What Happens At Christmas... Read online

  ‘Hi, Stirling and hi Holly, it’s me. I saw you there.’ He picked up the board and glanced at the sun. ‘Another quarter of an hour okay?’

  ‘Take as long as you like.’ This was the first time she had seen him in a wetsuit. It clung tightly to his body and, from what she could see of his broad shoulders and flat stomach, she would rather like the idea of clinging to it herself. She decided that Julia deserved to see what people did for fun in north Devon. And a photo of him like this would be rather nice for her to have as well, she admitted to herself, as she pulled off her gloves, reached into her pocket and grabbed her phone.

  ‘Call Stirling, would you, Jack? I’ll take a photo of you both.’ Somehow, by including the dog in the picture, it made her feel a bit less shameless. Jack called the dog and she took a number of photos of them in the shallows, splashing around together. ‘Done! If they’re any good, I’ll send them to you.’ She put the phone away and reached for her gloves again,. Her fingers were already cold. She looked at him with genuine concern. ‘Are you sure you aren’t freezing?’

  He shook his head. ‘I’m boiling.’ He gave her a little wave of the hand and headed back out to sea again. The dog followed for a few steps and then retreated as a wave splashed him. Holly watched Jack as he threw himself face down onto the board and paddled hard, ducking as huge breakers crashed over him and disappearing completely, only to reappear seconds later on the other side of the wave, still paddling. Now she had identified him, she stood and watched. He was good. Even she could see that.

  He and a few other black dots bobbed around about a hundred yards from the beach until the right wave came along. She saw him try for one, miss it, wait some more and then suddenly paddle for all he was worth and catch a big roller. As the wave took the board, he jumped to his feet, crouching forward, perfectly balanced. He skimmed across the face of the wave from right to left until, at just the right moment, he spun round and came back in the opposite direction. Finally, as the wave disintegrated, he threw himself backwards into the sea and started the process all over again.

  There was little doubt in Holly’s mind that she liked Jack a lot. She knew very little about him and he was not very forthcoming about his past history, but she was pretty sure that he was well educated but had decided, for whatever reason, to opt out and settle for the rural life. In comparison to Justin, or any of her previous boyfriends, he was very different. She couldn’t imagine Justin wandering round with holes in his socks and she found her face breaking into a smile at the thought. Similarly, none of her previous man friends, although many of them had boasted impressive gym-developed muscles, would be likely to stack logs for a living. Even so, she couldn’t miss the attraction she was feeling for Jack, and not just because of his fit looking body and tough lifestyle. Did this maybe mean that something was changing inside her, she wondered.

  Holly went back up to the car and located the dog’s water bowl and biscuit as well as the hot chocolate. She checked the photos she had taken and felt particularly pleased with one of them where Jack was turning slightly to his right and the sunlight picked out the outline of his body particularly well. She sent it to Julia, along with a brief text message. At the beach. Look what I’ve caught.

  A reply arrived almost immediately. It, too, was short and to the point. F***ing hell, Hol! Followed by several very smiley faces.

  Holly was leaning on the bonnet, sipping a mug of cocoa when she saw Jack coming back up from the beach, the board under his arm, the leash still clamped to his ankle. Stirling also spotted him and charged off to greet him, bouncing around excitedly as they approached the Land Rover. After a full hour’s walk and run on the beach, the dog still looked full of energy. She dug out the other mug and poured Jack some hot chocolate. He stood the board up against the side of the car and came across to her, ripping his neoprene hood off as he did so. Water sprayed across the bonnet as he shook his mass of black hair like a dog. His face was bright red and, amazingly, he looked hot.

  ‘Thanks.’ He took the mug and sipped it. ‘Excellent. God, I’m hot.’ He set the mug down and turned his back towards her. ‘You couldn’t just unzip me, could you?’

  Holly grasped the ribbon hanging in the middle of his back and tugged, opening the suit to his waist. The neoprene gaped open, revealing a muscular back. He tugged the top of the suit off his shoulders, releasing his arms, and let it hang round his waist. He gave her a grin as he picked up his mug again. ‘Seems crazy to you, I expect. Temperature’s only just a few degrees above zero and I’m boiling hot.’

