Chapter 2
Aurora
My eyes follow a snowflake as it drifts past the window, joining others in a gentle dance before settling on the ledge below.
The muted sound of heavy London traffic mixed with distant Christmas carols fills my ears as I take in the sight of the vibrant city around me, now transformed into a winter wonderland.
When I first arrived in London almost a year ago, I'd fallen in love and knew I'd never be truly happy anywhere else. Travelling from my parent’s small farm in Vermont, I'd not known what to expect from city life, but I've thrived here.
Having just received my degree in early childhood education, I was thrilled to join Harrington Helpers as their newest recruit. The elite agency is renowned for providing the crème de la crème of British society with only the best live-in nannies.
My first and only placement was with Daniel and Joyce Fincham, where I cared for their now five-year-old twin daughters, Sadie and Lola. While some travel had been required, my Saturdays were always firmly my own, and I'd used them to become even more enamoured with the home of my heart.
Picnics on Primrose Hill. Strolls through the Kyoto Gardens. Concerts at the Alexandra Palace.
Most recently, Christmas markets at Southbank and Winter Wonderland in Hyde Park.
And my unrivalled favourite—sitting silently with my Kindle in the surroundings of Saint Dunstan in the East, even more beautiful when dusted with snow.
The underrated sites of London had become my own personal catnip, and nothing could quite beat the thrill of discovering another glorious hidden gem, especially during the festive season when the city sparkled with magic.
And so, I was torn when the Finchams told me of their plans to move to Dubai. Daniel had been offered the most wonderful promotion, and it would’ve been lunacy to turn it down.
That left me in a conundrum. I could continue to work for the family I had also fallen in love with, but to do so, I would be forced to leave London behind—and miss my first British Christmas.
And with snowfall forecasted, no doubt!
I agonised over it right up until the very last, realising the day before we were due to fly that I needed to stay here. I couldn't leave the city I now call home, even if leaving the Finchams broke my heart.
I glance around the opulent room that my ex-employers had paid for at the Landmark London, silently appreciating the space that's been my home for the past two weeks since their departure.
The hotel's Christmas decorations—garland draped over the mirror, a small tree on the desk—make it feel almost cozy.
But I know it's past time to contact Harrington Helpers and put myself on the market for a new position.
Grabbing my phone, I dial Miranda's personal number, noting that my hair appointment in GLAM downstairs is in a scant twenty minutes.
My stomach fills with an unusual blend of excitement and trepidation as I wait for the line to engage. The sound of the call connecting fills my ear until Miranda answers almost breathlessly halfway through the second ring.
“I've been expecting this call for two weeks, young lady.” Her Scottish accent sounds even thicker than usual as she speeds along. “What on earth took you so long?”
My jaw almost unhinges. “You...you knew? About the Finchams leaving?”
She exhales heavily. “My dear Rory, who do you think organised your replacement?”
I blink slowly, my mind taking a hot minute to catch up with what she's saying.
“My replacement? But that would’ve taken—”
“Weeks to arrange? Yes, well, clearly, the Finchams knew you'd choose this miserable city over the delights of the desert...” she trails off, mumbling almost to herself.
“Although God above knows why you're so fixated on that overcrowded metropolis.
..particularly at Christmas when it's absolutely heaving with tourists...”
She tuts loudly before perking up. “May I take it that you're back on the market for a new role, my lovely?”
I nibble my lip, suddenly nervous for some strange reason, and I push down on the anxiety bubbling in my stomach. “I'm ready, Miranda.”
“Excellent!”
Her shrill exclamation makes me physically jump, and I press my hand over my heart as I shake my head. “Should I take that to mean you have a position for me in mind?”
“You're the perfect candidate for the bane of my existence.”
I furrow my brow, blinking owlishly as Miranda chatters away whilst clacking her computer keys.
“Well, not bane exactly, my dear. He's just quite.
..stringent. I've blown through most of my roster with him, and he continually finds fault after fault, where, on paper, there should be none. But you...” She chuckles almost devilishly.
“The moment Joyce Fincham told us of their move, I knew you'd be the only candidate for our very own Grinch. And the timing is perfect—he needs a holiday miracle, and I have no doubt you’re it!”
Without letting me say anything, she recites an address in Belgravia and promises to send interview details to my email shortly before hanging up.
I'm left scratching my head until my phone alarm chimes, reminding me of my impending appointment. Having given myself a once-over in the mirror, I grab my bag and rush to the elevator.
“I absolutely love it.” I swish my freshly blow-dried blonde waves around my face, smiling broadly at myself in the mirror. “Thank you so much. You're a miracle worker.”
My smiling stylist shoos me away, her cheeks pinkening prettily. “My mum always says it's easy to polish a jewel, miss.”
I reach up to touch my brightly painted crimson lips—perfect for the season—blinking repeatedly at the sight staring back at me in my reflection. The new icy highlights brighten my already light blonde hair, making my almond-shaped blue eyes appear even lighter.
Once I've paid for everything—refusing to allow the treatment to be added to the bill that the Finchams are determined to pay—I slip out of the beauty suite and reach inside my cross-body bag for my phone.
Having noted the email details from Miranda for my interview in Belgravia at noon on Friday, I slip it back inside and make a beeline directly for the Mirror Bar.
The barman, Tom, is super sweet, and he's kindly allowed me to take meals at the bar with him recently, rather than eating alone in the various restaurants interspersed throughout the hotel.
“Evening, Rory!” He spots me coming and throws me a wink, his Santa hat sitting slightly askew. “Let me guess. Fish ‘n’ chips?”
I shake my head with a wry grin. “You know I'm a sucker for the bangers ‘n’ mash.”
He chortles as he pats his co-worker, Steven, on the shoulder. “I'll be back in ten with Miss Williams’ dinner. Hold down the fort, alright?”
Steve rolls his eyes, and his elf hat shifts sideways when he glances around at the sparsely filled space and deadpans. “Oh no. However shall I survive without you?”
He resumes polishing glasses as a grinning Tom jogs off in the direction of one of the kitchens, and I take a seat on one of the tall bar stools adorned with red velvet cushions.
The bar is filled with a handful of ongoing conversations and soft Christmas music playing in the background, but it's quiet enough that I’m confident that I can easily drown them all out. So, I pull out my Kindle and open it to my latest spicy, holiday-themed rom-com.
Penelope Costa never disappoints.