Книга - Christmas at Strand House: A gorgeously uplifting festive romance!

Christmas at Strand House: A gorgeously uplifting festive romance!
Linda Mitchelmore


‘The perfect book to take on holiday!’ Pretty Little Book Reviews on Summer at 23 The StrandA holiday to change their lives forever!A festive feel-good holiday read, perfect for fans of Lilly Bartlett, Tilly Tennant and Eve Devon.When Lissy inherits her late godmother’s seaside villa, Strand House, she decides to turn her life upside-down and move to the seaside.It couldn’t have come at a more perfect time for Lissy, so when she realizes that her best friends, Janey, Bobbie and Xander are going to be alone over the holidays, she invites them to stay!Every one of them has a secret, but at Christmas time anything can happen – and this is sure to be one to remember…Readers LOVE Linda Mitchelmore:‘It’s inspired me to go on a little holiday of my own!’ Kollectivek‘By the end of the book I wanted to sit on the veranda with a glass of wine, eat fish & chips and visit the local cafe!’ Muriel Peace (NetGalley reviewer)‘The perfect book to take on holiday!’ Pretty Little Book Reviews‘I promise you'll be hooked!’ (Amazon Reviewer)‘What a fabulous read. So many characters to fall in love with’ (Amazon Reviewer)









About the Author (#u55a5972e-ad10-5922-bbc8-3e51f7de5dc2)


LINDA MITCHELMORE began writing in the late 1990s – rather a late starter – when she lost her hearing due to viral damage. To begin with she buried herself in magazines and books and then decided to have a go at writing. She found it a way of communicating. And it paid! She has now had over 300 short stories published, worldwide. Linda has had four full-length novels and two novellas published with Choc Lit, Christmas at Strand House is her second novel with HQ Digital, following Summer at 23 The Strand.

Linda has lived in Devon, beside the sea, all her life and wouldn’t want to live anywhere else. She walks by the sea most days, or up over the hill behind her house where she has fabulous views out over Dartmoor. In summer she can be found on the pillion of one of her husband, Roger’s, vintage motorbikes, or relaxing in the garden with a book and a glass of Prosecco. Life couldn’t be sweeter.

You can follow Linda on Twitter: @LindaMitchelmor (https://twitter.com/lindamitchelmor?lang=en-gb)




READERS LOVE LINDA MITCHELMORE (#u55a5972e-ad10-5922-bbc8-3e51f7de5dc2)


‘The perfect book to take on holiday.’

‘It’s inspired me to go on a little holiday of my own.’

‘By the end of the book I wanted to sit on the veranda with a glass of wine, eat fish & chips and visit the local café.’

‘A wonderful summer read.’

‘Charming and uplifting.’

‘Such a delightful, uplifting and heartwarming read.’

‘A lovely book to read on holiday.’

‘Fabulous.’




Also by Linda Mitchelmore (#u55a5972e-ad10-5922-bbc8-3e51f7de5dc2)


Summer at 23 The Strand




Christmas at Strand House

LINDA MITCHELMORE








HQ

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2018

Copyright © Linda Mitchelmore 2018

Linda Mitchelmore asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

E-book Edition © December 2018

ISBN: EB: 9780008327033

PB: 9780008327040

Version: 2018-10-22


Table of Contents

Cover (#ufdf9d751-afff-5d4a-8502-4791b415a7e9)

About the Author (#u98948929-f5c7-56c9-bde6-2c71ec0aa13c)

Readers Love Linda Mitchelmore (#u7d8f9b72-e844-5242-8490-63282868a54b)

Also by Linda Mitchelmore (#u086fbc69-90e1-558a-9e69-2027a31f3b58)

Title Page (#ub9e957e1-bcbd-5e74-ac9f-f9b025494ad5)

Copyright (#u0fe96f92-bfe0-50df-a56c-32bf68546d44)

Dedication (#u6d11d3af-fa60-5347-803f-1aad7c374021)



23rd December (#u5d7ca9dd-2ad0-592f-8e20-76898ad0f0a6)



Chapter 1 (#uff82cca7-e4a8-56cd-8b46-a796e1a4c262)



Chapter 2 (#u421e07e2-4d5e-5be8-b15e-df027436dea7)



Chapter 3 (#ud1441e04-f19f-5775-b87e-8eb24ca2b9d5)



Chapter 4 (#u95efc937-81ee-53c4-b154-d219692a9ed5)



Chapter 5 (#uf6aae475-44b1-55c2-a3ba-d4fc5625a22d)



Chapter 6 (#uc3f7dae8-62ca-5590-8ed7-d8c445559e4e)



Chapter 7 (#udc38ab5a-14b8-5cf4-9ca0-41e3157ffcc2)



Chapter 8 (#u3d752ca8-c7a5-5121-87c6-eb3796c50970)



Chapter 9 (#u8c0154d7-b357-5c52-bf32-aeb011104af1)



Chapter 10 (#u62593474-892f-5163-8412-cf3a2006d740)



Chapter 11 (#u09b31a98-5f8a-5d40-99ae-edb644deef28)



Chapter 12 (#u73841749-6281-56fe-b3e7-28d2ab49dffc)



