Also by Katie Fforde

Living Dangerously

The Rose Revived

Wild Designs

Stately Pursuits

Life Skills

Thyme Out

Artistic Licence

Highland Fling

Paradise Fields

Restoring Grace

Flora’s Lot

Practically Perfect

Going Dutch

Wedding Season

Love Letters

A Perfect Proposal

Summer of Love

Recipe for Love

A French Affair

The Perfect Match

A Vintage Wedding

A Summer at Sea

A Secret Garden

This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

Epub ISBN: 9781473539211

Version 1.0

Published by Century 2017

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Copyright © Katie Fforde Ltd 2017

Extract from A Country Escape © Katie Fforde 2017

Illustrations by Jacqueline Bissett

Author lettering: www.ruthrowland.co.uk

Katie Fforde has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this Work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

First published in Great Britain by Century in 2017

Century
The Penguin Random House Group Limited
20 Vauxhall Bridge Road, London, SW1V 2SA

www.penguin.co.uk

Century is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com

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

ISBN 9781780896915

It was Saturday morning, the day before Christmas Eve, and the mild, damp Christmas weather had suddenly bucked its ideas up and turned cold. Romy was suddenly freezing.

She’d been selling Christmas decorations in an old station building at a bustling Cotswold Christmas market and she’d done well in the first two hours. But now, in spite of wearing masses of layers under her leather jacket (including her not-very-cool thermal vest), two pairs of socks under long-haired sheepskin boots, a pair of stripy leg warmers over her jeans (a later addition, courtesy of one of the other stalls), and a furry trapper hat, the cold was beginning to penetrate.

She looked longingly at the refreshments stall that was doing great business. She’d been up at the crack of dawn and she’d only managed to grab a banana and muesli bar on her way out. Also, her boiler had just broken down so the shower had been tepid and the flat freezing. A cup of something hot, and maybe a bacon butty, would give her stamina for the day ahead. But if she ran over to buy a cup of tea she might miss valuable sales from the group of people, mostly men, who’d just entered the building.

Although it was only about twelve o’clock they’d obviously just come from the pub. They probably thought they were getting their Christmas shopping done early, with Christmas Eve still to go, perhaps safe in the knowledge that they only had one present to buy. Adoring wives and girlfriends no doubt would be buying presents for mothers, sisters, ‘Auntie Flo’s and anyone else necessary.

She noticed a man come in behind the group and at first she couldn’t tell if he was with them, or on his own. He was wearing motorbike leathers and had a sort of swagger about him. He had slightly long, dark blond hair and walked with determination. As he didn’t appear to be drunk and wasn’t wearing a crumpled suit, she decided he was on his own.

Romy reckoned he was here to buy a present for his girlfriend or his wife, and so she gave herself a minute to stop finding him rather attractive and think about her own boyfriend. Gus was waiting for her in France, with his parents, getting ready for a big family Christmas. She looked around her stall, wondering, for the seven-thousandth time, if his family would appreciate her presents, samples of which she was now selling. There was a difference between ‘home-made’ and ‘handmade’ and she was going for the ‘handmade, personalised look’.

She’d met Gus’s expat parents, who lived in France but didn’t seem to speak a lot of French or have many French friends. His two sisters she had checked out thoroughly on Facebook. They were nice-looking, sensibly dressed and looked like advertisements for Boden with their shiny blond children, whose white teeth were evidence of regular trips to the dentist and limited access to fizzy drinks.

For the elder sister’s three children, Romy had done a set of frosted-glass jam jars with silhouettes of Mummy and Daddy, all three children, and the dog (a Labrador). She had been aiming for a generic child but actually she felt she had achieved a likeness. It wasn’t an ideal present to be carrying on a budget airline – she hadn’t wanted to spend extra money on hold luggage – but she thought they were nice. For the younger sister’s two little boys she had painted plain white lantern fairy lights with figures from Minecraft. Finally both women, and their mother, were getting silk scarves, hand-painted by Romy. Perfect for carry-on luggage. She would buy presents for the husbands at the duty-free shop. Alcohol was always acceptable.

As she ran through the checklist in her head whilst surveying her stall, Romy felt a swell of pride at her handiwork. She’d been working so hard this season, doing all the local markets and Christmas fairs, selling her Christmas decorations. It wasn’t a major earner but, apart from the rent for the stall, it was almost all profit. And it topped up what she earned from her part-time job while she was doing a master’s. She was proud of the decorations and only hoped Gus’s parents would appreciate them when they opened their presents.

Thinking about them as a family she reflected that while they were all kind enough, they were very hearty and, going by the parents, had loud voices. She didn’t really object to the volume, it was the backslapping and teasing that was only just the right side of cruel that bothered her. And they all thought that anything not entirely practical, like art, was a complete waste of time. To make matters worse Romy knew she had only been invited to France because Gus had told his family her own parents were going to New Zealand for Christmas. Really she would have preferred to spend Christmas with friends, but she would have felt ungrateful turning down the invitation.

Gus was lovely, of course, and Romy had been mad about him when they’d first got together. But a year in she sometimes wondered if she’d only been attracted to him because he was so different from her previous boyfriend. He’d once admitted to her that his friends were all a bit shocked that he’d chosen such an arty, indie type while at the same time envying him for having such a gorgeous girlfriend. When they first met he had asked her rather anxiously if she had any tattoos. She hadn’t, but his question made her think of getting one, a bat perhaps, on her wrist. This trip to France would be a bit of test – if their relationship survived they were probably meant to be together. She wished she didn’t feel so ambivalent about it all: the Christmas and the relationship.