  Hot was an adjective that had already crossed Holly’s mind. He had a terrific body; not over-muscled like some bodybuilders, but just a strong, powerful chest and an impressive run of firm stomach muscles. A light covering of hair extended up from his stomach and split into a Y shape as it reached his chest. Yes, she had to admit he did indeed look hot. Doing her best to sound nonchalant, she replied. ‘For what it’s worth, I’m quite warm too, but probably not quite warm enough to want to strip to the waist.’

  ‘We live in hope.’ He grinned again. Although he had to be a few years older than her, when he smiled he looked like a youngster. Once again, Holly found herself marvelling at having found two hunky men in such a tiny village in so many days.

  ‘So where’s lunch?’ There appeared to be no shortage of cafés, pubs and restaurants in the area.

  ‘The dudes will all be going to the Thatch, I imagine, but I won’t inflict that on you. A bunch of blokes all talking about waves, boards and sex wax isn’t what you signed up for. We’ll go somewhere a bit quieter.’

  ‘Sex wax?’

  He pointed to a sticker on his board, alongside the one that read Al Merrick. Sure enough, it advertised Sex Wax. ‘We all use it. It keeps your feet glued to the board. At least, that’s the theory.’ He swallowed the last of his drink. ‘And now, if you want to avert your eyes in maidenly fashion, I’ll just go round the back of the Land Rover and get out of this gear.’

  Jack took her to an unpretentious little café at the side of the road on the way back along the coast. It was an unprepossessing bungalow with absolutely no architectural value whatsoever, but she soon saw why he had chosen it. It had spectacular views. They were the only people in there and they had their pick of the Formica top tables. They chose one by a huge picture window, from where they could see across the confused jumble of grass-covered sand dunes to the sea. With the road hidden from view behind them, it felt like they were all alone in the middle of the dunes. It was lovely and warm in there and, with the sunshine outside, it almost felt like summer.

  He ordered an all-day breakfast while she opted for a mushroom omelette. Both of them chose tea and he asked for a glass of water. He was still looking red in the face, and Holly could feel her own cheeks glowing after just being out on the beach. All this fresh air was definitely doing her good. Beside them the dog lay stretched out, finally too tired even to register the arrival of sausage, bacon and eggs in front of Jack.

  While she waited for her omelette, Holly got Jack to exchange mobile numbers with her and sent him one of the less stimulating photos of him on the beach with Stirling. The one with the sun shining across his body, she kept to herself. The omelette arrived with a mountain of chips so she paced herself, trying to take her time and not eat too much. She looked across the table at him.

  ‘So, Jack, I now know you’re a dude, but I don’t know much more about you. Anything you feel you’d like to tell me – like why you deliver logs by day and read history books by night?’

  He picked up a napkin and wiped his mouth as he swallowed a piece of fried bread. ‘Erm, my name is James Tyler Nelson, but I answer to Jack. I was born in a little village just outside Bristol thirty-eight years ago.’ If he spotted Holly’s eyebrows raise, he gave no sign. ‘From time to time I help Bob Cookson, our local farmer, with various jobs including log deliveries when his even older Land Rover won’t start – which is nearly always. I read history books because the TV rec
eption in Brookford’s crap and there’s not much worth watching anyway. Right, I’ve shown you mine. Now you have to show me yours.’ He cut off a piece of sausage, dipped it in a fried egg and popped it into his mouth.

  Holly was bright enough to realise that he hadn’t really told her anything she didn’t already know, but she didn’t press the issue. ‘Mmh, interesting about the farmer’s truck. Maybe I should take a look at Mr Cookson’s Land Rover for him.’

  ‘Now that would be a very good way of guaranteeing yourself free firewood. Excellent idea.’

  He stripped the rind off a piece of bacon and handed it down to the dog who opened an eye, did a double-take and then swallowed it with an expression of disbelief. Holly finished her omelette while Jack cleared his plate and attacked the toast, butter and jam that had come with it. After a while, he took a mouthful of tea and sat back.

