them later for hot cocoa or cider. Rhys had gifts for the girls, an art kit for Olivia, and a chemistry kit for Jillian.
“Just follow the directions,” he said, as Jillian studied the contents of the box. “Those are real chemicals and they’ll have a real reaction if you don’t pay attention.”
Rhys also had a small gift for Cat, a little knit cap with a pompom in the same navy color as her scarf. “You will need to keep your ears warm when you go back to Michigan,” he said.
Cat pressed the cap to her chest. “I love it. I’ll wear it every day.”
“Only when it’s cold out,” he said gravely, “or people will think you’re not quite normal.”
“What is normal anyway?” She answered, flashing a smile, loving the thoughtfulness and how the cap complimented her scarf.
The girls then gave Cat their gifts. They’d each made Cat an ornament, from sticks and cardboard and heavy on glitter, and Cat thought they were the most beautiful ornaments she’d ever seen. “When did you make these?” she said. “When did you have time?”
“When you had tea with Lady Sherbourne yesterday,” Olivia answered with a smile. “Daddy helped because the lid came off the glue and then we got glitter everywhere.”
“Well, these are gifts I will treasure forever,” she said, hugging each girl before hanging them on the tree in a prominent position.
Rhys had one more gift for the girls, a beautiful hardback set of The Chronicles of Narnia. He’d thought Olivia and Jillian would want the books to take back to London so he could keep reading The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe each night, along with the rest of the series.
Cat’s eyes filled with tears then, and it was silly really to be so emotional over him reading to his daughters each night, but it was also one of those special memories the girls would always have. He’d also have those memories, and he’d never regret the time spent reading to them later.
Despite the girls saying they didn’t nap on Christmas, but were tired after waking early, and they snuggled under blankets on the couch to rest a bit until they played board games later.
Both girls almost immediately fell asleep and were still sleeping when a knock came at the door.
Mr. Trimble stood on the outside on the step, red-cheeked from the cold, his cap slightly askew.
“From Mrs. Johnson,” he said, nodding to the enormous hamper in his hands. “Said she’d not have you missing Christmas dinner just because you’ve sick little ones.”
Rhys took it, stunned. Cat peered inside—turkey slices, roast goose, little sausages wrapped in bacon, roasted parsnips, buttery potatoes, stuffing balls, cranberry relish, a small Christmas pudding, and even a box of mince pies tied with ribbon.
“Oh my goodness,” Cat breathed. “This is … everything.”
“Aye,” Mr. Trimble said with satisfaction. “And there’s gravy in the jar there. Mrs. J says give it a stir before warming.”
“Please tell her thank you, thank you, thank you,” Cat said, feeling ridiculously emotional all over again. This was a proper English Christmas, perhaps the most English Christmas she’d had yet. “This really means a great deal.”
Mr. Trimble lifted a hand, waved goodbye.
“Happy Christmas, Mr. Trimble,” Cat called to him as he walked back to his truck.
“Happy Christmas to you as well.”
In the cottage, Cat looked more closely through the hamper, uncovering more treats. A jar of homemade jam. A bowl of fresh whipping cream. Little vegetable crudité appetizers. “This is a proper Christmas dinner,” she said, looking up at Rhys, feeling joy. “Mrs. Johnson just saved Christmas.”
*
The knock came early the next morning, so early only Rhys was awake. He’d only had a few sips of coffee before the knock sounded again. He set his mug, the new forest-green one given to him by Cat, aside and headed to the front door. Who would call so early on Boxing Day?
When he opened the door, he was stunned to see Lyndsey.
She looked bright, beautiful and composed, dressed for travel in cream trousers, a pale silk sweater, her hair swept back, a pair of oversized sunglasses pushed into it like a crown.
Behind her, Roger’s sleek black car idled in the gravel drive.
“Morning,” she said, breath puffing in the cold. “I hope we’re not too early.”
“Lyndsey, what are you doing here?” Rhys demanded.
Her smile widened. “We’re flying out today, for our trip—”
“I thought you left days ago. At least a week ago.”
“Roger had some meetings come up and then clients from China were visiting, but everyone’s gone and we’re finally going and I had a thought—a spontaneous one, really. Why not bring the girls with us? A week in the Caribbean … sun, sea, swimming. It would be marvelous for them, don’t you think?”
For a heartbeat, Rhys didn’t move. He wasn’t able to think clearly, but the silence was soon filled by the patter of feet, Oliva’s gasp, and Jillian’s cough.
“Mummy!” Olivia cried, throwing herself at her mother and giving her a squeeze. “I missed you.”
“I missed you, too, love,” Lyndsey said, stroking Olivia’s hair back from her face.
“Do you mean it?” Olivia asked, “We can go with you?”
“To the Caribbean?” Jillian echoed, already breathless, and hoarse, with excitement.
“Yes. As long as your father is good with it.” Lyndsey turned to Rhys. “What do you think? It’d be just for a week. We’d return New Year’s Day.”