‘Here,’ said a voice. ‘I thought you could use this. You look cold.’

It was the man in leathers, handing her a mug of spicy hot chocolate.

She took it with a grateful smile. ‘Thank you so much,’ she said. ‘I certainly could use it. I hardly had time for a cup of instant coffee this morning and my boiler has broken.’ She took a heart-warming sip. ‘Please, take a look round the stall and have something free. For your girlfriend, maybe?’

She hated herself for what must look like a blatant bit of digging but it was too late.

‘I have actually got her present,’ said the man. Judging by his expression, he seemed fairly confident that his girlfriend would like it. Romy knew it was silly to be disappointed – it wasn’t as if she was free herself – but somehow she was.

‘Well, that’s good! Most men don’t even start thinking about it until Christmas Eve so you’re well ahead.’

‘I do need some Christmas decorations though; my house is a bit of a shell at the moment. My girlfriend’s been having an early Christmas with her family in Connecticut. I want the place to look amazing when she comes back. Make her really fall in love with it.’

‘Well,’ said Romy, having now sipped enough hot chocolate to warm her up. ‘Christmas decs are what I specialise in. All made by me. And there are these, in case you missed them.’ She gestured to a jar on the floor that contained white-painted branches. On the branches were decorations made to look like hot-air balloons. Every one had a single battery light so from a distance the branches looked as if they were dotted with stars. Close up you could see the individually painted egg-like shapes.

He inclined his head. He had a slightly unkempt look that seemed genuine and not deliberate. If it was deliberate, it was extremely effective. ‘I have to say, I was drawn to them when I first came in.’

‘But you stopped at the coffee stall first?’

‘I saw you stamping up and down and flapping your arms. I guessed you were cold.’ He was very twinkly, and impossible not to respond to.

Romy laughed. ‘Was I that obvious? I am sorry. I think this stall is in a bit of a draught or something. Everyone else seems fine.’ In spite of his ‘bad-boy’ good looks, he had a very kind smile. She experienced a pang of jealousy for the girl who had parents in Connecticut. ‘So!’ she said briskly. ‘What would you like?’

‘I think I’d like all of them,’ he said after some thought.

‘I can – happily – give you one, but not all of them.’

‘And I – happily – will pay for all of them. I’ll have my one free one too, of course. And everything else you have left. I want to make a big impression.’

He grinned. Romy coughed and looked down at her decorations. He was far too attractive for her own good, she decided, but as a customer he was pretty much perfect.

‘Well, the hot-air balloons are five pounds each,’ she said. This had put people off, although the work and effort that had gone into them had been enormous. ‘The bats are four pounds fifty and the jam jars with the tea lights – although they are extremely pretty – are only a pound.’

‘In which case, I won’t have a free balloon. A hot chocolate isn’t worth a fiver.’

‘Have one of these then,’ suggested Romy. She held out a model bat made out of wire and black tights. She’d made several but they hadn’t sold well. Bats were rather niche, she discovered.

‘Oh, a bat!’ he said, sounding excited. ‘I like bats!’

‘You do? Then have a couple of them. No one else seems to like them. I suppose they’re more Halloween than Christmas. I think they’re rather sweet.’

‘I like them because they got me my house and music studio cheap.’

‘Clever bats! How did they learn that trick? It’s one I’d like to learn myself.’

He laughed. ‘Sadly they didn’t do it by being clever, only by nesting in the roof of the buildings, and as they’re protected they can’t be removed. And not everyone likes bats.’

‘So what sort of a house is it? If bats want to live there? It’s not an old church or anything, is it?’ She had a vision of bats streaming from a narrow arched window at dusk, with Dracula following – from a larger window, obviously.

‘It’s an old mill but it was empty for years and years and the woods have grown up around it. It’s going to be amazing when it’s finished.’

‘Sounds wonderful! I’ve always wanted to live in the woods, to wake up with the sound of the birds singing, to see the dappled sunlight filtering through the branches.’ She stopped. ‘Not in winter, maybe!’ She laughed and pulled off her hat. ‘It comes of having been nicknamed Goldilocks,’ she said as her blonde curls revealed themselves.

‘All is now clear!’ he said, joining in her laughter. ‘You were destined to live in the woods!’

‘I have thought of dyeing my hair black so I could pretend to be a bat. Then finding myself a home in the woods might be easier.’

‘Don’t do that!’ He sounded horrified.

‘No, it’s all right. A friend did it once and it took ages and hundreds of pounds for her to realise that, actually, blondes do have more fun. But now, your decorations? How many did you say you wanted?’

‘I want them all.’

‘Really? There are ten balloons, which is fifty quid straight off. I’d give you a discount of course.’

‘No need for that. Just add up how much it all costs.’

Romy did the calculation. ‘Let’s call it eighty quid.’

He had done the sum a bit quicker than she had. ‘I make it ninety-five.’

‘No, with the discount for quantity, it’s eighty quid.’

‘Ninety!’

She shook her head. ‘Eighty is my final offer.’

‘Ninety! I want the branches as well.’

‘The branches are free. You could find your own branches – especially if you live in a wood!’

‘I suppose, but then I’d have to find white paint and a brush. I’d rather have yours.’