Chapter 13 (#u05d6f185-2d9d-543c-a0ec-f3e7528c1312)



Christmas Eve (#ud9ea436b-9bb9-5275-800f-cca784625717)



Chapter 14 (#u3e1439f3-ac6a-5da7-954a-c274828b32c5)



Chapter 15 (#u122ad7ed-c991-5812-9905-431a984dbd27)



Chapter 16 (#u7a8a63d4-549b-5132-bbab-f63c3eba9c6a)



Chapter 17 (#u565bfb67-936c-5c9d-95e9-33c3b87b631d)



Chapter 18 (#u9ec40cfb-0d8a-51ca-a9c7-53f162776c8b)



Chapter 19 (#u2677004b-e367-5dd3-945b-6fbbc3baeb81)



Chapter 20 (#ua7f50a2f-8b1c-530a-8aac-a0ffeaa1c894)



Chapter 21 (#u14195c41-bc4a-57bc-869b-70f1a5e020c4)



Chapter 22 (#uce9642e0-1c3f-5cef-b6e4-6e7d8e5ce74c)



Christmas Day (#u7b04e296-d06d-5a98-ba53-be2fdfe304e2)



Chapter 23 (#u0b48b282-1983-5436-986a-9bb322553a8c)



Chapter 24 (#ue50c83b6-ece4-564b-bd48-859d6f89c74a)



Chapter 25 (#ua9529afb-99f1-50b9-8fed-5dda0e0b435c)



Chapter 26 (#ub4045359-8294-5258-98e0-c8b71c285652)



Chapter 27 (#u4b6355ef-99bc-56b5-afbe-a16978b7723e)



Chapter 28 (#u5c846b07-5f5f-59fb-be5e-522771c6d664)



Chapter 29 (#uf61bdb1f-76a5-5d09-9774-93b82a7325a2)



Chapter 30 (#uf1c87948-620f-5794-a5ef-aa5a62961a92)



Chapter 31 (#u59526a2f-e360-5967-bd3d-42a3d7e33941)



Chapter 32 (#ua37b55fa-0b9e-52e9-a40d-20e45a33db51)



Chapter 33 (#u899d824d-d7bb-5d2c-9515-ed0e63e76212)



Boxing Day (#ub5d16e5f-08b2-55e2-85cf-9cf51a6f4844)



Chapter 34 (#u4d31cc1d-f72a-51af-9267-a062bbc62420)



Chapter 35 (#u528f7062-e8bf-54b9-9634-991876f08b19)



Chapter 36 (#u01aa76bf-756a-5f4a-a687-6614d104b40e)



Chapter 37 (#uca114285-a672-5446-a676-256cae98094f)



Chapter 38 (#u646eb2ed-683f-5da2-bba7-176936821c05)



Chapter 39 (#u4ec96326-9da8-5276-a258-401337ea5123)



Chapter 40 (#ua384160b-de6d-5b92-80d8-9036b2457918)



Chapter 41 (#u00850e4c-643b-5e08-bfc6-12f210d5b8f1)



Chapter 42 (#ue5f95559-5325-5479-a3cb-96a92601bd16)



One Year Later… (#u443eb7cb-551d-5481-9a07-f8cafec33a10)



Bobbie (#uf7b2b29a-1b6e-5716-808f-5b2d976aea24)



Janey (#ub91be359-bfa5-5df5-881c-675939e1100f)



Lissy & Xander (#uad22d1ca-a725-5b2f-8c6e-b9fbbe1f2cb8)



Acknowledgements (#u7c95e6b5-3d38-555f-8a67-52556852c22f)

Dear Reader (#u7f85727b-9fb4-56dc-aa62-01a736eb2c06)



Turn the Page for an Exclusive Extract From Summer at 23 The Strand… (#uf9073c7c-fbce-5ff1-a445-173e2241307c)



The Next Book From Linda Mitchelmore, The Little B & B at Cove End, Is Coming in Summer 2019! (#ue87b63d7-9653-5746-89c3-42a64ca639a9)



Keep Reading … (#ue8a6fd2f-97ee-57aa-a6f9-b99dc1ee98c0)



About the Publisher (#ufc32b043-5953-5d46-87c1-7a4ea8e658b4)


For my son, James. And for my daughter, Sarah, and my grandchildren, Alexander and Emily Rose.

With my love always, and forever.



23rd DECEMBER (#ulink_f588f8ea-d508-54b9-8972-7e47caf3c241)




Chapter 1 (#ulink_836cdb53-e789-5cd6-a820-0dbff56324f9)

Lissy


Alicia – Lissy to her friends – was the first to arrive. Strand House, the far end property in a small cul-de-sac, stood majestically on the headland, large and imposing with its startlingly white walls and flat roof, very Art Deco, and, Lissy had always thought, more suited to the South of France, or maybe Miami, than a quiet Devon coastal town. The early morning, low winter sun was glinting off the huge windows, and the mimosa she remembered helping her late godmother, Veronica, to plant was just coming into bud. It never failed to surprise Lissy that mimosa flowered so early in the year, often when there was frost around, although frost rarely tinged the gardens of Strand House, situated as it was, quite literally, a stone’s thrown from the sea and warmer air. The first sight of Strand House always took her breath away, even though she’d known the house since childhood. And now that Veronica had left it to her, it was hers. A large, square, black-and-white tiled hallway led up to six bedrooms, all with en suites. The sitting room ran the full depth of the house and the dining room could seat twelve with ease. The kitchen was so large and well-appointed it would do any high-end hotel proud.

