Chapter 3
CLARA
Clara stood on the cobbled pavement of Hollythorpe High Street beside her backpack as a drizzle of light snow fluttered around her head, landing in her hair as she watched the tail lights of the black taxi disappear into the darkness.
Wringing her hands against the frigid wind, she took in a deep breath as she turned to stare at the facade of The Cosy Christmas Shop again, admiring the quaint, hand-painted sign and golden Cotswolds-stone brickwork which seemed to shimmer under the stars.
She studied the beautiful building – it had wide arched windows that displayed a charming array of sparkly mini Christmas trees in red, green and white, multiple Santa ornaments, baubles in various colours, festive cards and strings of lights.
The lights were on inside the shop, and Clara could see signs of movement, but she couldn’t seem to get herself to move.
What if her godmother, Eleanor, said she couldn’t stay?
What if she was upset that Clara had been so bad at keeping in touch? Her stomach clutched.
She gulped and then peered again, pressing her nose to the glass window, wondering if she’d even recognise her godmother now.
It had been four years since they’d last met up – just before Eleanor had moved to Hollythorpe to open her shop and Clara had headed to New York – and she’d been awful at responding to her messages since.
Mostly because Hudson wanted her to put all of her energy into them and, somehow, she’d allowed everything else – including regular contact with her godmother – to slide.
She wished again that she’d called ahead. But what would she have said?
I know I’ve been rubbish at replying to your cards, letters and emails, but I’ve just caught my fiancé cheating and had nowhere else to go…
I’m not sure why I desperately want to see you and only you.
But I’ve never forgotten that you used to call me beautiful when you plaited my hair when I was a child, or how you bought me pretty necklaces and rings and never made comments about my weight, my height, or the size of my ears…
Her godmother had done a lot more than that.
She’d listened whenever Clara had a problem and had always taken her side; she’d tucked her into bed whenever she’d visited; had helped with homework and had even made her a pink princess birthday cake for the one party she’d been invited to.
They seemed such small things now, but having those kindnesses taken away had left such a void when Eleanor had fallen out with Clara’s mother, Maeve.
It had been a silly argument – mostly about how harshly Maeve Frost treated Clara.
But instead of taking her comments on board, her mother had barred Eleanor from the house, ending their friendship for good.
Suddenly all the things Clara had begun to take for granted had disappeared.
She’d never really allowed herself to trust in anything lasting since.
Her mother hadn’t been happy about the two of them staying in touch and had tried her hardest to discourage the relationship – and for about five years she’d got her way.
It had been Eleanor who’d somehow managed to contact Clara again.
First, it had been via emails and later, after Clara had finished university and left home, they’d met up for lunch regularly.
Eleanor had made sure to tell Clara that she’d be there if she ever needed her – and today, after all this time, she did.
Clara gripped her hands into fists, wondering if she was kidding herself. Promises were broken all the time and words – while pretty to hear – often didn’t mean much when the going got tough. Why would her godmother want to have anything to do with her now?
‘There’s only one way to find out – get to it, Frost,’ Clara ordered herself as she grasped the shiny red knob and pushed before frowning when the door didn’t budge.
‘Is it stuck?’ She tried again, shoving it harder, but it didn’t shift.
‘Where is everyone?’ She gazed into the shop searching for someone to signal.
The lights were on and the open sign was clearly visible, but she realised the movement she’d seen earlier was a golden cat ornament sitting by the till.
It was dressed as Father Christmas and its right arm was waving.
And was that bird perched on the fir tree in the centre of the sparkly space breathing?
It took off before landing on a shelf of baubles, answering her question.
Clara knocked again, but when no one came, she leaned her back on the door, ignoring the eerie creek it made.
She was about to pull her mobile from her pocket so she could google the number of Eleanor’s shop when she heard the sound of tyres splashing.
She twisted her head just in time to see the huge black truck screech to an abrupt stop.
The impact created a tsunami of slush that flew across the pavement like a squad of synchronised Olympic gymnasts before landing on her face, hair and coat with a splat.
‘That’s just perfect.’ She sighed, jumping away from the doorway and gazing down at herself.
