Mistletoe and the Lost Stiletto Page 12

  Had it ever come back?

  He fired off the flash before he forgot all his good intentions.

  ‘How’s that?’ he said, showing her.

  ‘Perfect,’ she said, looking over his arm. ‘Can I send them to my diary?’

  ‘As a reminder of a crazy moment in the snow?’

  ‘As a reminder that not all men are mendacious rats,’ she said. ‘That once in a while Prince Charming is the real deal.’

  ‘No…’ Not him. Wrong fairy tale. He was the Beast, woken by Beauty from a long darkness of the soul.

  But she had fallen back in the snow, laughing as she swept her arms up and down to make a snow angel.

  ‘Come on. You too,’ she urged, laughing, and he joined in, sweeping his arms up and down until their gloved hands met. He looked across at her, lying in the snow, golden curls peeping out from beneath her hat, laughing as the huge flakes settled over her face, licking them from her lips.

  ‘What do they taste of?’ he asked.

  She didn’t hesitate. ‘Happiness.’ And then she looked at him. ‘Want to share?’

  She didn’t wait for his answer, but rolled over so that her body bumped into his, her face above him.

  There were moments-rare moments, perfect moments-when the world seemed to pause on its axis, giving you an extra heartbeat of time.

  It had happened when he’d caught her on the stairs and, as her laughing lips touched his, a simple gift, and cold, wet, minty-sweet happiness seeped through him, warming him with her passionate grasp on life, it happened again, more, much more than any imagined kiss.

  The world stood still and he seized the moment, lifting his hands to cradle her head, slanting his mouth against hers as the warmth became an inferno hot enough to touch the permafrost that had invaded his soul.

  Her kitten eyes were more gold than green as she raised her lids. Then touched her lips to his cheek, tasted them with her tongue.

  ‘One of us is crying,’ she said.

  He rubbed a gloved thumb over her cheek. ‘Maybe we both are.’

  ‘With happiness,’ she declared.

  ‘Or maybe it’s just our eyes watering with the cold. I need to stand up before my butt freezes to the ground.’ And, before he could change his mind, he lifted her aside, stood up.

  ‘I’ve messed up your snow angel,’ she said as he reached out a hand to help her to her feet.

  ‘That’s okay. I’m no angel,’ he said.

  ‘Who is?’

  ‘If I had a Christmas tree, I’d put you on top of it,’ he said and, beyond helping himself, he touched his knuckles to her cheek, kissed her again. Just a touch, but somehow more intense for its sweetness. A promise… ‘Do you want a picture of your angel?’ he asked, forcing himself to take a step back.

  ‘Please.’ Then, as if she, too, needed to distract herself from the intensity of the moment, ‘I don’t suppose you have such a thing as a piece of paper?’

  He searched through his pockets, found an envelope. ‘Will this do?’

  ‘Perfect.’ And, using a lipstick, she wrote in big block capitals: LUCYB WOZ HERE!

  She propped it on the front of the snow lady, put out her hand for the phone and took a snap.

  ‘Great. Tweet time, I think,’ she said, pulling off her glove with her teeth and, struggling with cold fingers, keyed in a message.

  Thanks for the good vibes, tweeps. Here’s a tweetpic, just to let you know that I’m safe. #findLucyB

  LucyB , Wed 1 Dec 22:43

  Lucy lifted the phone, looking over her shoulder at him. ‘What do you think? Will that have them all running around in the snow?’

  ‘Is that the plan?’ he asked as she pressed ‘send’.

  ‘I don’t have a plan,’ she said, lifting her hand to his cheek, pressing her lips against it. Then, as she looked up at him the smile died, ‘Thank you, Nathaniel.’

  ‘I should be thanking you. If it wasn’t for you, I’d be inside going through the daily sales figures instead of finding my inner child.’

  ‘Inside in the warm,’ she said, turning away to give the snow lady a hug. ‘Stay cool, Lily.’ Then she looked up. ‘It’s stopped snowing.’

  ‘I told you. It’ll all be gone by tomorrow. Everything will be back to normal.’

  ‘Will it?’

  She sounded less than happy at the prospect. Which made two of them.

  ‘We’ve still got tonight. Are you hungry?’

  Her eyes lit up. ‘Absolutely starving.’

  Diary update: Fun and frolics in the park with Nathaniel. I didn’t see that coming and neither, I suspect, did he. I have to admit that making a snowman-snow lady-in the park at ten o’clock at night in a blizzard is probably not the most sensible thing I’ve ever done. And it’s getting hard to top the stupid ones I’ve done today.

  And then he kissed me. No, wait, I kissed him. We kissed each other. Lying in the snow.