And later, three of her friends – Xander, Bobbie, and Janey – all single and alone at Christmas, and brought together by her so they would be less alone, less lonely, would be arriving at Strand House.

Xander – now sadly a widower – she’d first met fourteen years ago when he’d married Lissy’s childhood friend, Claire. God, how she missed Claire. They’d been friends since they’d met when Lissy came down to stop with her godmother; Claire’s family lived just a few doors along from Strand House and geography had made them instant playmates. All through college and university they’d kept in touch, meeting up when they could. Lissy remembered how excited Claire was to have met Xander, how her voice had buzzed with the romance of it all when she rang Lissy to tell her that he’d asked her to marry him. ‘You won’t believe this, Liss, but he’s lived just a mile away from my house all these years and I’ve not met him until now! You and me, we’ve probably been in the same café as him, or the same pub, or on the same beach as Xander at some stage. If that’s so I don’t know what we were thinking not registering how gorgeous he is! You’ll just love him!’ Claire had said. And Lissy had found that yes, Xander was easy to love, accepting her as his friend because she was Claire’s. He’d never minded that Lissy took Claire away for a long weekend once a year when they did some course or other, some activity that would teach them new things; time when they loved and laughed and had fun, cementing their friendship further. But that friendship had been cut short with Claire’s tragic death. Xander’s phone call telling her Claire had died in a road accident had played on repeat in her head for days afterwards. The shock of it. The tragedy of a wonderful, vibrant, friend’s life cut short. She’d kept in touch with Xander by email and the occasional phone call, but they hadn’t met up since Claire’s funeral; Lissy had let Xander grieve in his own way, as she had grieved in hers. Between then and now, Lissy had had her own life-changing moment and had got divorced.

Thank goodness, she thought, that she had Janey and Bobbie in her life. Neither were life-long friends as Claire had been but there’d been an instant bond between them from the moment they’d walked into the art studio for a life-drawing weekend workshop in Dartington four years before. Now without Claire to share sad news with it was to Janey and Bobbie that she’d turned, emailing them both, and getting an instant response from that they were there for her whenever she needed to talk. Mostly she didn’t because it was Lissy’s way to fight her own battles, but there were times when it had been almost too much to bear because she’d honestly thought she and Cooper were happy – well, she was. ‘The wife is usually the last to know,’ Bobbie had said. ‘And the first to make a better life for herself once she’s over the shock. Mark my words.’ Lissy had flinched at those words at the time, but it was just Bobbie’s forthright way. Janey, bless her, had been less forthright, but no less supportive. She’d painted Lissy a card – an exquisitely executed, busy picture filled with birds and flowers and clouds – and inside she’d written, ‘Birds and flowers and clouds are always around you, take time to look and ‘be’ among them’. And so, every day, Lissy looked at birds and flowers and clouds and just let herself ‘be’ among them, and it helped, more than she ever thought it would when she’d got Janey’s card.

Lissy steered the car into the drive of Strand House. She couldn’t wait to see them all again, even though her mother had poured scorn on the idea.

‘But, darling,’ her mother had said when Lissy had divulged her Christmas plans, ‘why don’t you come to us? Mark was only asking this morning if you would be.’

‘No ferries?’ Lissy had replied, the hint of a question in her voice. Perhaps her mother had forgotten the ferry didn’t run at Christmas. She doubted that her stepfather had said any such thing – largely he avoided her whenever they were in the same place.

‘Flights, darling?’ her mother had replied, whippet-fast. Lissy’s mother, Carol, was one who liked to have her own way.

‘Too problematical. I’d have to catch a flight to Paris and then get a train or hire a car.’

‘Goodness, but you’re making it sound as though you don’t want to come. Please do, darling, Christmas is for families.’

Lissy had heard her own deep intake of breath like a pistol shot in her ears because hadn’t her mother fractured their family when she’d left Lissy’s father, Ed, for another man? And hadn’t her father died of a broken heart? Well, ‘heart disease’ was the official term but Lissy had always believed differently.

‘Some people don’t have families. At Christmas or otherwise,’ she’d replied wearily.

‘And these friends, darling,’ her mother had gone on, unwilling to let the subject drop, ‘how well do you know them?’

‘Mum, I am thirty-six years old. I’ve been married and divorced. I am a chartered accountant with my own practice. I took the very brave step of joining a choir with a bunch of people I didn’t know and who could have been axe murderers for all I knew, and I was fine. It would be nice if you could give me the grace to choose my own friends.’

And the call had ended a little frostily as almost all calls to her mother did these days, and with Lissy on the verge of tears that her relationship with her mother wasn’t better than it was.

But her mother had a point – how well did she know Janey, Bobbie, and Xander?

