Chapter 3
three
AMANDA
The taxi wasn’t made for the insane back roads that led to the manor. Or I hoped they led there at least. If not, I might cry.
Horizontal rain lashed the windscreen, the wipers going ten to the dozen and still barely clearing it. When I’d stood at the train station waiting for the cab, the wind had felt cold enough that it could peel skin.
We pulled into a village that I’m sure would look charming if it weren’t for the lashing rain and howling wind.
‘Just going to see if I can get directions to make sure we take the right road,’ the driver said.
I shrank into the back seat when he opened the window, a gust of cold hitting me, and shouted to an older couple who were braving the weather, coats zipped up to their noses and looking like large, wet beetles.
‘Can you direct us up to Bayview Manor?’ he asked, holding his hand up to stop the rain from hitting his glasses.
He needn’t have bothered. Within half a second, two cold faces appeared at the window, blocking the wind. While thankful for the lack of cold, their getting so close was a bit forward.
‘Oh, who’s this?’ The old woman said, unzipping her coat enough to talk. She had a sweet, round face, reddened from the chill. I remained silent, awaiting her answer to the taxi driver’s request.
The driver looked as disconcerted as I, leaning to the left in his seat to make a little space between them.
‘Love, are you in to help with the fancy folk hiring Bayview for the holidays?’
‘Um, yeah,’ I said, looking to the driver to rescue me.
‘Oh, lovely. Such a smashing place. Working on Christmas is unusual though, no family?’
‘I’m not sure that’s any of your business.’ I hadn’t meant to sound as sharp as I did, but who the hell was this nosy old bat?
She didn’t flinch. ‘Sorry, that was rude of me. I’m Morag, and this is Alistair. If you need anything, pop down to the village, and we’ll get you sorted out.’
My face heated as she turned to the driver and gave him the directions before waving us off. Village life gave me the heebie jeebies. Everyone knowing everyone and all their business… gross.
The driver grunted around a mint humbug a few minutes later as we passed through an impressive set of gilded gates. 'Big place. Go family here?’
I gave a tight smile. 'Work.'
He grimaced. 'Rather you than me. I’ve taken Christmas off this year. It was that or suffer a month of the wife’s wrath.'
We rounded a bend and saw Bayview Manor in all its glory, a sprawling, gleaming granite marvel.
I opened a spreadsheet on my phone—one of many—and armed myself with the timings it contained.
The clients didn’t arrive until the evening, so I had the full day to ensure every little detail was perfect.
The decorators should have been in for hours and were scheduled to finish at any moment.
I swallowed the bubble of guilt that rose in my chest, spiky and horrid.
Despite my assurances to my sister that I was totally fine to work over the holidays, doubt remained.
No doubt on whether I cared about missing Christmas festivities, I’d grown to dread them with the familial infighting, but I wasn’t so hard against my mum’s hurt feelings. Nor my dad’s disappointment.
I’d just have to keep myself busy.
I paid the driver, who deposited my suitcase on the gravel drive without an ounce of care.
Straightening my shoulders, I started up the drive, dodging puddles and breathing in air so utterly fresh it was hard to believe it was real.
Woodsmoke and sea salt clung to the chill, along with the lingering scent of evergreen.
The wheels of my suitcase stuttered in the gravel, lurching like an unruly dog.
‘Not right now,’ I threatened, pulling it while muttering a litany of curses below my breath. As I reached the steps, my hair sticking to my face and sweat gathering at my nape, a clunk sounded above me.
The door swung open.
A blond-haired man who rendered me momentarily frozen.
Tall and broad, visual perfection in human form. Blonde curls, blue eyes, and a face as open and smiley as a golden retriever.
He practically hopped on the spot, and his cheerfulness doused my initial impression with a bucket of cold water. 'You must be Amanda.'
God help me.
'Indeed,' I said, gripping my suitcase handle a little tighter.
'I’m Henry, gardener, dogsbody, and current keeper of the keys.'
Of course he was.
'Lovely,' I said, stepping back as he bobbed down the steps with a wild grin. 'Where can I—'
He reached for my suitcase.
'I’ve got it,' I insisted.
