A SURPRISE CHRISTMAS WEDDING
Phillipa Ashley

Copyright

Published by AVON

A Division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Publishers 2020

Copyright © Phillipa Ashley 2020

Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2020

Cover illustration © Hannah George / Meiklejohn

Phillipa Ashley asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

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

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

Source ISBN: 9780008371609

Ebook Edition © October 2020 ISBN: 9780008371616

Version: 2020-10-05

Dedication

For my family, with much love

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Acknowledgements

Keep Reading …

About the Author

Also by Phillipa Ashley

About the Publisher

Prologue
15 September
Porthmellow, Cornwall

‘Hold on! I won’t be a minute,’ Connor said, as he suddenly let go of Lottie’s hand.

She frowned. ‘Why? Where are you going?’

She reached for him but Connor was already yards away.

He came back and brushed her lips with his. ‘You’ll find out soon enough. Wait here on the harbour for me. Don’t worry, I won’t be long, Dotty Lottie.’

‘Don’t call me that!’ Lottie said, trying not to laugh.

Connor’s grin was unrepentant as he melted into crowds of holidaymakers thronging the harbourside of Porthmellow, leaving Lottie on the quayside.

She shook her head. Dotty Lottie was what some of the kids had called her at the Lakeland school she and Connor had both attended. He’d been four years above her and as a result they’d barely been aware of each other’s presence at the time, only meeting again through their work a few years before. Lottie was an events organiser at a hotel and Connor’s insurance firm had been one of their clients. However, she’d once unwisely confessed to him how much she hated the nickname and he’d used it ever since to wind her up and tease her – affectionately, of course.

Puzzling over his mysterious behaviour, Lottie wandered along the harbourside, while she waited for him to return. She was hardly alone, surrounded by hundreds of tourists enjoying the late September heatwave, but she had a curious feeling that she’d been cast adrift, like a cork bobbing in the sea.

Perhaps it was the unfamiliar surroundings, and the fact that she hadn’t known they were even coming to Cornwall until forty-eight hours previously, when Connor had parked the car outside a tiny holiday cottage on Porthmellow’s quayside.

Lottie could see its jaunty blue facade now, on the opposite side of the harbour, part of a row all painted in bubble-gum colours. The holiday cottage was such a contrast from the stone and slated houses of the Lakeland village where she and Connor lived. Langmere nestled on the shores of Derwentwater, encircled by the heather-clad fells and soaring peaks – equally pretty but with a subtler palette.

It struck her that in many ways, the tight-knit community of Porthmellow, with its houses huddled around the harbour – and the sense that everyone knew each other – reminded her of the Lakeland village she’d grown up in. The locals chattered outside the fish kiosk, just as they did outside the village shop and post office. Sail ropes clanked against masts just as they did on the yachts moored in the lakeside marina. But the contrast delighted her too. While the sea was steely blue topped with whitecaps, the lake’s dark surface reflected the fells like a mirror. That morning, she’d woken to the slap of waves on the harbour wall rather than the beck tumbling beside their Lakeland home.

It felt wonderful, but slightly disconcerting to have been whisked almost five hundred miles south at short notice, especially when she’d had no idea of their precise destination. Now she was here, she was keen to embrace every moment.

She breathed in, savouring the tang of sea air and fishing creels, rather than the scent of woodsmoke and fresh rain she was used to.

‘Hello!’ Connor tapped her shoulder.

Lottie twisted round. ‘You made me jump!’

‘Guilty conscience.’ With a smile, he joined her on the bench and crossed one leg over the other. He seemed extremely pleased with himself and he was grinning broadly.

‘You look like a dog with two tails.’

He waggled his eyebrows. ‘You should be so lucky.’

She groaned. ‘That’s a terrifying idea.’

‘Terrifying?’

‘Weird too. I don’t think I could handle it.’ She wrinkled her nose but was smiling.

‘Or them,’ he said, with what was meant to be a sexy grin. ‘Come on, let’s go back to the cottage.’

‘I’m not sure I want to after what you just said …’

But of course, she did want to go back to the cottage and knew exactly what he had in mind when they got there. Their unexpected week in Cornwall had certainly amped up the romance in their relationship – if the past couple of days was anything to go by. Although Lottie was now wondering where he’d been and what had happened to make Connor so smugly happy. Whatever it was, she was intrigued at this newly mysterious side to her partner.

He certainly didn’t relish surprises normally. His work as an actuary for an insurance company was a job that involved the precise calculation and prediction of risk. And while Lottie’s job as an events organiser at a large hotel also involved careful planning, she loved spontaneous things – an impromptu picnic on the fells, a last-minute trip to the theatre – unlike Connor, who preferred to plan in advance. He liked to discuss where they were going, research it in great detail and make sure they were both happy – right down to insisting they both looked at any hotel or resort on Google Earth to make sure there was no rubbish tip next door and you really could walk to that ‘charming bistro’ in the ten minutes the website claimed. It had to be a joint decision, often involving spreadsheets weighing up the merits of several different options and giving them a score.

Which made it all the more surprising that he’d sprung this week in Cornwall on her. She already had the time off work booked and thought they were going to spend it redecorating the sitting room – after due diligence with relation to paint charts.

However, when she’d come home from work on the Friday, Connor had informed her to pack her holiday clothes because they were spending a week ‘by the seaside’ from the very next day.

Lottie had first reconnected with Connor when his company had held a charity ball at the hotel where Lottie worked. He’d volunteered for the firm’s community fundraising team and was helping to organise the event.

They’d recognised each other immediately, because Connor’s family had, for a time, lived in the same village as Lottie’s. When he walked into the meeting at the hotel, Lottie had thought he was ambitious, efficient and very good-looking. She’d been surprised by the amount of attention he’d paid her. At first, she’d dismissed it as polite flirtation, but at the end of their third meeting, when they were alone having a coffee in the hotel bistro, he’d asked her out.

The rest was history, and she’d allowed herself to be swept away by his charm, his energy and sheer determination to go for what he wanted in life. This, she remembered thinking, must be what a ‘whirlwind romance’ was. They did happen. A couple of months after they’d met, Lottie had moved out of the house she shared with her sister Steph and her lively two-year-old twin girls, to move in with Connor.

Now, two years later, they were ‘partners’ and had bought their own cottage in Langmere. The flame of romance was still very much alive, and Lottie had started to envisage a long-term future that included, hopefully in time, a family. For now, she was going to simply enjoy the moment and her surprise visit to Cornwall.

Over the next few days, they walked the coast path, dined in the harbour restaurants, sunbathed on the beach and swam in secluded coves. Connor made no reference to his mysterious errand, and Lottie wondered if he’d merely gone to buy something for her birthday – she’d be thirty-three in just a few weeks.

Then, on Thursday evening, after dinner on the cottage terrace, Connor whisked her down to the cove next to Porthmellow. It was a mild September evening, still warm enough to wear shorts. They left their shoes on the rocks, and walked barefoot in the frilly edge of the surf. The sun sank lower, tingeing the sky with coral. They kissed, with the sound of the waves breaking on the sand and the gulls crying above them.

Glowing from the sun, Lottie thought she had never been so happy.

In high spirits, she broke away from him and shouted: ‘Bet you can’t catch me!’

‘Bet I can!’

He ran towards her. She dodged him, though both of them were laughing too much to take the chase seriously. She waded into the sea, the surf wetting her calves.

‘You’ll have to come in to get me! Dare you!’

‘You dare to dare Connor,’ he said, wading into the water, ‘who never turns down a challenge?’

He swept her up in his arms. She shrieked and protested as he carried her out of the surf and set her down in the shallows. Still breathless, he held her face in his hands and kissed her, while the wind tugged at her hair and the surf roared.

‘Keep your eyes closed,’ he whispered. ‘No, don’t even think about peeping!’

‘OK …’ She squeezed her lids shut, pulse racing with anticipation while wavelets lapped her ankles with the gentlest of caresses. She felt invincible, as if nothing bad could touch her or ever would.

Grasping her hand, he guided her out of the shallows onto the wet sand and finally she felt soft powder between her toes.

‘Wait here,’ he ordered, his hands at her elbows, putting her into position. The temptation to steal a look was killing her.

‘You can open them now.’

She blinked against the sun but Connor wasn’t in front of her. She looked down. He was at her feet, balanced on one knee on the sand.

Her heart rate went into overdrive. ‘What’s this?’

‘What does it look like?’ He reached into the pocket of his shorts, wobbling a little on the sand.

‘No …’ Her hand flew to her mouth.

‘Yes.’ He took her other hand, opened the palm and placed a small blue box in it.

She was shaking. ‘You can’t.’

‘I can and I am. Open it.’

Her fingers trembled as she undid the clasp on the box and the fire of diamonds glittered in the evening sunlight. ‘Wh-where did you get this?’

‘Here …’ He looked at her a little sheepishly. ‘That little jewellery maker by the shell shop in Porthmellow.’

A gold ring nestled in the box, the stones glinting in the sunlight. ‘Y-you mean you decided while we were here?’

‘Yes. No. I’ve wanted to ask you for a while and I was going to ask you and wait until we could choose a ring together but then I saw you admiring the jewellery in their window and I thought, why wait? Why not just got for it? I hope it fits. Have I done the right thing? Though I suppose I ought to actually propose to you, first.’

Lottie was dumbstruck. She hadn’t expected this. It had come, literally, out of a clear blue sky.

‘OK, I’ll just get on with it.’ He took a breath. ‘Lottie Hargreaves,’ he said, gazing up at her. ‘Would you do me the honour of becoming my wife?’

What? Words would not come, only emotion: shock, excitement, joy, shock … robbing her of breath. He’d kept this secret for a whole week – no, longer than that …

‘This is so – sudden, Connor.’

‘Not that sudden. Not unexpected, surely? We’ve known each other for years. Plus, I love you. That’s all that matters.’

‘I love you too …’

He laughed. ‘Then what else do we need?’

What else? To commit to a lifetime …

He searched her face, doubt filling his eyes. ‘Have I made a huge mistake?’

‘No. Not a mistake. I’m just shocked. I mean I’m flabbergasted. I never expected this.’

‘But it’s not a “no” as in “no, I don’t want to marry you”?’

‘No. I mean, yes. Yes, I do want to …’ The words slipped out before she’d even realised.

His eyes lit up. ‘Thank God for that. Would you mind if I got up now? I think I’m kneeling on a sea urchin.’

Laughing though still stunned, Lottie helped him to his feet. It wasn’t a sea urchin, only a broken shell that had grazed the skin. He rubbed it and they hugged each other and kissed for what seemed like forever. If he was willing to make a lifetime commitment, she was ready to meet him. Her heart danced like the waves on the sea and her spirit soared like gulls wheeling impossibly high in the sky.

She genuinely wondered if it was possible to burst with happiness.

Connor took out the ring and slipped it on her finger. It fitted perfectly and its fire caught the rays of the setting sun.

Hand in hand, they’d wandered back to their holiday cottage, where Connor produced a bottle of champagne with a beautiful card featuring a painting of the cove where he’d proposed. Lottie wasn’t sure if he’d written it before or after she’d said yes but frankly, she didn’t care.

It thanked her for accepting his proposal and said she’d ‘made him the happiest man alive’.

They took the glasses upstairs, but even after they’d made love, she couldn’t sleep for excitement, allowing herself to imagine the future stretching on forever with Connor, imagining children … grandchildren.

The next day, on the long journey north, all she could think about was how excited Steph would be when she found out her four-year-old twins were going to be bridesmaids. It was too momentous a piece of news to be delivered by phone, she thought, driving home while Connor dozed in the passenger seat. It had to be in person, preferably with Connor by her side.