Feeling a little uneasy now with the memory of her last conversation with her mother still ringing in her head, she drove along in front of the house, reached for the radio-control fob on the keys in the ignition and opened the automatic garage door. There was room enough inside for at least four cars; her Mini was going to look a little lost, wasn’t it? Janey would be coming by train, and Xander possibly on foot because he lived just half a mile away in a cottage behind the harbour. Bobbie, too, had said only that she wouldn’t be driving down to Devon, not in the Christmas rush to escape London and the chaos of the M25.

‘Gosh, but Cooper is going to be so cross when he discovers Strand House is now mine,’ Lissy said aloud as she let herself in. ‘And mine alone.’

Not hers and Cooper’s to divide between them. It had been Cooper who’d asked for a divorce because he’d fallen in love with someone else.

‘Do I know her?’ Lissy had asked, knowing instantly how analytical the question was, and that she must be in shock. Her heart had jolted in her chest, missed a beat, and her breathing became erratic as she took longer breaths which took even longer to let out again. Sometimes, even now, she woke in the night remembering that feeling, fearful that that scenario had only just happened, and it wasn’t until she’d sat up, turned on the light, and seen that the bedroom was different now to how it had been when Cooper had shared it with her, with new everything, that she knew she was making a new life for herself now.

‘You’re making that sound as though you don’t care.’ Cooper had sounded more than miffed.

‘Really? What did you expect me to say? To beg you not to leave?’ Her mouth had been dry with nerves and she’d struggled to get the words out but get them out she had.

‘I’d still leave,’ Cooper had said. ‘Her name’s Nina.’

Lissy struggled to remember if he had mentioned anyone called Nina working in the same bank as he did; if, perhaps, he’d dropped that name into the conversation a few too many times and she’d failed to pick up on the clues. She felt her forehead furrow in concentration, and a pain arrowed through her head like gunshot.

‘Don’t worry your pretty little head about it,’ Cooper had said, almost with a snigger. ‘I can almost see the cogs going around. You don’t know her. I met her at the gym.’

And then Cooper had begun throwing clothes into black bin bags. And shoes. And all his motor racing magazines. He’d even had the audactity to take two pork chops from the freezer for his and Nina’s supper. It had been that last act that had told Lissy there was no saving her marriage now.

‘I’ll be in touch,’ Cooper had said after he’d carried the last of the sacks out to the car.

‘So will I!’ had been Lissy’s reply. ‘Through my solicitor.’

The divorce had been acrimonious, if swift, Cooper insisting everything was scrupulously divided in two. Lissy often thought he would have cut their friends in half if he could. What luck then, for Lissy, that the decree absolute had arrived a week before her godmother’s fatal heart attack.

‘And you are not going to give Cooper any more thought!’ Lissy strode purposefully across the black and white tiles of the hall and up the stairs to the large, master bedroom with its patio doors that opened onto a narrow balcony overlooking the sea she had already bagged for herself. She could fetch her luggage in later. Lissy went over to the bed, covered in pristine white bed-linen with broderie anglaise trim, and lay down. How fresh it all smelled. She was glad now she’d gone to the expense of paying a cleaner to come in once a week after Veronica had died, even though there was no one to clean up after. The hall tiles had gleamed the way they always had, welcoming her in, as they had when Veronica was alive. The teak banister rail smelled faintly of polish as she ran her hand along it on the way up, as it always had. Lissy rolled over onto her side and sniffed the pillow. Yes, the pillow still held the fragrance of the fabric conditioner – sea breeze – that Veronica had always used.

‘Oh, Vonny,’ Lissy said into the pillow, using the pet name she had always called her godmother. ‘Thank you for this wonderful gift, but I miss you so.’

She missed the warmth of her greeting and the scent of Shalimar on her godmother’s skin, and the depth of her loving. She knew she would miss always the myriad little ways Vonny found to spoil her – making shortbread biscuits on rainy days; filling a bath with what Lissy had discovered, when she was older and able to buy it for herself, was hugely expensive bath oil, and frothing it into a cloud of bubble so that only the tip of Lissy’s nose and her mouth had been visible; and letting her pick the first yellow peony from the bush even though they both knew it looked better on the bush than in a vase.

But this was a bedroom that needed to be shared. A bedroom that begged for her to wake up beside someone she loved and who loved her. They would sit up, propped against the huge hessian-covered headboard, and watch the sun rise over the water. And then they would make love, with no need to pull the curtains because no one could look in. There was nothing between Strand House and the continent.

‘And I have got to stop talking to myself! I’ve got three friends arriving soon and lots to do before then.’