  ‘So, your turn. I’m afraid I already know your place and date of birth from your dad, so your age is not a secret to me. Because of him, I know he divorced your mother, but what about you? He knew next to nothing about you so neither do I. What do you do, where do you live, is there a Mr Holly? Come on, spill the beans.’ He chose that moment to take a forkful of baked beans from his plate.

  Holly told him about her job, her flat in London and her love of cars. She didn’t mention men, but he could draw his own conclusions. Part of her wanted to ask him about her father, but after the trauma of starting to read his letters, she didn’t feel up to it. Instead, she found herself chatting about all manner of things and even flirting with him a little. When it was time to go, she still knew next to nothing about him except for the fact that she liked him a lot. She got the impression he liked her too, but he wasn’t very demonstrative and certainly not touchy feely, which was a pity because every time she looked at his long fingers she found herself wondering how they would feel against her skin. She decided to turn the subject to more mundane matters.

  ‘So how was your all-day breakfast?’

  He finished his tea and sat back with a satisfied grin. ‘A culinary feast comparable to manna from heaven. It was sumptuous, delicious, outstanding and incredible. Ask the dog what he thinks. He’ll agree with me about the bacon rind.’

  ‘While on that topic, Mr Nelson – no feeding the dog at table, all right?’

  ‘Yes, Miss.’ He hung his head in mock shame.

  They got home just after dark. Holly looked at her watch. Four-thirty. She climbed down from the Land Rover and went up to Jack. ‘Thank you for a lovely day.’ She stood opposite him and waited for him to give her a hug or a kiss or even a shake of the hand. Instead, to her surprise, he drew back, muttered something in a gruff voice and set about untying the surfboard from the roof. Holly took the hint. ‘I’d better be getting home now. Thanks again, Jack.’ He raised a hand and gave her a quick wave. She and Stirling went back round the side of his house to their front door.

  Inside, it was warm and, thankfully, no longer smelt of wet dog. Fortunately, Stirling had resisted the temptation to follow Jack into the deeper water and his legs and belly had pretty much dried out in the café and on the ride home. Holly wondered what Jack’s car was going to smell like next morning. She went over to the kettle and dug out a teabag. The dog normally ate half his daily ration of food at lunchtime and half in the evening, so, knowing that he had only had a couple of biscuits and a piece of bacon rind for lunch, but conscious that he would be eating again in a few hours, Holly gave him a reduced portion and refilled his water bowl.

  All the time she was turning over in her mind the unexpected reaction she had received from Jack. She had really got the impression he liked her a lot and she certainly felt the same way about him, but she couldn’t miss his reluctance to reveal anything about himself or to make any sort of physical contact. And there was no doubt in her mind that a little physical contact, or even a lot of physical contact, was exactly what she was starting to think she might really quite like from him. She harrumphed to herself as she added milk to her tea. Having a hunky neighbour could be a frustrating business.

  Her mobile phone rang as she was sipping her tea. It was Julia. Holly set the mug down and proceeded to tell her the latest instalment of her adventures in Devon. Not having spoken to her since Sunday, she started by checking out how Julia’s love life was progressing. The answer was reassuring.

  ‘Scott’s coming round here tonight and I’m cooking him dinner. With all the trimmings.’

  Holly didn’t ask the exact nature of the trimmings. She had a pretty good idea already. She launched into a report of her afternoon tea with Justin the previous day. She received a satisfying number of oohs and aahs as she described the Christmas tree and the elegant dining room in the Castle and, of course, the handsome man himself, although she sensed that Julia’s interest flagged when she mentioned that he was still hung up on his wife. Then Holly described the day she had had with Jack, not omitting his fit body. This drew another couple of oohs. However, when she got to the nature of their parting and his obvious reluctance, she got a response she hadn’t been expecting.

  ‘Maybe your Jack’s gay, Hol.’

  ‘Maybe he’s what?’ This thought hadn’t crossed Holly’s mind.

  ‘Friendly, helpful, lives alone, well-honed body, reads serious stuff. All the signs are there.’

