What Happens At Christmas... Read online

  She was just inserting her key into the door lock when she heard a tapping noise. It was coming from Jack’s front window on the other side of the garden wall. Seconds later, it opened.

  ‘Good morning. Fancy a cup of tea?’ Her spirits soared.

  ‘Jack, you say the nicest things. That would be fantastic. Just let me dump the dog.’

  ‘Bring him in. I’ll make him some breakfast too.’

  Inside his kitchen, it was warm, dry and bright. Holly found herself blinking as she came in from the darkness outside. Stirling rushed past her to say hello to Jack and then settled down by the radiator with one of his special biscuits.

  ‘Come in, Holly.’ Jack had cleared the table since last night and there was now a blue and white check tablecloth on there, along with two plates, two mugs and a selection of cutlery. Clearly, he had been planning this. He shook his head apologetically. ‘I’m not very good at breakfasts to be honest. I haven’t got any juice and I’ve just looked in the cereal packet and decided what’s in there is more suitable for the mice, assuming they haven’t already been in there.’ He shook his head ruefully. ‘There are some rather suspicious looking little black bits in there, I’m afraid. Anyway, if you’re up for toast, butter and jam, there’s plenty of that and it’s guaranteed mouse-free. And I can offer you tea or coffee.’

  ‘Tea would be perfect, please.’ As Holly pulled off her hat, she could feel her sweaty hair sticking to her head. As she removed her jacket, she realised she was still wearing her pyjamas and no underwear. Suddenly this felt somehow improper in a strange man’s house. She was also very conscious of the fact that she hadn’t washed, nor had she even cleaned her teeth. She took a deep breath and sat down on the far side of the table.

  He filled a bowl with water and set it down on the floor for the dog. Stirling wasted no time in slurping up half of it, splashing water all over the floor as he did so. Holly caught Jack’s eye. ‘Sorry about that. He’s a very messy drinker.’

  ‘That’s one thing about three-hundred-year-old stone floors; you can do what you like to them and it doesn’t matter. So, what sort of night did you have? At least you didn’t freeze to death.’ He looked at her critically. ‘You certainly don’t look cold now though. Has Stirling had you up on the moor?’

  She nodded as she reached up and wiped her forehead. After the cold outside, she could feel her cheeks burning. As she did so, she spotted a stripy blue and white pyjama sleeve, not dissimilar to the colour of Jack’s tablecloth, sticking out of the wrist of her jumper. She felt her cheeks glow even redder as she hastily tucked it out of sight. ‘I’m sorry. I must look a terrible mess.’

  ‘Not from where I’m standing.’ He turned away and busied himself making tea and toast.

  She decided to take advantage of his friendship with her father to find out more about his life. ‘Jack, you said you and my dad saw a lot of each other. Can you tell me anything about him?’

  ‘What sort of thing?’ Jack brought over the first slices of toast. ‘Here, dig in while they’re hot.’

  Holly did as she was told. The greengage jam looked good, so she picked it up. The lid remained firmly closed, in spite of her best efforts. Jack reached down, took the pot from her grasp and twisted it open. As he handed it back to her, their fingers touched and she felt an unexpected thrill. Funny, she thought to herself, and he’s not even my type. She cleared her throat before replying.

  ‘I presume you know that he and I weren’t in contact.’ Jack nodded. ‘So, you see, as a result I really know so very little about him. A few people have told me he was a very nice man, but what sort of man was he? Was he into hunting, shooting and fishing? Did he paint pictures, write books?’ As she asked, Holly was tempted to ask Jack about his own background and interests, but for now, she stayed on the original topic. ‘Like I say, just anything about him, really.’

  ‘Let’s see. Well, you won’t be surprised to know that he was an engineer. But probably you already knew that?’

  Holly sat up in surprise and shook her head. ‘I was only seven when he left. I don’t even know what he did for a living, although I’ve heard that it was something to do with wine.’ She carried on, more for her own benefit than his. ‘And fancy him being an engineer and me being an engineer. I really didn’t know.’ Somehow, the fact that she had followed in her father’s footprints served to bring him even closer to her. ‘That’s weird.’

  ‘Not really – he was your dad after all, so you’ve probably got it in your genes. But I know he was involved with wine one way or another when he was in Australia. I’m not sure of the details, but he had his own company.’ Holly’s ears pricked up.