When the door of the car opened and someone got out, her stomach did a wobbly nosedive.
The driver was about six two, with broad shoulders and a face that might have made angels sing if they could stop drooling for long enough to find a tune.
He had a square jaw which was more angular than boxy, brown eyes the colour of polished chestnuts and a wide, generous mouth that made Clara want to go up onto her tiptoes to test it out.
She suspected if she did, she’d easily rate it five stars.
Was he just a hallucination brought on by jetlag? The slither of snow that chose that moment to glide down the front of Clara’s coat told her he probably wasn’t.
‘I’m sorry – I saw you putting weight on the door and I know the hinges are fragile, so I braked too aggressively,’ the man said, grimacing as the remaining ice snaked down her cheek.
‘I’m not that heavy,’ Clara mumbled, flushing.
‘That’s not what I meant, I’m supposed to be working on the door tomorrow and changing a plug socket.
’ He went pink too as he took in her soggy appearance.
‘I’ve got a towel in the car if you want it?
’ He waved at his truck and then dropped his hand as if reconsidering.
‘It’s my dog’s; he’s chewed it, but it’s clean. Mostly.’ He pulled a face.
‘Thanks, but I think I’ll pass,’ Clara said as something poked her knee. She shrieked before glaring down at a lustrous golden retriever who appeared to be sniffing her coat. It must have got out of the car while she was ogling its owner.
‘Figgy, stop!’ the man said sternly, leaning down to grab the dog’s collar and tug him away. ‘I’m sorry but for some reason he likes smelling clothes. He has a thing for soggy cashmere, apparently.’ He gave her a bright smile that probably would have stopped traffic in New York.
‘Your dog has a good eye for fabrics,’ Clara said dryly, eyeing the dog as he tugged at his collar, seemingly determined to sniff her again.
‘Are you okay?’ the man asked, his eyes travelling to the bag on the pavement beside her which was dripping slush.
‘Aside from the ice shower you mean?’ she asked, and he grimaced.
‘Not really.’ She pointed to the shop. ‘My… friend lives here. I came to surprise her.’ She wasn’t going to go into details.
Instead, she moved to the door and tried to push it again.
More carefully this time but it still didn’t budge.
‘Your friend’s not there,’ the man said. ‘The shop’s closed.’
‘The sign says it’s open?’ The jetlag and everything else that had happened in the last twenty-four hours suddenly caught up with her, making her feel unreasonably irritated.
‘Yep, Eleanor often forgets to turn the sign around. You said you know her?’ he asked, cocking his head.
‘Yes, and you obviously do too.’ Clara eyed him speculatively.
Was he single? Clara knew her godmother had enjoyed a few relationships over the years, but none had lasted.
Eleanor’s boyfriends were usually a bit older than her – her godmother thought maturity was sexy and wasn’t particularly interested in anyone younger.
This adonis was closer to Clara’s thirty and a good twenty years younger than Eleanor.
Were they seeing each other, though? The thought set off an unexpected frisson of jealousy.
‘I’m her electrician and odd job man amongst—’ He stopped and glanced up the high street, then shrugged. ‘Other things.’ His mouth pinched.
What other things?
‘Look. I know where Eleanor is at the moment. In fact, I was going to meet her when I spotted you by the shop. Do you want me to drive you there?’ he offered.
Clara cleared her throat. ‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea,’ she said, stepping away from him. She’d lived in New York for too long to be hopping into cars with just anyone. Another wedge of ice slithered down her neck before stopping in the dip of her back, making her shiver.
He looked torn. ‘It’s just you’re obviously cold and I feel responsible.’ He waved a hand at her red coat. ‘I’d like to make amends somehow.’
‘I appreciate the offer, but I’m sorry.’ She wrapped her arms around herself. ‘I don’t want to be rude, but I don’t know you – and I know this is a cute village and it’s almost Christmas, but I’m not going to get into a car with a stranger, even if his dog does have excellent taste in textiles.’
He jerked his chin, that incredible mouth curving upwards, making her insides jiggle, which was unnerving.