She’d get him to come with her the following evening after work, make a big occasion of it, maybe get a taxi so they could all have a bottle of champagne. Yes, that’s how she’d break the news. She knew Steph would be as thrilled as she was.

It was past eleven when she got home. Connor had driven the last few hours and gone straight to bed, saying he was knackered and had an early start. Lottie woke just as he was on his way out of the kitchen the next morning. She immediately noticed the overnight bag at his feet.

‘Not running away, are you?’ she said, putting her arms around him.

‘Running away?’ he said sharply.

‘I was joking.’

‘Oh. No … but I’m afraid I do have to go away to the Edinburgh office.’

‘Edinburgh?’

Disappointed, she let go of him. This business trip was news to her. ‘What? Now?’

‘Unfortunately I’ll probably have to stay for a couple of days.’ He grimaced. ‘I’ve got a big project on. I had a message on the way home from Cornwall saying it was all going tits up. I need to spend the next few days kicking arses up in the Scottish branch.’

Lottie couldn’t hide her dismay. ‘Arghh. I was hoping we could go round to Steph’s to announce our news. I thought we could make a proper thing of it, maybe get a cab so we can take a bottle of champagne.’

‘Can we hang fire until I get back? I’ll probably be stuck in the office until Thursday.’

‘Thursday? You want me to wait until Thursday to tell Steph our news? I’ll burst!’

‘Well …’ He sat down, a serious expression on his face. ‘It might be a good idea to hold on for a while anyway before we start shouting about it. Steph’s hardly had the happiest experiences with men, has she?’

‘No … but that won’t stop her from being happy for us, Connor.’

‘Even so, perhaps we should curb a little of our enthusiasm. Be slightly more tactful?’

She frowned. ‘Tactful?’

He patted her hand. ‘Sensitive, then.’

‘If you really think so …’ Lottie said, slightly hurt that Connor had misjudged Steph, but unwilling to cause a scene when he was about to leave.

Connor smiled and picked up his phone. ‘I’ll see you later in the week.’

‘OK.’ With a quick kiss, he left.

Lottie consoled herself with the reminder that it was only a few days, after all, and she’d rather wait until the weekend when he was able to relax and fully enjoy the moment.

However, she spent the entire drive to work still disappointed he’d rushed off and wondering exactly what he’d meant about being ‘tactful’. Granted Steph had had a few disastrous encounters with guys. The twins’ father was a guy she’d met on holiday in Ibiza and he’d given Steph a fake phone number so she’d never even been able to track him down to tell him about his daughters. Even so, Lottie was certain Steph would have been overjoyed to hear about her engagement.

Lottie had been the first person Steph had called to reveal she was pregnant; the one she shared all her news with, good and bad, big and small. Steph was the rock of Lottie’s life, now their parents lived in New Zealand. She was the woman she wanted to talk to now more than she ever had before: her big sister and her closest friend.

Telling herself Thursday would soon come around, Lottie threw herself into her work, even though her fingers itched to dial Steph’s number. She also couldn’t help planning her wedding in her head. It would probably be at the village church overlooking the lake with the reception at the hotel she worked for. She knew a local designer whose dresses she loved. She smiled to herself, thinking what a thrill it would be to ask the seamstress to make her a bespoke bridal gown.

Now she’d had chance to think about it, it was probably not the worst thing that Connor had persuaded her to delay announcing their engagement by a few days. If she timed it right, they could catch their parents on Zoom before they went to work, and after the twins were in bed, make a proper ‘party’ of it even if not everyone could be there.

Buoyed by making plans for the wedding in her head, Lottie managed to get through the days. Connor was busy in the evenings and they only managed a quick text exchange but by Thursday Lottie was growing as excited as a kid on Christmas Eve. Connor messaged to say he’d be home from Scotland very late, so not to wait up if she was too tired.

But Lottie very much did want to wait up. She put some fizz on ice and sat in the sitting room, in heels and a slinky dress, waiting for him. She heard his BMW crunch onto the driveway, the security light flicked on and she flew into the kitchen, grabbed the champagne and flung back the door, ready for a romantic reunion – and the start of the celebrations.

Yet there was something about Connor that made her pause in the doorway, and stopped the cry of ‘Surprise!’ in her throat. Even from metres away, she could see that something was wrong. His shoulders were slumped; his face was pale. He looked a broken man.

His first words when he reached the door were: ‘I’m sorry. I’ve done something unforgivable.’

Five seconds later, Lottie’s world started to unravel.

Chapter One
4 November, the following year
Langmere, Lake District

‘Morning, Lottie. How’s it going? Found yourself a nice young man, yet?’

Lottie rolled her eyes. One of the village’s senior residents asked her this very question every time he saw her, often in front of everyone in the post office. It was now a running joke between Irina and her husband, Jan.

‘Not yet, Irina,’ she said. ‘Still waiting …’

‘I would keep away from them all. Especially the nice ones – they’re the most dangerous.’ Irina raised her voice. ‘I don’t have a problem fending off the young ones any more.’

‘Eh? What’s that?’ Jan asked, walking out of the storeroom with a carton of Kendal Mint Cake. Originally from Poland, he and Irina had been running the post office for over a decade now and were both stalwarts of the village.

‘Is it your day off?’ Irina asked Lottie. ‘Doing some Christmas shopping?’

‘No, I’m on my way back to Firholme from dropping the twins at school. Steph has a hospital appointment today.’

Irina frowned in sympathy. ‘How’s she doing? I bet she’ll be glad when that’s over.’

‘She’s OK. It’s been very tough for her.’

‘Those gorgeous little girls of hers are such angels. Good job she has you to help her out, what with your parents living on the other side of the world.’

Amused at the idea of Myra and Jodie as ‘angels’, Lottie smiled. ‘I’m definitely glad I live so close.’

‘Here you go, have these for the girls.’ Irina reached for a bag of Milky Way Magic Stars and pushed them under the screen.

Lottie smiled. ‘Thanks, you’re very kind but let me pay for them.’

‘No way. It’s only a little treat!’

‘In that case, thank you.’ Lottie popped some coins in the mountain rescue box.

The doorbell dinged and an elderly man with a stick walked in. Wilf Carman was over ninety and had piloted a glider into Normandy as part of the D-day landings, as he never ceased to remind everyone, not that Lottie minded.

He waved his stick. ‘Hello, young lady! I still remember when you were Dotty Lottie.’

‘Morning, Mr Carman.’ Lottie smiled, but did wish he wouldn’t use her school nickname every time he saw her. He’d been caretaker at the school when she’d first started at the village primary. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Irina stifling a giggle behind the post office screen.

‘Have you found a nice young man, yet?’ he said.

‘Not yet, Mr Carman. Why? Are you offering?’

He let out a cackle. ‘If I was sixty years younger. I cut quite a dash in my RAF uniform, you know.’

After listening to him reminisce for a few minutes, and then begin to tell Irina the latest news about a branch of his family who lived in Cornwall, Lottie had to excuse herself as she needed to get back to work.

She walked towards her car, parked on the small car park by the lakeside café. Ducks and geese waddled around, picking at scraps. Woodsmoke spiralled out of the chimneys of the village, where the stone and slate-roofed cottages huddled around the pub and church looked as if they were straight from a Beatrix Potter tale.

Lottie drove out of the village, past the café, mountain equipment shop, gallery and pub until the houses gave way to the open fellside, edged with dry-stone walls. The Herdwick sheep had been brought down off the fellside to the lower fields now and were gathered in fields near the farms. They munched away as she drove past, their winter fleeces shaggy and marked crimson to make them easier to identify. Lottie had often thought they were the punk rockers of the sheep world and her nieces delighted in finding the most colourful.

It was a crisp November morning, with the sheen of frost still lying on the grass and bracken. The road out of Langmere twisted and turned for over a mile until the entrance to the Firholme estate appeared, marked by two huge stone pillars topped with two creatures that had once been griffins but whose faces were now weathered away and covered with orange lichen.

After passing the ‘Welcome to Firholme’ sign and the visitor car parks, the big house itself came into view.

Lottie never ceased to be impressed by how beautiful it was, and how spectacular the setting. In fact, everything about the Firholme estate had been designed to make a statement, to impress and wow visitors. The house had been built at the turn of the twentieth century as a ‘gentleman’s residence’. Its original owner had made his money from cotton mills, and every aspect, from the elaborate oak panelling and stone fireplaces to the grand staircase, was designed to impress guests and business associates with his ‘self-made’ wealth.

It was set in the middle of a large estate whose grounds stretched from the shore of Derwentwater right up to the high open fellsides, with gardens, outbuildings, cottages and woodland in between.

Lottie continued beyond the visitor car park and turned down a small track marked ‘Private’ until she reached a pair of semidetached cottages, situated a few hundred yards below the house and screened by a small stand of trees.

Back in the day, they’d been deliberately built well out of sight of the main house so its owners would never have had to see their workers’ humble cottages. That suited Lottie because it gave her privacy from the visitors and some demarcation between her working day and home life.

Each cottage had a postage-stamp front garden bordered by a low beech hedge with its own gate. She left the car outside the one called ‘The Bothy’, noting there was no sign of the muddy pick-up truck owned by her new neighbour. Jay Calder, Firholme’s newly recruited estates manager, had only moved in a week or so before.

Lottie had seen him standing beside his pick-up when she’d popped back to her cottage in the middle of the morning. He’d been unloading his possessions and had no one with him apart from a friendly black Labrador. She’d introduced herself, and when she’d asked him if he needed anything, or any help, he’d politely but firmly muttered, ‘Thanks for the offer, but I am fine.’

She’d walked back to work, with a sense even at this early stage that Jay wasn’t going to be the most sociable of neighbours. That was his business, of course, but she was unable to shake his image from her mind. Somehow, she’d expected a homely older man, not a good-looking guy around her own age. She could only wish him good luck if he didn’t want to be noticed. With his handsome face and physique, in a small community like Firholme, which was fascinated by any newcomer, he’d have a hard time not attracting attention.

Lottie went inside, changed into her suit, slicked on some lip gloss and hurried up to Firholme House where she’d arranged to meet her boss for a ‘quick chat’. Knowing Shayla Kendrick, Lottie knew it would be anything but quick, and definitely not just a ‘chat’.

‘Now, what Firholme really needs is a big juicy, lavish wedding that we can slap on the website and shout about on social media. The bigger, the better! We need a showpiece!’

Lottie’s boss threw her arms out like a diva on the last note of an aria. Shayla Lambert was clearly inspired by the grand setting of the ballroom of Firholme House. It was at least the fifth time that week Shayla had uttered this line in one form or another. She’d rescued the estate from near bankruptcy and was dedicated to turn it into a must-visit destination for events and weddings.

‘Well, the Valentine’s Week wedding fair will give us a huge boost,’ Lottie replied. ‘And I’ve secured several features in the bridal magazines from now right through to late spring.’

Shayla gave her an encouraging smile. ‘And that’s all good …’

‘Plus, we have the festive season coming up,’ Lottie pointed out. ‘The Edwardian Christmas evening will bring in lots of visitors and some may book other events. There’s a team-building day in the grounds and at least three big company Christmas parties.’

‘I know. I know you’ve worked very hard so far and I can’t believe how fast you organised that autumn antiques fair last month or how you managed to persuade all those performers and stallholders to take part in the Edwardian night.’

‘Most of them were contacts from when I worked at the Lakeland Hotel,’ Lottie said. ‘With a little persuasion, most were happy to add an extra date to their schedules – even if it is a new event at an untried venue.’

‘I knew you’d pull a rabbit out of a hat. That’s why I was so keen to poach you, but we do need as many showcase events as we can to make up for the start to the year.’