The house had yet to be decorated for Christmas. There’d probably be some decorations of Vonny’s in a cupboard somewhere but Lissy didn’t want to use them. She had a fancy for a theme of some sort – silver and blue, or maybe gold and green. There was bound to be a shop in town somewhere that sold decorations and surely they wouldn’t all have been sold already. And flowers. Strand House had always been filled with fresh flowers when Vonny had been alive. White roses had been a favourite and Lissy decided that she would try and find some to honour her godmother’s memory. So many would be needed in a house this size – one little bunch of ten or so stems would look lost. Vases – she’d need lots of vases. And some smaller pots because she intended to put small posies in each of the rooms for her guests, something her godmother had always done for her, often picking buds of things, and interesting leaves from the garden – daisies even – to welcome her. Lissy looked around the room. Yes, that’s what she missed the most, perhaps … the little pot of hand-picked flowers on the bedside table in welcome. There probably wouldn’t be much in the garden in the way of flowers at this time of year but there’d be ivy and some evergreen shrub somewhere she could use with a few buds taken from shop flowers. Just as soon as Janey arrived she’d suggest they go into town and see what they could find, but they’d need to be back in time for her 2 p.m. Waitrose delivery.

She leapt from the bed and went to fetch her luggage.

Yes, perhaps the decision to ask Janey, Bobbie, and Xander to join her had been the right one. Maybe she was the loneliest one of them all.




Chapter 2 (#ulink_b9889554-6ce0-5d7d-9055-b7694658dcd5)

Janey


‘Morning, sweetheart,’ the taxi driver said as Janey approached the open window of the passenger door.

‘Good morning. Are you free?’ Janey wasn’t in the habit of taking taxis but she knew the drill. The three taxis in front of this people carrier were already filling up with passengers who’d got off the train and were beginning to pull away.

‘Well, I’ll expect you to pay your fare, sweetheart. But I’m free as a bird at the moment and at your service. Sam’s the name.’

‘I don’t know that I need such a big taxi,’ Janey said, feeling a smile twitch up the corners of her mouth a little. ‘I can wait for the next one.’

She only had a small wheeled suitcase. It had been packed for ages with a few essentials like a change of underwear and some nightclothes, a dress and a spare pair of shoes. Her emergency exit luggage she always called it, all ready in case Stuart’s drinking and his temper put her in fear for her life. Up until now she’d been able to calm a situation, get herself out of danger by escaping to the bathroom or with the promise of a steak dinner when Stuart had sobered up. But she’d always known there’d be a time when she’d need that exit luggage and she’d come to her senses and was getting out before that time came, before a thump on the arm became much more, before a restraining hand went from her wrist to her neck.

‘Same charge, love, whether there’s one of you or half a dozen. Now you stay right there and I’ll come round and help you. I’m guessing you’re not a famous film star, or that Kate Moss, or foreign royalty or you’d be filling this taxi up with luggage.’

‘No,’ Janey said. ‘None of those.’

Janey knew she ought, perhaps, to wheel her case to the back of the taxi so the driver could load it but she felt frozen with fright at what she had done.

The taxi driver had reached her now. He loomed over her – at least six foot four inches to Janey’s scant five feet two. Standing facing him Janey, was just about level with the badge pinned to his jacket: Sam Webber, Ace Taxis.

‘Are you going to let that thing go, love, so I can get it in the boot? Or are you one half of its Siamese twin? You seem very attached. Your knuckles have gone white you’re gripping on that tight.’

And she could still keep on gripping it tight and go back into the railway station, find the other platform and take the up train back to Totnes, and home. It wasn’t far. Stuart was probably still crashed out on the couch and wouldn’t even have noticed she wasn’t there.

Janey had left before dawn, the previous night’s phone call still fresh in her mind.

‘Who was that?’ Stuart had asked when Janey put down the phone. He made it sound as though she ought not to have answered the phone in the first place.

‘Suzy.’

‘I might have known. That sister of yours is a total waste of space. What crisis is she having now?’

Yes, Suzy did seem to have more crises in her life than anyone else Janey knew, but then her health wasn’t as good as most people’s either. And Suzy’s son, Daniel, had learning difficulties and problems with mobility, while her six-year-old twin daughters needed a lot of attention as well. Janey wondered how she coped sometimes.

‘I might need to pop over there tomorrow,’ Janey had told Stuart, her voice a wobble with the lie she was telling. Would Stuart be able to detect that or was he too drunk? She hoped the latter. ‘Give her a hand with all the last-minute Christmas things.’

Janey had looked around the room, the only nod to Christmas by way of decoration was a few cards on the mantelpiece and a faux Christmas tree about a foot tall in a plastic pot. Janey hadn’t even bothered to put any tiny glass baubles on it this year. Or the miniature fairy on the top. Her sister’s house, she knew, would be full of colour and glitter and delicious smells of mince pies and brandy. And laughter. Despite all Suzy’s problems her house was always full of laughter. But then, Suzy didn’t have a husband like Stuart. And Janey wasn’t going there anyway.

‘Be her slave more like,’ Stuart had said.

And it was the word ‘slave’ that had made Janey’s decision for her. The only person she was a slave to was Stuart. And he didn’t exactly have her chained up so she couldn’t leave.

‘I’ve had more than a bit of practice,’ Janey said, her voice no longer wobbly.

‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Whatever you want it to,’ Janey said, a snake of fear rippling up her spine – a spine that seemed to be straightening as she stood there in front of Stuart challenging him, possibly for the first time. ‘There’s plenty to eat in the fridge, and more than plenty to drink seeing as the spare room has got cases of wine and twelve packs of beer from floor to ceiling.’

‘Won’t even miss you then, will I?’ Stuart said, opening yet another can of Foster’s.