‘Go on then.’ This man had bought her entire stock, which meant she could knock off early and pack. Her flight was horrendously early in the morning and she had to catch a coach to the airport even earlier.

He frowned. ‘I’ve just thought. I came on my bike. How would I get the branches home?’

‘Well, how are you going to get the hot-air balloons and all the other decorations home?’

‘In my top box but I couldn’t manage the branches.’

‘Then man up and make new ones! You wouldn’t have to paint them white. Stick them in a bucket or something, like I’ve used. Fill it with sand, or earth or stones, and add the hot air balloons. That’s your Christmas tree done. Just add presents and chocolate.’

He didn’t respond but spent several seconds looking at her speculatively. ‘Actually, I wonder if I could ask you a huge favour?’

‘Ask away. I can say no.’ But realised she probably wouldn’t.

‘I need to get some groceries – more than I can fit in the top box really. I was going to try and get the shopping delivered or hope I found a friend to get it back for me.’ He paused. ‘But would you take the groceries and the decorations?’

Romy didn’t think for long. Apart from anything else – and there were a lot of things – he had bought her entire stock. Delivering it wasn’t too much of an ask.

‘OK, I’ll do it. In exchange for a tour of your house.’

He gave a shout of laughter. ‘Done! But don’t expect anything too much. It’s a work in progress. And now, let me pay you …?’

‘Romy,’ she supplied.

‘Felix. It’s been great doing business with you,’ he said, passing over some cash.

She accepted the notes he put into her hand and slipped them into her bag. Now she would have some spending money in France. ‘You go and do your shopping.’

As Romy followed Felix in her car she felt skittish and excited. Because of Felix, she’d have extra time to pack for her trip to France tomorrow. She needed extra time. None of her clothes seemed suitable and her presents were bulky. And as Gus’s parents had been kind enough to invite her for Christmas, she didn’t want to shock them by wearing clothes they thought too outlandish. Her natural style was a bit Goth-like. It was going to be hard for her to fit in with the turned-up collars, Liberty prints and cashmere cardigans.

But she knew, as she followed the motorbike along the lanes, that she was using her excitement at packing as an excuse to cover her faint guilt at visiting a man to see his house, even in daylight. If he’d been an unattractive toad it would have been different; she wouldn’t have felt guilty at all. But he was very attractive indeed. And not remotely a toad.

The bike turned off the Cotswold lane and she followed it along a tree-lined path. The trees grew thicker and became actual woods. The sky had darkened a bit as well and she knew she didn’t have long before the daylight would be gone. She parked where he indicated, in a large lay-by.

‘Oh wow! Real woods!’ she said when she had got out. ‘It’s beautiful!’ It was also quite a lot colder amongst the trees, and much crisper. In the town it had been chilly but damp.

‘It is quite isolated but I like it.’

There was emphasis on the ‘I’. Romy felt he should have said, ‘We like it.’ His words indicated his New England girlfriend felt a bit differently. But Romy was probably imagining things.

‘Come on in and I’ll give you the tour.’

‘Let’s get your stuff unpacked first.’

When she’d seen the decorations safely into the house, she took one of the food bags into the kitchen end of the big, open-plan room. There weren’t any proper units, just a stainless-steel sink and a big cooker flanked by a couple of old cupboards, but she loved the way it was separate but also part of the room. It had so much potential it was hard not to squeak enthusiastically. The bag clinked revealingly as she set it down on a makeshift worktop.

‘You don’t seem to have bought a lot of food, considering it’s Christmas and people usually buy three times as much as they’re likely to eat,’ she said and then wondered if she’d sounded nosy and rude.

He didn’t seem to object. ‘Well, I was going to friends for Christmas and Boxing Day. I reckon it’s best to buy everything when it’s half price after Christmas.’

‘Cheapskate! You’re happy to bum meals off your friends so you can buy everything cheaper afterwards!’ She was only pretending to be shocked. Really she thought it was a good idea.

‘Hey! I was going to take both lots brandy, port, some of that vile cream liqueur that my girlfriend likes and some very nice red wine.’

Romy put down the box that contained food. She liked Bailey’s herself and wondered if Gus would have bought her some. She suspected his parents would have referred to it as a ‘stickie’ and disapproved.

‘OK,’ she said, ‘let’s get your Christmas tree set up.’

They assembled Romy’s painted branches in the corner by the huge glass wall that looked out on to the woods. It took a little while to add all the decorations as he’d bought quite a few but the effect was wonderful.

‘This is lovely!’ Romy said when they’d lit all the little battery tea lights. ‘Handier if they were connected and you could just put them on with a switch but I designed them as individual decorations. I didn’t expect them to be sold as a job lot.’

‘So what is it you do, exactly? When you’re not flogging tea lights?’

She laughed. He was teasing her and she liked that. ‘I’m doing a master’s in Art in the Environment. I’ve deviated slightly. I set out doing something sensible but got waylaid.’ She laughed again. ‘My boyfriend thinks I’m mad to have given up on something that would have given me a qualification – to teach maybe – but when I realised I could do an MA in a subject I loved, I had to give it a go.’ It was why she was always looking for ways to make a bit of extra money.

‘I think that sounds very cool,’ said Felix, looking at her intently.

Embarrassed, she said, ‘It does mean I’m always broke, of course. But I don’t really mind.’