‘We’re definitely getting lots of enquiries …’ Lottie said, thinking of how long the nights had become, and how often she woke to autumn fog shrouding the view that Firholme was famous for.

Shayla smiled. ‘What you’ve achieved so far is great …’ Lottie waited for the ‘but’ …

‘If we could get a truly amazing wedding before Christmas, it would be such a showcase for Firholme, not to mention the revenue would help see us through. We really need to persuade people to come back in their droves.’

Lottie nodded in all the right places. Shayla was a dynamic and exciting boss to work for, if a little overoptimistic at times. Despite this, the fact remained: it was Lottie’s job to get the wedding calendar filling up, although she thought there wasn’t a cat in hell’s chance of securing one with Christmas only seven weeks away.

‘We should definitely set up a photo shoot with all our bridal suppliers. We can show couples that Firholme is a fantastic place for a wedding whatever the season,’ Lottie said, keeping the conversation positive. ‘And that nowhere could be more romantic or spectacular for their big day.’

‘It’s incredible, isn’t it?’ Shayla said with a sigh of awe. ‘Even if I do say so myself.’

Despite the huge challenge ahead, the gloss of owning Firholme clearly hadn’t worn off for Shayla and Lottie didn’t blame her. Steps led up to the grand vestibule where double doors opened onto a drawing room, morning room and a ballroom complete with chandelier and three sets of double doors out onto the terrace. Even on this autumn day, the lake glittered in the valley, its surface reflecting the fells rising up on either side, with dark forests giving way to hills, which were still russet with bracken.

While it didn’t operate as a hotel, the ten bedrooms were perfect for accommodating wedding guests, parties and conferences. The numerous smaller rooms, hidden away at the rear of the building, were used as extra kitchens, and for storage and services. It always amused Lottie that the moment you opened a grand door onto a ‘working’ part of the house, the lavish wall coverings and parquet floors were replaced by the grey plaster and flagstones the servants would have been accustomed to.

Over the years, Firholme had been through various incarnations, including serving as a nursing home and a rather run-down hotel, until Shayla had bought it that summer and injected a load of cash to turn it into a prestige events and wedding venue.

It gave Lottie a good feeling to think that the house now provided jobs for twenty full- and part-time staff and many seasonal workers, plus accommodation for key staff like herself. She also liked to think about how Shayla, a self-made woman, now owned it and was determined to help her justify the investment and hard work that had been poured into restoring it.

Lottie had helped Shayla plan how the space would be used for weddings. Guests would gather for champagne on the terrace if it was warm or the drawing room on cold or wet days. The brides would enter via the vestibule with its elaborate oak staircase, before walking up the ‘aisle’ in the ballroom for the ceremony itself. Later, the space could be transformed for the reception and party.

Shayla raised her eyes to the chandelier hanging from the high ceiling in the ballroom. ‘I do think a photo shoot is a great idea. We could even make it a video,’ she said.

‘Even better. I’ll set it up right away,’ Lottie said enthusiastically. ‘I’ve also been thinking about the Christmas decorations for the house and working on a colour scheme.’

‘Really? Great minds think alike …’ Shayla cut in. ‘So have I! I’m very excited about …’ She opened her large handbag and pulled out a grey object. ‘This! I thought we could have a minimalist theme throughout Firholme this Christmas. Everyone’s doing understated chic these days. Well, what do you think?’

‘Um. It’s definitely very … understated,’ Lottie began, thinking the bauble in Shayla’s hand looked the same colour as the old long johns her grandad kept to clean his shed windows. She couldn’t visualise the drab decorations adorning the Christmas trees of Firholme.

‘Exactly what I thought.’ Shayla clapped her hands together. ‘Now, take a look at these samples I ordered from the web.’ She handed Lottie a black snowflake decoration. ‘They do a complete range in steel, charcoal, gunmetal and if we do think we need a bit of bling, they do a new line of pewter tinsel …’

‘Pewter tinsel?’ Lottie said. ‘That’s um, different.’

‘Yes. I can’t wait to see them on the Christmas trees. How lucky are we to have our own Christmas tree plantation? It was the icing on the cake when I bought the place, a valuable source of revenue at a quiet time of year. And how lovely to tell couples we have our own home-grown trees and greenery for their winter weddings.’

‘We’d need to get the Christmas trees and decorations in place earlier than planned if we want a photo shoot,’ Lottie said. ‘I’ve already arranged to meet Jay Calder up at the plantation this morning to talk about the Christmas tree sales opening day so I’ll ask him about the trees for the house at the same time.’

‘Great.’ Shayla smiled. ‘Have you had much contact with him yet? I expect you two will be chatting over the garden fence already.’

‘We’ve said hello a couple of times and I’ve seen him out walking with his dog, but that’s all.’ She smiled. ‘I expect he’s still settling in. He doesn’t know us yet.’

Lottie was being charitable. Jay had given her the briefest of nods and a polite but brief response to her attempt at conversation.

She’d also received an equally brief reply to her email requesting a meeting about the Christmas tree centre. She’d heard music through the wall and the dog – Trevor – barking from time to time, but there had been no sign of visitors. If he wanted his privacy, she respected that. She guarded her own private life just as keenly after all that had happened to her over the past year.

‘I think he likes to keep himself to himself,’ Lottie said.

‘I’m sure you can draw him out of his shell. He comes with very good references. We were lucky to lure him away from Greythwaite Hall.’

‘I hadn’t realised he’d been working in such a big estate.’ Lottie was impressed. Greythwaite Hall was a large stately home in the northern Lake District with far bigger acreage than Firholme; Jay must surely have been earning more there.

‘Yes, quite a coup to get him – you too, of course,’ Shayla added quickly. ‘I’m gathering a great team around me. I never thought we’d find anyone suitable for estates manager, and they don’t tend to move around once they’ve got a place they like, but Jay said he wanted a fresh challenge and, of course, we were able to offer on-site accommodation. I think he’d been renting a little flat in a town and was desperate to live in the countryside again.’

‘I can see why Firholme would appeal to him,’ Lottie said, thinking of the rugged, tousle-haired guy she’d glimpsed around the site or striding off towards the high fells, with his dog at his side. Generally when she’d seen Jay, he’d had his head down, giving off every signal that he didn’t want company or to engage in small talk. ‘I get the impression he’s quite shy though,’ she added, to dampen down Shayla’s expectations of being able to turn him into a party animal overnight.

‘If anyone can draw him out, you will.’ Shayla’s eyes glinted. ‘Let’s face it, it wouldn’t be a hardship. He’s so fit … in every sense of the word.’ She sighed. ‘Fifteen years too young for me though, quite apart from the fact I’m his boss.’

Lottie had to smile. It wasn’t the most professional way to talk about a new colleague, but Lottie had known Shayla for years as a friend, even before she’d come to work for her. Despite their age difference, Lottie and Shayla had hit it off when they’d first met properly, at a local tourism awards ceremony. Lottie had been training as a junior events manager at a hotel in the South Lakes and Shayla had been running a rival hotel in the same area.

Lottie had admired Shayla’s drive and Shayla had taken her under her wing and mentored her informally over the years. They’d become friends and, finally, Shayla had headhunted Lottie from her previous job at the hotel to be the events manager for Firholme.

After her split from Connor, Lottie had been equally keen for a fresh start. She’d relished the chance to throw her energy into kick-starting Firholme, to leave old associations behind and have something to take her mind off her heartache and worries about Steph.

‘Oh, hang on.’ Shayla broke off to answer a call. She pointed at the phone, pulled a face and mouthed. ‘Sorry. It’s. The. Mayor.’

Lottie nodded and scribbled a note on a Firholme leaflet in her bag.

Sorting out trees with Jay. Back in half an hour. I’ve borrowed the decorations.

Shayla gave her an ‘OK’ sign and returned to her conversation. Lottie knew that she’d be ages talking to the mayor of the local town, a couple of miles from the Firholme estate. He had ‘verbal diarrhoea’ according to Shayla, and having arranged a recent civic awards evening for him at Firholme, Lottie was inclined to agree.

He got on well with Shayla, however, and had put a lot of valuable business their way. Shayla drew people to her like a moth to a flame. She had a way of persuading people to go the extra mile – and then some – for her.

Lottie scooted out of Firholme House so she could change from her suit and heels into something more suitable for a freezing forest. Her breath misted the air the moment she stepped out of the door, and she was glad it took only two minutes to dash across the courtyard from where the offices were located to the Bothy. When she’d been offered the job at Firholme, accommodation on the estate had been a massive bonus, and every morning, she’d opened her curtains onto magnificent views of Derwentwater and the fells.

Well, maybe not quite every morning, because it did tend to rain a bit, as Lottie was keen to point out to guests, with a wry smile. On this early November morning, however, the highest fell tops, soaring three thousand feet above the lake, were covered with snow. At Firholme, frost spiked the grass and glistened in the morning sun.

Back in the day, Firholme’s courtyard would have been alive with servants and estate workers, hurrying around the stables, laundry and brewhouse, or to and from the kitchen and vegetable garden. In recent years, one side of the single-storey buildings had been turned into offices, an information centre and refreshment kiosk. The other side of the courtyard overlooked the lake, so that had been converted into a smart café and shop with a terrace that made the most of the view.

In the summer it would be packed with visitors but today it was quiet apart from a few walkers with their dogs. All of the walkers were cossetted in down coats and woolly hats, cradling hot drinks, while their dogs lay at their feet, most with their own little jackets.

Through the steamy windows of the café itself, Lottie glimpsed the less hardy souls hunkered down with hot chocolates and Cumbrian breakfasts. From the start of November, the aroma of mince pies, cinnamon lattes and mulled wine had drifted tantalisingly into the offices while Lottie and the rest of the Firholme staff were trying to work.

The Bothy was typical of an estate worker’s cottage, with grey stone walls and a slated roof spotted in yellow lichen. Its windows and door had been painted a subtle pale green, which gave it a cheerful air. The modest gardens were separated front and back by a low hedge and a garden gate, painted in the same green. To the rear of both cottages, there was a small coppice of trees with a rough path that eventually led down to the lake.

Lottie opened the door to the scent of the previous evening’s woodsmoke. The cottage had central heating but she also enjoyed lighting a fire in the sitting room on cool evenings, which could happen any time in these northern mountain climes. To the rear of the cottage was a small dining kitchen, while upstairs there was a bedroom, bathroom and a box room, which was crammed with possessions left over from her life with Connor.

All those hopes and dreams from two years together seemed so far away, and the plans she’d allowed herself to make on that magical week in Cornwall were as cold as the ashes in the hearth.

She changed from her suit into jeans and jumper and hunted for her bobble hat. Since October, when it had been unearthed from her chest of drawers, the hat was usually shoved in the pocket of her coat, or hung on a peg in the hall of her tiny cottage. However, it was nowhere to be found and she didn’t have time to waste, so she ran upstairs to get her new one from her bedroom.

She had to stand on a little folding stool, a gift from her nieces, to reach the top cupboard of the wardrobe, but the red hat was there, tucked away at the rear of the cupboard. ‘Hurrah!’ she said, pulling it out.

As she stepped down, hat in hand, a scarf and a card fluttered onto the carpet.

She gave a little intake of breath when she picked it up. She hadn’t even known she’d brought it with her when she moved to Firholme, but it must have been wrapped in a scarf or tucked inside some clothes. She obviously hadn’t been able to throw it out.

She picked it up. The front was a watercolour of the cove in Cornwall, with gulls scudding across wet sand, reflecting the sky at sunset. The rear had a simple message in neat, restrained handwriting, so even and level, it could almost have been written with the aid of a ruler.

