Page 8 of Christmas, Actually

She heard a sound in the hallway and guessed Eleanor was up. Her godmother had always been an early riser.

Clara’s stomach grumbled and she pushed back the covers and shifted, pressing her bare toes into the cosy, oatmeal-coloured carpet before sliding one foot onto the soft snowman rug that had been placed between the bed and window. Eleanor adored Christmas – unlike Clara’s parents who hated everything about it – and it looked like she’d gone to town on her home. It felt like a warm, festive hug.

A few minutes later, Clara found her godmother in the kitchen gulping down a mug of coffee. She was dressed in a bright red dress which hugged her curvy frame and trailed over her hips in voluptuous velvet waves. She had a gold badge pinned to the dress with ‘Eleanor Kringle, Owner and Head Elf’ printed across it. She grabbed a mug that was shaped like a Christmas tree from one of the cupboards and silently filled it from a cafetiere she had on the go before handing the drink to Clara.

‘Here, sip this. I need to get down to the shop – I had a delivery yesterday afternoon and didn’t manage to unpack any of it. There’s a mountain of baubles I need to find a home for.’ Eleanor smiled, scouring Clara’s face, her large blue eyes intense. ‘You look better already. Much more like your old self. Why don’t you shower and have some breakfast and then you can join me downstairs? I can tell you what you need to know about being Mrs Christmas, and after that, if you want to talk more, I’m all ears. If you don’t, that’s fine too.’

She let that hang between them and paced across the kitchen – which featured bright red cabinets and shiny countertops in white quartz – before opening the fridge. ‘Help yourself to whatever you fancy. There’s a Christmas trifle in there I made which contains all of your favourite food groups. Unless that’s changed.’ She grinned. ‘No judgement, we could all do with more trifle in our lives – and you definitely look like you could use a little sugar today.’ Her tone was serious but kind and Clara felt her eyes fill because it had been a long time since someone had wrapped her up in so much warmth. She hadn’t realised how much she’d needed it.

‘See you in a minute, darling. I need to go now as I’ve got something to drop off at the bookshop before I start work,’ Eleanor added before giving Clara a quick kiss on the cheek and grabbing what looked like a gangly elf-on-the-shelf toy with long stripy legs and huge ears from the counter.

‘Who’s that for?’ Clara asked.

Eleanor winked. ‘Someone who could do with a bit of Christmas magic.’ Then she headed towards the door.

Clara stood sipping her coffee after she heard the door shut. She looked around slowly – there were a monumental number of kitchen appliances spread across the surfaces. Hudson hated clutter and Clara could almost hear him complaining from New York.

She stroked a fingertip over a glittering snowman utensil holder which contained a multitude of festive implements before opening the fridge. Her eyes immediately shot to the trifle and her tastebuds activated as she studied the fluffy cream sprayed with multicoloured sprinkles. It was an unconventional breakfast, but she’d barely eaten yesterday – too churned up. Besides, she was tired and her heart ached and Eleanor was probably right: sugar would give her a much-needed pick-me-up. She had a lot to do today, starting with showering and finding out what Mrs Christmas was going to be getting up to for the next four weeks. And while she was at it, she’d have to ensure that she didn’t let her mind wander to the man who’d be playing her husband.

She was already picturing his wide smile and those brown eyes that reminded her of chocolate fondue – delicious, decadent and oh-so-wrong. She licked her lips and her skin prickled, like someone had just stroked feathers over it. It wasn’t an unpleasant sensation, but it was unsettling. Especially since her brain should be focused elsewhere.

She deliberately dragged her mind back to Hudson – her fiancé – although she wasn’t sure she wanted to think about him either. But she had to send that text.

The shower was hot and powerful. Clara stood beneath the hot spray as she lathered herself in Christmas pudding shower gel, courtesy of Eleanor who’d left a ton of guest toiletries in the bathroom. She felt a little better already. Her belly was full of trifle, and she was going to smell delicious. She’d brushed her teeth, and in a minute, she’d be joining her godmother downstairs. She’d decided to send her original text to Hudson before getting in the shower. Would he have answered by the time she got out and got dressed? Perhaps he’d been waiting by the phone with bated breath, wondering where she was? She could hope, and be patient.