And now here she was, on her way to spending Christmas with Lissy and Bobbie. And Xander. She’d only ever met Xander at his wife, Claire’s, funeral, which was sad. She wondered what she might talk to him about, or he her. The only thing they had in common was the fact they’d both known Claire. And that they were all alone at Christmas. Well, that was the story she’d told Lissy who had invited her to Strand House for the festivities. Festivities! How Lissy had got hold of her landline number Janey had no idea and wasn’t going to ask but she was glad that she had. She might not have left otherwise. That phone call had been just the push-come-to-shove that she needed.

Janey fingered her mobile in her coat pocket, feeling for a vibration which would probably mean Stuart had woken up and found the note she’d tucked beside the tin of teabags on the kitchen counter. I’VE LEFT AND I’M NOT COMING BACK.

‘I don’t know where you are, sweetheart,’ the taxi driver said, ‘but it sure isn’t here with me on a bit of tarmac that needs replacing, because doesn’t it almost wreck the tracking of this taxi every time I drive over it.’

‘I know. I’m sorry.’ Carefully, Janey unpeeled her fingers from the grip of her wheelie case and flexed her fingers. Her knuckles cracked, like popping corn. ‘Lots on my mind. Christmas and that.’

‘Oh gawd, yes, Christmas. Right old fandangle, isn’t it? The wife starts preparing back in September and heaven help me if I don’t make all the right noises when she shows me what she’s bought for this one and that. I expect you’re the same. Most women are.’

Not me, Janey thought. As her marriage had slowly died so had her joy in any sort of celebration. But all that was about to change, wasn’t it?

‘Right then, sweetheart,’ Sam said when he’d got Janey’s case on board and had closed the huge, hinged, rear door. ‘Where’s it going to be? Paris? Rome? Or maybe Moscow if you’ve got your thermals in that case?’

Usually, Janey hated anyone she didn’t know calling her ‘sweetheart’. But right now, it was welcome. It was as though this tall, kindly, man who reminded Janey of her long-dead granddad, knew she needed that familiarity. His cheery chatter was a balm for her bruised soul. Bruised, not broken, she told herself.

‘Strand House. It doesn’t seem to have a number,’ she said, taking the piece of paper from her pocket on which she’d written the name of what was to be her home for the next five days, and Lissy’s mobile phone number. ‘TQ5 1QS if that helps.’

‘Cor, blimey,’ Sam said. ‘That’s posh, sweetheart. Strand House. But then, there’s lots of posh around here.’

‘You know it?’

‘I do. So, sweetheart, will you ride there in style beside me in the front or do you want to queen it in the back? You’ll rattle around a bit but you could practise your regal wave.’

‘In the front, please,’ Janey said, getting in. ‘Is it far?’

‘No journey’s long with good company, sweetheart,’ Sam said, getting in the driving seat and doing up his seatbelt. ‘Well, that’s what they say. You can tell me to belt up and that you like your journeys the way Oscar Wilde liked his haircuts – in silence – if you like. Or I could keep wittering on because the old boy that’s me, who’s been around the block a bit, thinks you might be needing a bit of company.’

‘I do,’ Janey said. ‘Need a bit of company.’

Sam started the engine and indicated he was pulling out.

‘So, you’ve come away from somewhere else for Christmas, then? That’s my guess because you don’t know where Strand House is.’

‘You guess right.’

‘Well, Strand House is pretty big so there’ll be company once you get there. Rich old biddy used to live there, ran it as a sort of upmarket B&B – boutique hotel or somesuch – for years but she’s dead now. I got a lot of trade ferrying guests to and fro back in her day. And her as well when she wanted to go into Torquay for a bit of shopping and the like. I have no idea who owns it now.’

‘I do. She’s called Lissy. She’s a … a friend.’

Janey had few friends – well, none unless you counted Megan who ran the newsagent with whom she’d been at school – because Stuart discouraged it. Friends with bigger incomes than hers would only fuel jealousy, was what Stuart had said. And he hadn’t wanted her to go out to work either because that only put ideas in people’s heads and encouraged extra-marital relationships. Janey had her suspicions that Stuart had had one of those with a colleague at the school where he worked. When she’d challenged him, Stuart had cut her down to size – with his words and with his fists. Why, oh why, hadn’t she left before? What was she going to do now that she had? Another shiver snaked its way up her back and over her shoulders. She felt for the phone in her pocket again. No vibration. She was safe for the moment.

‘Well, I hope she’s a friend, this Lissy, if you’re spending Christmas with her. I mean, most of us spend Christmas with family who we’d never in our right minds choose as friends, but there we are, all shackled up together, for the duration. We all might have a better time of it if we could spend it with friends. And I hope this blooming taxi isn’t bugged because if the wife gets to know I said that she’d strangle me.’

Janey didn’t think for a minute that Sam had a hard time of it with his wife and family at Christmas. He was just being self-deprecating and trying to make her laugh in the process, wasn’t he?

‘I could be a private detective for all you know,’ Janey said. A giggle escaped, fizzing up from inside her somewhere where giggles had long been buried, like bubbles in a glass of lemonade. It made her cough a little. ‘You know. Hired by your wife to check up on you.’