The message wasn’t restrained; it was heartfelt.

Lottie,

Thank you for saying yes,

You’ve made me the happiest man alive,

All my love forever,

Connor xx

Lottie sat down on the bed, before reading the card again. Over a year later, those words still had the power to cut the ground from under her feet, and leave her turning over bad memories in a fruitless quest to understand how their relationship had turned from blissful to disastrous so suddenly.

Even though she should have thrown the card in the bin, it was impossible not to recall those heady times and wonder if they’d all been a deluded dream.

Chapter Two

‘I’m sorry. I’ve done something unforgivable.’

Connor’s words, on the doorstep that dark September night, rushed back to her, along with all the memories of the misery that followed in the hours and months afterwards. They were like dust and litter she’d swept out of the door, now blowing back in her face on an ill wind.

She’d never forget Connor’s face; so white and drawn that her first fear was that he was ill or his sister or mother were. He looked up at her and said two words: ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Sorry about what?’

He threw his keys on the table. ‘I’ve done something unforgivable.’

Her stomach turned over. ‘What do you mean? Have you had an accident?’ He must have run someone over, she thought … a child … ‘Oh my God, sit down.’

‘No. I – I … There’s no way of saying this that can excuse me or soften the blow, but I care for you too much to live a lie, or make you live a lie.’ Lottie’s skin had prickled with unease, with dismay at that word. ‘Care?’

‘I care a lot for you. I’m very fond of you but … you tried to warn me when I asked you at the beach.’

‘What do you mean? I tried to warn you?’

‘You said it was unexpected – out of the blue – and you’re right. When we came home, even before – walking in here and realising what marriage truly means: a lifetime of commitment. You deserve nothing less, Lottie, and I should never have let myself be carried along by the idea of it.’

She couldn’t believe he was passing the responsibility for his cruel act to her. What had happened to him during these few days away? What had changed his mind?

‘I can’t inflict myself on you, Lottie. It isn’t fair. God knows, it’s killing me to be the one to hurt you like this but it’s better I do it now, before things go too far. I’m sorry, truly I am, and I realise there’s no coming back from this. I’ll pack my bags.’

‘But why? Why have you changed your mind?’

‘It’s for the best,’ he said wearily. ‘There’s no other reason. Best I end it now before everyone knows.’

‘Is there someone else? Did you meet someone in Scotland?’

‘No!’ His tone changed to something like anger, though Lottie later realised it was guilt. ‘I just … can’t make the commitment you need. The commitment you deserve. This time away has made me realise that. I’ve woken up to reality and the reality is that I’m not the man you need and I should never have led you to believe I was. I got carried away …’

‘B-but you can’t just change your mind. I don’t understand.’

He set his mouth in a hard line. ‘I’m very sorry, Lottie, but I have to leave. It’ll be simpler that way. Less painful in the long run. You deserve way better than me.’

That was it. He moved out that night, leaving Lottie feeling like a vase that had been hurled onto a marble floor, the pieces scattered far and wide.

For many many months, she’d wasted her nights trying to pinpoint the exact moment when Connor had decided he didn’t want to marry her after all.

It couldn’t have been the evening they’d shared champagne and spent a glorious night in bed …

Was it on the way home? Some point along the journey, when the green fields of the West Country gave way to the suburbs and factories? Was that when the magic of a holiday proposal melted into the reality of a lifetime of commitment? Connor had obviously calculated the cost of keeping their relationship going for a lifetime, with responsibilities, a family, and it outweighed the benefits.

Lottie had combed through every moment, searching for the exact point when her dreams were shattered, but all she had were Connor’s bland statements. Platitudes, words he’d obviously been rehearsing for hours – days – they were such a contrast from his heartfelt declaration on the beach.

The next morning, she had dragged herself off the bed, dried her eyes and gone to work. She longed to call Steph but her sister would be busy taking the girls to school and then at work herself. It would have to wait until later.

Somehow, she managed to get through a meeting about a forthcoming conference and had a few minutes to grab a coffee. She took it outside into the hotel grounds when Steph’s name flashed up on her screen. For a second, she wondered if Connor had already told her about the engagement, even though he’d seemed so hesitant … but he’d never do that.

Then she wondered why Steph was calling in the middle of the school morning.

‘Hello, hon … sorry to call you at work.’ Steph sounded strange, distant.

‘Steph? Where are you?’ she asked. ‘Out in the playground?’

‘Playground? No – I’m not in the playground. I wish.’ There was a long pause. ‘I’m outside the surgery and I have some news. And I’m sorry, hon, but it’s not good.’

‘Oh my God. Is it one of the girls?’

‘No. No, thank God. No …’

Lottie remembered the silence as much as her sister’s words. It was heavy and ominous, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.

‘Hon, I don’t know how to say this because I haven’t even had time to take it in myself. It’s not the twins; it’s me. The GP’s really worried. She thinks I might have cervical cancer and—’ Lottie heard the wobble in Steph’s voice. ‘I’m trying to stay positive but I can’t lie. W-what if I never see my beautiful girls grow up?’

Reeling from the shock, Lottie had had to tell her boss she was feeling unwell and needed to leave. She’d driven to Steph’s, scraping her car on a dry-stone wall along the way, but she hadn’t cared. It turned out Steph had been having worrying symptoms for a while but hid her fears from Lottie, thinking everything would be OK. She’d tried to comfort Steph, had broken the news to their parents, before collecting the girls from school, pretending all was well.

She’d held her greatest fears back, stemmed her tears and bottled her emotions for Steph’s sake and to reassure the twins. All she wanted was to fling herself on Connor, be held and soothed and let everything out.

That was what partners were for: to be there in sickness and in health, for better and for worse.

The last thing Steph needed to deal with was Lottie’s ruined love life, so she kept her heartbreak secret and lied, saying she’d told Connor she was staying the night with Steph – not that she could face the thought of their empty house anyway.

There was no way she intended to tell Connor about Steph either – what if he thought she was trying to play the sympathy card? She was too proud for that. He’d severed their connection so brutally and suddenly, she felt he had no right to any part of her life.

She told Steph, and everyone else including her parents, who had enough to worry about with Steph and their granddaughters, that she and Connor had mutually decided to split up. Connor was happy to go along with it. So while Steph had been going through her treatment, Lottie bottled up her own pain, telling herself it was a pinprick next to the avalanche of worry Steph was dealing with. She wept secretly in the dark of the night, and every tear she shed made her feel guilty.

Now, looking down at Connor’s card, she remembered the previous Christmas when she’d promised Steph she’d look after the girls, if the worst happened.

It had been a mixed blessing to stay so local to home after her split with Connor. They’d sold their little house and Lottie had stayed with Steph. Although her place was small for the four of them now the twins were bigger, at least it meant she could lend a hand with the childcare while Steph was going through months of gruelling radiotherapy and chemotherapy.

The treatment had left her sister mentally and physically exhausted and she’d had to take sick leave from her job as a teaching assistant. To help even more, Lottie had taken several weeks off after leaving her job at the hotel in early August and before starting at Firholme in September.

When Steph had first called her with the news she’d been sent by her GP for a biopsy after some worrying symptoms, Lottie had hoped that it would be a false alarm and that the problem would be quickly solved. The opposite had been true. It had taken almost two months of scans and biopsies for Steph to be properly diagnosed and nearly two more for her treatment to start.

Now, six months after Steph’s treatment had ended, things were looking brighter. Lottie was settled in her new job at Firholme, and Steph was back at work as a teaching assistant although she was often exhausted and had to have regular check-ups at the hospital. The treatment had also brought on an early menopause with its mood swings and tiredness, on top of the ever-present fear of the cancer returning. Despite all this, Lottie was amazed by her sister’s determination to make the most of every moment for the sake of her twin daughters.

Likewise, Lottie had decided to make a fresh start and had jumped at Shayla’s offer of the Firholme job. It was still close to Steph’s house and she’d immediately been made to feel welcome. She loved her new role, and when Connor left Cumbria, gradually she’d begun to heal from the split.

Lottie glanced at his card one more time, and a new resolve filled her veins. That day, when Connor had walked out and Steph had called about her cancer, had been the worst day of her life but she had to look to the future and hope. She’d pull out all the stops to make sure that Firholme stayed in business and that this Christmas would be the best ever for Steph and the twins.

She took the card downstairs and threw it in the kitchen bin, like she should have done a year ago.

Chapter Three

With fresh determination, Lottie laced up her boots, pulled the red bobble hat over her curls and headed off towards the Christmas tree plantation. Her mood soon lifted once she was out in the fresh air, surrounded by the fells.

Even though she was used to hill walking, she was breathing a little more heavily by the time she’d climbed the slope to the forest gate. Her nose twitched at the scent of pine needles in the crisp air.

Jay was talking to two of the estate workers, their hi-vis outfits shining like beacons against the dark forest. Chainsaws and visors lay at their feet. She guessed that Jay’s dog, Trevor, was at home, safely kept away from the working area.

Lottie hung back while he finished his conversation, quietly observing him. He was also fully kitted up in sturdy boots, cargo pants and an olive ‘Firholme’ sweatshirt. So far, so mundane, but as for the man in the uniform, he was anything but mundane.

The forest workers picked up the chainsaws and left, so Lottie walked up to him.

‘Hello. Sorry, I’m a bit late,’ she said, struck by how the earthy tones of his clothes suited his colouring: brown hair, bronzed skin and hazel eyes. ‘I needed to change out of my heels into something a bit more practical.’ She lifted her sturdy boot, dragging her attention from Jay’s rugged physique.

He smiled briefly. ‘No rush. I needed to talk to those guys. We’re off to cut some big spruces later for a delivery to Keswick. The council and some of the hotels are ready to put their trees up.’

‘Wow. That’s early,’ Lottie said. ‘And in fact, that’s what I came to talk to you about, as well as the plans for the Christmas tree launch. Did you get my email about the reindeer?’ she asked, referring to her plans to have real live reindeer at the tree sales opening weekend.

‘The reindeer? Oh … yeah. Thanks.’

Oh dear, Lottie thought. He didn’t seem very enthusiastic.

‘They live at a farm just down the valley. I thought it would be a great way of attracting families on the opening day,’ she said. ‘Are you OK to liaise directly with the reindeer farmer on all the logistics of getting them up to Firholme? Unless,’ she added, ‘you’re too busy and want me to do it.’

‘Thanks for the offer, but I’ll sort it.’

Lottie had booked the visit by the deer the moment she’d started work at Firholme, knowing they’d be the perfect way of starting the Christmas tree sales season with a bang. Maybe Jay was just allergic to Rudolph or something.

He pushed his hair out of his eyes. ‘You said you wanted to talk about trees for the house?’

‘Yes. I was hoping we could have some a bit earlier than planned.’

‘I don’t see why not. Any particular variety or size?’

‘I don’t know … I’m no expert on trees,’ she said with a smile. ‘I was thinking you’d help me out with that.’

He seemed to relax and he gave a brief smile in return. ‘Yes, I can certainly help you with the trees.’ He frowned at her. ‘But before we go into the woods, you’d better put this on.’ He handed her a yellow safety helmet. ‘Can’t have a breach of health and safety. Shayla would have my guts for garters.’

Lottie was amused. It was unlikely Shayla would tell Jay off; generally she was fairly laid-back, though she could be magnificently assertive when she needed to be.

‘I doubt it,’ she said, putting the oversized helmet on her head with a grimace. It would flatten her hair and she had a client meeting after lunch. ‘Even so, I’d better stick to the rules.’