'Really? It looks heavy.'
'I’ve. Got. It.'
He froze mid-reach, blinking at me with polite confusion, as if it were perfectly normal to be handing my luggage off to strangers. 'Right. Of course.'
Henry walked back up the stairs before turning to lean against the doorframe, watching me with devilry in those blue eyes. I hauled my far-overfilled suitcase up a step, flushing at the grunt I made. Determination drove me onwards as Henry watched, amusement dancing on his face.
I bit my lip to stop the next grunt from escaping.
I pushed past him into the hall, warmth surrounding me as I tried not to puff in my breath.
And then I saw it.
The tree.
Calling it a tree felt wrong. It wasn’t a bloody tree, it was…
monstrous. Twelve feet of headache-inducing sparkles and colour.
Red and blue and glitter covered its branches like it had drunk Christmas and puked it back up.
Tartan ribbons. Candy canes. Sparkling reindeer. Baubles of every shape and size.
It looked like a Quality Street tin had exploded.
'Oh God,' I breathed.
Henry followed my gaze, hands on his hips, practically glowing with pride. 'She’s a beauty, isn’t she?’
'She’s… something,' I agreed, my brain twitching. The millionaires were expecting sleek, curated minimalism, not that abomination.‘The decorators are still here, right?’
His brow furrowed. ‘Yeah, they are dealing with some of the garlands.’
‘Oh, thank god. All of this,’ I signalled to the tree, ‘needs redoing.’
His face blanched. ‘They’ve worked so hard on it.’
‘That doesn’t matter, it’s not what I asked for. It’s as far from sleek as humanly possible.’
I set off, vaguely knowing my way from the floor plans I’d meticulously studied. Henry followed behind me.
The decorators showed some resistance until I pulled up the emails with the detailed images and instructions I’d sent.
At that point, they agreed that they must have sent the van with my decorations to a nearby wedding venue.
With some strong insistence and additional hourly funds, they promised to get it rectified by supper time, just in the knick of time.
By the time I made it back to my abandoned suitcase, my blood rushed and my face heated.
Henry was smiling at me, framed by the gawdy tree, like we were in a Christmas advert. 'Tea?'
'No, thank you.'
'Coffee?'
'No.'
'Mince pie?'
'Absolutely not.'
He frowned. 'You don’t like mince pies?'
'I don’t like Christmas food,' I said crisply. 'Or Christmas music. Or tinsel. Or—'
He looked genuinely appalled. 'You don’t like Christmas?'
I adjusted my scarf. 'Professionally, I love Christmas. Personally, I find it… tiresome.'
'Tiresome?'
'Yes. And sticky. And full of people who demand cheerfulness from everyone around them.'
'Ah, people like me.'
I blinked at him. 'What?'
'Coming at you with cheer, mildly sticky. Tiresome, some might say. You were describing me, weren’t you?'
I opened my mouth, then shut it again.
He took a step closer, that smile never faltering. 'You’ve got the look.'
'What look?'
'Of a grinch.'
'I—excuse me?'
'You’ll come round,' he said, maddeningly confident. 'Just like he did. Bit of mulled wine, a kiss under the mistletoe. Boom. Spirit of Christmas.'
I stared at him. 'I’m not kissing you.'
He laughed, the sound rich and warm and infuriating. ‘I never said you would be, but nice to know you thought of me first.’
'So funny,' I said, fighting the urge to strangle him. 'Can you show me to my room, please?'
‘Of course,' he said brightly, turning on his heel and walking straight into a hanging wreath.
The entire thing came down like an avalanche.
‘Oh, for fuck sake.’ I lunged to grab it, but the ribbon loop caught on my wrist.
He tried to catch the garland at the same time, meaning we both ended up in some kind of festive tug-of-war. I glared. He laughed.
I tried to stop the redness flushing into my cheeks. But I saw his eyes snag there as he unhooked the holly from my coat.
Then he leant in and grinned, making my blood pressure spike. ‘This is going to be fun.’
'I doubt it,' I said, pulling the wreath from his hands and hanging it back on the wall.
Behind me, he whistled Let It Snow as my fingers tightened among the greenery.