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First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2017

Copyright © Eve Devon 2017

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to be identified as the author of this work.

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available from the British Library

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The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are

the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to

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entirely coincidental.

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ISBN: 9780008211059

Ebook Edition © September 2017

Version 2017-10-02

For Dad. For teaching your children that the world is full of amazing places and that life is for living.

‘If adventures will not befall a young lady in her own village, she must seek them abroad’ – Jane Austen

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Epigraph

Chapter 1: The Grandfather of All Clock-Ups

Chapter 2: Crouching Dragon, Hidden Bartender

Chapter 3: Pity and Pitiful

Chapter 4: Think Positivi-Tea

Chapter 5: Geeks Bearing GIFs

Chapter 6: Season’s Greetings

Chapter 7: Making Cow Eyes

Chapter 8: The Art of Conversation

Chapter 9: And the Fairy-Light Dawns…

Chapter 10: Grand Designs

Chapter 11: Heart of Glass

Chapter 12: Mince Pies on the Prize

Chapter 13: The Holly (wood), and The Knightley

Chapter 14: Lights, Camera, Action: Scything!

Chapter 15: The Grinch Who Stole Christmas

Chapter 16: Sleigh-Bells Ring, Are You Listening?

Chapter 17: Snow Way, Snow How

Chapter 18: A Knightley at Pemberley

Chapter 19: Moving Im-PEDI-ments

Chapter 20: Christmas Cocktails at The Clock House

Chapter 21: Bar Hygge, Bah Humbug!

Chapter 22: The Bauble’s in Your Court

Chapter 23: Nightly Haul

Chapter 24: Tour of the Roses

Chapter 25: Deck The Halls, Not Your Family

Chapter 26: Village of Stars

Chapter 27: Dashing Through The Snow…

Chapter 28: Mistletoe and Whine

Chapter 29: Pitch Perfect

Chapter 30: Miss Emma’s Feeling for Snow

Chapter 31: Readers, I Drunk-Texted Him

Chapter 32: Driving Home for Christmas

Chapter 33: Keep Calm & Jingle on

Chapter 34: ’Twas the Night Before Opening and All Through The Clock House

Chapter 35: Opening Night Fever

Chapter 36: Badly Done, Jake!

Chapter 37: Trying Hard Not to Show It

Chapter 38: Christmas Eve

Chapter 39: A Winter’s Tale

Chapter 40: On Christmas Day in the Morning

Chapter 41: The Ghost of Christmas Future

Chapter 42: A Blue, Blue, Blue Christmas

Chapter 43: The Show Must Go on

Chapter 44: The Big Finale!

Author Letter

Acknowledgements

Also by Eve Devon

About the Author

About HarperImpulse

About the Publisher

Chapter 1
The Grandfather of all Clock-Ups

Kate

Kate Somersby upended the contents of her handbag over her desk and watched the hundred or so fluorescent pink post-its flutter to the surface like confetti.

Any moment now she was going to get to grips with the bullet journaling system her cousin, Juliet, raved about.

Yep … any moment now, she thought, staring down at all the vitally-important, equal-priority To Do notes that had come to her in the early hours of the morning.

In the meantime, she reasoned, her portable, flexible filing system was practically the same thing only without all the pretty panda stickers.

Shoving the roll of stickers and the actual bullet journal Juliet had gifted her into the top desk drawer, Kate pulled out her chair and plonked herself down.

It completely boggled her mind to think that a few months ago she’d been working abroad, pretending she was okay with living out of a suitcase, and now she was back in her home village of Whispers Wood, the proud owner of The Clock House and on schedule to get it open for business before Christmas. Of course, it immediately un-boggled when she thought about the insane number of hours everyone was putting in to keep them on course and ensure it was going to happen.

Hopefully by the end of the week, Juliet would have her hair-dressing stations in place for Hair @ The Clock House.

Daniel, Kate’s boyfriend, had nearly finished setting up Hive @ The Clock House, the co-working space he was going to manage, and all the treatment beds, pedi-chairs and nail station tables were arriving today for Beauty @ The Clock House, the day spa that had been her and her twin, Bea’s, dream for so long.

What do you think, Bea? Is this how you pictured all of this when we used to dream about opening our day spa in this building?

A swirl of excitement ran head-first into the wall of sorrow that was acknowledgement of Bea’s death and bounced backwards in confusion. She felt the conflict inside her like a cramp and tried to breathe through it.

And then on a shaky breath she imagined Bea snorting with laughter, and offering a ‘Hey – I’m still trying to get over the fact that you think you’ll get to grips with bullet-journaling,’ and the cramp eased.

Bea would have loved everything that was happening at The Clock House and she, Kate, was nearly used to not searching for confirmation she was doing the right thing every time she walked through the front doors.

Feeling steadier, her hands went to open the first of the letters that Sandeep, the postman, had handed her on her way in and her heart started beating faster as she stared at the official-looking envelope. Opening it, she pulled out the crisp formal headed letter paper and halfway through the first paragraph she let out a ‘Whoop’ and twirled in her chair.

They’d only been given their licence to open Cocktails & Chai in the main reception room opposite Juliet’s salon. The room with its gorgeous, gigantic chandelier was the perfect setting for a tearoom/bar.

‘Could this morning get any better?’ she laughed and immediately opened the second envelope.

‘No-el, No-el.’

‘Wowsers, Kate,’ Juliet shouted up the main staircase of The Clock House. ‘It’s a bit early to be singing Christmas carols, isn’t it?’

‘That’s singing?’ asked Oscar, Kate’s brother-in-law who, after being known as The Young Widower of Whispers Wood for years was happily getting used to now being known as Juliet’s boyfriend.

‘Someone’s really murdering that carol,’ Daniel commented as he walked into the foyer. Spying the boxes of balance ball chairs that had been delivered, he gave an excited ‘Yes’, and walked over to inspect them.

‘That someone is your girlfriend. And if she doesn’t stop I’m not sure I can be held accountable.’ Oscar pointed to the drill he was holding because he was also known as Whispers Wood’s resident builder.

‘That’s definitely not singing,’ Daniel said with a frown. ‘I’ve heard her sing. Or have I? That’s really her singing? And what’s with the carols in October? I guess I’m going to need you both to promise me you’ll never fill out an application for The Voice on her behalf.’

‘Why would we?’ Oscar asked. ‘Because that’s not singing. In fact, I’m pretty sure Will.I.Am would correctly call it Kitty-Kat Kate Caterwauling.’

‘If only she was from Wales,’ Juliet lamented, ‘she might still be in with a shot.’

‘We could move the whole of Whispers Wood to Wales and she’d still hurt ears,’ Oscar said. ‘It’s worse than when Melody went through the Frozen sing-a-long sleepover phase and I had to cope with ten five-year-olds thinking that singing mostly involved squealing high enough for dolphins to hear.’ Oscar’s daughter, Melody, had recently had her ninth birthday. She’d been only four when her mother, Bea, had died and Oscar had had to learn fast how to help his daughter through the grieving process while going through it himself.

‘Come on, guys,’ Daniel cajoled, ‘let’s cut Kate some slack. She’s under a lot of pressure to get this place ready for the grand opening.’

‘No-el, No-el.’

The three of them stared up the stairs.

‘Okay,’ Daniel said, rolling up his sleeves, ‘I might just see if I can get her to sing a different carol.’

‘Thank you,’ Juliet sighed. ‘Oscar and I appreciate you taking one for the team.’

Abandoning the yoga ball chairs, Daniel headed for the stairs. ‘Right, then. Off I go.’ He looked at Juliet and Oscar from the third step. ‘Upstairs. To gently explain …’

‘We’re right behind you,’ Juliet said, grinning as she made a shooing motion up the stairs.

Kate looked up as the man who had been rocking her world for months now stepped into her office.

He’d popped out to get himself a key cut to her place, Myrtle Cottage.

No big deal – if he’d taken her casual suggestion, and for casual, read, extremely well-rehearsed monologue, at face value.

Darn.

It would probably be better, if on his return, he didn’t then immediately see her crying.

With a big sniff she realised Oscar and Juliet were hovering in the doorway behind him. Two more excellent reasons to pull herself together. Ever since she’d come back to Whispers Wood she’d tried to show Oscar he could trust her to stick around and get involved in her niece, Melody’s, life, and Oscar had tried to show her he didn’t blame her anymore for staying away for so long after Bea had died. But maybe the person who had worked hardest to get them to see each other as family, not enemy, was sweet, kind, heart-as-big-as-a-mountain, Juliet, and the fact that Melody and Oscar looked so happy these days was testament to how much they’d fallen in love with Juliet this summer.

Looking at the three people who were helping to make The Clock House a reality, Kate felt the pressure to get everything perfect rise up and shaking her head in dismay, whimpered, ‘No-el.’

‘The angels, are in fact, genuinely crying, Katey-Did,’ Daniel said softly and then hesitated and swallowed. ‘Hang on – are you crying? What’s happened? Why are you sitting here crying Christmas carols?’

‘Not singing carols,’ she hiccupped miserably.

‘See?’ Oscar whispered to Juliet, ‘I told you that wasn’t singing.’

Kate stared at them all as she picked back up the invitation she’d opened and flapped it about manically. ‘No “L”,’ she tried again and when three faces stared back at her uncomprehending she banged her head on the desk and wailed, ‘No “L”, No “L”.’

‘Is it possible the stress of opening this place has made her regress to some sort of primitive communication?’ Oscar muttered.

Daniel took the invitation from her and began reading aloud: ‘This Christmas, you are cordially invited to the grand opening of the—’ his eyes got round. ‘Holy—’

Juliet and Oscar came to stand over his shoulder.

Kate’s head came up from the desk, pleased to have finally made herself understood.

Juliet gasped as she finished reading. ‘Oh my God, the letter “L” is missing the whole way through?’

A throaty laugh rumbled out of Oscar.

‘It’s not funny,’ Kate insisted.

‘It’s a little funny,’ Oscar said, grabbing the invitation to check for himself. ‘Cock,’ he exclaimed. ‘I love it,’ and at Juliet, Daniel and Kate’s raised eyebrows added, ‘Wait – that didn’t come out right.’

Kate snatched the invitation back from him. ‘This is going where it belongs, in the round file,’ and with dramatic flair she slam-dunked it into the bin, then, with a pout, moaned, ‘It never misses in films,’ and fishing it up from the floor, she stuck it in the bin. ‘I don’t know why you’re laughing,’ she said to Daniel. ‘Or have you always wanted to run your business out of a cock house?’

‘See when you put it like that …’ Daniel moved behind her to pluck the invitation out of the general waste and move it into the recycling bin.

‘You do realise we’re going to have to kill Crispin for this,’ she muttered. ‘I’ll need a plan on my desk by the end of the day.’

‘How about we don’t but say we did,’ Juliet offered soothingly.

Crispin Harlow, head of the Whispers Wood Residents’ Association believed whole-heartedly that it took a village to raise a village. He put the “e” in pedantic, the nosy in parker and could also be completely sweet and terribly caring, but for the purposes of allowing herself to get justifiably riled up, Kate was going to ignore that. ‘As if I have the time to sort out this kind of error. I should never have let him badger me into giving his friend the order.’

‘He didn’t badger you,’ Daniel reminded her. ‘He didn’t even needle you.’

‘Didn’t need to, did he, when he can do the whole,’ she waved her hand about wildly over her head, ‘wig-mesmerising thing.’

Another laugh rumbled out of Daniel. ‘What, you think Crispin sort of “hair-brained” you into placing the order via the magical mesmerising properties of his wig?’

‘I really do,’ she sulked, a little shocked to find herself still so close to tears. Maybe it was that she’d spent so much time thinking about the moment when all the invites went out. That excited-nervous, no-going-back, what-did-we-do-all-this-for-if-it-wasn’t-to-actually-open-our-doors-to-paying-guests moment that had seen her through all the other completely scary times this last couple of months.

‘We’ll just have to trust this guy to make the correction,’ Juliet suggested.

‘But what if he does it wrong again?’ Kate worried. ‘I don’t think Crispin and my relationship would survive it. Honestly, I think I’d rather start from scratch.’

‘I suppose we’re only losing our deposit,’ Daniel said.

‘And on the bright side,’ she ventured, feeling a little of her earlier joy creeping back in, ‘We just got our food and alcohol license … so we could add that to the invites. Even if we get the spelling corrected, Cocktails & Chai wording won’t fit on the existing invitations and what’s the betting if we correct the spelling, something else will go wrong with them. We’re cutting it close to get the invites out in time as it is.’

‘But that’s brilliant we got the licence,’ Juliet said. ‘We’re really going to add one more business to the mix, then?’

‘I think we’d be passing up a great opportunity if we didn’t,’ Daniel replied. ‘To try opening up Cocktails & Chai once we’re already open would be really disruptive. What about it, Oscar? Do you think you could finish up the building work in time?’

‘Sure,’ Oscar said. ‘It’s quiet at this time of year and I can give some of my other projects to my team for the chance to build that custom-made bar.’

‘I was hoping you’d say that,’ Kate said. ‘So now we just need someone to do the new invites, choose new card-stock, get them to the printers and then—’

‘You could always send an e-vite,’ Daniel said.

‘Actually that’s not a bad idea,’ Kate said as possibility roared to life.

‘I do have them occasionally,’ he murmured with a wry smile. ‘We could ask Jake Knightley’s sister, Sarah to design it for us.’

Kate considered. ‘So you think she’s still doing graphic design, then?’

‘She had a baby, not a lobotomy,’ Juliet laughed.

Kate’s gaze shot to Juliet. The way she’d said baby. All dreamy and … Kate’s insides did a sort of double-tuck, full lay-out, gymnastic thing. Were Juliet and Oscar thinking babies? Already? Juliet had only moved in with Oscar and Melody five minutes ago. How would she manage a new business with a baby? And Kate didn’t know anything about maternity employment law! Nervously she reached for her pile of sticky notes and then paused. Maybe she should actually check with Juliet before she immortalised or even italicised the words ‘Juliet’ and ‘Preggers???’ on neon pink.

‘So,’ Daniel said, grabbing her attention again. ‘We give Crispin’s friend of a friend the swerve and ask Sarah to design the e-vite, and we announce the opening of Cocktails & Chai along with the other businesses?’

God, he was good for her, she thought. He was never frightened of the dramatic streak that ran through her and was perfectly trusting that she knew when to let logic overrule emotion in business decisions. He totally had her back. And she’d never felt more able to be herself…

‘I love you,’ Kate said.

The words came out super-naturally considering it was the first time she’d said them, but as Daniel inhaled sharply, tears made glistening pools of her eyes, which was why she didn’t see Oscar swiftly pulling a goggle-eyed Juliet out of the room to give her and Daniel some privacy.

‘Sorry,’ Kate started babbling. ‘Totally the wrong time to drop the L-bomb. At work of all places. I couldn’t pick somewhere romantic? All the times you’ve said the words to me and I haven’t said them back. Oh—,’ she broke off as Daniel closed the distance in one easy stride, swept her up into his arms and kissed her.

As his mouth sealed across hers, a familiar buzz lit across nerve-endings and ignited to spread through her veins. As his lips rubbed, coaxed, revered, she felt more of the slippy-slidey, twisty-tangled conflict inside of her settle.

‘Wow,’ she said.

‘Wow,’ he echoed with a grin. ‘And then there’s also this,’ he held up the key he’d had cut to Myrtle Cottage.

He’d given her the key to his place, Mistletoe Cottage, weeks ago. Presented it as a point of practicality and with his matter-of-fact tone that she found so sexy, how could she refuse? Even as she’d worried exchanging keys was moving fast, she’d still taken that key and let herself in with it that night and stolen into his bed to surprise him.