She noted he didn’t smile at her joke. Hmm, she wondered how he’d go down with his team if he was this strait-laced. His predecessor, Graham, had been not only efficient but also very popular. ‘So, how many trees do you need for the house and public areas?’ he asked, getting straight the point.

‘Five for various locations inside and out, but I was hoping you’d advise me on the size and type for each place.’ She was struck by an idea that might engage him more. ‘On that note, can I ask your opinion on these?’

She pulled the drab bauble and black snowflake that Shayla had given her from her pockets. ‘What do you think of these? We were thinking of having a futuristic minimalist theme in the house this year.’

His brow wrinkled. ‘What’s that when it’s at home?’

‘Geometric shapes. Cones, plain baubles, pyramids. All in muted tones of pewter, charcoal and er … black.’ Lottie sighed. ‘In every room.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Whose idea was that?’

‘Shayla’s,’ Lottie said, unwilling to criticise her boss, yet rather hoping Jay would share her lack of enthusiasm for the downbeat décor. ‘Personally, I prefer to pile on every decoration I’ve collected over the years on my tree, but that’s not the same as decorating an Edwardian mansion for the festive season. Shayla wants Firholme to look its spectacular best, especially as we want to do a wedding shoot and put the pictures up on the website.’

He took the grey pyramid decoration from Lottie and rested it in his hand. ‘It’s er … very grey.’

His palm was dusty but it was ‘clean’ dirt, as Lottie’s gran might have said. Lottie had never quite worked out what it meant but she presumed it was appropriate in Jay’s case. He obviously hadn’t realised he had pine needles in his hair or a mossy streak above his cheekbone, though she guessed he was probably far too busy chopping down trees to be looking in mirrors.

‘What do you really think? This range of decorations costs a fortune and I think we need more colour even if it’s only accent touches like blues or purples.’

He shrugged. ‘I don’t think anything. I don’t put up a tree.’

Lottie couldn’t hide her surprise. ‘You don’t put up a tree? But you manage the Christmas tree plantation. You can’t not have one yourself.’

‘I can and I do. Not have one, I mean. I’ve had my fill of the green stuff by the big day, anyway and … I got over the excitement of Christmas a while ago,’ he said briskly, then finally managed a twitch of the lips. ‘Anyway, Trevor would only try and eat the decorations. Now, shall we go and look at the type of trees you might want for the house? We have several varieties ready this year, or …’ he added thoughtfully, ‘you could even have a different one in each room?’

‘Hmm. Good idea. Maybe I can hint to Shayla that some varieties of tree would look better with a different theme? Blind her with science?’

‘It’s worth a try.’

Lottie was still unable to believe Jay didn’t bother with a tree, but she took the hint that he didn’t want to discuss it further.

Jay led the way into the plantation area where the trees were grown. ‘You can have a Nordmann fir or a Norway spruce,’ he said. ‘Here’s a Norway,’ he said, leading her to a classic triangular-shaped tree like the ones seen in thousands of homes every year.

He picked up a branch with its long cones hanging down.

Lottie inhaled the rich, sweet scent. ‘I love the smell,’ she said, realising she’d passed countless trees before but allowed them to become part of the background. ‘How long do they take to grow?’

‘Around twelve years for a Nordmann and eight for the spruce … which means these trees were planted when I was still at school.’

‘No way!’ Lottie laughed.

‘Hmm. I am pretty weather-beaten.’ He rubbed his chin, which she thought had just the right amount of stubble. ‘Note to self. Use more sunscreen and moisturiser.’

She was taken aback by the glimmer of humour that appeared to have burst through. ‘No, you look great. I mean …’ she said, backpedalling furiously even though she sensed he was winding her up. ‘I didn’t mean to be so um – personal.’

‘Oh, so you’d thought I was much older than that?’

She was almost convinced he was teasing her, but erred on the side of caution, in case. She smiled. ‘Actually, I thought you were around my age,’ she said, which was true.

‘I’m thirty-five, which I’m sure is older that you,’ he said.

‘Not much. I’m thirty-four,’ she said, wondering if she’d really offended him.

‘I was only joking when I said I was weather-beaten, although to be fair –’ he ran his hand over his curls, which unlike her own, were allowed to grow untamed ‘– I am a bit of a scruff. Good job I’m not in a customer-facing job like yours.’

Lottie was amused. ‘I’d have called you rugged rather than scruffy,’ she said warily.

Jay raised a rather bushy eyebrow. ‘Rugged? You mean like Scafell Pike or Helvellyn? Spiky and dangerous if tackled in the wrong conditions?’

She felt as if she’d made another faux pas. ‘Stop it. I’m not digging a deeper hole for myself.’ Or revealing any more glimpses into the fact that she found him attractive.

In fact, it struck her that he was the first man she’d looked twice at since Connor had left. Chatting to him now, she felt they’d already crossed a line from the friendliness of colleagues into something a little less professional.

‘You’re fine as you are. Now, shall we look at some more trees?’ she said worried that she’d let on she fancied him even a little bit. She pushed up her jacket sleeve to check her watch. ‘Because the morning’s rushing by.’

‘Let’s get busy, then,’ said Jay. ‘I’ll mark this tree and we’ll move on.’

The next twenty minutes was taken up entirely by talk of tree varieties. By the end of it, Lottie had selected five specimens, with guidance from Jay. He might not enjoy Christmas, but he obviously had a deep passion for nature and the great outdoors.

He identified the chosen trees with tape as they walked through the Christmas plantation with its regimented rows of firs, to the more established ‘natural’ woodland, which was also part of the Firholme estate. Here, there were a great variety of species, including oaks and silver birch, most of which were completely stripped of foliage. Some of the beeches clung to withered copper leaves but by and large the wood was a latticework of spiky branches against the blue sky.

‘My niece, Myra, asked me if the trees were “skellingtons” at Halloween,’ Lottie said, when they stopped at the edge of the forest.

He stared up at the tree. ‘Skeletons. That’s a good description. Some people find it sad to see bare branches but actually I like them. You know the leaves will be back soon and it’s all part of the process. It’s essential that the leaf litter provides a habitat and food for lots of insects and fungi.’

‘All part of the circle of life?’ Lottie said archly.

Jay smiled. ‘Like in the Lion King, yeah.’

‘The twins loved that film. Especially the belching warthogs.’

‘That’s my favourite part too.’

‘Really?’

Jay smiled, and Lottie’s opinion of him rose a little higher. Perhaps his initial gruffness was merely because he was so new to Firholme and needed to find his feet. ‘Not really. I’m more of a thriller fan myself. I’m not sure I can remember the last time I went to see an animated film. Must have been when Ben and I were at school.’

‘Ben?’ Lottie picked up on the name, wondering if Jay was referring to a partner.

‘My brother.’ Jay’s smile evaporated instantly. ‘But I should shut up. I must be keeping you from your work.’

‘This is part of my work,’ Lottie said, detecting a sharp change in the atmosphere between them.

‘Even so, I’ll walk you back through the woods. With the storm we had last week, there are a lot of fallen trees and branches. That’s one of our main jobs at the moment, clearing up the debris to make the grounds safe.’

Lottie was about to tell him that she’d be fine and knew her way around Firholme even better than him, but he’d already started walking off down the forest track. She caught up with him, wondering what had caused the abrupt downturn in his mood when out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of russet dashing up a tree.

‘Shh. Hang on a moment!’ Jay touched her sleeve, indicating she should hold back.

Lottie was shocked at his touch but froze anyway. ‘What?’ she mouthed.

‘Red squirrel.’ He lifted his hand slowly to point at an oak a few metres away.

She followed the direction of his finger but could see nothing among the leaf litter, bracken and twigs. Suddenly, there was a rustle and a flash of red as a furry tail appeared and the creature dashed from behind a trunk towards the woods. It stopped halfway to another tree and dug at the ground, found an acorn and started to nibble it.

It was a magical moment, seeing a wild animal in its natural habitat, especially one as cute as a red squirrel. They were quite rare now, and had been pushed into smaller pockets of the Lakes by the greys.

She and Jay stood very close together, neither moving in case they disturbed the squirrel, its fluffy tail quivering in the shaft of sunlight. The squirrel found another nut, popped it in its mouth and then raced off again, over the ground and up a tree.

‘It’s great to know they’re thriving here at Firholme,’ Jay said, when it became clear the squirrel was gone. Lottie moved away and they continued walking back to the house. ‘They love eating the spruce cones, you know.’

She was pleased that he shared her excitement. ‘Firholme is one heck of an office.’

He nodded enthusiastically. ‘I worked in an office after I left college. I’d trained as an accountant and I’m not knocking it as a career, but I pretty much hated it from the start. I’d worked a vacation job with a tree surgeon and I’d enjoyed that a lot more, so I went back to uni and retrained in landscape management. I worked for the forestry commission in the Highlands of Scotland and Kielder Forest before I came back to the Lakes. They had red squirrels there too.’

His animated expression made it clear that the squirrel had lifted his mood again.

‘They’re beautiful creatures,’ Lottie said. ‘I only hope they won’t be driven out by the greys.’

‘Or chased away by Trevor. I have to keep him on the lead when I’m walking through here. He goes mad if he gets a sniff of squirrel.’

‘I can imagine,’ Lottie said, having seen Trevor hurtling out of Jay’s cottage on his way for a walk. ‘Occasionally they come onto the feeders outside the cottage but I’ve never seen any here in the woods,’ she said, still with a glow of excitement from the squirrel encounter.

Her glow might also have to do with the fact that she’d enjoyed sharing the moment with someone who loved their surroundings as much as she did.

They emerged from the plantation and reached the top of the estate. The sun had come out and the courtyard of buildings and estate stretched out below them. The lake ploughed a shining furrow through the valley, reflecting snow-topped mountains.

Without a word, they both stopped to admire the spectacular view. ‘Not too shabby, is it?’ Jay said. ‘But you must be used to it?’

‘Actually, it still takes my breath away and I’ve lived in the Lakes all my life.’

He pushed a hand through his tousled hair. It was naturally curly, verging on unruly, and brushing the nape of his neck. ‘Look, I’m sorry if I sounded grouchy back there for a while. Don’t get me wrong, I love my job and I’m happy to help other people celebrate … It’s only that I don’t feel like joining in all the jollity at the moment.’

‘Christmas can be a tough time,’ Lottie said, guessing he found it very awkward to reveal any hint of his personal problems. ‘I didn’t feel much like partying myself, last year.’

His beautiful eyes darkened. ‘Why was that?’ he asked softly.

‘Oh …’ She already regretted mentioning a time that she’d hoped to put behind her. Not forget: that was impossible. It was still too raw.

She didn’t know Jay and he was probably the last person who’d enjoy listening to her troubles.

So why did she suddenly feel like pouring out everything to him?

Chapter Four

With a mountain of things on her to-do list, Lottie really should have been getting back to the office, but Jay’s tone was so gentle and encouraging, she felt she had to tell him what had happened the previous Christmas – or at least part of it.

She took a mental breath. ‘Last Christmas, my sister was seriously ill,’ she said. ‘She’d just been diagnosed with cervical cancer and was waiting for treatment. She’s also a single mum to my twin nieces.’

‘That must have been very hard to deal with.’ He paused by an old fallen tree, which people had been using as a makeshift bench, judging by the worn surface.

‘It was but … I’m sure you don’t have time for this. I’ve kept you long enough as it is.’

‘I’m not too busy to listen, so why don’t you sit down here for a minute and tell me about it?’

He sat down himself, giving Lottie no excuse. She joined him, although his unexpected empathy had the power almost to bring her to tears, the last thing she wanted when he was a virtual stranger. ‘Last Christmas was … very hard. Neither of us felt like celebrating but we had little Myra and Jodie to think about so we did our best. Our parents live and work in New Zealand and they couldn’t get any flights until the New Year so they couldn’t be there and even when they did come over to help, they had to go back to their jobs eventually.’