He seemed to pull himself together. ‘Now let me show you my house before the light goes.’

The house was enormous and luxurious – or it would be when it was finished. The kitchen was positioned so it got all the views. Skylights above it meant it also captured every scrap of natural light. The sitting room had a huge wood burner, several tatty old sofas and not much other furniture if you overlooked the piles and piles of vinyl records. The walls were stone and desperately needed some large artworks (Romy’s opinion, and she kept it to herself).

Upstairs there were three bedrooms with gorgeous bathrooms attached, with baths looking out into the trees: wet rooms with plenty of room for two; and a master bedroom so beautiful it made Romy catch her breath with admiration and envy.

‘It’s amazing,’ she said. ‘Absolutely amazing.’

‘It will be,’ said Felix. ‘Sadly only the downstairs shower is plumbed in, the sitting room is still a bit of a mess and the kitchen hasn’t even been started.’ He sounded as if he were quoting someone. ‘Oh, and the bedroom smells of bats.’

‘Does it? I didn’t notice. Mind you, I don’t know what bats smell of. And a gorgeous scented candle would fix that, wouldn’t it?’

He shrugged.

‘Seriously, something from Jo Malone could make the bedroom smell heavenly. Your girlfriend will love it then.’

He didn’t answer for a moment and then said, ‘I hope so. Do you want to see the studio?’

Now she felt bad for suggesting the candle. It was none of her business. She was glad that he had changed the subject. ‘Oh, yes please.’

‘Though it’s for musicians, not artists,’ he added.

‘I’m not fussy.’

Crossing the cobbled yard from the house Romy became aware it had got a lot colder, even since they’d been in the house. She slipped a little on a stone and she hoped it was water, not ice. She determined not to linger too long in the studio. She should get home and pack. The days were short and she didn’t want to be driving through the dark woods in the dusk. And for some reason being at Felix’s house in the evening rather than just after lunch would seem even more wrong than it felt already. And it felt wrong, she knew, because she fancied him.

The studio was far more complete than the house. It had beautiful wood floors, strange square boxes attached to the walls which she assumed were for soundproofing, a huge curved desk with hundreds of switches on it and a grand piano. There were some photographs of bands on the wall, one of which Romy recognised. Romy couldn’t even guess how much it would have cost but it didn’t look cheap.

She felt a flash of sympathy for his girlfriend. His priorities were for the studio, but if that was how he made his money it was fair enough.

‘I expect you’re thinking that I spent too much on the studio and not enough on the house,’ said Felix, a touch defensively. ‘But it is how I earn my living: producing music.’

‘That’s just what I was thinking,’ said Romy. ‘After all, you’ve got to earn money, you can’t just spend it all on a fancy house.’

He grinned suddenly, his teeth flashing. ‘Although part of the reason a lot of the house is unfinished is because a mate was doing the plumbing and he went and had a baby and he ran out of spare time.’

‘Unusual,’ said Romy solemnly.

‘I meant – you knew I meant – that his wife had a baby. But you are right. I should stop being a cheapskate and pay someone to do it.’

‘I absolved you of being a cheapskate when you told me how much alcohol you were giving to your friends.’

‘That’s all right then.’

‘Look—’

They both spoke at once, but Felix motioned for Romy to continue.

‘I really should be heading off,’ she said regretfully.

Felix said, ‘Why don’t I make you some tea or something? And a sandwich?’ She wasn’t sure, but Romy had a feeling he didn’t want their time together to end either. And she was hungry. It had been a horrendously early start and her banana and muesli bar felt like a long time ago.

‘I’ve got bacon,’ he added temptingly.

Romy succumbed. ‘That would be great. Then I really must go.’

At Felix’s suggestion, Romy lit the wood burner while Felix made bacon butties. He had proper rolls and toasted them lightly before adding the bacon. He also had a full range of sauces and while Romy liked hers plain, it was nice to be offered things. She also accepted a mug of tea.

They ate and drank their tea in front of the fire and the conversation flowed easily. They had so much in common: a love of the outdoors, bats, music, the same sense of humour and outlook on life in general. Romy felt so at ease; she could hardly believe they’d only met a few hours before.

‘So, tell me why you’ve got a picture of Flying Angels on your wall in the studio?’ she asked.

‘The Angels? Old friends. They come here to rehearse sometimes and do a little mixing. Do you know them?’

‘Well, they are quite local. I heard them in a pub.’ She’d taken Gus along and although he pretended to like them she hadn’t been convinced.

‘That’s cool! They’ve got a gig coming up. We should go and see it together.’

‘Actually, we shouldn’t,’ she said, putting her mug on the floor by the fireplace and getting to her feet. ‘And I should go home now.’

She didn’t trust herself – and possibly not him either – to keep things friendly. She needed to get herself out of there before something happened that they would both regret.

‘Are you sure? Are you sure you have to go?’ He got up too and seemed distressed at the thought of her leaving.

‘I am. I’ve got a ridiculously early flight in the morning. And the coach before that. But it has been – lovely. I love your house in the woods and I really didn’t think the bedroom smelt of bat poo.’ She had added this to lighten the tone but it seemed a bit too intimate now.

He walked her to the door and on up the hill to where her car was parked. He still didn’t seem to want her to go. And she walked as quickly as she could to make sure she did leave and didn’t give up on Gus, her flight to France and everything sensible in her life.

‘Well, goodbye,’ she said, doing up her hat.