  ‘Was that an engineering company?’

  ‘No, wine, I’m sure, but whether it was making it or selling it or even importing it, I never found out.’ The toaster spat out two more slices of toast and Jack picked them up and set them on the table. He filled the teapot, brought it across and sat down opposite her. Holly looked up and caught his eye. She had to wait until she had swallowed a mouthful of hot toast, butter and jam before being able to ask her next question.

  ‘So if he was in Australia, when did he come back here?’

  ‘About the same time I arrived in Brookford. That would be about six years ago now.’

  ‘Oh, so he’d only been living in the village for a relatively short period of time?’

  ‘That’s right, but of course, his family were from Brookford and his house has been in the family for generations. Me, I’m the real newcomer.’

  ‘So you don’t have any local roots?’

  ‘No…’ Just then there was a tap on his door and a female voice called through his letter box. ‘Morning, darling, are you going to let me in?’

  Stirling gave a loud woof that made Holly spill her tea, jumped to his feet and trotted over to the door. Jack gave Holly a smile that contained more than a hint of embarrassment and followed the dog. He opened the door and a woman came in. As she saw Holly, she stopped dead, her expression one of surprise and maybe hostility. She was a very beautiful olive-skinned girl, probably in her early thirties like Holly and, clearly, she hadn’t been expecting to find another woman having breakfast with Jack. Now it was Holly’s turn to feel just a bit embarrassed. Jack closed the door and came over to make the introductions.

  ‘Dolores, this is my new next door neighbour, Holly. Holly, this is Dolores Jefferson. If you think you recognise her, it’s from the telly. She’s one of the news anchors on local TV.’ He turned towards the other girl. ‘Holly’s had a power cut and she’s got no electricity or heat in her house. Cup of tea?’

  ‘Maybe a small coffee, please darling.’ Dolores was looking reassured. The brief, but measured, forensic examination she then gave Holly, from her tousled hair to the pyjama collar sticking out of her jumper, evidently reassured her that she was not in the presence of a serious competitor for Jack’s affections. Holly felt the eyes on her and had to struggle to supress a sense of annoyance. She did her best to think what she would be feeling if the roles were reversed. From the way Dolores addressed him, it seemed pretty clear to her that the hunky woodsman and the beautiful TV girl were an item. When all was said and done, Holly knew that she was the interloper here, innocent as she might be. She took another mouthful of tea and summoned her friendliest smile.

  ‘How exciting, Dolores. So, do you enjoy being on television?’

  The other girl’s face showed what a stupid question that was. Of course she loved it. It was television! But she made a visible effort to restrain herself and replied equally sweetly. ‘It’s a good job. It’s not so appealing when I’m on the early shift and have to get up at four o’clock in the morning, though.’

  Jack looked back over his shoulder from the cooker. ‘Dolores’s mum’s from Spain. She speaks Spanish like a native.’

  Dolores smiled sweetly at Holly. ‘Are you fluent in any foreign language, Holly? I do think it’s such a wonderful talent to have.’

  Holly
shook her head, repressing a snort. ‘Afraid not, Dolores. I can barely speak English some days.’

  Jack came back to the table with a cup of coffee, the expression on his face clearly showing how pleased he was to see the two women getting on so well. Holly did her best not to disillusion him. ‘And you’ve chosen a gorgeous little village to live in.’

  ‘Dolores lives in the next village and she’s only been here for a few months. But you love Dartmoor, don’t you?’ Jack spread butter and jam on a piece of toast and offered it to Dolores. She shook her head.

  ‘Butter? Not on my diet, darling.’ She fluttered her long eyelashes at him. ‘A cup of coffee’s just fine.’ She transferred her attention across the table. ‘And what do you do, Holly?’

  ‘It’s a bit hard to explain. I work for an insurance company and my speciality is engineering projects. I studied mechanical engineering at university.’ Holly had been doing the job for long enough now to recognise the same expression of disbelief on Dolores’s face that the old petrol pump attendant had displayed on her first visit to Brookford. A woman engineer?

  ‘Oh.’

  As a conversation stopper, it worked well. Holly dedicated herself to finishing her toast. Sensing a lull, Jack turned towards Dolores. ‘So, are you working today?’