He frowned in sympathy. ‘My God, that is tough. I’m so sorry you went through this.’

‘Thanks. It was hard but we had no choice but to try and get through it. Before Steph started her treatment, we went for the whole Christmas to the max thing. You could barely move for decorations and presents.’ Lottie had crunched her credit card to spoil her sister and the twins, and her parents, relatives and friends had also gone a bit mad. Still, she had no regrets.

‘You must have been out of your mind with worry,’ he said softly.

‘It was hard but a hundred times harder for Steph than me.’

‘How’s she doing now?’

‘She’s OK. She has to have regular checks and the treatment had lots of after-effects but we try to stay positive. Touch wood,’ Lottie said, flattening her palm on the log’s surface. ‘One thing’s for sure, this Christmas has got to be better than last.’

He let the silence hang for a second, as if he didn’t know how to reply. Perhaps he felt uncomfortable at Lottie’s unexpected display of emotion. Many people couldn’t deal with illness and if they’d never had a close family member affected, it was impossible to imagine how they might feel. Or perhaps he didn’t even want to imagine.

There was no time for any more conversation because Lottie’s phone buzzed with a text from Shayla, asking her to return urgently to the house to meet some potential clients.

‘I really have to go. Thanks for the tree. For everything,’ she said.

‘No problem.’

Lottie nodded and scooted off to the Bothy to change again. While she scrubbed her nails, removed a spruce twig from her hair and redid her lipstick, she thought about her conversation with Jay. He’d avoided revealing anything about why he didn’t celebrate the season and had allowed her to do all the talking. Lottie thought about the reindeer, Santa’s grotto, families converging on the Christmas tree centre. Not only was Christmas the busiest time of year for Jay, he also obviously loathed it. It was the perfect storm for him.

She didn’t regret telling him about Steph, even though she didn’t talk about it much at work.

However, she’d held back the other reason that the previous Christmas had been so tough: that she’d been dealing with her own heartache over Connor but had had to force her problems into the background in the light of her sister’s far more serious situation.

It had been all she could do to function at work and all her energy and cheerfulness went into supporting Steph, the girls and her parents.

Yet it had hurt; it had hurt like hell and she had loved Connor. She’d thought he loved her. Perhaps she was simply hopeless at judging any man’s feelings? Jay had seemed empathetic and he’d revealed a little more about himself … but she wasn’t under any illusions.

It was too soon to even think of any guy romantically – especially one who’d only just moved in next door and worked with her. Better not to even start anything, and that meant flirting too.

When she went into the outer office, she looked through the glass windows and saw Shayla walking around her own office, phone at her ear. Originally from north London, Shayla herself had worked as a hotel receptionist until her grandpa had left her a small inheritance that she’d invested in a tiny boutique bed and breakfast.

Her battle to do it up on a shoestring and make it pay had featured on a TV series. Her success and personality had led to more media work, enabling her to invest in more properties, including Firholme. Before Shayla took over, it had been a rather dated hotel. She’d bought it in early spring and spent several months – and a serious amount of money – restoring the main house and converting the outbuildings to a café and shop.

It had reopened in early September just after Lottie had joined, and Shayla intended to make it a must-visit destination and events venue that visitors and locals returned to in all seasons of the year.

Lottie would love to own – or at least be in charge – of a place like Firholme, and was hoping her role as events manager might be expanded if Firholme could thrive – but that was dependent on her doing a great job and bringing in more business.

Shayla waved at Lottie to enter the office. As Lottie closed the door as quietly as she could, Shayla wound down her call.

A few minutes later, they walked up to the house together. Lottie decided to dive straight in with her concerns about the decorations.

‘Shayla, I’ve just been to the Christmas centre with Jay. While we were choosing the trees for the house, I had a thought about the décor. What about keeping the minimal tones but adding a different accent colour in each room? It would look really striking and help show potential couples we can match any wedding theme.’ Lottie went in with the clincher. ‘Plus, it would save money. Some of those uber cool monotone decs are very pricey.’

‘Hmm. I think you’re right … I’d been wondering about the colours myself and agree we could do with something a bit more, er, cheerful.’

Buoyed by her boss’s response, Lottie outlined her ideas on a walk-through of the main ground-floor rooms. Shayla seemed enthused and happy to let her deal with the styling. Should she message Jay and tell him that the grey was out, and colour back in? It wasn’t part of his job. Was she simply looking for a reason to text him?

How did he really feel about having listened to her problems?

Next, they headed upstairs where Shayla wanted to get Lottie’s opinion on a possible makeover for some of the rooms in the spring. The view from the main bridal suite was stunning, with a magnificent window overlooking the lake and mountains. Lottie couldn’t help thinking what a romantic setting it would be to spend a first night as a married couple … and a pang of sharp regret took her by surprise. She could have been spending her wedding night here.

‘Lottie?’

She turned around to find Shayla standing by the huge sleigh bed.

‘You like the idea for the new rooms?’

‘Yes … yes.’ Lottie smiled. ‘I think they’ll look superb.’

‘Great. Shall we go back to the office for coffee?’

Shaking off her memories for the second time that morning, Lottie walked with Shayla down the stairs into the vestibule. Voices reached them and the front door opened.

A tall woman, about Lottie’s own age, walked through, followed by one of the admin assistants, Thorsten, a Norwegian student on a gap year.

‘Hello, Shayla, Lottie … This is Ms Sinclair.’

‘Hi there. Please call me Keegan,’ the woman said, her voice, with its Aussie twang, echoed around the hallway.

‘Ms Sinclair and her partner are looking at wedding venues and dropped by on the off chance. I explained that you’d have preferred to have met them yourself …’ Thorsten said, his eyes flicking nervously from Lottie to Shayla.

‘I made him bring us straight up!’ Keegan declared. ‘I couldn’t wait! I’m with my fiancé actually but I’ve no idea where he’s disappeared to.’

‘I think he was looking at the view,’ said Thorsten.

‘He’s always going AWOL.’ Laughing, Keegan flicked her jet-black hair over her shoulder. She was wearing a camel maxi coat with a faux fur collar, and would have given Kim Kardashian a run for her money in the glamour stakes, Lottie thought. ‘I’d better round him up.’

Neither Lottie nor Shayla had yet had a chance to get a word in before the door opened and a man walked in.

In an instant, Lottie found herself physically unable to speak.

It couldn’t be him … and yet here he was, in a smart reefer coat and scarf, his hair styled in a trendy cut and every bit as good-looking as she remembered. No, scrub that. He was far better-looking than she remembered.

At the sound of his footsteps, Keegan swung round. ‘Oh, there you are, baby!’ She seized his arm and beamed. ‘This is my fiancé, Connor. We’re absolutely desperate to get married at Firholme and the sooner the better!’

Chapter Five

Lottie stared at Connor, and he gawped back. She must have held her breath because when she finally came to her senses, it rushed out in a whoosh.

Shock and anger bubbled up. How could Connor, of all people, have turned up at Firholme with his fiancée? How could he do that to her?

All of this, however, seemed to have been missed by everyone else in the room, as Keegan sang the praises of the house.

‘Wow. This place is even more amazing than you said it was, Connor. Your website really doesn’t do it justice, you know!’ She directed this at Shayla.

Lottie had had a big input into the redesign of the new site, but that was the least of her worries.

‘It’s incredible.’ Keegan planted a smacker on Connor’s cheek that reverberated around the room. ‘No wonder your mum always wanted you to get married here.’

Avoiding Lottie’s eye, Connor found his tongue. ‘Hold on. They might not have a vacancy, Keegan,’ he said. ‘Not at short notice. You know we’re in a hurry.’

‘Oh, don’t be so defeatist! If you don’t ask, you don’t get.’

‘Yes but … Firholme must be booked up years in advance,’ he said.

Shayla exchanged a puzzled glance with Lottie before jumping in. ‘If you want to hold your wedding here at Firholme, you’ve found the right person.’ She practically thrust Lottie to the fore with one look. ‘Lottie Hargreaves is our events and wedding coordinator. I’m sure she can help you sort out a date.’ Shayla beamed at Lottie, obviously willing her to speak to their new potential customers.

‘Well. Um. I think we do have some weekends in early March,’ Lottie said.

‘March!’ Keegan exclaimed. ‘Oh no. That’s way too late. We want to get married as soon as possible. Next week wouldn’t be too early!’

‘Next week!’ Despite her best efforts, Lottie’s squeak of horror escaped.

‘Keegan’s joking,’ Connor said, with the weakest of smiles. ‘We were thinking more like next month. If possible, but I know it’s a tall order.’

‘It has to be before Christmas,’ Keegan said firmly. ‘That’s what you said, baby.’ She turned to Lottie. ‘It’s a surprise for Connor’s mum. She’s been very poorly and we want to give her the best Christmas present ever,’ she said to Lottie and Shayla.

‘Your mum?’ Lottie was unable to keep the shock from her voice. ‘How poorly? Is she OK now?’

‘She had a stroke a few months ago but she’s recovering,’ Connor said, seeming more crestfallen by the second. ‘We thought that a surprise wedding at Firholme would cheer her up. We’ll totally understand if it’s not possible.’ His expression gave Lottie no doubt that he wanted her to bail him out.

However, that wasn’t in Lottie’s power and Shayla dived in, shooting Lottie a very puzzled glance. ‘Don’t worry. I’m sure we can fit it in,’ she said.

‘Great,’ said Keegan, shooting Lottie a forensic glare. ‘Do you two know each other?’ she said to Lottie.

‘I was wondering the same myself,’ Shayla said, smiling.

‘Yes. We used to live in the same village,’ Lottie said, still reeling from the fact that Fiona had had a stroke. ‘Didn’t we, Connor?’

‘Yes … um … we did.’ Connor was obviously trying to pick up on the clues she was attempting to send him. She was sure he hadn’t told Keegan about their relationship so he certainly hadn’t mentioned they’d been engaged, or that he’d called it off three days after his proposal.

‘I didn’t realise Lottie worked here,’ he said.

‘I only started here in early September.’ Lottie was finding coherent speech almost impossible to come by.

‘Oh. I’d no idea,’ Connor repeated, adding limply, ‘what a coincidence.’

Keegan clearly wasn’t ready let them off the hook. ‘Wow. You guys grew up in the same village?’

‘Keswick is more of a town,’ Connor stated, as if that made all the difference. ‘And my parents moved to Cockermouth when I was a teenager.’

Keegan’s perfectly arched eyebrows shot up. ‘Yet you still recognised each other instantly?’ She reminded Lottie of a smiling assassin.

‘We had some … er … contact afterwards,’ Lottie replied. ‘Connor’s firm used to hold functions at the hotel I was working at.’

‘But it was ages ago,’ Connor added quickly.

His deft reaction jolted Lottie, but she hid her shock that he was so very keen to deny their relationship. She didn’t want anyone to know how close they’d been either and wasn’t going to volunteer the information. It would be far less messy and far less painful and besides, Connor surely wouldn’t dream of getting married at Firholme now he’d found out who’d be organising the wedding. Certainly not by Christmas and hopefully not ever.

However, Keegan had other ideas. ‘Babe, it’s so lovely that you know Lottie and that she’s going to be our wedding planner.’ She flashed a smile at Lottie. ‘It’s fate! We’re obviously meant to get married here. It’s an amazing venue and we can really push the boat out.’

Shayla was grinning widely at the prospect of a lucrative wedding. ‘I think you absolutely are meant to have your wedding here,’ she declared. ‘Don’t you agree, Lottie?’ she added firmly.