Yesterday she’d found herself buying his favourite brand of bread. The one with the sixty-three different types of seeds that dropped down the grill of the toaster and worked their way into the strangest of places. The one he liked to wolf down when he returned from his morning run before he got into the shower. Before then getting back into bed with her, claiming he was the perfect wake-up call.

He was, but that was beside the point.

The point was they were leaving more and more bits of themselves at each other’s places … and, well, what did that all mean?

Only this morning she’d realised that the coat she’d been vaguely thinking of wearing today, was probably still at his place.

Had he hung it up?

Did he care that it was there?

Did he want to move in with her?

Wait! What?

This past summer had been a crazy spectacular rollercoaster of competing with Daniel for The Clock House while falling for him, hook, line and sinker. There was still so much they were finding out about each other and now – already – to be thinking about moving in together?

Kate swallowed and stepped out of his arms. It was enough they had keys to each other’s cottages.

Moving in together would be, well, three words: Way, way too soon.

Okay, that was four words, but you get what she’s thinking, right?

To cover her pounding heart, she reached for her pen and her ever-present pad of post-it notes.

She’d be totally cray-cray adding more pressure to their relationship. They hadn’t even opened The Clock House yet.

Leaning down she forced herself to concentrate on what she should really be thinking about, and proud that her handwriting didn’t show any sign of “moving-in-together” shakiness, she wrote: Find someone to manage Cocktails & Chai, and underlined it four times.

Chapter 2
Crouching Dragon, Hidden Bartender

Emma

Emma Danes blew a strand of rapidly frizzing blonde hair out of her eyes and looked on in horrid fascination at the human pretzel facing the class.

‘… And as you bend your body down to the earth,’ the yoga instructor drawled, ‘bring your palms to the floor, squeeze your triceps against your inner thighs, and tip your body forward until your feet leave the ground and your body-weight is resting on your hands.’

Um … yeah … no way was she attempting that balancing pose Emma decided as the butterflies fluttered wildly inside her. She attempted that, pee was probably going to come out!

Honestly, of all the yoga-joints in all the world, you’d think she’d have noticed that the one half a block from her apartment had a super-advanced class at eleven thirty on a Monday morning. Then again, normally at this time on a Monday she was taking an acting class.

Or at an audition.

Or knocking on her agent, Penny’s, door, calling out ‘Penny’ three times in rapid succession.

Poor Penny. She must be so over everyone going Sheldon on her.

Thinking of Penny, she stared hard at her lucky bag crocheted in raspberry, denim and sunshiny yellows that she’d casually tossed at the foot of her yoga mat.

Just imagining the phone inside ringing with the news had her heart bouncing down to her stomach and getting caught up in the excitement swirling there. It was as if she’d swallowed a giant ball of tangled-up Christmas lights and someone had plugged them in to test out the techno, techno, techno light setting.

But she’d deal with the reduced-to-jelly nerves all day long because she hadn’t got this wrong.

Today was the diem and she was going to carpe every last drop out of it.

She’d nailed the audition and the call-back. The screen-test couldn’t have gone better and all the great feedback she’d received surely meant that finally the hard work, the sacrifice, the rejection, ahem, rejections, were going to be worth it.

Planets had aligned.

Unicorns had gathered.

And after years in La La Land, Emma Danes was finally getting the lead part in the rom-com of her dreams.

Filming on location in England, here she came.

She bent her head to hide the proudly joyous grin spreading across her face and decided to attempt the yoga pose after all.

Halfway through rearranging her body she heard the buzz from her bag and looked up to see it gently vibrating. With a soft yelp, she leaped upon it and uncaring of where she was, fished the phone from out of her bag, and whispered, ‘Penny?’ into it.

‘Sugar Bean? Are you sitting down?’ There was a short silence and then, ‘I’ve just heard back and I don’t know what to tell you. I’m so sorry.’

The earth’s gravitational pull came to a clattering halt.

That was surely the only reason Emma could possibly be sinking to her yoga mat in a tangle of disbelief. It couldn’t possibly have been Penny’s greeting, her tone, her actual words or Emma’s amazing powers of deduction that was very definitely suggesting…

Emma squeezed her eyes shut.

No, no, no.

She hadn’t got the part?

Really and truly?

‘I know this wasn’t what either of us was expecting to hear,’ Penny said, her usual nasal tone enhanced now that it was laced with sympathy.

‘It’s fine,’ Emma whispered, too shocked to process how very much not fine it was as Failure danced onto the stage of her heart and took a flourishing bow.

‘I’m just as pissed as you, Pinto Bean. You were perfect for that part.’

She’d really thought so too.

Damn it.

Slowly she looked around her at the rows of exceedingly bendy people all having contorted their bodies into crouching poses with minimum effort.

She didn’t do minimum effort. She did maximum effort.

And still came up short, it seemed.

Bitter disappointment and a strange sense of embarrassment became besties, holding hands as they rushed through her veins, stealing her energy. Stealing her joy.

She held her bag out in front of her like it was poor Yorick’s skull and stared accusingly down at it. So much for being lucky.

With her phone still pinned to her ear, she pulled herself upright, shoved her feet into her shoes and then fled the yoga studio with its mirrors shamelessly reflecting her dazed expression for everyone to see.

Outside, as she made her way back to the sanctuary of her apartment, the bright sunshine, gentle breeze and ridiculously cheerful Christmas music from one of the Prius’ in the endless parade of traffic combined to mock her for daring to assume it had finally been her turn to get the big-break.

‘Did they say why?’ Emma asked, picking up her pace, eager to escape the feeling that she was being followed by one of those giant arrows with stupidly over-sized light-bulbs illuminating the words ‘Not Good Enough’.

‘Only that someone unexpected expressed interest and after reviewing her tapes, they decided to go with her.’

‘Tell me it’s a name, at least.’

‘Oh, A-lister, for sure,’ Penny stated in solidarity.

Emma let herself into the apartment she shared with two other actresses, her smile perilously close to wobbling.

‘Take a couple of days then come see me,’ Penny instructed. ‘Keep the faith, okay? There’s always traditional pilot season coming up.’

Emma supposed it was. If you discounted that it was October and that the month that signalled the start of the season was at the beginning of a whole different year to this one. Tossing her keys onto the sofa, she wandered over to stare at the fridge, aka the shrine where she and her flatmates stuck scribbled notes to each other.

Em, I got that audition and Jacinta’s on set all day otherwise we’d be here to celebrate with you. Moo Shu Pork and a bottle of cheap bubbles inside. Congrats! Lily xx

Emma sniffed.

‘Lima Bean? Are you crying? There’s no crying in baseball,’ Penny said, channelling her best Tom Hanks.

Emma opened the fridge and stared at the celebratory feast wondering how many other beans Penny could call her and with her appetite no longer amounting to a hill of them she shut the door and turned around to head into her room.

‘I don’t think I can do another pilot season, Pen.’ People probably thought it was easy to play a corpse. It wasn’t like you could get a note that you were too wooden. But do you know how hard it was to lay on concrete, caked in fake blood, staring into the distance unmoving/not breathing while the actress that actually had lines kept pausing to ask what her motivation was?

It was hard.

Especially when the actress asking about her motivation was playing a zombie!

Needless to say that pilot hadn’t been picked up.

‘Of course you can do another pilot season, Jelly Bean. This is how we do. You’re an actress. Says so on your ID, right?’

Ha!

Nope.

Actually, it didn’t.

Under the heading of occupation she tended to go with what paid her regular wages.

Bartender.

That’s what she wrote on any form that needed her to state her occupation.

Said it all, Emma thought, unable to even summon the energy to cry.

With her spirit whimpering: my moxie, my moxie, my kingdom for my moxie, she shucked her bag off her shoulder, pushed open her bedroom door, pulled back her duvet, and tired beyond all reason, climbed in to bed.

Muttering a quiet, ‘Bye Penny,’ she hung up and closed her eyes on the day that sucked harder than a sucker fish in charge of sucking clean all the Sea Life aquariums in all the world.

Chapter 3
Pity and Pitiful

Emma

Emma had no idea how long she slept for, but she awoke to a dark room and the remnants of a weird dream about fifty-seven varieties of bean auditioning for the lead part at Bar Brand – the bar she’d been working at for three years.

Pushing herself upright she reached for her phone.

Five missed calls.

None of the numbers belonged to Penny, so she guessed she knew what she could do with the absurd hope the actress the studio had decided to go with had caught a sudden case of really bad numb-tongue.

She texted her flatmates to tell them she hadn’t got the part, but that she was okay (greatest piece of text-acting ever, right there) and that neither needed to rush back because celebrating had been replaced with one of the greatest comforts known to woman: a long soak in the tub and a re-run of Pride and Prejudice.

If she dragged her armchair over to the bathroom door, piled up all her books and set up her laptop at the right angle, she could watch Darcy-Colin emerging from the lake, while she submerged her aching heart in the bath.

The next message turned out to be from her mother. With a curious detachment that belied the usual trepidation she felt when listening to messages her mother left, she got up and padded out to the kitchen to open the fridge. Her mother was on a cruise with – actually Emma didn’t want to think about what number boyfriend this was. She knew she quite liked this one though. For a start, he was age-appropriate. Fingers crossed he’d last the distance, or at least the length of the cruise, because no way could she deal with her mother having nothing else to focus on but her and how she Had Not Got The Part she might have bragged was in the bag.

Reaching into the fridge she grabbed the Moo Shu pork, a carton of noodles and the cheap champagne.

‘Hi,’ she said, turning around to greet several imaginary people, ‘so glad you could make it. Welcome to my pity party, help yourself to drink and canapés …’

Pretty convincing, she thought, as she opened a kitchen drawer to grab a pack of chopsticks. Who wouldn’t want mad-skillz like hers on the set of a rom-com?

She uncorked the bubbly, debated drinking straight from the bottle, and then put her voicemail onto speakerphone while she hunted up a glass.

‘Hi Emma, enquiring friend from across the pond is dying to know if you got the part? Can’t wait to post pics all over social media of when I knew you, back in the day.’

Emma shoved a mouthful of cold noodles into her mouth. ‘Back in the day’ had been three years ago when Kate Somersby had walked into Bar Brand to write a review of the place. It had been Emma’s first day on the job and she’d been busy acting her way through her shift, doing the whole fake-it-’til-she-made-it routine until she got familiar with everything. Emma had immediately recognised the actress in Kate. Not the showy, this-is-who-I-be kind of acting, but more the, this-is-how-I-get-through-the-days face that she showed the world.

She’d wondered what had happened to make Kate so eager to try on any other face that wasn’t her own. Plus, Kate’s British accent and it’s reminder of a home she hadn’t visited for years, had got her good. They’d become good friends, keeping each other up-to-date with their lives ever since.

Taking a gulp of fizzy wine straight from the bottle she listened to the second message from Kate:

‘Me again. Did I get the day wrong? Hope I haven’t jinxed anything. Oh, are you busy rehearsing a) a love scene b) a love scene or c) a love scene. Tick all that apply. And call me or text me or email me or send smoke signals or something because clearly our telepathic link is down.’

It was going to have to be a non-verbal communication, Emma decided, swapping phone for laptop so that she could compose better. If she had to actually use her voice, Kate was going to know right away just how devastated she was that she hadn’t got the part.

As she munched on more food she emailed:

To: Kate Somersby

From: WritingHer‌OscarAccep‌tanceSpeech

Subject: Won’t be giving up my day job after all.

I didn’t get the part

Emma xx

There, she thought, pleased with her honest, to-the-point and most importantly, no-sobbing-to-be-heard composition.

Minutes later she got a reply.

To: WritingHer‌OscarAccep‌tanceSpeech

From: Kate Somersby

Re: Won’t be giving up the day job after all.

Oh, EM, G! No coming to the UK to practise your British accent a la Renee Zelwegger??? Waaah—I’m so sorry, hun. I know how much you wanted that part. You would have been bloody brilliant. You ARE bloody brilliant.

Kate xx

Emma searched for the crying emoji and sent a whole line of them back and then immediately felt pitiful so followed it up with: Feeling sorry for myself will only last one millennia and then I’ll be all good.

Minutes later she got back:

You’ll be back to lighting up the sky-line with flames in no time, I know it! (((Hugs))) Kate xx

Tears pricked as Emma replied: Well, back to bartending at Bar Brand, at least. Rent’s due in a couple of weeks. No rest for the wicked-ly untalented. Emma xx

She was more than halfway through her food when she received her reply:

Hey, if they ever do a remake of Cocktail, Tom Cruise doesn’t stand a chance. Seriously, a better part will come along. You just have to believe (and work your arse off) but the part in brackets I know you already do, Kate xx

That produced a half-smile but then Emma flexed fingers eager to type something else. Picking up the laptop and the bottle of champagne, she headed back to her room to hop back onto the bed. After taking a thoughtful couple of gulps, she wrote: You sound like my agent, Penny. Emma’s hands paused on the keyboard and then she typed: Maybe it’s time I let the dream go! Emma, xx

She pressed ‘send’ and raised her gaze to the dressing table under the tiny window. Sitting prettily on top were various photo frames containing affirmations she’d printed out. Why didn’t looking at them spur her on the way they used to?

Over the last year, when her faith in her ability to land a good role had started slinking off to play hide and seek, Emma had seriously considered moving to New York or back to London to try the stage. She’d thought that perhaps the change of scene would herald a change of luck.

If it wasn’t for the sly fear she’d end up doing the same thing – going to audition after audition without actually getting a part – except if she moved she’d be doing it in the freezing-cold, maybe she’d even have got on that bus or plane.

She’d been in LA since age nine when her parents had divorced and her mother had taken Emma’s ‘One day I’m going to be a famous actress’ and run all the way to Hollywood with it. LA felt like home now but eighteen years was a long time to try and make it.

She’d had some successes when she was younger.

Trouble was as you got older, straddling that line between wanting more and getting desperate, was becoming increasingly harder to stay on the right side of.

At least bartending was simple, honest work. People came in to get a drink. She provided them with the drink.

Simples.

Adding a smile and lending an ear if they wanted to talk seemed like fair exchange and came easy.

The thought of finding herself in ten years time, with no good acting projects under her belt, no man in her life, no children … Her only true achievements a killer-flexible yoga body and a face that didn’t move, shook her.

If she didn’t get her big break soon she really did have to call time on this dream and go find another. One that didn’t eat away at her psyche until she ended up like her mum – hard-wired for what was over the next horizon – never enjoying what she had.

She glanced down as an email dropped into her inbox.

To:WritingHer‌AcceptanceSpeech

From: Kate Somersby

Subject: NOT LETTING DREAMS GO

Eat a gallon of ice-cream, down some cheap cocktails, watch a ton of tat TV in between pulling shifts at Bar Brand but then go to an Improv class, okay? Kate xx

Emma stared at the screen. Letting dreams go was something Kate actually knew about. So was not letting them go, which was why her friend had audaciously risked returning to her home village of Whispers Wood to set about making one come true. Now, not only was Kate’s dream coming true, she’d also fallen in love.

Emma reminded herself she was in love too.

With acting.

But as she reached for the bottle she wondered what would happen if she really did let the dream go?

It shocked her when she wasn’t brought to her knees by the thought.

Instead, it felt strangely as if someone was standing outside the front door to her heart and like The Walking Dead guy in Love Actually showing her large hand-written notices that said things like: ‘I’ll tell you what you want, what you really, really want …’ ‘You want Peace’, ‘Serenity’, ‘And … zigazig ha’.

With a deep breath she hit ‘reply’ and typed: Confession: I think I’ve been awful tired of this acting-gig for an awful long time now…

There!