‘Yeah, and I’m that Richard Branson, moonlighting to make a few bob.’ Sam indicated he was going to overtake a bus, and Janey breathed in because there was hardly any space between it and an oncoming car. She was still holding her breath when Sam said, ‘You can breathe out now, sweetheart. I’ve done that before you know. Not killed anyone yet. Anyway, this Lissy, got a family, has she?’

Had she? Janey had no idea. When they’d met at the art weekend in Dartington none of them had got around to sharing histories. She knew only that Lissy had been married then and wasn’t now. And that Claire had been married to Xander back then but wasn’t now because she’d been killed in a road traffic accident. And Bobbie, who had been the model for that life-drawing art class – she didn’t know much more about her other than that she was good fun and impossibly glamorous, and she saw Bobbie’s face in a magazine or a Sunday supplement sometimes. Bobbie put up Facbook blogposts dripping with glamour shots that were a world away from Janey’s experience but sometimes, when she was more down than usual, she’d look at Bobbie’s page and be transported to her world if only for a little while. Lissy had still been married to Cooper when they’d all gone to Claire’s funeral and the opportunity for asking if they’d left children in the care of grandparents hadn’t arisen. But then none of them knew much about her either, did they? They probably knew she was good at art. Xander had popped up on Janey’s Facebook page a couple of times asking to buy a painting from her, but she’d said no, it wasn’t for sale. She wondered why she’d said that because if she’d sold a few paintings she’d have had some savings instead of the nothing she had now.

‘A family?’ Janey said, her brain being dragged back to the present with great difficulty, as though it was being pulled through treacle filled with bits of gravel. ‘I don’t know. I don’t think so.’

‘What does she do then, this friend of yours?’

‘She’s an accountant. With her own practice.’

‘Now there’s a useful friend to have!’ Sam turned to Janey and smiled broadly. ‘Help you fiddle your taxes and that. You’ll have to give me her details.’

Janey didn’t pay taxes. She had no income on which to pay them, and the cheerful banter she’d been having with Sam seemed to be leaching out of her. Perhaps she’d already said too much, divulged too many confidences.

‘Oh, I don’t know that I can. It might not be professional or something. I don’t really know about these things. We’ve only met up a couple of times although we do pop in and out of one another’s lives on Facebook and an email now and then. We went to an art class together and a funeral and that’s about it really.’ The words seemed to be gushing out of Janey, like water through a crack in a lock gate.

Janey took her mobile from her pocket, checked it quickly and slid it back in again.

‘Oh dear, do I suspect someone’s telling porkies?’

‘I … I—’ Janey began.

Sam cut her short.

‘You don’t have to explain yourself to me, sweetheart, but I’ve had an uncomfortable feel about you since the moment I saw you there like a rabbit caught in headlights, not knowing where it was you were going. Got a daughter your sort of age, and I’d like to think someone would be concerned for her if she was in a spot of bother. I know I’m a soft touch but I’m a bit worried about you. Anyway, here we are. Strand House coming up.’




Chapter 3 (#ulink_99472956-2207-5b0d-8584-0cad0116a967)

Lissy


Lissy heard a car pull in the drive. Janey had arrived. She went to the door to welcome her. There’d been no one to welcome her to Strand House, arms outstretched in greeting, but she could welcome the others the way Vonny had always welcomed her, couldn’t she?

‘Oh, is that all you’ve brought? One small case?’ Lissy asked as the taxi driver carried it up the three shallow steps to Strand House, Janey doing her best to keep pace beside the man’s long legs. Lissy thought her friend looked tired and anxious. She stepped closer to Janey and gave her a hug, and could feel the thinness of her despite the thick, wool coat she was wearing; it smelt slightly damp and musty as though it had been in a cupboard until now. Janey stood still, accepting the embrace but not responding and Lissy wondered what might have happened to make her like this because at the art workshop where they’d met Janey had been relaxed and happy, immersing herself in her art. In the evenings, a glass of wine in her hand, Janey had joined in the conversation easily enough, everyone hugging one another goodnight at bedtime. But now …?

‘No Kate Moss, is she?’ the taxi driver said and Lissy gave him a look that said ‘you have over-stepped the mark, mate.’ ‘Shall I carry it inside?’

‘I’ll take it,’ Janey said, as though suddenly realising she was in charge of the situation. Taking a ten-pound note from the pocket of her coat she paid the driver. ‘Keep the change.’

‘Thanks, sweetheart,’ the driver said. ‘Now, you’ve got the card I gave you, yes? In case you need picking up after? And here’s one for you.’ He thrust a card in Lissy’s hand and then the taxi driver turned to go, Janey turning back to look after him as he went, before turning back to face Lissy. To Lissy’s alarm Janey had gone very pale, as though she might faint. And she’d begun to shiver.

‘Come on in,’ Lissy said. ‘I know it’s sunny but there’s a bit of an east wind today. Look at the waves!’

‘It’s beautiful. Really beautiful. The sea in all its moods is beautiful,’ Janey said looking back over her shoulder before Lissy grabbed her free arm and pulled her gently into the house.