  Holly genuinely didn’t know what to say. ‘He can’t be… What about Dolores, the Spanish woman who kept calling him darling? If I hadn’t been there, I bet she’d have been all over him like a rash.’

  ‘But they’re all luvvies in the television world. She probably calls everybody darling. That doesn’t prove anything. You just think about it. Anyway, the gorgeous Justin has got to be straight, and every girl needs a nice gay friend. It seems to me you’ve got all the bases covered.’

  Holly, her mind spinning, changed the subject to the box of letters she had found. Julia was enthusiastic.

  ‘Hol, this is just what you wanted! You’ll learn so much about your dad from the letters. It’ll be almost like talking to him. That’s awesome, just fantastic.’

  Finally, they discussed arrangements for Christmas. Julia would take the train down to Exeter on Friday the twenty-third and Holly would pick her up from the station and bring her out to Brookford for a couple of nights. Then, on Christmas Day itself, they would drive into Exeter and Holly would stay for lunch with Julia’s family.

  ‘See you in four days’ time, Hol.’

  Holly put the phone down. For the first time it dawned upon her properly that Christmas Day was this coming Sunday. She looked round the kitchen. The house really needed Christmas decorations, maybe a tree, and she needed to stock up on food for when Julia arrived. At least, with the bottles she had found in the cellar, wine would not be a problem. And then there was the question of presents.

  She spent the next couple of hours clearing and cleaning the kitchen. As the dog was comatose, she took the opportunity to run a mop over the stone floor, particularly by the door where she had dried him the previous day. By the time she heard the pips on the radio telling her it was seven o’clock, the place looked really quite smart. To celebrate, she opened the fridge and took out the bottle of white Burgundy she had found in the cellar. The label read Bâtard-Montrachet Grand Cru 2011. That sounded like a very good wine, and it was a lovely golden colour. She grabbed a corkscrew and opened it. As she was looking for a decent wine glass and a packet of crisps to accompany the wine, the doorbell rang. The dog opened one eyelid, but clearly had neither the energy nor the desire to do anything more.

  ‘Fat lot of use as a guard dog you are.’ Holly went over and opened the door. On the doorstep was the white-haired old gentleman she had met in the pub the other night. Luckily, she remembered his name. ‘Good evening Mr Redgrave, do come in.’

  He was wearing a very smart tweed jacket and a rollneck jumper and he looked as if he had just come out of the owner’s enclosure at Newmarket racecourse. He was carrying a bottle of champagne in one han
d and a white envelope in the other.

  ‘Holly, good evening. I hope I’m not disturbing you. I’ll only stay a moment. I’m glad to see you looking so well. You’ve got some colour in your cheeks. That’s what I like to see.’ He laid the bottle and the envelope on the table. ‘I promised you an invitation to my Christmas Eve ball. And the champagne is a sort of housewarming present for you.’

  ‘Oh, how very kind.’ Holly looked across at the worktop. ‘Actually, I’ve just opened a bottle of white. Would you like to join me in a glass?’

  ‘If you’re sure I’m not stopping you doing something important.’ He gave her a smile and she told him to take a seat.

  ‘Just like your father. He always entertained in the kitchen. Many’s the evening I’ve spent with him here. He was a very good cook, you know.’

  Holly fetched the bottle and poured two glasses of wine. As she passed one across to him, she saw him studying the label.

  ‘Erm, Holly.’ He sounded hesitant. ‘Could I ask you where you got this wine?’

  Holly smiled back at him. ‘I found it in the cellar. There are a few cases of wine down there that my father left. Looks good, doesn’t it? Cheers.’ She held up her glass and they clinked them together. She took a mouthful and caught his eye. ‘Wow. That’s stunning. My dad really did know his wines.’

  He also tried the wine and nodded his head in agreement. ‘Excellent, excellent. Tell me, Holly, does that mobile telephone of yours have a connection to the internet?’ Holly nodded. ‘Very good. Now, why don’t you just try punching in Bâtard-Montrachet Grand Cru 2011? You might get a surprise.’