She’d said it.

Out loud.

Well, not out loud, but you know what she means.

She waited for a reply.

Waited some more.

Maybe she shouldn’t have put that out there into the universe.

Because honestly? If she gave up acting, who was she?

Chapter 4
Think Positivi-tea

Kate

Kate stared at the screen in front of her, feeling bad for her friend, Emma. She knew what it was like to feel as if the path you’d chosen was leading nowhere. All those years she’d been footloose and fancy-free, going where the next work assignment took her and never having to really unpack – either her belongings or her feelings. Never being in one place for long had started off being something she’d needed to do but how quickly had she led herself to believe that it was something she wanted to do.

It had taken Old Man Isaac selling this place to get her to change direction and she was so thankful he had because despite feeling a tired she hadn’t known existed, it was very definitely a happy tired.

Stifling a yawn she reached over and crossed-through number twenty-seven on her To Do List.

As large hands came around her mid-riff to hug her from behind, she gasped, ‘Hey, mister. I know the owner of this establishment.’

‘So do I,’ Daniel’s voice trickled into her ear. ‘In fact I’m pretty sure I have a meeting with her in about—’

‘Thirty minutes,’ Kate smiled, spinning in her chair to face him. ‘I have this office booked until then and I’m determined to get through at least fifteen more emails.’

‘Just wanted to check how the interview went?’

Kate grimaced. ‘Complete dud.’

‘Really?’

‘Trust me.’

‘Are you sure you’re not being too …’

Kate raised an eyebrow in challenge.

‘Fussy?’ he stated bravely. ‘Only we’re running out of time to find someone to manage the place.’

Kate was very aware they needed to find someone to manage Cocktails & Chai @ The Clock House ASAP.

One of the conditions of buying the building had been to provide space the whole community could continue to use, but with the toddler group moving into the newly-built huts at the local school, that only left Trudie McTravers and her am-dram group using the communal space. Kate had promised Trudie the space would always be available for rehearsal and productions but she’d wanted to add something more.

She’d wanted everyone in the village and anyone booking a spa treatment with her, or having their hair done by Juliet, or booking office space with Daniel, to be able to grab a cuppa or a glass of fizz too and when she’d talked over her plans to add a tearoom/bar in the reception room opposite Juliet’s salon she’d been overwhelmed by how much everyone loved the idea. Of course that probably had a little something to do with socking-it-to the neighbouring village of Whispers Ford because there were still a few residents who hadn’t got over the hotel opening and the village stealing ‘Best in Bloom’ out from under them. But she’d got the go-ahead and now with the last licence coming through, it was all systems go to organise staff before they opened.

‘So what was wrong with this candidate?’ Daniel asked.

‘Besides looking twelve?’

‘I’ll admit he did look a little young, but his C.V. said he was qualified.’

‘He asked me if I’d be fact-checking his previous employment.’

Daniel mouthed the word, ‘Wow,’ and shook his head.

‘And, you know, his name was Harry Stiles,’ Kate added as if that explained everything and when Daniel looked at her as if that meant nothing, she rolled her eyes. ‘I can’t handle the disappointment when people realise the real Harry Styles hasn’t, in fact, given up his incredibly successful world tour to run a bar and tearoom in a quaint little village called Whispers Wood.’

‘You can’t not employ someone on the grounds they have a similar name to someone famous.’

‘So fortunate that he kept right on hammering in more nails, then,’ Kate replied. ‘When I asked him what he thought made him most qualified for the position, he responded with “Um, I like to drink?”.’

‘He didn’t?’

‘Oh yeah and not even “I like to drink, ha-ha, only joking, sorry that was wildly inappropriate, I’m just really nervous, here’s my actual answer,” oh no,’ Kate went on, ‘He said, “Um, I like to drink” … with a question mark at the end of it. Like he wasn’t even sure.’

Daniel rolled his eyes in sympathy. ‘Yeah. Okay. Good call.’

‘How difficult can it be to find someone who knows how to make a martini as well as they make a matcha latte or a good old-fashioned cup of tea, not to mention someone who actually likes talking with people?’

‘We have to think positive. Quick, do your thing.’

‘Thing?’

‘Your positivity rain dance, thing.’

‘Ugh. I’m too tired.’

‘Nonsense. This is important. You want the next candidate to be the one, don’t you?’

Kate gave a tired smile. ‘You do realise how dangerous it is to pander to my quirk?’

‘What can I say, I live for danger.’

Biggest fib, right there, Kate thought because while she knew Daniel thought nothing of taking calculated risks, she also knew the chaos he’d grown up with. Living for danger was not what he was about at all but she loved making him laugh and so she rose to her feet and did some over-the-top stretching motions.

‘Remember you asked for this,’ she warned and wafting her hands up and down like she was trying to take-off, she turned around in circles clockwise and then counter-clockwise chanting nonsense about positivity under her breath in a poor imitation of the dance she’d made up after one too many honey martinis had made her feel invincible. At the end of it she plonked herself back down in her chair, knackered. ‘That’s the next candidate for the job sorted, then,’ she said, trying not to worry that she didn’t actually have anyone lined up. ‘By the way, thank you for letting me book an office. Mine’s got a massage table in it that I’m certain wasn’t in there last night.’

‘So what’s the verdict on the tech?’ Daniel asked, with a nod to the set-up she was sat in front of.

Kate swung her chair back to the computer in front of her and sighed appreciatively. ‘I’m appropriately jealous. Everything up here seems higher-spec than we put in downstairs.’

‘You don’t need clients geeking-out over the I.T. downstairs. You want them sighing with pleasure over treatments. You were right to keep the set-up on the lower floors unobtrusive. Doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate the compliment though.’

Kate grinned with pride for him.

He’d done a fantastic job of matching the aesthete of the spa and hair salon without making Hive @ The Clock House feel too girly. The attic rooms had been beautifully converted so that they now housed an open-plan area for hot-desking, a kitchen area with a long table in, and five meeting rooms with full conference facilities. The original oak flooring had been sanded and re-varnished, so that it set off the white furniture to its best. The clock mechanism had been encased in thick glass walls and formed the centre-point of the cleverly-thought-out space. Throughout, Daniel had added potted trees to soften the look. He’d married the country-chic feel of downstairs with the industrial-loft look perfectly.

‘I thought the demented pigeon dance would get rid of some of these knots,’ Daniel said, lowering his hand to her shoulders to start rubbing at the tension. ‘But you need a good massage. Smooth out some of the stress-kinks.’

Kate purred. ‘The problem with learning all these new skills is I can’t do them on myself.’ She thought of the half a dozen workbooks on her bed back at the cottage. Was she completely mad to be studying for her diploma in beauty therapy while opening her business? And, yet, she thought, taking Daniel’s advice and determinedly channelling positivity, the sooner she completed her qualification, the sooner she could add those skills to her business degree and ensure the spa ran as smoothly as possible.

Daniel leaned down to whisper in her ear, ‘Hey, you know we’ve got time until our meeting. Forget those emails. I’ve an idea or two of how we can work out some of these kinks.’

‘You have?’ Kate’s grin turned sultry as she spun around in her chair again and lifted her arms to lace around his neck. ‘Oh,’ she said as her ever-working mind remembered something else she’d written on her list. ‘I meant to ask you, don’t you think maybe we should have put in some of those standing desks up here?’

Daniel reached out and cranked a lever under the desk, laughing as the desk Kate was sat in front of, rose smoothly up into the air.

‘Wow, that’s—’

‘Impressive?’ he said knowingly. ‘Now this,’ he said picking her up with an ease that she found exciting and lowering her onto the higher surface of the desk, ‘is a much better height for what I have in mind.’

‘You mean for not putting your back out,’ she said with a laugh.

‘Practicality—’

‘Looks so sexy on you,’ she finished for him.

‘Thank you.’

‘Oh, did you decide what you wanted to do about asking your mother down for Christmas?’

Daniel lifted his head. ‘Wow. Did you just ask about my mother while I was getting ready to unbutton your blouse?’

‘God, I think I did. I’m sorry. I’ve got too much stuff going on up here,’ she said pointing to her head. ‘As soon as I stop thinking about one thing, the next comes to the surface.’

Daniel tilted her jaw and rubbed the pad of his finger across her bottom lip. ‘Perhaps if I occupy these for a while, the message that you’ve got to stop stressing about absolutely everything will get through.’

She pretended to think before replying, ‘I suppose we could give your plan a go,’ and then her grin turned into a wince of regret as her phone alarm went off with another reminder that she should be doing anything else but sneaking a little time with the man that could make her heart beat crazy-fast. ‘We’ll have to wait until later.’

The pout on Daniel’s face was comical. ‘Why did I have the feeling you were going to say that?’

Kate’s mouth turned down to match Daniel’s. ‘Because I always seem to be saying that, lately? I know. It’ll get better.’

Daniel chuckled. ‘You do know it’s actually going to get worse, right?’

‘I know. But—’

‘We’ll always have after hours.’ He leaned in to kiss the hollow of her left cheekbone.

‘Yes.’ Although to be fair, with all the work they both still needed to do to ensure they opened on time, the nights were getting shorter as well.

‘My place or yours tonight?’ he asked, playfully nipping at her lower lip.

Kate hesitated and distracted him by kissing the underside of his jaw. His place was right next to hers so technically what did it matter? They both had the exact same size bed – the only ones that would fit into the size rooms their side-by-side cottages had. But hers…

She really liked waking up in hers. Liked taking comfort from being unpacked and seeing her things carelessly dotted around.

‘Mine, I think. Is that okay?’

‘Hey, I’m happy anywhere you are.’

Kate smiled. Of course if they moved in together he could be with her all the time.

‘You think we’ll still have the energy for “after hours” when we’re working even longer hours?’ Daniel asked.

‘We’d better. I refuse to let Mum and Big Kev outshine us in the romance department.’ Her mum had been seeing Big Kev who ran the corner shop for months now. Although for some reason she refused to give out the confirmation memo, so everyone still had to pretend he wasn’t romancing her after hours amongst the bakery goods. Oh, that reminded her … Kate still needed to ask her mum if she’d be interested in doing the baking for Cocktails & Chai when business slowed down at the B&B which she ran.

‘Rain-check, then?’ Daniel asked.

‘Til tonight.’

‘Tonight. Your place. And to tide us over—’

‘Kate, you up here? Oops. Sorry,’ Juliet apologised as she reached the top of the stairs and spied them mid-clinch.

‘Don’t be silly. It’s fine,’ Kate assured.

Daniel cleared his throat and smiled. ‘Kate and I were just testing out the system.’

‘Right,’ Juliet gave a knowing nod. ‘Oscar and I need to do some of that.’ A blush formed across her cheeks. ‘Not your systems, obviously. What I meant was—’

Kate grinned. ‘What you meant was that you’re both feeling the strain of working long hours and hardly ever seeing each other, as well.’

When Oscar had discovered, this summer, Juliet’s plans to work so closely with Kate, he’d gone into full protective mode, making it impossible for Juliet to hide her feelings for him. The sparks between them had got the whole of Whispers Wood noticing and even though Juliet had moved out of her beloved bijou Wren Cottage and into the barn that Oscar had converted within weeks of them finally getting together, Kate was willing to bet that between Juliet setting up her salon and Oscar finishing up all the building renovations around here, they probably hardly got to see each other outside of work, either.

‘Anyway,’ Juliet said, ‘I wanted to tell you I talked over that other thing with Oscar and he agrees that Jake would be the perfect choice.’

‘Jake?’ Daniel queried.

‘Jake Knightley,’ Kate explained. ‘I thought I’d ask him to take a look at the courtyard. Come up with some plans for re-landscaping the space come spring.’

Daniel frowned. ‘Will he have time now he’s taken over the running of Knightley Hall?’

‘I think he’s looking for all the work he can get,’ Juliet said. ‘Knightley Hall is kind of expensive to run.’

‘Okay, I’ll try and set up a meeting. Let me write it down, or I’ll forget. As you’re here and Daniel’s here, shall we start the meeting now?’

‘Works for me,’ Juliet said. ‘Have notebook, will meet. So, are we employing Harry Stiles or what?’

‘Nope.’

‘Melody’s going to be so disappointed.’

‘Trust me, she really isn’t,’ Kate said.

‘Hey, why don’t we show Juliet what we put up in reception, before we start the meeting?’

Kate jumped off the table excitedly. ‘Oh. Yes. Perfect. Juliet, come with us,’ and grabbing her hand before she could sit down, she steered her down the two flights of stairs until all three of them were standing at the reception desk in the main foyer of The Clock House.

‘What do you think?’ she asked, pointing to the newly placed vintage photo frames that she and Daniel had put up behind the reception desk the night before. ‘I thought it would be nice to have them up,’ Kate explained, looking at the three postcards Juliet had sent her at the beginning of the year, explaining that The Clock House was going up for sale. ‘You know – a permanent reminder.’

Juliet nodded. ‘So when we’re super-successful and absolutely rolling in it we can look at these and think: Jennifer Lopez, ‘Jenny From The Block’.

‘What? No, so we can—’

‘Oh, I get it,’ Juliet interrupted fist-bumping her heart and then pointing her hand up to the sky and launching into Take That’s ‘Never Forget’.

‘Oh my God. Stop that. I just meant I wanted a lovely reminder of how this space came to be. Of where we started. Of all the hopes you had. All the hopes I had. Of how you tapped into that and started this whole thing.’

A soft smile formed on Juliet’s lips as she stopped teasing. ‘I didn’t really start this whole thing you know.’

Kate nodded. ‘I know. Bea did.’

‘Yes, Bea did. But it’s perfect and I love it. And having them framed for everyone to see, it’s like we’re paying the sentiment forward.’

Kate turned to stare at the postcards, a huge smile forming on her lips. ‘Hey, what would you say if I told you I’d just thought of the perfect way to pay the postcards forward and find someone to run Cocktails & Chai?’

Chapter 5
Geeks Bearing GIFs

Jake

Jake Knightley rounded the corner, took in the sight before him, rolled his eyes, and sticking his fingers into his mouth, produced an ear-splitting whistle.

Bingley the bichon stopped his investigation (chomping) of the lowest border of herbs Jake had been in the process of protecting from winter frosts, and cocked his head at his owner’s brother.

‘Damn right, you’d better be afraid,’ Jake told the dog, trying and failing to sound stern. ‘In about one hour from now it isn’t going to be rainbows you’re sh—’ he broke off as he saw his toddler nephew come tottering around the border. ‘Pooping,’ he said instead, with a stare of exasperation at the dog.

Eighteen month old Elton squealed, ‘Bad doggy, Bingey’ and catching sight of his favourite uncle grinned like he needed to let some of the sunshine inside of him free. Jake actually suspected each of his three brothers was Elton’s favourite uncle but he’d be lying if he didn’t get a kick out of seeing the adoration in the kid’s face. Smiling back indulgently, he bent and scooped his nephew into his arms. ‘Where’s Mummy, then?’

Elton flung an arm out, narrowly missing Jake’s chin, and pointed behind him.

‘Let’s go, Bingley,’ Jake commanded, and made sure the dog was at his heels.

With his nephew in his arms and the pup at his feet, he wandered through the kitchen garden of the Tudor mansion that had been in his family for generations and which he’d finally been allowed to take over from his parents last year. After studying horticulture and then spending several years working for a garden design firm in London, returning to run Knightley Hall and restore the gardens so they could be opened to the public felt like the realest thing he’d ever done and the place he was supposed to make his mark.

He’d been fortunate enough to work on lots of magnificent gardens, but restoring the ones in his ancestral home was what he’d wanted to do since he’d been a teenager.