‘Goodbye,’ he said. He looked as if he might kiss her cheek but she stepped back so he couldn’t.

She got in the car and pulled out of the lay-by.

She found tears pricking her eyes as she drove slowly away. That was possibly why she didn’t see the bend coming, just as she hit a patch of black ice, and when the road curved her car went straight, over the slight camber and into a tree. Because she was going so slowly she wasn’t hurt, but watching the front of her car crumple, as if in slow motion, was acutely painful.

Her car was above the ground on the driver’s side, but she could still get out and lower herself down. Then she clambered up the bank and back on to the track.

Felix was there, panting. ‘I was watching from the upstairs window, I saw what was happening. Are you OK?’ He took her into his arms without waiting for her to reply.

It was lovely but it didn’t help. She felt more like crying than ever. ‘I’m fine,’ she said huskily.

Then her phone pinged; she could hear it in her car.

‘I’ll get it,’ said Felix and ran off.

She was calm by the time he got back. Her father had bought her membership of a rescue service. They would pull her out and the car was probably drivable. It would be fine.

‘Here’s your bag,’ said Felix. ‘I didn’t want to go in your bag and get your phone.’

There were two text messages. The first was from the airline to say her flight had been cancelled due to ice on the runways. The second one was from Gus, who’d obviously also found out about the cancellation.

‘So soz about your flight! Nightmare! You’ll have to try and rebook and come over the day after Boxing Day. But we’re all leaving the day after that so maybe it’s too far to come just for a day? You’ll find some local friends to have Crimbo with? Catch up afterwards, OK? And very merry Christmas to you, lovely girl.’

‘What is it?’ Felix asked. ‘What’s the matter?’

‘My flight is cancelled due to black ice. And Gus, who obviously has the app on his phone and so knew that, suggests I have Christmas with local friends.’ She paused. ‘I probably can’t even drive to any of them now. I wonder if I could get a taxi?’ If she could, it would cost a fortune.

‘Spending it with local friends is a brilliant idea!’ said Felix. ‘Spend it with me! We’re friends, I hope, and you couldn’t get more local.’

While she couldn’t help smiling, Romy said, ‘I can’t. And you’re supposed to be going to friends yourself.’

‘I could cancel them – they only asked me because they thought I was going to be on my own. Why not spend Christmas with me? Your flight is cancelled. What else are you going to do? Your car’s not drivable and a taxi would cost an arm and a leg.’

‘But you have a girlfriend. I should at least try to get home.’ She remembered then about the broken boiler, no heat, no hot water and no landlord to fix it. (He’d gone away for Christmas.)

‘Yes, but she’s not due here until just before New Year and nothing bad will happen. You have my absolute word on that – scout’s honour. We’ll have Christmas together as friends.’

Suppressing a giggle at the idea of this music-producing biker boy being a boy scout, she looked for another reason to leave. ‘But what about my car? I can’t just leave it nose to nose with a tree.’

He smiled. ‘I don’t have a sticker on my motorbike but my other car is a Land Rover – you need one living here. When the black ice has gone, I’ll pull you out, no problem.’

‘It’s Christmas Eve tomorrow. Maybe, if the weather improves, I could go home then.’

‘Didn’t you say your boiler was broken? You want to go back to a cold house?’

‘The boiler heats the hot water, too,’ she admitted.

‘Then stay! I promise nothing will happen that would worry either of our partners. I really respect your feelings about this and they’re my feelings too. Cheating is wrong.’

She felt a smile of happiness spread over her face. She had no alternative. She pushed aside the guilt and allowed the bubble of happiness to rise. She didn’t have to spend Christmas with her boyfriend’s hearty family but instead with a lovely man who was fun and interested in the same things as she was. She couldn’t believe her luck, really.

‘I do have to say,’ she said as they walked, arm in arm (in case she was wobbly after her prang), ‘I was rather dreading staying with Gus’s family. They’re terribly kind and all but I don’t think I’d have fitted in. They’re very into quizzes.’

‘I like a quiz myself,’ said Felix. ‘Aren’t you keen?’

‘No! I like them too. But I’m hopeless at things I feel I should know about. I’m great at art and artists, indie bands, stuff like that. But mountain ranges? No!’

‘But if there was one in the paper, you’d give it a go?’

‘Only if competition rules don’t apply.’

‘You mean you google the answers?’ He seemed a bit shocked.

‘No – at least, not until the end when you’re really desperate. I meant no one saying, “Didn’t they teach you geography at that arty school of yours?”’

‘They didn’t say that!’ Felix was appalled.

‘To be fair, they didn’t. But I was worried that it was the sort of thing they would have said.’

He pulled her closer towards him in a little hug. ‘Idiot. It won’t be like that if it’s just us. Oh …’ He paused, allowing Romy a couple of seconds to enjoy the ‘just us’ part of his sentence.

‘What?’

‘I called you an idiot. Not very friendly.’

‘But you said it in a friendly way. It’s fine.’

She felt a little pang of loss as they got to the house and he let her go.

‘There’s just one thing,’ he said as they went in. ‘I have an album to finish working on tomorrow. I really can’t take the day off. Will you be OK looking after yourself?’

‘I’ll be fine,’ she said. Then she had an idea. ‘I know!’ she said enthusiastically. ‘Why don’t you give me a job to do on the house? I’m good at those practical things – far better than I am at quizzes.’