  She nodded and smiled graciously across the table towards Holly as she explained. ‘Saturdays are my busiest days, to be honest. I’m not normally in the studio, but my agent sets me up with all sorts of events; you know, fete openings, prize givings, that sort of thing. Today I’m at a children’s home in Plymouth, judging a painting competition. It’s just had a multi-million pound renovation and a government minister’s supposed to be coming. National TV should be covering it, which won’t do my profile any harm. And then, tonight I’m presenting medals to firefighters.’ She grinned across the table. ‘Handsome, hunky firefighters; I love my job.’

  Holly decided she had better make a move. She stood up and gave Jack a warm and sincere smile. Beside her, the dog stood up and stretched. ‘Jack, you saved my life. I was dying for a cup of tea. Thank you so much. I’d better get off home as the electrician’s due any minute now.’ She gave Dolores an equally warm, but considerably less sincere, smile. ‘Lovely to meet you, Dolores.’

  ‘And you, Holly.’ Her eyes narrowed as Holly moved away from the table and she spotted the Jimmy Choo boots. Full price for them had been almost seven hundred pounds. Dolores had no way of knowing she hadn’t paid full whack for them, so Holly did a little gratuitous knife-twisting.

  ‘I really must get some more shoes. These are very comfortable, but they do show the dirt.’ She had the pleasure of seeing the other girl wince.

  Outside there was smart little blue Fiat 500, presumably belonging to Dolores. Holly was delighted to see Stirling stop, cock his leg, and pee on her front wheel – but she immediately found herself wondering why Dolores annoyed her so much. Surely it couldn’t be anything to do with Jack. He so wasn’t her type.

  Mr Fleming, the electrician, was a very big man. When Holly opened the door, she found him occupying most of the door frame and she had a moment’s hesitation. Undaunted, Stirling ran up to him, tail wagging. The big man bent down to scratch his ears.

  ‘Hello, Stirling. And how are you this morning?’ He gave Holly a broad smile and held out his massive hand. She took it nervously, but he was remarkably gentle. ‘Miss Brice, how really good to meet you. I’ve often heard your father talk about you.’ His expression became more sombre. ‘Poor man, so sad.’

  Holly ushered him in. ‘I would offer you a cup of tea, but I’m afraid the power’s off.’ Realising that this was a pretty stupid thing to say to an electrician who would not be there if the power were on, she went on to explain what had happened. While she talked, he went over to the broom cupboard. Clearly, he was familiar with the property. The lights flickered a few times and the power crashed off again. His head reappeared.

  ‘I’m afraid it’s the central heating boiler. It’s pretty ancient and it needs replacing. You really need a new one as soon as possible because it’s shorting out. I’ll have a go at getting it working for you, at least for now, but we’d really better get a plumber round.’

  ‘I don’t suppose you…?’

  The electrician nodded and pulled out his phone. ‘I’ll get straight onto him.’ He dialled a number and waited for a few seconds. ‘Bob? Tom. Yeah, I’m fine. Listen, I’m over at George Brice’s place and the boiler’s packed up. His daughter’s here and she’s freezing to death. Yes, I know. Anything you can do?’ There was a short pause before Mr Fleming spoke again. ‘That’s great, Tom. I’ll tell her. Yes, I know. It’s the least we can do.’

  He ended the call and turned to her with a smile. ‘He’s on a job this morning, but he says he’ll be round at two.’

  ‘But, today’s a Saturday. Is that all right?’

  Tom Fleming smiled at her. ‘It’s like I said to Jack last night. We owe it to George.’ Seeing the expression on Holly’s face, he explained. ‘He was a lovely man, your dad. The very least we can do for his daughter is to bail her out when she’s in trouble.’

  Holly fought to keep her lip from trembling. ‘That’s really, really kind of you. My dad would be ever so pleased.’

  The electrician was as good as his word and by half past ten, the lights were restored and the boiler fired up again. He explained that it was only a temporary repair, but that it should do the job for now. ‘When Bob Banks gets here this afternoon, he’ll be able to sort it out better. He’s a good plumber, is Bob.’