Carrying Elton effortlessly, Jake crossed the main patio leading to the terraced gardens that ran the back of the house and walked around the side of the building so that he could get to the front drive.

His sister, Sarah, was busy bumping her car door shut with her hip while she tried to juggle a large cake box and her laptop.

‘Sorry, Jake,’ she mumbled around the set of car keys in her mouth. She opened her mouth so that the keys fell onto the top of the cake-box she was holding and groaned, ‘Little tykes both got away from me.’

Jake reached her side and grabbed the keys that were just about to slide off. ‘Tyke number two found a dinner of sorts within seconds of arriving. Expect the distinct smell of parsley when you’re cleaning up after him later.’

‘Oh Christ, really?’ A look of tired resignation came over her face and then suddenly she was smiling. ‘Perhaps we’ll stay with you for supper and Bingley can have the roam of the gardens.’

‘I don’t need compost that badly,’ Jake laughed, walking with her back towards the rear of the house. ‘And you can stay, but I won’t be around. I was just organising cloches and cold-frames before I pop over to The Clock House.’

‘But I brought food. Well, cake.’

Jake eyed the box suspiciously. ‘No.’

‘No?’

‘No way is cake going to make up for you hatching that evil, twisted plan with Mum, last week.’

‘Oh come on. How was I supposed to know the woman mum was talking about was Gloria Pavey.’

Jake shuddered. He was sure Gloria Pavey was perfectly nice. At least she would be once she got over the bitterness of her husband Bob leaving her for a male model called Bobby. ‘Thanks to the both of you, she’s been round twice, asking if I can pose in her charity calendar.’

‘That doesn’t sound so bad.’

‘Mowing the lawn.’

Sarah winced. ‘Going for themed, is she? Well, I suppose mowing is kind of connected to what you do.’

‘Naked.’

‘What the—’ she broke off as she looked at Elton. ‘I miss swearing so bad,’ she confessed. ‘So, Gloria’s putting together a Calendar Girls but with boys?’

‘I think that’s the gist. To be honest, I tried not to pay too much attention.’

‘Is it possible you’ve got this all wrong?’

‘I don’t think so. Lady Chatterley was mentioned. She even asked me to wear my hair down.’ He tugged self-consciously on his man-bun because he knew it was only a matter of time before his family started referring to him as Pirate Pete from TOWIE. He should have got his hair cut months ago. One more thing he hadn’t had time to do. As soon as Juliet opened up her hair salon, the better. ‘Both visits were awful. Just awful,’ he said. ‘No cake is going to make up for what the two of you have started.’

‘Are you sure? It’s lemon drizzle. Sheila Somersby made it.’

Jake paused because as well as running Whispers Wood B&B, Sheila baked really nice cakes. He deposited Elton on one of the kitchen chairs and, unable to resist, lifted the lid of the box. ‘Okay, this can stay. You can leave it with the one that Mum dropped around yesterday.’

‘We just care about you, Jakey.’

Jake snorted.

‘Ever since—’

Jake held up a hand. ‘Unless you bought ear-defenders for Elton, we’re not talking about “ever since”. And to show me you really care how about putting a halt to the endless parade of women. It’s ridiculous, completely unnecessary and did I mention … ridiculous?’

‘Okay, okay. No more women. Promise.’

Jake wasn’t going to be stupid enough to believe her. He knew his family meant well but ever since he’d taken over this place and ever since – well, last Christmas – discovering they didn’t think he could run Knightley Hall without a good woman by his side was too much. Hadn’t he been working his arse off all year to show everyone he could manage the place on his own?

‘Have you got time to show me which part of the gardens you’ve been working on?’ Sarah asked, with a grin that said, ‘See, I can change a subject with the best of them.’

‘Why?’

‘I thought I’d bring a photographer friend down to take some shots.’

Jake stared at his sister, his eyes narrowing. ‘Is your photographer friend female?’

‘Yes.’

‘Single?’

‘Yes.’

‘For God’s sake, Sarah.’

‘No, it’s not like that. She works for Rural Rooms magazine and I was thinking if we got some shots of the gardens through all the seasons then you could use them for publicity.’

‘Wouldn’t she need shots of the house, too?’ Because he really didn’t have the time, not to mention the money, for a large feature article which was only going to expose how rundown the place had become since he spent every penny he made on restoring the gardens to their former glory.

‘The fam can tart up a couple of the main rooms for you, but I’ve stressed it’s the gardens that you’re going to be opening up to the public, not the house.’

‘As long as the focus isn’t on the inside. When can she come?’

‘Soon, hopefully. I’ll show you some of her work in a minute. Oh, and I have something else to show you.’ She held up her laptop and grinned determinedly. ‘If you don’t love it, tell me you do anyway, because it took a gazillion number of hours and it’s probably the best thing I’ve done in ages.’

‘Hey, you always do good work.’ Jake knew his sister struggled to feel like she was back at the cutting edge of her work since she’d had Elton and he’d seen on more than one occasion glimpses of how shocking she found motherhood. She was a brilliant mum but both she and her husband were way more used to their tech than a little person who didn’t behave like one of their designs, even though, technically, he was. ‘I wish I could pay you for doing the brochures for this place when we’re ready.’

‘Please. Are you planning on charging all of us whenever we come to you for advice?’

‘Maybe if any of you actually took it …’ It still befuddled him that any of the Knightley brood, of which there were another three brothers and a sister, came to him at all, for advice. Particularly as he wasn’t the eldest.

He guessed he was the one best able to cope with no longer having the family’s money to fall back on though – probably because the estate had never been about money for him. Out of all of them he was the one who carried this place in his bones, his heart, his soul. And maybe having those roots so deeply embedded represented a familiarity – a stability – that the actual Hall couldn’t because even when he’d been in London and his siblings dotted all over, they’d been drawn to him whenever their lives got chaotic.

Sarah sipped her tea. ‘Has Seth been around since the split?’

Seth was their youngest brother and had been married to Joanne for two years, yet they seemed to be happier apart than together. ‘I think he knows that if he does, I’m just going to send him straight back to her.’

‘I don’t know, Jake. It sounds sort of final, this time.’

‘As opposed to the other times? If it’s all so bad, why did he bother marrying her in the first place?’ An uncharitable anger kicked against his insides wanting to get out.

‘Maybe if he stayed with you for a while,’ Sarah suggested.

‘No. Way. I’ve got enough to do without babysitting a grown man with zero interest in what I’m trying to do here.’

‘But maybe a little hard work would make him see sense.’

‘No.’

‘Is that a, “No”, no or a—’

Jake simply stared at his sister.

‘Okay so that’s a real and actual no.’

Elton chose that moment to chase Bingley around the table with a marker in his hands. As Jake reached out to grab the marker, Sarah took her son in her arms and settled him on her lap. ‘So, what’s all this, then?’ she asked, indicating the plans that had been spread out on the large kitchen table.

‘I found them in the library last night.’

Jake watched her turn her head to look at the plans and found himself holding his breath for her reaction.

‘It’s the rose garden you’ve been working on, right?’

Jake nodded. ‘Notice anything unusual?’

Sarah leant forward to stare at the plans, making sure she captured Elton’s sticky hands in her own so that they couldn’t reach the age-spotted foolscap drawings. ‘This looks bigger somehow.’

‘I know. I don’t know why this area was never finished, but finally I’ve found the missing part of the puzzle.’

‘All this time there’s been a missing part of the garden?’

‘Mmmn. Every time I’ve worked in that area I’ve kept feeling as if the perspective was off. And I was right. Look,’ Jake said, pulling out a kitchen chair and shoving his mug down on the end of the plan to stop it rolling back up. ‘This looks like the same wall that divides the kitchen garden from the rose garden, but it isn’t. There’s another small private garden that extends down from a doorway that’s been bricked up.’

‘You mean, like a …’ her nose scrunched up. ‘Secret garden?’

‘Exactly. A secret garden.’ Jake grinned, trying and failing to keep the excitement from showing in his voice. ‘Yesterday I broke through that part of the wall. Next step is to dig out some of the foundations and see what I unearth.’ At least he would, as soon as he had the time. ‘Actually, can you tell me what you think of this?’ Getting up from the table he walked over to the dresser, pulled out a drawer and took out some sketches. ‘I drew them up last night. It’s how I think it should look when finished.’

Sarah stared at the watercolour sketches. ‘Oh, I love these. You’ve made it into a sort of garden chapel.’

‘Actually, that’s not a bad description.’

‘It’s stunning. A private oasis beyond the rose garden.’

‘So you can see how it should look in bloom?’

Sarah nodded. ‘It’s a shame you can’t finish it straight away. With The Clock House opening up in a few weeks, Crispin’s going to start bringing up your plans at the village meetings.’

‘If Crispin wants me to open earlier, then he can raise the tens of thousands of pounds needed to finish this project off.’ Jake wasn’t rushing anything. If it was worth doing, it was worth doing well.

‘Maybe if you did Gloria’s charity calendar – joking,’ Sarah added, as soon as she saw his trademark scowl hit his face. ‘You know if you’re going for the chapel look, you could hold weddings here.’ She pointed to his sketches and the plans. ‘Set up a marquee on the back terrace, or have a picnic down by the lake, but the ceremony should be here under this main connecting arbour. Can you imagine the scent? So romantic.’

Jake winced.

Yes, okay, the thought had trickled in, along with the puzzle of why his great-great grandfather, George, had added a plan for this area but never had it made.

George Knightley had started his career in theatre construction so it wasn’t that surprising to Jake he’d shown a true gift for design. What was surprising was why something that would have worked so well on the estate had been bricked up?

George’s designs had been fascinating Jake since he’d stumbled across them while poking about in one of the potting sheds, looking for a bottle of beer or a cigarette when he was fourteen.

After overhearing yet another conversation about money between his parents, he’d been in need of a distraction. They’d all found ways to deal with the stress and reality growing up on an estate the size of Knightley Hall but he’d been the only one to put that energy back into the land and that had been down to Sid, the head gardener at the time, taking him under his wing. Showing him a different way of dealing with pressure and showing him George’s designs so that his passion for restoring the gardens had sparked.

Years later and Jake knew his plans to get the place to pay for itself were going to work. He just needed to be done with winter and for spring, summer and autumn to last about twice as long as it usually did.

‘Sorry. Shouldn’t have mentioned the “R” word,’ Sarah said, getting up to plonk her mug into the cheap-as-chips stainless steel sink before turning around to walk back over to the table and switch on her laptop. ‘So, about what I brought to show you … the thing is, I kind of wanted you to see it first so that when you receive your invite, you’re not too shocked.’

‘Invite?’

‘Mmmn. It’s for the opening of The Clock House.’ She brought up the gif she’d been designing and said, ‘Okay, press “Play” and tell me what you think.’

Intrigued, Jake reached forward and set the gif in motion. As the envelope opened up on screen, he grinned. ‘Now this is what I call an invitation to a grand party.’

‘You like it?’

‘I do. More to the point, I think Kate, Daniel and Juliet are going to love it.’

‘I thought it was good. I mean, you know what I mean.’

Jake’s gaze snagged on the date of the party as it flashed up on screen.

Sarah bit her lip. ‘And now I’m guessing you’ve realised the date of the opening was going to be your—’

‘It’s fine,’ Jake said, cutting her off.

‘Is it?’

‘Is this really why you came here, to tell me about the date?’

Sarah looked at him with what looked suspiciously like sympathy. He tried a warning scowl and the sympathy in her eyes only deepened. Damn siblings. They saw you running around in a pair of dungarees made from curtains when you were younger and there was just no way they could ever be scared of you again. Gentling his voice anyway, he ran a hand absent-mindedly over his hair. ‘I don’t have dibs on dates, Sarah.’

‘Well, no but—’

‘Like I said, it’s fine. But I won’t be able to babysit Elton for you that night.’

‘Of course you won’t. You’ll be at the party.’

‘Actually I won’t.’

‘Jake, you can’t mope around here on your own.’

‘I won’t be.’

‘Okay. That’s good. Wait – are you saying you’re going to be moping around somewhere else?’

‘That’s exactly what I’m saying. I’ve rented a cottage in Cornwall over Christmas. You lot are always on at me to take a holiday, so I am.’ And if that happened to mean he was also going to be far away from pitying glances and memories of last Christmas, how very handy.

‘What are you talking about?’ Sarah demanded. ‘You disappeared on Christmas Day last year and all we got was a text saying you weren’t coming back until the day after Boxing Day – and we totally understood after what happened,’ she rushed out, ‘but you know Mum’s hoping we’ll all be together to do the family Christmas celebration, thing.’

Jake bit back a grimace. If he had his way no one would ever find out where he’d ended up on Christmas Day.

‘You really won’t be in Whispers Wood this Christmas?’ Sarah asked.

‘Correctomundo.’

‘And you don’t think everyone will worry when they hear about this?’

‘It’s just a holiday, Sarah.’

‘Bull. You’re running. In fact I’m changing your name to Running Bull.’

He could tell the moment she realised he wasn’t going to change his mind. That she could call up the family and get them all to call him Running Bull but that nothing could get him to change his mind from vacating Whispers Wood over Christmas.

Chapter 6
Season’s Greetings

Emma

‘Em, heads up. Incoming.’

Emma looked up from concentrating on measuring out a shot of tequila and just managed to catch the bottle of water being thrown at her.

‘Take the water and grab five minutes.’

‘Are you kidding?’ Emma looked at Bar Brand’s manager, Rudy, like he was insane and then jerked her head pointedly at the three-deep throng at the bar.

‘Not actually kidding,’ Rudy confirmed. ‘You haven’t had a break since you got here and this is your third double shift of the week. DiNozo’s going to cover you.’

Emma felt Tony (DiNozo’s actual name) bump her hip as he reached over to grab the jigger from her hand. He flashed her one of his trade-mark grins. ‘What are we making?’

‘Looks like you’re making a Mulholland Drive,’ she said, whipping off her black apron and stepping back. ‘Apparently I’ll be seeing you in five.’

‘Make it thirty,’ her boss threw over his shoulder as he loaded a tray of drinks.

Thirty? Rudy was certifiable if he really thought she was going to be able to sit upstairs for thirty whole minutes on a busy Friday night.

But as if he knew she was about to argue, he added a, ‘That is a direct order, Danes.’

‘Sir, yes Sir,’ Emma shouted back, giving him a mock salute as she backed out of the bar doors into the kitchen.

‘Jeez, Emma, is there any chance you could come through the doors and not nearly knock me over?’

‘Sorry, Jade. You’re going to have to direct that stellar sarcasm, we’ve all come to know as wit, at DiNozo for the next few.’

‘Sure thing, shirker. Nothing I like better than having to repeat an order eleven million times over to the guy who can’t think for smiling at the ladeez.’

Emma grinned because the way DiNozo was looking at Jade it really wasn’t going to take too much more of her wince-worthy wit for him to decide that the best way to silence that mouth of hers was probably with his. And once they locked lips…

With a happier heart than a few moments before, Emma walked through the busy kitchen and headed up the steep staircase to Rudy’s office.

Flinging open the door she took two steps and flung herself down on the fake leather Admiral’s chair. If she lowered her aching limbs to the equally fake Chesterfield sofa shoved along the wall beside the filing cabinet she was pretty sure she’d fall asleep and sleeping on the job?

Yeah.

Tended to be thought of as one of those things you didn’t do.

Moving a crate containing a new brand of vodka off the desk, she decided thirty minutes was enough time to check Rudy had added all the forms for Christmas parties to the spreadsheet she’d set up for him.

She got so engrossed that when the office door opened and in walked Rudy, she turned in surprise.