‘You don’t have to – you could just veg out in front of the telly.’

‘No! I’d rather do something. No point in making Christmas decs now, and my plumbing skills are non-existent, but if you’ve got something that’s maybe a bit delicate for your average builder? I could perhaps do that?’

‘Actually,’ he said slowly, as if pennies were dropping in his mind, ‘I have some lovely Art Nouveau tiles that were taken out of a bomb-damaged house in London. They’ve got cement on the back and they’re all fairly damaged but I think they’d look lovely in the master bathroom. I know it’s all very modern and high end at the moment but a little touch of Arts and Crafts would just make it a bit different.’

‘I’d love to do that! Working with reclaimed things is what I like doing best. And if I’m doing a job I won’t feel so – guilty.’

‘I’ll never give you any cause to feel guilty – or me to feel guilty. I promise.’

‘But I’ll feel better if I’m contributing in some way. My being here will be justified.’

‘I think we should open one of the bottles,’ said Felix. ‘To celebrate. Then we should eat something.’

‘I know what I want!’ said Romy. ‘The sickly cream liqueur that your girlfriend likes and you obviously hate.’

‘No argument from me. We won’t be fighting over that one. With or without ice?’

‘Too cold for ice. On its own, please.’

‘I’ll have a whisky mac. It’s my designated Christmas drink.’

They brought their drinks to the fireside, taking a sofa each. Romy had removed her boots at the door and was happy to be able to snuggle up.

‘I’ll get you another pair of socks, in case you’re cold,’ said Felix, and leapt up from his own sofa.

Romy loved the way he moved quickly, gracefully. Gus was a bit ponderous for someone of his age, she reflected.

Felix came back not just with socks, but with a lovely mohair blanket. ‘I bought this locally,’ he said. ‘It felt wrong to leave it in the shop. It was so beautiful. Sadly,’ he added, ‘apparently it’s not the right colour.’ He paused. ‘Wrong green.’

‘As an artist, I think it’s a perfect green. I never get why people seem to want everything to be the same colour. Brides who insist that their bridesmaids have their shoes dyed to the exact shade of turquoise when they could just wear bright pink shoes. It would look better.’

Felix looked at her, surprised. ‘So you don’t think everything needs to match?’

‘Definitely not,’ she said, ‘but I do have to tell you that, according to the pictures on Facebook, Gus’s parents are quite into matching.’ She flushed guiltily, feeling suddenly disloyal to people who had, after all, been kind enough to invite her for Christmas. ‘I ought to check my Facebook. See how they’re getting on over there in la belle France.’ She paused. ‘Can I use your computer?’

When he didn’t immediately reply she wondered if she’d asked the wrong thing. Some people didn’t like other people using their equipment. But she hadn’t got the impression he was like that.

‘You can use my computer, sure, but unless you’re going to write a novel or play Solitaire it won’t be a lot of use to you.’

‘Sorry?’

‘No internet. I can get Wi-Fi on my phone if I go right to the top of the hill, climb a tree and the wind is in the right direction but not down here.’

Romy laughed. ‘Really? I love that!’

‘It’s funny, but hellishly inconvenient. I usually just go to the pub and get it. I am sorting it,’ he went on, still awkward, ‘but it involves cabling. Is that a problem?’

She thought about it. Normally being without access to social media would have been shocking, but just now it seemed perfectly OK.

‘Not really.’

‘You can text all right, so we’re not completely cut off from the world. But obviously, online shopping is out of the question. Hence my trip to town earlier.’

‘You mean I won’t be able to shop the sales on Christmas morning?’

He’d got her measure now and was laughing. ‘No, you won’t. You’ll just have to open your stocking like every other civilised person.’

‘Except I haven’t got a stocking. Father Christmas thinks I’m in France.’

‘You may have to have it late this year.’

She nodded. ‘What about you?’

He frowned. ‘Me too. I sent a stocking over to Connecticut in my girlfriend’s luggage – last year we both spent a lot of time doing them.’

‘Maybe she’ll bring it back with her, when she’s home.’

He frowned again. ‘Actually, I think she is home.’

After a few moments she said, ‘You mean, back with her parents?’

He shook his head. ‘Not her parents so much, as Connecticut – America.’

‘I think I’d find it hard to emigrate,’ said Romy. ‘I mean, Gus’s parents can afford a mansion in France and it looks amazing. But I’d feel cut off from family and friends. My own culture.’

‘Lauren seemed keen to be British when she first came over. Her family is very grand – definitely went over on the Mayflower, or one of those other early ships, so I think she felt she was coming back to the Old Country. But more recently – well, I’m not so sure.’

‘Shall we find something nice to watch on telly?’ she said after a little while. All this talk of Gus and Lauren was a necessary but unwelcome reminder that she and Felix had other halves to consider.

‘Or a film!’ His enthusiasm returned. ‘I have a zillion DVDs.’

‘Oh, no Netflix?’

He shook his head. ‘No internet. Come and look through the selection and then we need to think about food. It’s Christmas. It’s the law.’

‘I’ve got some lovely Cheddar in my car,’ said Romy. ‘It was going to be a present for Gus’s parents. They miss Cheddar, apparently, in France.’

‘I’ve got some basics, potatoes, some tins of things.’

‘We’ll be fine!’ Romy had been a student for a few years now. She was confident that she could make something tasty out of random ingredients, even if Felix couldn’t. ‘Let’s have a look at these DVDs then.’