Lottie snapped out of her shock. ‘Oh, yes. Absolutely,’ she said, not wanting to face the ramifications of having to organise Connor’s wedding.

Shayla ploughed on. ‘And in fact, I have some wonderful news. We do have a Saturday available for the weekend before Christmas. How does Saturday nineteenth sound?’

Keegan squealed in delight. ‘What? You are kidding me!’

‘No,’ said Shayla. ‘So, you really are meant to be married at Firholme.’

Keegan smacked a kiss on Connor’s mouth. ‘That settles it then, doesn’t it, Connor? It’s fate!’

‘It seems like it …’ Connor said mechanically.

‘Let’s not waste a moment more then,’ Shayla said. ‘Would you like Lottie to give you both a tour of Firholme House so we can set the ball rolling immediately? Funnily enough, we were just discussing the Christmas tree and decorations for the ballroom where we hold our wedding ceremonies and receptions. Of course, we can tailor those to your wedding colour scheme.’

‘We hadn’t got around to choosing colours yet,’ Connor muttered. ‘We hadn’t even got a confirmed date or venue until a few minutes ago.’

Keegan laughed at him. ‘But we do now, babe, and I’ve already been thinking about the theme a lot. We’d love to have a tour and the sooner we nail down all the details, the better.’

‘I’ll leave Lottie to show you round, then, as she’s our expert, aren’t you?’ Lottie felt a little nudge on the elbow. ‘I’m sure you have a lot of catching up to do as you and Connor are old friends.’

Shayla must be wondering why Lottie herself wasn’t gushing about Firholme like Shayla was, but she was still paralysed by the shock of Connor walking in and wanting to get married.

‘Lottie?’ Shayla’s tone was laden with a hint that she should show more enthusiasm.

‘Of course, I’d be delighted to show you round,’ she said, as brightly as she could. ‘It’s a shame the decorations aren’t up, but as Shayla mentioned, that means we can discuss your own scheme and have it ready for your special day.’

She was fighting to keep the slightest trace of irony from her voice, terrified that Keegan would think she was being sarcastic – or worse, that Connor would. He was handling the situation by saying as little as possible, but Keegan was the opposite, raving about the architecture, the furnishings, the possibilities for photo opportunities.

It was agony for Lottie to have to extol Firholme’s virtues when she longed to claim it was a terrible place to get married; that it was draughty, had mice and the catering wasn’t up to scratch – and most of all that the events manager was incompetent and was wishing her bridal couple would vanish with a puff of smoke.

Instead she had to run through her sales patter of how marvellous it was, with its grand ballroom being perfect for the ceremony; the drawing room ideal for the pre-drinks; and suite of first-floor bedrooms wonderful for the bridal couple and their guests.

She threw open the double doors to the ballroom so that Keegan could walk in ahead.

‘Oh. My. God. What an incredible space!’ Keegan wandered into the centre of the room and turned in a circle, taking in the parquet floor, the walls and up to the wood-panelled ceiling with its ornate carvings and chandelier. ‘That ceiling. The panelling. Is this all original?’

‘Yes, we restored it back to its original state from 1906 when it was built …’

‘It’s awesome.’ Keegan turned. ‘Isn’t it, Connor?’

‘It’s undeniably impressive,’ he muttered, wandering towards the window, shoulders hunched and hands in his pockets.

‘No wonder your mother loves this place so much.’ Keegan returned her attention to the room, arching her neck to stare at the chandelier. ‘It’s every bit as gorgeous as you said.’

‘I’d forgotten how grand it was.’ Connor followed Keegan’s gaze. ‘Mum liked to bring us for afternoon tea when it was a hotel and we were younger. She hasn’t been able to visit since she was ill and it was being refurbished, but I know she wants to.’

Keegan looked around in wonder. ‘She’s going to freak out when she walks in here to find we’re actually getting married.’

‘You can say that again …’ Momentarily, Connor caught Lottie’s eye behind Keegan’s back and mouthed, ‘Sorry.’

Lottie glanced away, unable to respond. Sorry for what? Turning up out of the blue? Not knowing she worked there? Proposing to her, then saying he wasn’t sure that his love was strong enough to make a lifelong commitment? Finding someone he did love enough within a matter of months?

No matter how professional she tried to remain, the regrets and ‘what-ifs’ whirled around her head. It didn’t matter how many times she told herself she was better off without him and it wasn’t meant to be, it still hurt.

However, she had no time to gather her thoughts properly because Keegan had swooped on a small dais in the bay window. The sun had come out and the view over the gardens to the lake and snow-topped fells was to die for. How could Keegan not fall headlong in love with the place?

‘Is this it?’ Keegan was almost breathless with wonder. ‘Where we actually make our vows?’

‘Yes. This is where the registrar will conduct the ceremony,’ Lottie said. ‘We hold the wedding service in here and in the winter months we serve drinks in the drawing room while this space is rearranged for the reception.’ She glanced out of the window at the sun glinting off the lake. ‘In summer, we do drinks on the terrace; obviously, that’s not possible in December … But you can still have a wide choice of menus, or any kind of reception format – sit-down or buffet. As casual or formal as you wish.’ She reeled off the patter, still feeling as if someone else was saying the words.

‘Oh, I want a formal sit-down. I want silver service, little place names, a top table, speeches – the whole traditional English shebang.’ Keegan called to Connor who was at the window, with his back to them. ‘That’s what your mum’s always dreamed of, isn’t it, Connor? I know my folks will go nuts for it too.’

Connor’s face seemed to have turned pale under his tan. ‘Is there time to get them over here?’ he asked. ‘You know how busy the flights from Oz are at this time of year. Would it be better to delay things a while?’

‘They’ll get here,’ Keegan declared. ‘If I have to fly them all out first class.’

Lottie stopped her jaw from unhinging again. She was used to wealthy clients at Firholme, but Keegan was taking it to another level – she hadn’t even asked how much it would all cost.

‘I’m sure it won’t come to that,’ Connor said hurriedly. ‘I was only thinking through the logistics. Christmas itself is less than eight weeks away. What about all the legal stuff? The licence?’

Joining him, Keegan stroked his arm. ‘We’ve gone through all that, baby. Now we have a venue and date we can book the registrar. I’m sure they’re not busy this time of year, are they, Lottie?’

‘Probably not,’ Lottie said. ‘But I can help you with all of that.’

‘There you are, Connor,’ Keegan said triumphantly. ‘Lottie will take care of everything for us. Aren’t we lucky? Now, I need to touch up my lipstick if you’ll show me the way to the washroom?’

Flicking her hair over her shoulder, Keegan swept off to the cloakroom, leaving Lottie and Connor alone.

The silence was painful before Connor spoke. ‘Keegan’s joking about the first-class flights.’

What? Those were his first words after unexpectedly reappearing in her life after over a year?

‘It’s up to you,’ Lottie said tightly. ‘I totally understand that Keegan would want her family to be at her wedding.’

‘Yes, but there’s no way we’d fly them here first class,’ Connor insisted. ‘Business class maybe.’

‘Connor, you really don’t have to apologise or explain anything,’ Lottie said, wishing she hadn’t been left alone with him. ‘I’ll do anything I can to make sure you have a happy day and that your mum has a wonderful Christmas surprise. I’m so sorry she’s been ill. I wish I’d known.’ Lottie just stopped herself from putting her hand on his arm in comfort. With her own mother living so far away, Lottie’s relationship with Fiona had probably been closer than it might normally have been. ‘I wish I’d known. I would have gone to see her or sent some flowers and a card. Poor Fiona.’

‘She understood why you didn’t …’ Connor glanced away guiltily. ‘Why I hadn’t told you. In the circumstances, she knew it would have been really awkward for you.’

Really awkward for Connor, she thought, but stayed tight-lipped. Her natural sympathy for him and his parents trumped any bitter feelings towards him. However, she’d resolved to take control of the situation they’d both found themselves in.

‘How close we once were is irrelevant now,’ she said, although she felt that her relationship with Connor was all too relevant, given the hurt and anger she still felt.

‘True … and I apologise. I never should have turned up without making an appointment, but Keegan was all for haring up here the moment I happened to say that Mum loved Firholme. She said we could look round, have a coffee and then when she mentioned about possibly getting married to that guy on reception, he said he would find someone to show us round – the wedding events manager, he said; he didn’t use your name or I would have twigged.’

‘You still wouldn’t have been able to stop Keegan from getting married here, though, would you?’

‘No … I suppose not. When she gets her teeth into an idea, it’s very hard to stop her.’

It was on the tip of Lottie’s tongue to say ‘I can imagine’ but she stopped herself. Henceforth, she had to be scrupulously professional with her ‘bridal couple’ and that meant being enthusiastic and welcoming. She was finding it almost impossible with Connor, however.

‘Jeez, Lottie. I’m so sorry for landing here like this unannounced. It’s unforgivable. I’d never want to hurt you; you must understand that?’

But you did hurt me, Connor, she thought. You’re still doing it now. Words dried in her throat. She’d finally got her life back on track, but now he’d ripped the dressing from a still-healing wound. The pain was sharper than she’d ever imagined it could be – because she hadn’t imagined it, she’d half hoped she’d never have to see him again because it was easier for her. She didn’t think she could bleed again at a look or touch from Connor; now she knew she could.

‘I can tell Keegan we can’t hold the wedding here if you really want me to,’ he said, but with a look as if he’d rather have his fingernails pulled out.

‘No!’ she said quickly. ‘No, you absolutely mustn’t change your plans because of us.’ How could she confess to Shayla that she’d been the cause of cancelling her first wedding at Firholme? The business really needed the revenue, and Keegan was clearly hoping to make it a lavish affair.

‘OK, I won’t then … and I am sorry.’ He touched her arm, leaving his fingers there long enough for her to feel a familiar tingle of pleasure at his touch, which she had missed so much in the early days. How could it still have the power to affect her?

Subtly, she moved away a little. ‘Let’s stick to the practicalities.’

‘OK. If you’re absolutely sure. Perhaps it would be less complicated if we didn’t get into the details of our past relationship? Maybe it would be easier to let Keegan think we were just friends?’ His voice lifted hopefully.

Even though Lottie had been thinking the exact same thing, it stung to hear him ask her to deny how close they’d been. Was that another sign that she still had feelings for him? She didn’t want to feel anything: she wanted to be numb – at least for this particular wedding. How would she summon up the joy and excitement she normally felt for her bridal couples?

‘Of course,’ she said, forcing herself into professional mode, even though her emotions were in turmoil. ‘There’s no reason for anyone to make the connection between us. I didn’t know anyone at Firholme before I started, though I can’t guarantee that no one will work out we were together … you know what it’s like in a small community.’

‘That’s a risk I’m prepared to take.’

‘What about your dad and your family and friends?’ she said. ‘Won’t you have to tell them the wedding is here?’

‘Yes, but we might keep the venue a secret as long as we can, even from my dad. I can’t trust him not to let something slip to Mum. He’s terrible at keeping secrets –’ he smiled briefly ‘– as you know.’

She nodded. Derrick Moran had once blurted out that Connor had arranged a trip to Paris for her birthday, spoiling the surprise. Connor had been far more annoyed than Lottie, who really hadn’t minded. Derrick could be opinionated but he loved his family and had always been kind to Lottie.

‘OK, but there’s a chance they might realise once you finally reveal the venue. Some of them might know I work here.’ Shayla had wanted photos of key team members on the website but the photographer hadn’t had time to take official photos yet, Lottie thought ruefully, otherwise Connor would have realised she worked at Firholme and would have put off Keegan.