‘Relax,’ he said, holding out his hands. ‘Break’s not over. I couldn’t take the chemistry down there any longer.’

‘Jade and Tony? It’s True Love, Rudy. Can’t stand in the way of it.’

Rudy groaned. ‘You and your match-making. Why can’t you let Tinder take care of all that?’

Emma shuddered. Dating via an app took all the romance out of it. She knew because she had the unbroken heart to prove it. Dating in the movies was a whole lot different to dating when you worked in the movies. In Hollywood it was virtually impossible to even get a date without using an app and once you did, if you wanted anything more than a casual hook-up, then anyone from within the industry tended to only be interested in what you could do for each other’s careers and anyone from outside of the industry tended towards petty jealousies or secretly wanting into the industry anyway.

‘Tinder takes care of one thing and one thing only, Rudy. When it comes to matters of the heart, human intervention works best.’

At least it did for others. If only she was as good at match-making herself as she was her friends. It was like when you saw an outfit in a shop window and knew instantly who it would look good on, but when it came to choosing one for yourself, you just couldn’t see it.

Maybe she was just blind to ‘Eligible Guy Reveal Yourself’, because she only had eyes for, ‘Let The Actress See The Role’.

‘What am I going to do if they discover that the path to true love doesn’t involve working together?’ Rudy asked.

‘They’ll be fine. Trust me. Think of it this way, won’t it be nice to be around Jade when she’s singing like Cinderella instead of spitting nails?’ She grinned, and then gestured to the screen, ‘You need to order more glassware if you’re really going to say yes to this number of private Christmas parties.’

‘Yeah, yeah. Danes, listen up.’

‘It should be okay,’ she continued, not really listening-up. ‘As long as you don’t double book anyone.’

‘Stop about the holidays for a moment. Look, you keep running around here like you’re indispensable, I’m going to start wondering what I’d ever do without you.’

‘What are you talking about?’ She turned towards him and blinked. ‘When I get The Call, you’ll just hire someone else.’

Rudy gave her a long measured look and then shrugged. ‘Okay. Yes. This is what I would do. But would they be as good as you? Would they practically run the place when I’m not here?’

Emma’s heart skipped a beat. ‘Are you planning on going somewhere?’

‘Maybe. This place is doing well. Makes me think I might like to open another one.’

Terrific. Was everyone moving onto something except her? ‘Where?’

‘New York.’

Huh. If only she’d actually made the move to trying theatre. She’d have been in with a shot of getting a job to pay rent while going for auditions.

‘I guess I’m asking what you want more,’ Rudy said. ‘Your name in lights? Or, maybe, your name above this door?’

Emma started shuffling the pile of party requests. He wanted her to run this place for him while he scouted out and set up a bar in New York? ‘I want my name in lights, Rudy. You’ve known this from day one.’ Her heart felt heavy because, okay, day one had been three years ago and she hadn’t been able to make it happen.

Rudy looked at her shrewdly and then got up and headed for the door before pausing and saying, ‘You don’t have to answer now but think about it will you?’

Left alone in Rudy’s office once more, Emma didn’t know what to think. Could she really manage this place for Rudy? Could she really give up chasing The Dream in favour of being surrounded by people who were pursuing that very same dream? Every night, could she watch happily as one by one they started their new adventures and made it in the industry, or would it make her bitter?

Not much of an adventure for her, she thought and immediately felt awful because sweet, sweet Rudy was offering her more options than she’d given herself for the last three years.

With a huge sigh she pulled up her emails hoping to distract herself.

She was young and single with talent.

When did she get to start her adventure?

Idly she clicked on a new email from Kate:

To: WritingHer‌OscarAccep‌tanceSpeech

From: Kate Somersby

Subject: Season’s Greetings

Attachment: Invite

Emma, Hi!

Beyond excited to show you the mock-up of the invitation we’ll be sending out.

Can you do me a massive favour and give me your honest opinion? We’ve been working on these for so long I’ve got analysis paralysis!

Oh, can you pay particular attention to the last business and give me your thoughts?

Intrigued, Emma clicked on the attachment and was hopelessly enchanted when an old-fashioned cream-coloured linen envelope, whizzed across her screen and came to a stop, looking like something straight out of a Jane Austen novel. It had her name and address written on it in flowing script, like it had been written with fountain pen and sent by messenger to end up on a silver tray, waiting to be sliced open with a beautifully engraved letter opener.

A second later and it was turning itself over and opening up right in front of her eyes.

The flowing script in the middle read:

This Christmas you are cordially invited to the grand opening of The Little Clock House on the Green…

Oh, wow. Emma squinted past the cursive script. Was that the actual Clock House in the background? It looked so stately, so fabulously and so quintessentially English, that she felt an unexpected pang of home-sickness.

Which was completely ridiculous, since LA was her home, not England.

The envelope closed up again and divided into four triangles with a number and a ‘play’ symbol in the centre of each one. Charmed she clicked on the top triangle of the invitation and as it ‘unsealed’ itself to open up, she read:

Beauty @ The Clock House

Day Spa

Manager: Kate Somersby.

Smiling, Emma clicked on the second leaf and with a smile on her face watched it magically open up to read:

Hair @ The Clock House

Hair Salon

Manager: Juliet Brown

She clicked on the third:

Hive @ The Clock House

Rentable Co-Working space

Manager: Daniel Westlake

And then she clicked on the last one:

Cocktails & Chai @ The Clock House

Tearoom/Bar

Manager: Emma Danes

Emma stared at the screen in shock.

Absurd excitement shot through her, exploding like fireworks. Reaching out she quickly clicked back onto the email to make sure she wasn’t imagining things.

How about it, Emma?

Fancy coming to Whispers Wood and setting up Cocktails & Chai?

p.s. I can help out with airfare.

p.p.s. On days off you could finally get to visit where Jane Austen lived.

Ooh, that was sneaky.

Kate knew she’d wanted to do that for as long as she could remember.

p.p.p.s. And as Jane Austen once famously said … If adventures will not befall a young lady in her own village, she must seek them abroad.

Chapter 7
Making Cow Eyes

Emma

Emma adjusted her grey wool beanie to a more attractive angle and wrapped her dusky-pink pashmina more securely around her shoulders as she wrenched open the front door of Wren Cottage.

She was late.

So very late for her first day at The Clock House.

She hated being late. Stupid jet lag. Now she was going to feel on the back-foot all day as well as feeling nauseous from the butterflies hurling hand-grenades at the walls of her insides.

Quickly she bent down and shoved her feet into the pair of boots sat outside the front door.

Holy moley, they were beyond freezing. Why in God’s name did people in this country leave perfectly good footwear outside? It was barbaric.

Honestly, mid-November in Whispers Wood could not be more different to mid-November in LA.

That was it, she thought, her toes curling and clenching inside the boots. When she got in tonight she was bringing these puppies inside and shoving them by the fire – once she’d plucked up the courage to ask again how to switch the fire on, that was.

Quite sure her toes were going to drop off if she didn’t get moving, she half-shlepped, half-slid along the icy path and came to an abrupt halt at the front gate.

‘Wow. Cow.’

Master of the understatement. That was her all over. Because, excuse me, but what the hell was an actual four-legged, real-life, black and white, farm animal doing standing in front of her, plain as day?

Emma closed her eyes and then opened them again.

It was still there.

And it wasn’t moving.

Oh God. Why wasn’t it moving?

Was it dead? Did cows die standing up?

And why was it staring at her, with those … cow eyes?

Slowly, Emma reached out and unlatched the little wrought-iron gate separating her from the cow and tugging it over the frosted tufts of grass, pulled it open enough to slip through.

The cow looked at her as if to say, ‘Hi there, it’s all good. Wanna chew the cud with me?’

Emma shook her head because, you know, Day! As in, she had one. Had places to be and people to meet and she really didn’t fancy her first phone call to Kate to be along the lines of a sickie that went, ‘I’m sorry I can’t come to work today, I’m trapped in my house by a cow.’

‘Shoo,’ she whispered, watching her breath turn misty as it left her mouth. When nothing happened she mustered her courage and, feeling brave, flung a hand out from under her shawl to make a shooing motion.

Her actions had zero effect.

‘Hey, you? Mr Moo? Please shoo,’ she tried again a little louder, totally wishing she was eating Moo Shu pork, or doing anything that felt in any way familiar to her old life in LA.

She wasn’t sure this really fulfilled the ‘adventure’ brief she’d sold herself on when packing her case to make the move back to the UK, although, she’d only been here one whole night and one whole day so perhaps she should give it more time.

Or maybe the jet lag was screwing with her reasoning?

She blinked again in case it really was jet lag that had her imagining a cow had come to visit the tiny cottage Kate had helped her settle into when she’d arrived in Whispers Wood.

No. It wasn’t her imagination.

The cow was still there. Filling up her entire view because, as it turned out, cows were genuinely fear-for-your-life enormous close-up.

As an antidote to not getting her dream role, not being able to get out of the wrought-iron starting gate wasn’t quite the look she’d been going for.

Wisps of frosty fog wrapped themselves around her, and as the damp air seeped deep into her bones she was closer to admitting she may have misjudged this opportunity. What would Rudy think if he could see her now?

She’d thought this would all be so very quaint, hadn’t she?

How could you have been this wrong, Ems? This, So. Completely. Wrong.

All it was, was freezing, she thought, wondering if she could get out of the back garden of the cottage and find her way to The Clock House, thus avoiding the cow-staring scary start to her rural adventure.

Emma looked around helplessly and then, leaning closer, risked cricking her neck permanently to check out the pair of feet she could see approaching.

‘Is someone there?’ she asked.

‘Whack it on its arse,’ said a male voice.

‘What it on what?’ Emma asked.

There was a sigh, and then, ‘Give it a good slap on its hind rear and it’ll move right on by.’

Emma stared suspiciously at the cow’s rear-end. The instruction sounded a bit Fifty Shades Darker.

‘Thank you but I’m not into that,’ she said, not quite under-her-breath enough.

‘Look, do you want it to move, or not?’

She did. She really did. It was time to swap out her What Would Bridget Jones Do for a more kick-ass What Would JLaw Do? She licked her lips and stared again at the cow. ‘So … just sort of … hit it?’

‘Sometime today would be appreciated.’

‘And you know to hit it because?’

‘It’s Gertrude.’

‘Well.’ Emma folded her arms. ‘I have to tell you that I am none the wiser.’

‘But you are getting older. And so am I.’

A head popped around the rear of the cow and to Emma’s surprise it had a face belonging to it that stopped the breath in her lungs.

Maybe it was the fact that she faced imminent death by cow, but Emma’s powers of observation all narrowed down to one impressive: Valhalla-lujah.

The man was all dark and dangerous with Viking hair and beard and eyes the colour of the pints of Guinness that Bar Brand served up on Paddy’s night.

Eyes that, despite being framed by lashes that could compete with Gertrude’s, she could see were now drawn into a deep scowl.

‘For heaven’s sake,’ he said. ‘Hold these will you and I’ll move her on.’

Without thinking, Emma held open her arms and allowed Mr Heart-Wrecking Handsome to deposit a weighty pile of magazines, what looked like rolled-up plans, a laptop and a tape-measure the size of a dinner plate in them.

The next thing she knew she was staggering against the sudden weight, her feet sliding across the ice in opposite and modesty-mocking directions.

She hit the ground with an audible bump.

Oh, my, God.

Years of yoga, Pilates and dance and who knew all it was going to take for her to finally be able to do the splits was a British country lane, a cow, and a Viking!

She blew a strand of blonde hair out of her eyes and looked up just in time to watch Gertrude walking off down the road, bovine hips swinging like Jessica Rabbit.

‘Sorry. Are you all right? Here, let me help you up.’

Emma righted her beanie so that she could get an even better look at the Viking. ‘Oh, I think you’ve done more than enough under the circumstances,’ she harrumphed and then thought that on the bright side at least the heat in her face was bound to trickle down to her toes.

‘It’s not often these days that a man gets to rescue a woman from the perils of nature.’

Was he kidding?

‘It’s not often these days that a man expects a woman to hold his papers for him while he wades into danger,’ she muttered.

‘Quite. Well,’ he muttered all very Mark Darcy. ‘As it happens they’re important papers and I didn’t see you getting it done.’

Emma felt her bottom lip protrude. ‘So I did a little cow-ering. Excuse me for being surprised to find I was trapped in my own home by the bovine beast of Whispers Wood. I’m sure I’d have worked out how to get her to move—’

‘Eventually,’ he replied with a slight twitch of his lips.

Her gaze stalled on his lips. Until she saw him notice. Then, with another rush of red to her head, she glanced at her watch and stammered, ‘Oh. Help me up will you, I need to get to The Clock House.’

‘The Clock House? Really?’ He hauled her to her feet as if she was as light as a leaf floating in the breeze and she tried unsuccessfully not to be impressed.

‘Yes. Really.’

‘That’s where I’m off to. We might as well walk together, I suppose.’

Don’t do me any favours, she thought and then tried to remember how to get to the village green. As compasses went, she had an excellent moral one. As for working out which direction to take to get, well, anywhere … not so much.

‘So you must be the famous Holly Wood,’ came the rich dark-roasted coffee voice.

‘Huh? Oh. No, my name is Emma Danes.’

‘Not Holly Wood? I could have sworn—’

‘No. I’m over from Hollywood, and I’m definitely not famous,’ she replied feeling a little funny that she might have been talked about before she had even landed. ‘I’m here to help Kate open Cocktails & Chai @ The Clock House. And you must be… ?’ Apart from a rural Viking God with super-sexy British accent, appearing out of nowhere to save me from cows named, Gertrude, that was.

For one awkie mo she worried she’d said rural Viking God with super-sexy British accent out loud because there was another quirk of his lips into a smile that made her heart sort of descend into her stomach like someone had snapped its strings.

And then he was introducing himself Bond-style, with a, ‘My name is Knightley. Jake Knightley.’

Chapter 8
The Art of Conversation

Emma

‘So if your name’s Knightley, have you come from Knightley Hall, then?’ Emma said, as she set off down the country lane beside him.

When he didn’t answer she thought he hadn’t heard her all the way up there where the tall people hung out, so she said a little louder, ‘That huge black and white building surrounded by all that precision-cut hedging on the other side of the village?’

‘Topiary,’ he murmured.

‘Huh?’

‘The hedging you’re referring to is called topiary,’ he corrected helpfully.

Ignoring the dictionary lesson, she said, ‘I thought it said it was called Knightley Hall when I passed it yesterday on my walk. That’s where you live?’

‘I do.’ He increased his speed as if he hoped she wouldn’t have enough breath left to chat.

Which bugged her because it was him who’d invited her along on the journey, not the other way around. ‘And your name is Knightley?’ she asked, trying to keep pace with him in boots that were at least two sizes too big for her.

‘It is.’

‘But your first name is Jake, not—’ Oh, God, don’t say George, Emma. Or My Mister Knightley. He probably gets that all the time. ‘Not … George, then?’ Damn, she’d said it.

‘George was my ancestor.’

‘Well, of course he was,’ she answered as if that made the most perfect sense in the world.

They walked together in silence until she decided that the best way to take her mind off the nerves that had reappeared was to engage in chit-chat, and the only person around to do that with was him, her reluctant Knight-ley. ‘With a name like Knightley, I’m guessing someone was a real Jane Austen fan, huh?’

‘Or Jane Austen was a real Knightley, fan,’ he answered.

Ha. Cute.

‘So, what are you, like, the owner of that huge estate?’

This time when he shot her a quick look she swore she could see the edge of caution in his frown. ‘I am,’ he stated.

‘But you’re quite sure you’re not Succinct of the world-renowned Succincts?’ she asked, puffing out a breath.