He did have a vast collection, kept in shoeboxes. There were some lovely old films she’d either never seen or hadn’t seen for ages, and box sets of TV series she’d never caught up with.

‘I think it’s got to be Miracle on 34^th Street,’ said Felix. ‘It’s Christmas. Then we’ll make dinner.’

When he’d set it all up he plonked himself on the sofa next to her. ‘I’m not snuggling up or anything, but if I sit over there I’ll get a terrible crick in the neck.’

Romy wished he could snuggle up. She couldn’t imagine anything nicer.

‘Do you know, I’d never seen that before?’ said Romy when the film had ended. ‘It’s lovely!’ She tried to wipe her eyes without him seeing, and was caught out.

‘It’s OK. You’re supposed to cry.’

‘And I did! Now I’m hungry!’

‘Let’s make something to eat.’

Gus wasn’t a great one for sharing a kitchen. He did like to cook, with a lot of knife sharpening and banging, and throwing used pans into the sink, but he didn’t want Romy there while he did it. Felix, however, was much more relaxed in the kitchen. He was happy for Romy to chop and peel, or, when it came to the curry sauce, stir and taste and fiddle with the seasoning. (Gus despised tasting food while you cooked it. His theory was that if you knew what you were doing, you knew how the food tasted.)

Felix was even very forgiving when Romy added far too much chilli paste, insisting, between gulps of water, that he liked a bit of heat – especially at Christmas.

‘What would you like to drink with that?’ he asked Romy, when she’d found some yoghurt in the back of the fridge and had managed to cool it down a bit.

‘Have you got any lager?’

He nodded. ‘Over in the studio. I’ll go and get it. It’ll be nice and cold.’

While he was getting it, Romy took her plate with her to the sofa. It was so cosy there. Could she have done this with Gus? she wondered. And she decided no. Curry on your lap in front of the TV would never be allowed at Christmas, and if they had it at any other time, Gus would be watching sport. Romy didn’t mind this so much, but she hated it when Gus kept getting up and punching the air, shouting ‘yes!’ or ‘come on!’ He would bounce back down on to the sofa, jolting her out of her little doze.

Felix sat down next to her and handed her a beer. ‘So, what do you fancy now? Ever seen Northern Exposure? It’s the best! I had to get this from Germany to get the original soundtrack.’

‘Music is important, isn’t it?’ Romy took another mouthful of curry and then a sip of beer to cool her mouth.

‘Very. Not everyone gets that.’

She didn’t ask if Lauren got that. She’d be hoping for the answer to be ‘no’. That would have been wrong for so many reasons.

Romy yawned widely. ‘Oh, sorry!’ She glanced up at the big clock that hung on one of the walls. It was only ten o’clock. She felt guilty. It was rude to yawn.

‘Early start? Because of the market?’

‘It was pretty early. And I was up late last night making things.’

‘It was definitely worth it,’ he said, indicating the branches with their little balloon lights. ‘But I think you need to sleep now. The thing is I’ll need to change the sheets on my bed—’

‘I’d much prefer to sleep on the sofa,’ she said quickly. ‘I’ll be very happy here. The sofa is comfy and the fire is cosy. I’ve always wanted to have a fire in my bedroom, so to speak, and now I’ve got one!’

Everything she said was true but really she didn’t want him to go to a lot of trouble so she could sleep in his bed. She felt it would inevitably involve thoughts she didn’t want expressed. If she didn’t go near his bedroom she’d be less likely to imagine what it would be like if he didn’t have a girlfriend and she didn’t have Gus.

He frowned and considered. ‘Oh, OK. It would be easier because I’m not sure if I’ve actually got any clean bedding to go on the bed. I’ll put it in the machine and then back on when it’s washed for when Lauren comes home.’

‘She’ll appreciate that.’ Romy certainly would. It wasn’t the kind of gesture that would occur to Gus.

‘In the meantime, I’ll find a sleeping bag and some blankets.’

It took a little time to do everything needed to get Romy ready for bed. She didn’t have a toothbrush and although Lauren had left hers, she’d rather her teeth all fell out than borrow it. She did borrow a smear of moisturiser though. Then she wished she hadn’t. It smelt wrong. Lovely, but wrong.

The most intimate moment was when they were putting out the balloon lights, which took ages. When the last one had been switched off they were suddenly in darkness, very close.

Romy longed to move forward an inch. She knew he would put his arms round her and kiss her. She desperately wanted him to. But she knew if he did it would shatter the innocence of their time together. As it was, nothing had happened that they couldn’t talk about to their partners. They’d watched telly, cooked, watched more telly and had a few drinks. All fine.

She sensed he felt the same because he didn’t move for a few seconds while they stood in the darkness. She couldn’t move first because she was in the corner, with her back to the big wall-sized window.

He cleared his throat. ‘Sometimes, when all the lights are out, I see deer coming out of the woods.’

‘I’d love to see that!’ she said quickly.

‘Maybe – if the roads are still icy and you have to stay – we could put food out for them? I don’t like to do it all the time in case they get dependent. But they do like it.’

‘What do they eat?’

He made a face. ‘Deer food. I buy it.’

‘Oh, can we do it? I’d so like to see them.’

‘It is magical.’

It was no longer so dark. Ambient light now glowed from outside as the moon escaped from behind a cloud for a moment.