She switched off the water and grabbed a towel just as she heard banging coming from somewhere in the hall. Confused, Clara carefully stepped out of the cubicle and went to press her ear to the door. Someone was definitely bashing something loudly and they weren’t far away. Surely if Eleanor had arranged for a person to be in the flat, she’d have mentioned it?

She grabbed the fluffy white towel from over the bath and quickly dried and wrapped herself up. The towel wasn’t huge, but it covered everything important. She wasn’t far from her bedroom – she could make a quick dash for it, dress, grab her phone and a weapon before going to explore.

There was another thud and Clara paused and glanced around wondering if she should wait it out. She shook her head. This wasn’t New York, it was Hollythorpe in the Cotswolds: she didn’t need to be afraid. She took in a deep breath and on impulse grabbed the snowman toilet roll holder which had a long black pole poking from its head, then she unlocked and opened the door.

‘Ouch!’ she exclaimed as she took one step and tripped over a large, furry object and went flying onto her front as the holder spun from her hand. She could feel something cold and wet nuzzling her back, and as she righted herself, she came face to face with a grinning dog who seemed to be inordinately interested in her towel.

‘Figgy?’ she spluttered.

‘Oh, no! I’m so sorry, are you okay?’ Liam said as he came racing along the hallway and dragged the dog away. ‘I didn’t know you were here,’ he said, his eyes widening as Clara gathered up the front of the towel and sat making sure everything important was covered up. ‘I came in the back door, I didn’t go via the shop. I thought you’d be down there with Eleanor.’ His face was flushed and he looked horrified, but his eyes still dropped to her bare legs before he clearly realised and shifted them back up to her face.

Clara ignored the tingles as they rocketed across her skin.

‘I’m here to fix a socket for Eleanor in her bedroom,’ he explained, sounding flustered. ‘I have a key and yesterday she told me to just come in. I assumed—’ He shut his eyes as his perfect lips mashed together. ‘I should never assume. I’m sorry, I didn’t get much sleep and it’s been a… fraught morning.’

He looked tired, there were bags under his eyes – not that it marred the beauty of his gorgeous face. What had kept him up all night? Clara’s eyes dropped to his ring finger, and she noticed there was a ridge where one had once sat.

Was he divorced, or did he take the ring off for work? There was no sensible way of asking, but she felt oddly disappointed. Which was mad because she was engaged herself; her own ring was sitting on her bedside table back in New York. Until yesterday she’d been happy and loved up. Hadn’t she?

‘It’s okay,’ she said gruffly as the dog managed to break free from Liam’s hold and practically climbed onto her lap in an attempt to get closer to the towel.

‘Sorry, I’m sure you won’t be surprised when I tell you Figgy’s got a thing for Egyptian cotton. His tastes run more expensive than mine. I often wonder if he’s a reincarnated textiles influencer.’ Liam sighed, pulling the dog away, before gently guiding him down the corridor and putting him in a room, which Clara thought was the sitting room, before shutting the door.

‘I’ll let him out in a minute,’ he assured her as he returned. ‘I’ll, um, get out of your hair. Do you want me to help you up?’

She was still sitting in the same position, curled up, and she tugged the towel tighter at the front. ‘Nope, all good here,’ she muttered. She didn’t want him putting his hands on her – had no idea how her body might react.

His eyes shifted down to her feet and was it Clara’s imagination or was his voice a little gruff? ‘Okay, then why don’t I make us both a hot drink while you, um, get dressed?’ His cheeks were flaming and even though he was clearly mortified, he kept shooting looks at her bare shoulders and arms, making her insides heat.

It was like he didn’t know where to look and his reaction was flattering and oddly endearing. Because it told her that – despite Liam’s incredible looks – this man wasn’t a player. He wasn’t going to try to seduce her, he was going to make her a cup of coffee instead.

‘Okay,’ Clara said, and she stayed where she was until he disappeared into the kitchen. Then she got up and raced into her bedroom before pulling the door firmly behind her and leaning back. She stood for a beat, listening to Figgy’s barks and the sound of the kettle, wondering why her heart was hammering and why for the first time in a long time, she felt attractive and sexy. Even though she wasn’t wearing make-up, her hair was hanging wet around her cheeks and she was wearing nothing but a towel.