Jake turned to look at her again and then shrugged. ‘I talk. When it’s warranted.’

‘But do you make conversation?’ she quipped back and felt him doing the staring thing again.

‘Rescuing you wasn’t enough? You want conversation from me now as well? Interesting.’

‘It could be, yes. If you had anything to say, that is. Is there some sort of law that prevents us from—’ Emma came to an abrupt stop as a sudden thought occurred. ‘Oh, shit. I mean, sugar.’ Knightley Hall had looked all huge and stately, hadn’t it? All landed gentry, heritage-old. ‘Am I supposed to address you as Sir Jake or Sir Knightley, or something?’

Jake stopped and regarded her for a heartbeat before, with yet another shrug, saying, ‘Either is fine.’

There was that heart-spiking lift of his lips again before he resumed walking along the path and Emma realised he might possibly be playing with her. But on the off-chance she’d be causing some sort of international incident on her first full day as manager of Cocktails & Chai, she decided not to call him out on it, and really, how hard could it be to have a conversation without observing the traditional naming conventions?

As she scurried after him, layers of wool flapping in the wind, she tried to think of something to say but all she could come up with was, ‘I’d love to look around your home sometime.’

‘Really? And why is that?’

Um … Good one, Ems, invite yourself over to the gorgeous stranger’s house, why don’t you? Scrabbling around for something to add, she tried, ‘Because when I walked past it yesterday I thought that it looked absolutely beautiful.’

‘Beautiful?’

The white plasterwork separated with a grid of black wooden beams and the brown twisted fairytale vines running all over it, which she fancied was wisteria that would look stunning in the summer, was maybe more imposing as a structure than beautiful.

‘Handsome, then,’ she amended.

He cocked his head as if to weigh up her description and as they entered a wooded area, deigned to slow his pace a little. ‘Looks can be deceiving,’ he told her softly. ‘Trust me the inside of Knightley Hall is neither beautiful nor handsome.’

‘And it’s what’s inside that counts, right?’

He gave her an assessing look as if she’d surprised him and then nodded. ‘Not a polished concrete surface or a cinema room to be seen.’

‘I guess if your taste runs more to modern, then you probably can’t class it as beautiful, then, but surely it gets extra points for standing the test of time? There’s a beauty in that, isn’t there? Or is it not actually old at all? Maybe it’s one of those clever kit houses, that come flat-packed, and take only a team of four ten-year-olds to erect?’

‘What the… ?’ Jake offered her a horrified look. ‘No it is not a kit house,’ he said with a derision that had her wondering if he was channelling the late and great Alan Rickman.

‘When was it built, then?’

‘The original Tudor frame probably goes back to early sixteenth century.’

Emma’s eyes widened. ‘I guess the oldest houses in Hollywood were probably built around 1870.’

‘That’s close to when my family took over the Hall.’

His family had been in Knightley Hall since the 1870s? Emma couldn’t even imagine a family home existing since the 1970s. Her experience of family was that they often crumbled at the simplest of hurdles.

She snuck a look at her walking companion. All that time, one family, living in one place. Making history. Generation after generation. Maybe he was entitled to the slight odour of smugness that wafted off of him.

Oh, who was she kidding? The scent wasn’t smugness so much as it was cedar wood mixed with a hint of lemon and trying to ignore the way it kept teasing at her, making her want to keep pace and move in a little closer, she looked about the woods.

The smooth white bark on some of the trees had her wanting to reach out and rub her hand over the surface. They looked magical against the milky blue sky. She would have if she was alone, but she didn’t want Jake to think she was some weird tree-hugger.

‘So,’ he said, ‘I’m guessing you were in Hollywood for the same reason every other beautiful woman is there?’

‘Hark,’ she exclaimed to the woods, ‘for he initiates conversation,’ and then with a grin and a flutter of her eyelashes, looked up at him and said, ‘You think I’m beautiful?’

The eyelash fluttering didn’t go down quite as hilariously as she’d hoped, but she decided to think of the dull flush across his cheekbones as a blush rather than a rush of annoyance.

‘What I meant was, you’re obviously an actress?’

‘I am,’ she answered finding pleasure in being able to mimic his short, closed answers of earlier.

‘So then what are you doing here?’

Good question. ‘Resting?’

‘You don’t sound sure.’

Emma glanced down at her borrowed boots. ‘No, I don’t, do I?’ Why on earth had she said she was an actress when the whole reason she’d travelled thousands of miles was to prove she was capable of doing something she secretly suspected was far more difficult: managing a tearoom and bar? ‘I guess I need to see how this is going to work out first.’

‘Hedging your bets,’ Jake said with a grim nod.

‘You make that sound like a bad thing?’ It felt sensible to her. She’d put all her eggs into one basket before and hadn’t eggsactly got hit with the success stick.

‘Pardon me for hoping for Kate’s sake that you make it work out. I guess it’s too much to expect people will actually commit to something these days.’

‘Hey. I resent that. You don’t know anything about me.’

‘Apart from that you just admitted you had commitment issues.’

Emma stopped in her tracks. Her hands went to her hips in full-on umbrage-taken mode and she could feel the heat of embarrassment form two huge circles on her cheeks, making her wonder if she could look any more of a cliché. ‘Kate knew exactly what she was doing when she invited me here. I appreciate her faith in me and you can bet your “arse”,’ she added, swapping to full British accent, ‘I’m going to work hard. I intend to give this my all. I certainly don’t believe in only giving pieces of myself.’

‘Wow. When you use a British accent like that you sound so much more believable,’ he said, turning on his heel and walking away, his pace brisk.

Emma’s mouth opened and closed a couple of times like a guppy coming up for air. Thank God he had his hands full with all his ‘stuff’ because otherwise she was pretty sure he’d have added a slow hand clap.

‘Again, you don’t know me, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t talk to me like I’m some sort of flight risk. What?’ she called after him, ‘I have to have done something since the sixteenth century to be considered committed to a cause? You know what,’ she said scurrying to keep up with him again when he simply carried on walking, ‘maybe we shouldn’t speak to each other. Let’s flout society’s rules about polite conversation and not converse.’

‘Works for me.’

Emma started muttering under her breath about people who copped-out when a conversation wasn’t going their way.

‘Call me an idiot,’ he huffed out.

‘Idiot,’ she shot back and got a roll of his eyes for her effort.

‘But I assumed that your plan for not talking would actually involve less of this,’ he held up his hand and opened and closed his fingers to mimic a mouth talking, ‘and more of this,’ he said, finishing with keeping his fingers closed.

‘Oh, believe me,’ she hissed out, unwilling to let him have the last word, ‘the thought of respite from your incredible smug-self is definite motivation to stop talking.’

‘And yet …’

She delivered her most fierce death-glare and strode ahead of him.

He caught up with her in five steps and thank goodness, because she could see they were nearing the end of the woods and was she supposed to turn left or right at the end of them? He had her so flustered she couldn’t even think.

They’d taken maybe twenty steps in silence before he shocked her by saying, ‘You know if you really want to see something beautiful while you’re in Whispers Wood, you should take a look around Knightley Hall’s gardens.’

‘Really?’ She glanced up at him. ‘I’d be allowed to do that? What are your opening times?’ Darn. So much for not speaking to him.

‘The gardens aren’t open to the public – well not yet, anyway. I suppose I could give you a tour though. When I have time,’ he added, making it sound like he actually wouldn’t have the time any time soon.

She was just contemplating this when they cleared the woods and stepped out onto the village green. Without thinking she reached out and laid her hand on his arm to stay him and was quietly charmed when he instantly moved protectively in front of her.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asked, his gaze wandering across the village green.

With a sigh she stepped around him. ‘Nothing. This is my first real look at The Clock House, is all.’

And, oh, it was wonderful.

Three storeys of red brick house standing in regal Georgian fashion, its sparkly clean windows glinting invitingly, beckoning her closer.

She could almost hear the horse and carriages of old, driving up the gravel path.

‘It’s like something out of a regency romance,’ she whispered. ‘I can’t believe I get to work here.’ She couldn’t help herself. Feet no longer as cold as they had been, she went straight into a Happy Dance.

Jake stared at her. ‘You were first in line the day they held auditions for Pharell Williams’ Happy video, weren’t you?’

‘Ha-ha. And I suppose you’ve never busted out a few moves, have you? Or is rolling your eyes at the world your signature move?’

Instead of looking at the huge great big clock, he glanced at his watch and then back at her pointedly, ‘Are you going to celebrate the outside all day, or might you eventually want to go inside?’

‘Oh, I can’t wait to get inside. If it’s half as beautiful as the outside,’ she slid her gaze sideways to his, ‘and it’s what’s on the inside that counts, right? Well, then prepare for more dancing.’

‘I’m pretty sure Kate’s going to frown at you salivating all over the parquet flooring.’

‘I’m embarrassing you? Simply for gushing a bit about a building? Not a romantic bone in your body, is there?’

Those full lips of his pinched tight. ‘To coin a phrase I recently heard: Hey, I resent that. You don’t know anything about me.’

‘I know enthusiasm is anathema to you.’

‘Not at all. But not everything has to produce a larger than life and slap-you-about-the-face instantaneous Oh my God, Oh my God, Oh my God, reaction, either.’

She realised he didn’t believe or trust her reactions were real and opened her mouth so that the flames she so badly needed to shoot him down with could come out, but all that came out was a huffy-hoity, ‘Your American accent is atrocious.’

His hand went to his heart. ‘You wound me to the core,’ he said in a way that left her in no doubt that she couldn’t possibly. ‘Now are you coming or not? I’m not sure Whispers Wood is ready for you to dab your way across the village green, so you might want to save the celebrations for when you get inside the building.’

‘Hey, you know what would be great?’ she muttered, in hot pursuit as he set off across the village green.

‘What?’

‘If you didn’t provide a sarcastic voiceover in my ear as soon as I voice any kind of pleasure.’

‘Fine.’

And suddenly they were at the front doors and Jake was gallantly gesturing for her to precede him into the entryway.

Emma strode through the double doors and gasped, a huge grin forming as she took in the polished parquet flooring, the sweeping staircase, with the elegant antique writing desk tucked underneath, forming a welcoming reception area. As she lifted her head she took in the balustrade balcony area that must lead to the spa treatment rooms and co-working office space. Looking to her right two double doors had had their wood panels replaced with glass that had ‘Hair @ The Clock House’ etched in swirling white and gold lettering across them. Through the doors she got a brief, delightful, glimpse of chandeliers hanging over ornately framed floor to ceiling mirrors with elegant tables in front of them. The room was obviously still in the stages of being finished but, oh, wow.

‘It’s like out of a film set,’ she said, turning again in a slow circle.

She saw Jake shake his head at her. ‘Could you be more awe-struck?’

American, she thought he meant, but she was too happy to be offended. ‘Probably not. Oh, I love it. It’s like I’m in an actual real-life Regency Pump Room.’

And then she was turning her head to the left because that was where the tearoom had to be…

Oh, shoot! The double doors were closed so that she couldn’t see in.

‘All you need is an empire-line dress and you’ll be all set,’ he murmured. ‘It’s like you’ve found your people, only they’re not people, they’re old things.’

‘Hey, you said you’d be quiet.’

‘Did you know when you’re piqued you get this little wrinkle on the bridge of your nose? Maybe they have a treatment for that here?’

Her hand instantly came up to brush at her nose and she opened her mouth to speak but no words came out.

Honestly, either he had her speaking like something out of a turn of century – the last century – novel or, he was making her feel like she needed the safety-net of a script to follow.

She clicked her fingers and said, ‘Oh my God, I’ve just realised who it is you remind me of.’

He looked at her as if he expected her to say some famous actor.

So her smile was extra-wide when she nodded and said, ‘Yep. Also lives in a wood. The Hundred Acre Wood.’

When he frowned she made an uncanny braying noise.

‘You are referring to Eeyore?’ he spluttered.

‘Well, what do you know, not just a hat-rack,’ she said pointing to his head.

She watched with satisfaction as his jaw dropped open and then in the next moment he was pulling in a breath and announcing loudly in a voice full of boredom, ‘Hello? If anyone cares I brought Hollywood with me,’ and just like that he was walking away from her.

Unbelievable!

Insufferable!

‘My name is Emma,’ she called out to his retreating back. ‘And thanks for the asinine conversation.’ With a mock curtsey and an embarrassed look around to check no one had seen her so easily dismissed, she headed off in the complete opposite direction to Sir bloody Mr Knightley.

Chapter 9
And the Fairy-Light Dawns…

Jake

‘Hi, Jake, did you say you’ve brought Emma along with you?’ Kate looked up expectantly from the tower of towels she was stacking in an ornately painted white and gold armoire.

‘I left her downstairs,’ he said, feeling a tad bad for abandoning her. He bent his head into an open box of bottles of lotion and instantly inhaled the heady scent of honey. It was calming which was good but then made his stomach rumble which wasn’t. Should have had a sneaky slice of Sheila’s cake before he’d come out. Or, maybe he should have brought the cake for them all to share. You couldn’t really call it a bribe if the baker was related to the client, could you?

‘Oh, hi there, Jake,’ Juliet said, entering the large storage room with more boxes, ‘is it meeting time already?’

‘I can wait if you need to get this done now?’ he automatically offered. ‘Or I can help?’ He glanced down at his hands. Okay, they were probably the last things Kate and Juliet wanted around their nice-smelling, beautifully packaged bottles and soft-looking towels but anything to get some breathing space from the pint-sized acting mixologist with eyes the colour of silver-grey brunia berries.

He wasn’t quite sure why she’d made such an impression. But from the moment he’d peered around Gertrude and seen her, it had been all he could do to keep his tongue in his mouth.

She was like a beautiful blonde woodland fairy blinking back at him.

Of course then she’d opened her mouth … and kept on opening it … In the category of chatting there was little doubt she could give head of the am-dram society, Trudie McTravers, a run for her money.

And he’d reacted to a little sass by behaving like a complete and utter arse.

What the hell?

It made no earthly sense.

Aside from the realisation he was close to getting sucked in by what was on the outside and then getting slapped upside the head with her unending enthusiasm for her surroundings that was. Oh, and that undeniably seductive life-energy that was practically vibrating out of her.

It was all very thought provoking, he decided.

Alluring? Maybe, he conceded.

Suspicious? Definitely, he concluded.

Because seriously, there had to be a little guile lurking in there somewhere, right? Where was the ‘what’s in it for me?’ And why was she really here in Whispers Wood? Who went from acting to managing a tearoom?

Then, suddenly, it was all making sense.

She had to be straight out of the Marlon Brando school of method acting and was obviously here to learn the ropes and soak up the lifestyle for a part in a film.

Okay.

So with that sorted there wasn’t any need to be any more curious, he decided.

Soon as she nailed how to pull a pint or how to perfect a British accent, which with her melodious voice already halfway to charmingly clipped when she’d said ‘arse’, wouldn’t be long, and then she’d be off.

Not that he was going to be around anyway, he reminded himself.

Phew.

Analysis and compartmen‌talisation complete.

‘We shouldn’t leave Emma on her own on her first day. I could give you both a quick guided tour at the same time,’ Kate decided. ‘I know you’ve probably come up with designs for our courtyard already, but maybe this would help give you an idea of how to tie in the aesthetics?’

‘Sure. Daniel not around?’

‘No, he’s out picking up some extra fairy lights,’ she explained.

‘Fairy lights?’

‘You can never have too many, I think. Especially with Christmas coming up.’

Right. Christmas. Fairy lights. Christmas lights. They all equalled one thing.

Celebrations.

Jake stared at a bale of towels. ‘I have a few boxes you can have,’ he offered without thinking.