  After he had left, studiously ignoring her request to tell her how much she owed him, Holly went round the house with a cloth, drying the condensation that had formed on the cold windows and checking that the radiators were all warm. The dog, clearly exhausted after the long walk, had taken to his bed and was snoring gently. Holly made herself a cup of tea before going up to the now blissfully warm bathroom and taking a leisurely bath. She emerged refreshed. The early morning walk really had done her good. Which was more than could be said for her Jimmy Choo boots. The footpaths on the moor had covered them in mud and scratched them badly. She knew she had to go out as soon as possible and buy something more suitable for moorland rambling. The question was, where?

  The only woman she knew in the village to ask, apart from Dolores, was Mrs Edworthy. Leaving the dog sleeping in his basket, Holly let herself out and walked up the road to knock on the old lady’s door, hoping she hadn’t already left for her son’s house. In fact Holly only just caught her, as a car was already parked outside with the passenger door open. As soon as Mrs Edworthy spotted Holly she gave her a warm welcome and introduced her to her son. When she heard that Holly wanted a shoe shop, she had no hesitation. ‘I buy all my shoes from the Teign Valley Store. They’ve got lovely things there, and they sell dog food too.’

  With hindsight, her last words should have served as a warning to Holly, but she gave them no thought at the time. She waved goodbye to Mrs Edworthy and walked up to the post office to buy something for lunch. As she did so, it occurred to her that, down here in the wilds of the country, she couldn’t really follow her normal London way of shopping – just picking up food as and when she needed it from any one of a host of available shops. With icy roads and limited choice at the post office, she resolved to find a supermarket and stock up on essentials when she went to buy shoes this afternoon, after the plumber had been.

  Bob Banks, the plumber, arrived while Holly was still finishing her soup. There hadn’t been much choice of food at the post office, but the tomato soup she had bought was at least warm and filling, when eaten with some of the rather good bread he sold there. Still thinking of Dolores, Holly deliberately spread butter on the bread and it tasted all the better as a result.

  The plumber took a good look at the boiler and pronounced his verdict. ‘I’m afraid it’s shot, definitely knackered. These oil-fired boilers don’t last nearly as long as the gas ones.’

  For
a moment, Holly’s heart fell at the thought of an expensive new boiler and then she remembered what, amazingly, she had completely forgotten all day until now. She was a millionaire. She could buy ten boilers. Suddenly the damage to her expensive boots seemed far less upsetting. She gave him a smile. ‘Could you get a new one for me?’

  Bob Banks nodded. ‘Yes, of course. It’s Saturday today and the place I use is closed now till Monday.’ He did a bit of thinking. ‘If you’re happy for me to select the one I think’s best, I reckon I should be able to order one on Monday and pick it up and fit it on Tuesday or Wednesday.’

  ‘That’s terrific.’

  After he had left, Holly took Stirling for a quick walk around the village and then gave him his lunch. While he was eating, she collected her things and slipped out to the car. She was pleased and relieved to find that Greta the Porsche started first time. The roads were no longer icy and the weak winter sun had dried the surface. Had the lanes been twice as wide, she would have made very good time. As it was, it took her almost forty minutes to get to the Teign Valley Store. This was housed in a big commercial unit on an industrial park to the south of the moor. As she pulled in and parked in the car park, she was surprised and perturbed to see lawn tractors and garden furniture arrayed outside. Inside, the significance of Mrs Edworthy’s dog food comment sank in. This place, far from being a shoe shop, was an agricultural store, stocking everything from saddle soap to compost.

  She walked past displays of gardening implements, rolls of fence wire and everything for the horse, chicken or dog owner. Mrs Edworthy hadn’t been joking; there was indeed a massive selection of dog food. Holly resolved to return to these once she had exhausted any possibility of shoes. It took a good while but, finally, she came upon the clothing and footwear section. Clothing started with boiler suits for farmers, some of them thermal-lined, some waterproof. It then extended through body warmers to fleeces and finally the more expensive articles of countryside clothing such as tweed coats and oiled jackets. Footwear looked at first if it was going to be a choice between green Wellingtons, brown Wellingtons or pink Wellingtons with little butterflies on them. Luckily, on the very last display, she found non-Wellington footwear. She shuddered with distaste as she contemplated, for the first time since she had left university, buying shoes that were practical, rather than fashionable.