‘Room first, or coffee first?’ Lissy asked once they were in the hall and she’d closed the front door. She put Janey’s small case – so light Lissy wondered if there was anything more than a toothbrush and a nightdress in it – down on the floor. She’d let Janey choose which of the sea-facing bedrooms she wanted. Three of the bedrooms in Strand House faced the sea, and three were at the back of the house looking out over rooftops with Dartmoor in the distance. ‘I’m so glad you could come. If you hadn’t put that remark on Facebook I’d never have known you were going to be on your own for Christmas. Now, you know, you and Stuart have separated.’

Lissy knew she was gabbling and had probably just said the wrong thing mentioning Stuart, because she saw Janey stiffen at the mention of his name, but she felt she had to say something, get Janey to open up a bit because she seemed frozen to the spot, frozen inside somehow.

‘Yes, yes we have,’ Janey said.

Lissy gave Janey another, quick, hug.

‘It gets better. I know it’s hard in the beginning. Very hard. You don’t know which way to turn and there’s no one there at night when the curtains are closed, to talk to about things. But you can always ring me, you know. And before I forget, that card you painted for me with the birds and the flowers and the clouds, well, it helped me more than you’d believe. I kept it by the front door and looked at it every time I went out and remembered to look at them all. Every day.’

‘Did you?’ Janey said.

‘Yes,’ Lissy said, a lump in her throat now. All sorts of memories of her split from Cooper were flooding back but Janey didn’t need to know that. Janey needed her support now – Lissy’s turn to return the favour. ‘So, what’s it going to be? Room first, or coffee first?’

‘Coffee, I think. Please.’

‘Coffee it is, then. That’s about all I’ve got in the house at the moment until the Waitrose delivery arrives. I think I’ve ordered just about everything we need to get us through four days of merrymaking, but if I haven’t then there are a couple of small supermarkets within walking distance up on the main road to Torquay. Follow me.’

‘The house is a lot bigger than I thought it would be,’ Janey said, once they were in the kitchen and seated at the island on high, black leather, bar stools. ‘I mean, the hall is vast, like something from a Dutch painting with the black and white tiles. We could play chess or draughts on those tiles.’

‘Now there’s an idea!’ Lissy said. ‘If only I could find an outdoor chess set to play it with!’

‘And this kitchen, Lissy. Words fail me almost.’

‘A bit big for one, isn’t it?’ Lissy laughed. ‘When Vonny was alive we used to joke that we needed a map to get from the larder to the kitchen sink! And there’s a bit of an echo when I’m in here on my own.’

She was finding the conversation, if not stilted, then hardish work. As hostess she felt the onus was on her to make her guest happy, make her laugh, and Janey most definitely wasn’t happy in Lissy’s view, and neither was she laughing. They had a shared history, if a very small one, and one that Lissy hoped they could expand on because she liked Janey. The words ‘timid’ and ‘mouse’ sprang to mind and Lissy was cross for herself for thinking them because she couldn’t know what had happened in Janey’s life – apart from the split from her husband but she didn’t know the reasons for that, not yet and she’d wait for Janey to tell her. Hopefully Christmas and a few drinks with the others, and some good food inside her – how had Janey got so thin? – would change the dynamic of their friendship, of all their friendships. Janey had taken off her coat and it had been all Lissy could do not to gasp when she saw how thin her friend was; how her collar bones stuck out making it look as though the navy jumper she was wearing was still on its hanger. She didn’t remember her being that thin.

‘An echo? Ooooh,’ Janey said, with a shiver. ‘I’d find that a bit creepy. I’ll have to remember never to be in here on my own.’

The kettle came to the boil and Lissy poured water onto the coffee grounds in the cafétière, depressed the plunger and filled two mugs that had shells and pebbles and seaweed fronds painted on them.

‘Here we go, then,’ Lissy said. ‘Once we’ve drunk this – no biscuits yet, I’m afraid – you can come and choose the room you’d like and then we’ll go into town and see if we can hunt down some Christmas decorations.’

‘Okay. Fine,’ Janey said. She sipped tentatively at her hot drink.

‘If I haven’t left it a bit too late to be thinking about Christmas decorations. I mean, how rubbish am I? Christmas Eve tomorrow and not a bauble up yet.’

‘You’re not rubbish, Lissy,’ Janey said in a very quiet voice. ‘I couldn’t quite believe it when you asked me to spend Christmas with you. It’s more than generous of you and I … I can’t contribute much. Towards the food and drink or anything. I did say.’

Janey looked as though she was on the verge of tears so Lissy slid off her bar stool and stood beside her friend, putting an arm around her shoulders and squeezing firmly.

‘And I did say the whole Christmas period is on me because I’ve been left this very generous gift of this very wonderful house, and enough money for us to have a very lovely time. And that is what we’re going to do. I’m not saying a bit of help setting the table and filling the dishwasher wouldn’t go amiss but other than that all I want of you is that you have a happy time. Deal?’

Lissy placed a hand under Janey’s chin and turned her face so she was looking at her.

‘Deal,’ Janey said, her powder blue eyes glassy with unshed tears.





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