‘Yeah?’ Kate closed the armoire doors and began flattening the cardboard boxes as Juliet unpacked them.

‘Yes. Two dozen to be exact.’ He grabbed a couple of the boxes and made short work of deconstructing them. ‘They’re all white though.’

‘That would be—oh,’ Kate broke off as the fairy-light dawned on why he might possibly be in possession of a small town’s supply of stringed lights. ‘No. It’s all right. You don’t have to do that, Jake. Honestly.’

The shrug was hard to pull off when he could hear the sweetness in her voice. ‘It’s not like I need them anymore,’ he stated.

‘Oh, but, you might want to decorate Knightley Hall anyway? You know, for Christmas,’ Juliet added, her voice super-kind, making Jake’s shoulders stiffen. This was exactly why he couldn’t wait to get out of Whispers Wood.

‘Bit tricky on a Grade I listed building,’ he insisted. ‘Seriously, now that they won’t be going up in the gardens, you’d be doing me a favour. One less thing to store.’

Kate smiled gently. ‘Well, let’s see how many Daniel finds, before I give you a definitive answer.’

‘Sure.’ He pushed the word out and tried to leave it nonchalantly hanging as he followed her and Juliet out of the room.

‘It’ll probably take him about half an hour to get back. You okay waiting?’

Jake thought about how if he nipped back home he could pick up the boxes of lights, get them out of the house and still get back in time to have the meeting proper. Then he thought about how getting this job might provide enough funds to fix the leaking roof before it suffered another year’s worth of winter damage and decided that a little oohing and ahhing over a full-ticket price tour was the better option. ‘Absolutely. Lead the way,’ he told Kate.

They found Hollywood in what was going to be her ‘office’.

She was gazing up at the crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling rose in the centre of the room. The expression of magical delight on her face was the same one his nieces got when he remembered to re-arrange the fairy furniture in the stumpery before they visited.

‘Is this light an original fixture?’ she asked when they walked into the room, self-consciously removing her beanie and running a hand through her hair.

‘Depends what you mean by original,’ Jake muttered, as he watched the pale gold swathe of her hair swing free and settle gently around her heart-shaped face.

Kate threw him a worried frown and mumbling, ‘It’s absolutely gorgeous, isn’t it?’ walked over to hug Emma. ‘Welcome to your new home away from home. What do you think?’

‘Oh, only that it’s fabulous,’ Emma laughed, her eyes sparkling. ‘I mean, I don’t know exactly what the place looked like before, but the space you have now is amazing.’

Jake had to admit Emma’s enthusiasm was justified here. He’d worked on garden designs for some of the houses Oscar Matthews had renovated so he knew his friend did good work, but to be honest it was hard to believe this was the same room the village congregated in whenever Crispin Harlow called a Whispers Wood meeting.

Oscar had installed a stud wall at one end of the room, presumably so that a small kitchen area could be included behind it. The new wall was now kitted-out with dark-stained oak cabinetry that could give the hand-crafted mahogany bookshelves from the library at Knightley Hall a run for its money.

A couple of feet in front of that there now stood a stunning oblong bar. Oscar had mimicked the traditional Georgian design of the windows by making simple rectangular panels inset into the base at regular intervals and then painted it in thick cream gloss to match the architraving. The bar’s surface was a polished mid-tone marble that picked out the cream of the base and the darker stained oak of the wall shelves. A sturdy kick-bar and hand-rail in burnished copper had been fitted along the outside, and suspended above the bar was a series of small chandeliers surrounded by a glass and copper-piping racking system. A fresh lick of eau de nil paint on the walls and all the original features had been buffed, shined and polished.

The large reception room also now housed a selection of wooden tables and chairs that looked stackable for meetings or for Trudie’s am-dram productions.

‘I hope it’s okay I got started already,’ Emma smiled. ‘I wasn’t sure if you’d like refreshment for your meeting, but there’s already a pot of breakfast tea brewing or, I can make coffee, if you prefer.’

‘Tea would be gorgeous. Hi, I’m Juliet,’ Juliet said, reaching over with a warm smile to shake Emma’s hand. ‘Sorry I wasn’t around to meet you when you got here. It’s my cottage you’ve moved into. Did Kate show you where everything was? How it all worked?’

Jake watched the tiniest hesitation hover behind those brunia berry eyes and then Emma was smiling warmly and gushing, ‘Everything is perfect.’

‘You’re sure?’ Juliet queried maybe seeing the merest hesitation as well. ‘Heating’s a bit temperamental and I meant to warn you about the cats.’

‘Ah. I think I met one of them this morning. I woke up with the weirdest feeling like I was being stared at. Turned over, and discovered I was.’

Juliet laughed. ‘If it was a ginger Tom it was probably Aramis getting a quick look to report back how stunning you are. If it was a Persian and staring at you like he’d never met a stupider human, then it was Catty McCatface.’

‘It was definitely the second one.’

‘Sorry about Catty. He knows we’ve moved house, but,’ Juliet sighed, ‘well he’ll do anything to maintain his ornery rep.’

‘I probably shouldn’t try to make friends, then?’

‘God no, it’ll only make him laugh at you more. The best way to win him over is to pretend he doesn’t exist.’

‘Treat him mean, keep him keen, huh?’

Jake watched Emma’s bee-stung lips form a quick smile. It occurred to him that she didn’t look like she had a mean bone in her body, but then looks could be deceiving, couldn’t they?

‘So you two have already met?’ Kate asked looking between Emma and Jake.

‘We certainly have,’ she replied, and then with a huge wink, added, ‘He thinks I’m beautiful.’

‘She prefers to call me, Sir,’ he quipped back.

‘Sir?’ Daniel asked as he walked into the room carrying one small box of lights. ‘That’s a new one. Hi, I’m Daniel,’ he said, offering his hand in introduction to Emma, ‘and I’m pretty sure this one,’ he said with a nod to Jake, ‘actually answers to Oi, You, as well, okay?’

‘Good to know,’ Emma said and looking at him added, ‘I actually tried him out on Eeyore.’

‘Eeyore?’ Daniel threw his head back and laughed. ‘Priceless.’ And then made the mistake of looking at Jake, and correctly interpreting the glint of murderous violence in his gaze, cleared his throat and said, ‘Um … that doesn’t sound like him at all.’

Emma gave Jake a look suggesting she wasn’t often wrong and it annoyed the hell out of him that he should care what she thought. ‘I’ll probably come up with a few other names for him while I’m here,’ she added.

‘Depends how long you’re here for, I suppose,’ Jake replied, and if she wanted to infer from his statement that he didn’t think she’d last five minutes, he had absolutely no problem with that.

‘Unless I decide to bar him on opening night, that is,’ she said with another grin at him.

‘What the hell could you bar me for?’ he asked with a frown.

‘Oh, I don’t know … maybe cruelty to cows?’

He opened his mouth but before he could say anything she turned and asked, ‘Daniel, what’ll you have to drink?’

‘Cappuccino please.’

‘Coming right up.’

‘And I’d like a Cortado, please,’ Jake decided, thinking he might cope better with the bar between them.

‘Sure,’ she said, walking up to the machine that had been installed behind the bar and then busied herself pressing buttons and pulling leavers, giving every impression she was the new Doctor getting the TARDIS started.

With Juliet making a call on her phone and Daniel and Kate talking about the scary non-existence of Christmas lights on the shop shelves, Jake had no choice but to stand at the bar waiting for his coffee.

‘You might want to remove some layers,’ he said, disliking that he’d noticed that the dusky pink wrap gave her skin a warm glow. ‘We have this thing called central heating now.’

‘How modern,’ she threw over her shoulder, before casually unwinding the pashmina to reveal a soft grey v-neck jumper.

She tossed the pashmina at him and he caught it automatically, his hands clenching around the soft wool. He could still feel her body heat. Any moment now he’d sniff it like a horny teenager.

Thank God she was behind the bar so that the glimpse of long legs, despite her height, encased in skinny jeans that had probably once been black but were now so faded and silvery-soft, was mostly barred from his view.

‘Oh, guys,’ Emma said, looking over at Kate and Daniel. ‘Did you get the footstall ordered?’

‘Yep,’ Kate said. ‘It’s out the back in the kitchen.’

‘Great.’ She popped back in front of him to pass him the coffee she’d made for him. ‘It’s such a chore being short,’ she confided.

Jake refused to allow his eyes to wander any lower than hers and took a careful sip from the glass of coffee she’d given him. ‘You’ve done this before,’ he murmured, taking another sip.

She leaned casually on the bar. ‘I thought everyone knew that actress is actually short for barista?’

‘Well, Hollywood, you make a pretty good short barista.’

‘Only pretty good? Hmm. Wait ’til you see my acting,’ she said with a waggle of her eyebrows.

He studied her for a few minutes, before saying quietly, ‘I thought I already was.’

Chapter 10
Grand Designs

Jake

Jake watched wariness and hurt flood Emma’s eyes before she quickly turned and began efficiently setting out tea on a tray.

Damn.

Briefly, he wondered if there were as many words for ‘idiot’ in Eskimo as there were for ‘snow’ because even though she might be some Hollywood actress who was going to take off the minute it got cold proper, that didn’t mean he had to behave like he was counting down the minutes until she did.

He watched as with practised ease, she shoulder-pressed the heavy round tray with one hand and strode confidently over to one of the largest tables.

If he were the fanciful sort he might think she looked like some Nordic warrior, striding across the room with purpose, her pale gold hair flowing down her back.

Thank God he wasn’t.

And right there he was hit with the realisation of exactly why he’d been behaving like an arse.

Being called Eeyore aside, it was actually because she’d accused him of not having a romantic bone in his body.

Why the hell he should care if she was right, he didn’t know.

Life was altogether a lot more bearable if he didn’t go around acting and feeling like some bloody poet in love.

Been there. Done that. Not to mention been given the billowy shirt by his comedian brothers as a joke.

In his family, when they’d all been vying for roles growing-up, the minute he’d expressed more than a passing interest in the gardens on the estate he’d been labelled ‘The Romantic’ of the family. Ironic, really, considering he’d been the only Knightley not to labour under the idyll that the family money would never run out.

As soon as he’d started adding girls into the mix, his brothers and sisters had absolutely no problem referring to him as the Heathcliff-bloody-Rochester of the Knightley clan.

Actually, that wasn’t technically true. Lately he’d been known as the Uhtred of Bebbanburg-Knightleys’, but that was completely his own fault for not getting his hair cut.

Which reminded him…

‘Hey, Juliet,’ he walked over to the table they were obviously going to hold their meeting at, put down everything he’d brought to pitch his design, and shrugged out of his jacket. ‘I don’t suppose you could cut my hair before you open the salon to the rest of the hordes, could you?’

‘Are you sure?’ Juliet tipped her head to the side as she regarded his ‘do’. ‘The man-bun is definitely working for you. If you’re desperate I could see if Mum’s available?’

Aware that Emma was listening as she fussed a cloth over the pristine bar, he said, ‘Don’t worry, I’ll figure something out.’ Juliet’s mother, Cheryl Brown, grew exceptional dahlias and roses and she’d been a hairdresser for as long as Jake had known her. And it was precisely for that reason that he thought he had it in him to wait until Juliet was ready.

‘Right then,’ Daniel said, pulling out a chair at the table, sitting down and reaching for his coffee. ‘Jake, are you all set to pitch to us?’

‘What? Oh, yep. Born ready,’ Jake replied, efficiently setting his laptop up, so they could all see what he was going to be describing.

‘Emma,’ Kate called over to the bar, ‘come and grab a seat and a cuppa, you should be in on this meeting too.’

She should?

Jake busied himself opening his notebook to stare at the loose pitch he’d prepared while she settled herself at the table and poured herself a cup of tea. It was weird, he thought. He wasn’t usually nervous before presenting a new garden design, but what with Hollywood watching…

‘So,’ he began, with a subtle clearing of his throat. ‘There are a couple of options for revamping the courtyard, but I want to start with what I feel follows the brief you provided and then pushes the boundaries a little.’ Jake indicated his laptop screen. ‘If you like what I’ve come up with, I have a quote already drawn up. But this should be a collaborative process, so if we need to adjust for budget, or if there’s something we need to add, we can do that as well.

‘Kate, you mentioned wanting to match what you’ve done inside, but I’ve actually taken inspiration from outside. At the moment when you look out of any window onto the courtyard all you see is patio before your gaze is drawn straight to the moon-gate in the far wall.’

The moon-gate had actually been his starting point, because even though he loved that your eye was drawn straight to it and the romance of it had you wanting to know what was on the other side, with The Clock House opening up as a business, he didn’t think Kate would want people from outside the village, who didn’t know the history to what was on the other side of the moon-gate, to go get curious and start disturbing the beehives that were kept in the wild meadow beyond.

‘I’ve zoned the courtyard to provide each window with a unique vista, creating mini gardens to reflect what you do here. Providing relaxing and enchanting views will add to customer experience. It’ll mean building walls to divide the space but we can match the original brickwork. In each wall I’ve created a round aperture to mimic the moon-gate. It would work really well if we could use the same wrought-iron design work. The round gates also subtly mimic the face of a clock. Planting will be soft to counter the architecture but won’t require a lot of maintenance. I know you’ll be using honey in a lot of your treatments and that got me thinking about planting herbs for you to use in the tearoom and bar as well. I can go into specific planting detail once the design is approved, but take a look at the preliminary sketches,’ he said, moving the laptop to rollout some sketches he’d drawn of the courtyard from different angles. ‘And tell me what you all think?’

Kate, Daniel and Juliet all started talking at once and Jake breathed a quiet sigh of relief at the excited tones of their voices. Right up until he noticed Hollywood frowning down into her mug.

What the hell?

He’d honestly only ever had positive reactions to his designs before.

Probably because he spent time getting inside a client’s head so he could produce something he knew they’d like.

‘Is there a problem, Hollywood?’ he asked.

She looked up. ‘Oh, it’s really not my place,’ she said, bringing her cup of tea to her mouth as if it would help stop her from voicing her opinion.

‘You were invited to sit at the table and participate,’ he said tearing his gaze from hers to stare down at his sketches. He couldn’t see anything wrong with them. He’d created gardens within a garden and different views according to where you were inside The Clock House, each taking into account where the sun rose and fell. He’d designed access paths, chosen an easy-to-maintain planting scheme, and most importantly, the three people he’d come to present to didn’t appear dissatisfied.

In. Any. Way.

Obviously picking up on the growing tension, Kate carefully placed her teacup back in her saucer and said calmly, ‘What did you want to say, Emma?’

‘Well, if you’re sure you’d like the feedback?’ she asked, only she wasn’t looking at Kate, she was staring up at Jake with challenge set on her face.

‘Yes, of course. I’d welcome it,’ he answered uber-politely.

‘You’re sure?’

Impatience sparked. ‘I just said so, didn’t I?’

‘All right, then.’ Her gaze fell on his design as if she was gathering herself and then her gaze bounced back up to his. ‘So what you’ve designed is stunning.’

It was so completely unexpected that Jake felt his chest puff out with pride.

‘It’s sophisticated,’ Emma continued, ‘It’s contemporary…’

When she paused, a pulse ticked in his jaw. ‘And yet?’

‘And yet, well, it’s not very practical, is it?’

‘Practical?’

‘Yes. I know that word is probably a designer’s bugbear. You’ve created a space everyone inside can enjoy, but I imagine, during the spring, summer and autumn months the courtyard will get more footfall. I also imagine that if the tearoom and bar is successful,’ she quickly glanced at Kate in askance, ‘you might want to give customers the option of eating and drinking out there?’