‘I’ll just go and put a light on,’ said Felix. ‘Then we can go to bed.’

Romy was aware how safe she felt. She didn’t really know why, but she felt absolutely confident that Felix wouldn’t do anything she didn’t want.

Although she was blissfully comfortable on the sofa, her head on a pile of pillows, one of which had a silk pillowcase, her feet towards the fire that provided warmth and a comforting glow, it took Romy a little while to drop off, in spite of being very tired. For though she was aware of being very happy, she was also aware that this happiness was just for now, and for tomorrow night, if she didn’t make herself try and get home. Just for the moment she lay there, appreciating her lovely day, the fire, and – she realised with something of a shock – being away from Gus. He was a lovely guy, she knew. But he wasn’t the one for her.

Romy got up early on Christmas Eve so she could be showered and dressed before he appeared. She’d rinsed out her knickers the night before and put them on the wood burner to dry. She was pleased and a bit surprised to find them dry and she was feeling quite respectable when he appeared shortly afterwards.

‘You’re looking very bright and bushy-tailed. I hope that doesn’t mean you didn’t sleep and so had to get up at dawn?’

‘I wouldn’t be looking bright and bushy-tailed if I had. I’m up early because it’s a work day and I want to do some.’ She paused, aware she probably sounded a bit barking. ‘So I don’t feel guilty about being here.’

He nodded. ‘No need to feel guilty as we have discussed, but I’m pleased you’re keen.’

‘I’d love a place of my own to work on. You just need to show me what to do.’

‘Breakfast first, please!’

‘Oh, OK. Slacker.’

She loved her day. There was a barn next to Felix’s studio and this was where she worked. He lent her protective gloves, some headphones so she could hear music and there was a pile of lovely William De Morgan tiles to sort out.

He’d said he really only needed six but she had knocked off the old cement and glued six by lunchtime, so she made it her mission to do them all.

Felix didn’t look to see what she had achieved until he had declared his own work finished.

‘Oh wow! You’ve done a brilliant job! You’ve cleaned all the tiles and glued the broken bits. You’re amazing! Lauren would never have— Sorry, I shouldn’t mention her.’ He didn’t say anything for a couple of moments. ‘She wouldn’t have done that.’

‘It’s my thing, that’s all,’ said Romy, trying to conceal how pleased she was with his reaction.

‘Come into the house. I’m not going to let you lift another finger tonight!’ He paused. ‘I don’t know if you noticed, working so hard, but the track is still covered with black ice. There’ll be no point in trying to leave tomorrow.’

‘I’ll have to stay here then.’ In her head she counted the days: tonight, and tomorrow, Christmas Day. Unless the freezing weather continued, after that this happy idyll would end. She smiled at him, hoping he didn’t see the edge of sadness that she felt.

He was as good as his word. She showered and put on a pair of his joggers with a T-shirt and then his dressing gown. He seated her on the sofa in front of the wood burner with a very large glass of Bailey’s.

Later he replaced this with a glass of wine and a bowl of coq au vin and mashed potato.

‘The stew was in the freezer,’ he said. ‘Lauren isn’t fond of “messed around with” food. She’s a grilled fish and salad girl.’

‘And I bet she looks amazing because of it,’ said Romy.

‘Yes, yes she does.’

In spite of herself, Romy yawned widely. ‘Golly, you must be fed up with the sight of my fillings.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Have you got any?’

‘A couple.’

‘I wasn’t looking. Now, can I interest you in the Work, Rest and Play pudding? You’ve worked, I hope you’ll rest and tomorrow we’ll play.’

‘What is it?’

‘Melted Mars Bars with brandy and ice cream.’

Romy smiled. ‘O.M.G.’

‘I like it too. Lauren says—’

‘Lauren is beautiful because she doesn’t eat refined sugar and fat,’ said Romy quickly.

‘So why are you— Sorry,’ he said, and went to fetch the puddings.

Romy was aware of the smell of toast and the sound of a crackling fire. For a few seconds she let herself enjoy both things and work out why she was experiencing them. When she remembered, she had to stop a smile spreading over her features.

‘Hey! Happy Christmas! Sorry to wake you but I was excited.’

She smiled sleepily at Felix who was holding a pile of toast right by her nose and had obviously just made up the wood burner.

‘Why?’ Her voice was croaky and she was glad he wasn’t going to kiss her because her breath probably smelt. She’d done the best with her teeth the previous two nights, with a towel, some toothpaste and one of those bottle brush things you put between your teeth.

‘Because it’s Christmas! I always used to get into my parents’ bed on Christmas morning!’ His expression changed. ‘Oh God, sorry. That came out wrong.’

‘It’s OK,’ said Romy. ‘I understand completely. It’s Christmas morning. I should get up.’ Suddenly she became aware that she’d discarded his borrowed nightclothes when she got too hot during the night and was only wearing a strappy top and her knickers.

‘No! Wait there! I’ve got you a stocking.’

‘Really? But you didn’t know I was going to be here!’ While Felix was out of the way she grabbed the T-shirt he had lent her from the floor next to her and put it on. She felt better now she was more covered up although her muscles were a bit stiff from the work she’d done the day before.

He came back, looking pleased with himself, and handed her a mug of tea. ‘The fact I didn’t know you’d be here is what made doing the stocking such fun. I’ll go and get it,’ he went on. ‘It’s only little things.’