‘I doubt it. Besides I’ve lost touch with most of the old crew while I’ve been in Australia. After we split up, I wanted to make a completely fresh start. Once the wedding is over, I’ll come clean if I have to, though Keegan still won’t need to know um … how close we were. That’s my problem to resolve,’ he said firmly, as if Keegan was a workplace issue to be tackled.

‘Well, if you’re sure Keegan won’t feel …’ Lottie paused to choose her words carefully. ‘That she’s been kept in the dark if the truth comes out eventually.’

‘I prefer to call it being diplomatic. I’d rather we didn’t have to deal with it at all.’ He clammed up, as voices could be heard in the corridor. It was Keegan, returning from the ladies’ restrooms, gushing over the elaborate Edwardian fixtures, presumably to one of the housekeeping staff.

‘Unfortunately, we’re going to have to, whether we like it or not,’ Connor said hastily.

‘It really isn’t a problem,’ she muttered, already regretting letting him get under her skin.

‘Con-nor!’ Keegan’s voice penetrated the walls.

‘Coming!’ He hurried to the door and Lottie followed him. She escorted them both out of the house and down to the office area, answering Keegan’s questions about catering, flowers and bedrooms for the bridal party. She’d already texted the café manager who had reserved a quiet seating area in the corner, and had coffee and home-made Cumbrian biscuits waiting.

An hour later, the plans for the wedding were already under way, if not quite ‘nailed down’. Lottie gave Keegan her due; she was nothing if not decisive, just as Connor had said. He sat by, agreeing with everything while scrolling through his phone. Lottie suspected that now he’d realised he couldn’t put off Keegan from having the wedding at Firholme, he’d decided to give in and hope for a quiet life – from his fiancée and his ex, she thought wryly.

Somehow, she managed to pretend that the wedding was like any other, although she had to avoid meeting Connor’s eye too often. She had a long ‘to-do’ list, but that was part of the job. It was, however, the fastest wedding she’d ever overseen, and she was also worried that Fiona would get wind of the surprise somehow.

She decided to send an email around to all the staff, warning them not to discuss it outside of work. Hopefully, if Fiona did find out, it wouldn’t be from anyone at Firholme and she’d have done her job. Privately, Lottie was also convinced Fiona might have preferred to be involved in all the excitement of the planning. She loved organising family ‘dos’ … but that wasn’t Lottie’s problem, so she’d have to go along with it.

She advised Connor and Keegan on the legal admin and saw them out of the café. They climbed into an SUV in the car park and drove out of the grounds.

Still in her dress and jacket, Lottie realised she was shivering. The sun had slipped behind the fells, and the house was now in shade. At this time of year, the sun set well before four and with the clear skies, they were in for a very chilly night. While the temperatures might plummet, it was too early in the year for snow in the valley where Firholme was situated.

Connor’s car had been one of the last to leave the car park, as the café emptied of its visitors and the grounds closed for the day. Folding her arms for warmth, Lottie wandered slowly back to her office, where Shayla would be gleeful about getting the pre-Christmas wedding that Lottie had thought impossible.

Shayla might be thrilled but despondency settled on Lottie like the gathering dusk. The day had started so positively. She’d been looking forward to Christmas with Steph and the twins and choosing trees with Jay had been an unexpected pleasure. Yet it had ended with memories resurfacing from a dark time of her life. She was glad that Connor had found someone he loved, even if it was rather quick, but it hurt that he’d edited her out of his life.

She’d found it so much harder to move on from him.

She still cared about him, fancied him, and the ‘what might have beens’ had resurfaced like creatures from the deep. All of which made her more determined, no matter how hard it was, to make sure that her ex and his fiancée never suspected how hurt she was … and that they would have the most amazing wedding ever.

Chapter Six

Jay had allowed himself a discreet smile when he’d watched Lottie make her way down the path that skirted the plantation, earlier that day. Perhaps he should have been thinking about trees, but his mind was occupied by how great she looked in her coat and hiking boots. The fresh air had reddened the tip of her nose and brought out a pink glow in her cheeks that only enhanced her pretty face.

Some of his colleagues had already made an effort to be friendly with him in his first week at Firholme but he hadn’t felt drawn to anyone until he’d spoken to Lottie that morning. Her love for her family had touched him and he suspected the bond between Lottie and her sister had been strengthened by the ordeal they’d been through.

Jay knew how that connection with a sibling felt. He’d thought his bond with his older brother had been unbreakable, right until the moment Ben had shattered the trust between them. Jay hadn’t seen him since the previous Christmas Eve.

As he walked back to the area where his team were clearing the forest, bitter memories battled with the pleasant emotions that had come from being in Lottie’s company. He’d have loved to ask her out for a drink, under other circumstances; those circumstances being he’d made a promise to himself never to get seriously entangled with another woman. He already liked her too much to let her down, and far too much to inflict his cynical, hardened self on, so it was kinder to avoid any involvement altogether.

The most useful thing he could do for her was his job – which meant making sure the Christmas trees and greenery were harvested and transported to the house at their naturally spectacular best.

Until public sales opened, he relished the chance to get stuck into the actual essence of his new role: managing the forest. He certainly hadn’t taken the job to give orders and watch other people doing the hard graft. Quite the contrary – the more time he spent out of doors in natural surroundings, the better.

With that in mind, he briefed the plantation supervisor as soon as Lottie had left. Kerr Henshall was a Scot in his early forties with a bone-dry sense of humour. He lived just a mile away, in Langmere village with his son.

‘OK. I’ve marked the two Nordmanns and the spruces for the big house. I’d like to make a start on felling them once I have the go-ahead from Lottie … from the office,’ Jay corrected himself. ‘I think we’ll do the Nordmanns first and transport them to the house in the truck.’

‘I’ll get it sorted,’ Kerr said confidently.

‘I’m sure you could but I’d also like to be involved in felling the trees.’

Kerr frowned. ‘We can handle that …’

‘I know, but I want to make sure these trees are at their very best for the big house.’

‘Whatever you say, boss.’

Jay guessed that Kerr felt Jay was micromanaging the situation. ‘It’ll give me an excuse to get out of the office,’ he said quickly, keen to keep his deputy onside.

Kerr smiled briefly. He seemed an easy-going guy and good at his job but Jay suspected that his predecessor had been very hands-off with the team. They must be finding it hard to get used to an upstart like himself.

‘Shall we get on with the thinning in the Middle Glade?’ Kerr said briskly. ‘We’re ready to take some of the wood down to the sawmill. You’ll be wanting to supervise that too, I take it?’ Kerr added casually, giving him a knowing look. ‘Or will you be away down to the big house again this afternoon?’

Jay groaned inwardly. Kerr had obviously picked up on Jay’s keenness to make sure everything was perfect for the offices. Whether he’d also connected that with Jay’s chat with Lottie, Jay wasn’t sure.

‘No, I’ll be here to keep an eye on you,’ he said, with a smile. ‘You’re not getting rid of me that easily.’

‘OK … Oh, and by the way, will you be joining us at the pub on Wednesday? We have a get-together at the local every month if we can.’ Kerr grinned. ‘Just a pint, a laugh and a meal. It’s a good chance for us to relax before the madness of Christmas starts.’

Jay was caught off-guard. ‘I um … I’m not sure what I’m doing that evening.’

Kerr nodded. ‘Well, the invitation’s open but if you’re otherwise engaged, that’s fine. I can see you might have a better offer.’

Jay cringed. So far, during breaks, he was comfortable while the talk had been about sport or nature but he dreaded being drawn into any conversations about his personal life.

‘Thanks for letting me know,’ he said, trying to keep his reply low-key.

‘Lottie usually organises it … nice lass …’ Kerr said. ‘But there’s no pressure if you don’t fancy it.’

Jay searched Kerr’s face for any hint that his colleague thought Lottie might be an added attraction for Jay.

Which she was, of course.

‘I’ll do my best,’ he said evenly. ‘Thanks for letting me know about it.’ Then briskly: ‘I’ll be off to the High Copse and then I’ll join you in the Middle Glade.’

He hurried away, wishing that people wouldn’t invite him to things … yet also recognising that socialising was a normal part of work – of life. He knew he was already getting a reputation for being standoffish at best and an antisocial weirdo at worst. He was aware he’d become a hermit over the past year, avoiding all contact with people from his past life and his present.

It wasn’t good for his mental health – but so far, he hadn’t cared.

He loved working in the outdoors. It had been his solace to be surrounded by trees and wildlife, and the fells. It had helped soothe him and put his problems in perspective, not to mention it was physically tiring. Even before he’d moved to Firholme from an estate in the north of the county, he loved to set off for a walk with Trevor after his work shift, taking off into the hills or down by the lake until darkness fell.

Sometimes he was alone, but long summer evenings attracted tourists. Even in autumn, there had been many visitors packing the russet fells, enjoying the autumn colours and the last days before winter arrived.

Now, the throngs had thinned, but the first snows of winter on the peaks still drew the hardy back at the weekends, to marvel at the high tops, covered with white. Jay took off with an ice axe and crampons, hiking above the snow line where only the most intrepid ventured. He usually left Trevor safely tucked up in the cottage. He knew it was risky to walk and scramble alone, but he felt alive when he was up on the crags, looking down on the rest of the world.

He climbed the slope to the copse, an ancient area of woodland above the plantation, full of oak, beech and mountain ash. It was the final wooded area before the ground rose sharply and opened out into heather-clad fells, populated only by the Herdwick sheep. As it wasn’t open to the public, it was one of his favourite places to seek peace and solitude. A deer emerged briefly into a clearing and he stopped to watch it vanish into the shadows. Nature helped to clear his mind.

Jay walked on, working through his schedule for the run-up to Christmas in his mind. Tree sales opened on the final weekend in November and closed on the twenty-first of December, by which time everyone should have bought their tree or they’d have run out of stock.

It was a delicate balancing act. He’d managed a similar scheme in a previous job at a forestry centre and it was a short but incredibly intense period. He doubted he’d get much rest, with sales being open from nine a.m. until eight p.m. every day. The upside meant he’d be exhausted by Christmas Eve and hopefully sleep through it all.

The downside was Trevor having to spend more time inside the cottage, although Jay made time to walk him at lunchtime, no matter how busy he was. The dog was also used to taking his walks in all weathers. He didn’t care if it was hailing, blowing a gale and pitch black, he was so excited to be in the outdoors. Firholme was a gourmet location for dogs, with its fellsides, woods and array of delicious doggy smells.

Trevor had also helped keep Jay sane after his split from Nadia. He’d been so relieved when she’d made it clear that she didn’t want to take the dog when she’d moved out. It would have been the nail in the coffin for Jay to lose Trevor too, along with everyone else he loved.

Jay strode back into the forest, checking out the areas where the holly grew and looking for mistletoe. He’d suggested harvesting some festive greenery for the house and café to Lottie, and she’d seemed very pleased he’d offered. He felt soothed and calmer since he’d taken the job at Firholme – he supposed he was ‘healing’ slowly, though he also felt he was a long way from a full recovery.

He was almost at the edge of the forest when a rustle in the leaves stopped him dead. A squirrel scampered across his path and stopped in a pool of sunlight, the rays making its bushy tail seem like a halo.

Jay held his breath, watching as it nibbled an acorn, oblivious to his presence. He thought of Lottie’s delight and their shared wonder at seeing the squirrel together. He had a feeling they’d share more than a love of nature, if they got the chance.

His snort of derision at the idea of him sharing anything more with Lottie startled the squirrel and it fled up the trunk of an oak.

Who was he kidding? Even if he overcame every instinct and asked her out, he had absolutely no idea if someone as lively and sociable – and gorgeous – as her was even interested in him.

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