She was right, Jake realised.

Why hadn’t he thought of that?

Why hadn’t they?

Or had they? In a mild panic he started going through the original notes he’d made. He knew he’d been spinning a few too many plates over the last year.

Ever since…

He breathed in sharp.

Had he totally dropped the ball on this one?

‘Jake, I must apologise,’ Kate said, interrupting his search through his notes. ‘I completely missed telling you about this. I’m so sorry. I’ve had so much on.’

‘It’s not a problem at all, Kate. Honestly, I can relate.’

‘I know you can.’

What he needed to do now was think on his feet and come up with a workable solution that didn’t dampen the creativity of the project either.

‘This is only a suggestion,’ Emma inserted into the conversation, ‘but what if you were able to make the walls not solid, but more, sort of, moveable partitions somehow?’

Intrigued, there was only time to be mildly surprised by her insight while feeling sickened at his oversight. Out came his pencil and he started sketching out the gridwork that would be needed. It would be expensive. Really expensive. Would Kate go for it? She’d already sunk so much of her own money into the place.

While being given the guided tour, it had been impossible not to recognise what you could do when your budget was so large. Jake’s budget for Knightley Hall, on the other hand, was miniscule. His life a constant juggling act of form-filling and grant-obtaining to help with the up-keep.

He knew he was still at the setting up part of the whole process at the Hall and that once the gardens were open to the public, he’d be able to make money for the estate. He’d already thought about reserving an area for local schools to learn about gardening, about holding gardening weekend retreats and about selling produce from the kitchen garden further afield than the local village markets.

Basically he’d been thinking and dreaming, dreaming and thinking about how to make the place pay for itself for as long as he could remember but he couldn’t help wondering if life would be different had he been able to act on his plans sooner and show Alice a glimpse of what their life together would have been like.

Annoyed at where his thoughts were taking him he concentrated on adding a few more lines to his sketch, determined to capture what he thought Emma had been suggesting. Then, holding out his sketch for her perusal, his gaze bored into her while he awaited her reaction.

Chapter 11
Heart of Glass

Emma

Emma wanted to squirm.

It was seriously hot and seriously intense under Jake’s unrelenting gaze.

And, oh, didn’t he just know it was.

She shouldn’t have said anything.

Despite the fact she’d been fuming before she sat down because what was worse than being caught being nervous?

Yeah – being called out publicly for being nervous.

So what if she’d been acting more confident than she felt? Whatever got her through, she’d been thinking.

Right along with wondering whether she’d ever met a more arrogant jerk in her life.

But then he’d started presenting his ideas and, darn it, because she’d joked that he didn’t have a romantic bone in his body but as he’d talked about his vision, she’d heard the story he wanted to tell with the garden he was creating.

She’d been seriously impressed and it had made her want to show him how committed to doing a good job at The Clock House she was. How serious she took this opportunity. That she wasn’t some starving actress who’d just pitched up to have a laugh, do a little sight-seeing, and grab a pay-cheque at the end of each week. So she’d taken his idea and given it a good outing.

The shock on his face when she’d actually ventured her opinion though.

But instead of going apoplectic, he’d done a total one-eighty on her and listened.

Proper listened.

Which she’d found proper sexy!

No.

Wrong word choice, she told herself.

She was not in Whispers Wood for proper sexy!

She was in Whispers Wood for an adventure.

No … not that kind of adventure, she cut herself off before her imagination could take itself out for a spin again.

She hadn’t realised how much she’d needed to feel as if she was heard.

Really heard.

That was all, she assured herself.

All those years of keeping the faith while getting one knock-back after another, she’d obviously started to feel invisible. That what she had to say and every way she tried saying it at auditions, was irrelevant.

Jake’s reaction had made her realise he wasn’t so arrogant, after all. Not if he could take feedback on something that was obviously the most important thing in his world and rise above criticism to take the good out of what she’d voiced.

Then he’d grabbed a pencil and rather than stab her in the eye with it, he’d started sketching. Long, sure lines, and oh my God, how cute was it that the tip of his tongue poked out in concentration? Making her squirm for an altogether different reason.

A couple more lines and then he was shoving the sketch in front of her and asking her, ‘You mean something like this?’

She took the sketch with hands that were trembling, very aware of Kate, Daniel and Juliet leaning forward to get a good look at what he’d drawn, too.

She looked down at the sketch, drew in a breath that felt funny and then gazed back up at him slightly star-struck because it was like he’d created exactly what she’d been imagining.

‘Um, yes,’ she said, looking back down at the sketch because looking up at him had her completely unable to concentrate. ‘Maybe make these site-lines wider for wheelchair access and so that you can bring tables and chairs into each segment.’

He nodded, walking around the table to stand behind her and stare at the sketch. ‘Need to figure out a way to make the walls the gardens and so that everyone could see each one. I don’t know – maybe turntables?’

Excitement sparked and she nodded. ‘Then you could turn them to get the best of the weather, and to change each view. Ooh, could you tie in each movement to the clock?’

‘Great idea,’ he mumbled, leaning over her so that she felt surrounded by him. ‘Yes,’ he breathed out softly and she felt the caress of his breath against her cheek.

Actual squirming ensued.

As if finally realising he was in her personal space his gaze flew to hers and as her tongue came out without her permission to slide over parched lips, she watched mesmerised as those dark brown eyes of his tracked the movement. One, two, three slow thuds of her heart and then Jake was jerking upright and taking a hasty step back.

Able to breathe again, Emma inhaled and stared back down at the sketch.

‘So what do you guys think?’ Jake asked everyone around the table.

As Kate, Daniel and Juliet all agreed it was a wonderful new design, Jake began packing up. ‘I might need to see if Oscar’s free to handle some of the building work on this. Are we still shooting for having it ready by spring? I could start end of January?’

‘Yes. That would be great. About the noise?’

Jake smiled at Kate. ‘And the dust and the access, yeah, I’m not going to lie, there’s going to be some, but I’ll try to minimize it. If we could build the structures off-site, would that help?’

‘That would be amazing.’

‘Well, it’s not like I don’t have the room at my place. So we’ll start with that as a plan. I’ll get back to you with a revised quote ASAP,’ Jake said, moving towards the exit doors.

‘There’s no rush. I trust you,’ Kate laughed, getting up from the table to follow him out.

‘Actually, the reason for the rush is … I hope you don’t mind but Sarah showed me the invites for your party.’

‘She did?’

‘Normally she’d never do something like that, it’s just that she realised that the date was the same as—’

Emma watched Kate’s eyes grow large as she brought a hand up to her mouth.

‘Oh, crap, it’s not?’ Kate asked.

‘It is,’ Jake replied, ‘but it doesn’t matter. Truly.’

‘Of course it does.’

What mattered, Emma wanted to know? And what was so important about the fourteenth of December, which was the date of The Clock House opening?

‘No. It really doesn’t,’ Jake stated emphatically. ‘Look at it this way, most people around here are already going to have that date blocked out anyway, so you’ll probably get more people to come.’

‘But not you?’ Juliet asked, her tone sad as if she immediately understood what Jake had been trying to say.

‘No. I’m sorry, not me,’ Jake confirmed. ‘I won’t be in Whispers Wood at all over Christmas—’

‘Oh.’

‘—and I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t make a big thing about it,’ he asked, looking from Kate to Juliet.

‘No. Fair enough,’ Juliet said.

Emma watched as Kate touched Jake’s arm briefly and said, her voice quiet and gentle, ‘If anyone gets what it feels like to want to disappear for a while …’

Emma saw the flash of pain before Jake blinked it away and replied, ‘Thank you. I knew you’d get it.’

Get what? Why did he need to get away?

Darn it, she had absolutely no reason to feel disappointed that he wouldn’t be around for Christmas. It wasn’t like she’d be here on the actual day, anyway. Not if her Dad did what she was pretty sure he would do and invited her to spend the day with him and his wife and children.

Jake was just disappearing through the doors when she realised he’d left his jacket on the back of the chair.

Gathering it up, she called out, ‘Hey, Sir Knightley.’

She watched him pause at the doorway, stiffen slightly, and then turn around.

Wow, he really wanted to leave, didn’t he?

‘Your jacket,’ she said and performed a little curtsey. She’d meant to make him smile but felt silly when he strode back to her and took it without looking at her.

A tinkling sound could be heard as something fell onto the floor between them.

‘Oops, I think something’s fallen out of your pocket.’ Automatically she bent down to pick up the sparkly bead of glass. Holding it out in her palm she watched Jake frown down at it.

‘That’s definitely not mine. It must be from the—’ he broke off and glanced up at the chandelier.

There was an audible gasp as Kate and Juliet glanced from the chandelier to the droplet of glass and then to Jake and Emma.

‘It’s like a sign,’ Kate exclaimed and then shut her mouth quickly and after a strange look at Juliet carried on an entirely non-verbal conversation with her cousin.

With more head-turning than a tango on the Strictly final, Emma asked, ‘What’s a sign?’

‘Forget it. It couldn’t be less of a sign,’ Jake bit out, his expression murderous as he snatched the glass out of Emma’s hand and handed it to Kate. ‘It’s a bit of glass that fell off the chandelier because it was loose.’

‘Um, what he said,’ Kate mumbled, taking the glass droplet and holding it to her chest. ‘I’ll reattach it safely.’

‘Could have had someone’s eye out,’ Jake muttered, putting his plans on the floor so that he could shrug into his jacket. ‘I’ll be back later with the revised quote.’

In silence four pairs of eyes watched him bend down to pick up his plans, turn on his heel and walk towards the doors but before he disappeared completely from sight, Juliet dragged in a breath and called out, ‘Hey, Jake?’ He paused and didn’t turn around. ‘Stop by the salon after you drop the quote off. I’ll give you a couple of different choices to the man-bun.’

‘Appreciate it,’ he murmured and walked off.

‘What the hell was that all about?’ Emma said as soon as she heard his footsteps crunching on the gravel outside.

‘I felt bad for him,’ Juliet said.

‘I think she meant about the chandelier,’ Daniel said, grinning as he started loading up the tray with empties. ‘Could you two have been more obvious?’

‘About what?’ Kate asked, doing a really bad impression of appearing mystified.

‘What do you mean, “about what”?’ Emma asked. ‘A bit of the chandelier drops off and suddenly Jake’s setting his engines to warp and scarpering.’

‘Oh that. That was nothing. A bit of village folklore fun that is in no way serious.’

‘You two are the worst actresses in the world.’ Emma eye-balled the both of them until Kate gave in.

‘Okay, okay. It’s just that Jake is a bit sensitive at the moment.’

‘About folklore?’

‘About the chandelier,’ Juliet said.

Emma looked up at the light radiating sparkly warmth over the room and then looked at Kate.

‘And about other stuff,’ Kate supplied.

She wanted so, so badly to ask what the other stuff was, but she didn’t.

Kate and Juliet were obviously trying to protect Jake and from a couple of conversations and some observation, Jake was a proud and private man and, if that flash of pain was anything to go by, definitely feeling humiliated about something.

She realised she didn’t have the right to know.

She was the newcomer and needed to earn that right.

Double darn.

It was going to burn her up inside not being able to ask questions about him without coming across as being ‘interested’.

Which she wasn’t.

In the slightest.

Chapter 12
Mince Pies on the Prize

Emma

‘Sheila, these are so good, they should be illegal.’ Emma bit into another of the bite-sized mince pies with the little star and little Christmas tree sweet-pastry toppers and told herself this would absolutely be the last thing she ate seconds of during Sheila’s visit.

Kate’s mother’s face lit up at the compliment. ‘Bootleg mince pies. I like the sound of that. Perhaps I should deliver them under the cover of night.’

‘We’ll set up a code and a secret handshake,’ Emma joked alongside her, delighted to discover where Kate got some of her sense of humour from. ‘Honestly, I can’t remember the last time I ate a mince pie this good.’

To be honest, she wasn’t sure she’d had one since she’d left the UK, and as the rich fruit flavours burst on her tongue and the sweet buttery pastry melted in her mouth, the vault containing Christmases past burst wide open.

Suddenly she was six years old again. Valiantly trying to stay awake on Christmas Eve and waking in the early hours with the feel of a pillow case filled with treats, against her feet, signalling that Father Christmas had been. With excitement she’d feel her way past the small wrapped toys, and the dreadfully squishy Satsuma, hunting for her favourite present, a book. Tearing off the wrapping she’d clamber out of bed, read the title by the dull hallway light and rush into her parents’ bedroom to climb in between them and fall asleep, happily clutching it to her chest.

As the carousel of Christmas memories sped up there were more books but it was harder to steep herself in the stories with her parents hurling recriminations at each other until her father would inevitably decide to go for a drive.

Feeling a little sick, Emma quickly tugged on the reindeer reins, jumped off the carousel and fled the vault, slamming the door shut behind her. Picking up her clipboard she concentrated on putting another tick in a column.

‘Well,’ she said, forcing a smile for Sheila. ‘These are definitely going on the menu. As is the triple layer chocolate-fudge cake. Also, the Tiffin brownies and, oh, I don’t suppose you could do mini Yule-logs with white frosting to look like snow?’

‘I think I could do that.’ Sheila jotted the request in the notebook beside her. ‘What if I dust them with a pistachio crumb in the shape of a holly leaf and add a couple of cranberries for the berries?’

‘That sounds yummy. They’d need to be small enough to fit on these cake stands,’ Emma said, pointing to the pretty mismatched ones she’d laid out, so that Sheila could get an idea of what would go into each festive afternoon tea. ‘Is that going to be possible? I don’t want to make your life too fiddly.’

‘Oh, I can handle a little fiddly.’

Emma heard the determination in Kate’s mother’s voice and looked up from where she’d been adding notes to her order sheet. ‘Do you not get busy at the B&B at Christmas?’ she asked.

‘Not during the lead-up. That’s why I’m so happy to be doing this.’ Sheila fussed with the napkin she’d laid across her lap. ‘It’s a strange time of year,’ she confessed.

‘Because of Bea?’ Emma couldn’t believe she’d come right out and said that and reached a hand out in automatic apology. ‘I’m so sorry, Mrs Somersby. I shouldn’t have mentioned anything.’

‘Actually it’s fine. Everyone always tiptoes around it, not wanting to make it harder on me, I know.’

‘I remember Kate only ever made flying visits back to you at this time of year. I guess that made it even harder?’

‘I’m ashamed to say at the time I hardly even noticed. After Bea died I could never really get myself into a place to celebrate. This year, I’m feeling so much better and so thankful and well, Oscar and Melody should be allowed to celebrate with Juliet and Kate will want to celebrate with Daniel of course,’ she rushed out. ‘Their relationships are so new and I don’t want to intrude.’

‘Of course,’ Emma said, feeling awkward. She wasn’t sure it was her place to reassure Kate’s mother that Kate and Daniel, and Oscar, Juliet and Melody were bound to include her in their Christmas plans. She hated thinking the first year she was ready to celebrate since her daughter’s death, Sheila was worried about intruding on her other daughter’s or her son-in-law’s plans. Was Sheila subtly asking Emma to get involved? If she could help then perhaps she should mention something to Kate? It wasn’t like she couldn’t speak to the feeling of being on your own at Christmas.

‘I get the odd guest at Christmas but between you and me,’ Sheila said leaning forward in her chair conspiratorially, ‘there’s this phenomenon in Whispers Wood where even the largest of houses tend to magically shrink at this time of year.’

Emma leaned forward too. ‘Between you and me it’s not only in Whispers Wood where there’s suddenly “No Room at the Inn”. Perhaps the greatest gift family can give each other at Christmas is space. Everything seems to work better when no one is under each other’s feet.’

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