  ‘I know what this is all about, you know.’ Lucy gave him a sideways grin as they stood on the Embankment overlooking the river, tucking into hot dogs. ‘Why we’re having hot dogs. You just don’t want all that nasty bright yellow eggy, cheesy stuff in your kitchen.’

  ‘It’s not that.’

  Nat took out his phone and snapped her as she sucked a piece of onion into her mouth.

  ‘Hey, not fair!’

  ‘One more for your fans,’ he said, lifting it out of reach as she made a grab for it. ‘The truth of the matter, Lucy B, is that I couldn’t make an omelette to save my life.’

  For some reason she seemed to think that was funny.

  They’d laughed a lot.

  She’d laughed at a couple of outrageous Santa incidents he’d shared from way back in the history of the store. He’d laughed at her stories about a day-care nursery where she’d worked. It was obvious how much she loved the children she’d worked with. From a momentary wistfulness in her look, how much she missed them.

  As she’d talked, laughed, all the strain had seeped out of her limbs and her face and she’d told him enough about her character-far more than she realised-to reassure him that she was on the level.

  ‘Actually, this is great. Crazy perfect.’ She bumped shoulders with him. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘My pleasure,’ he said, wrapping his arm around her waist, wanting to keep her close. And it was. Golden curls peeped out from beneath her hat, framing a face lit up, almost translucent in the lamplight.

  And, as the strain had eased from her face, the knots deep in his own belly had begun to unravel, at least until that second kiss. At which point they had been replaced by a different kind of tension.

  ‘I hope the missing elf had as much fun as we have,’ she said. ‘I owe her a lot.’

  ‘Me too,’ he said. ‘I’ll check with HR first thing to see if there were any messages. Deflect any problems.’

  ‘Why?’ she asked, her tongue curling out to catch an errant onion. ‘Why would you do that? Any of this?’ Good question.

  She looked up. ‘What happened, Nathaniel? On the stairs.’

  Another good question.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he admitted. That something had happened-something momentous-was beyond doubt. ‘I can tell you why I noticed you.’

  ‘That’s a start.’

  ‘It was your hair… The way it seemed to float around your head like a halo. It reminded me of someone.’

  Quite suddenly, Lucy lost her appetite. What had she expected him to say? That he’d been captivated at a glance. Lie to her? She’d had enough lies to last her a lifetime.

  ‘The woman these clothes belong to?’ she asked, pushing it.

  ‘Claudia. Her name was Claudia. She was my cousin’s wife.’

  ‘You were in love with her?’ Stupid question. Of course he was.

  ‘We both were. I met her at university, dated her, but when I brought her home she met Christopher and after that it was always him. It didn’t stop Chris obsessing that we were having an affair when we worked together on the s
tore design.’

  She lifted her hand to the bruise at her temple, gently rubbing her fingers over the sore spot, remembering his concern.

  ‘He was abusive,’ she said.

  ‘I believe so. She used to brush aside any concern, say she bruised at a touch. Was always walking into things. Maybe she was. She wasn’t eating properly, fighting an addiction to tranquillisers. Then one day I caught her running, terrified. I held her,’ he said. ‘Just held her, begged her to leave him. Not for me. For herself. And then Chris caught up with her, held out his hand to her and, without a word, she took it. Walked away with him. It was as if she had no will.’ He glanced at her. ‘It was just the hair, Lucy. You’re not a bit like her.’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m shorter, fatter…’ He frowned and she rushed on, ‘You’re talking about her in the past tense.’

  ‘There was an accident. Chris always drove too fast, even though he knew it terrified her. Probably because it terrified her. It’s all about control, isn’t it?’ He looked away for a moment, but then looked back. ‘She died instantly. He’s in a wheelchair, paralysed from the neck down.’

  She shivered, but not with the cold, and he turned to her, put his arms around her. Held her. Just as he’d held Claudia, she thought and, much as she wanted to stay there, in his arms, she pulled away.

  ‘I have no reason to protect Rupert Henshawe, Nathaniel. He does not control me.’

  ‘Doesn’t he?’ He shook his head, as if he knew the answer. ‘Reason has nothing to do with it,’ he said. Then, before she could deny it, ‘It was my fault. I should never have come back. Never accepted the commission.’

  ‘Why did you?’

  ‘Family. Guilt. I turned my back on family tradition and it broke my father’s heart. It was a way to make up for that.’

  ‘And, after the accident, you stepped in to look after things?’

  ‘There was no one else.’

  ‘No one else called Hart, maybe. Is Christopher punishing you for what happened to him?’ she asked. ‘Or are you punishing yourself for not saving Claudia?’ He didn’t answer. Maybe he didn’t know the answer. ‘Who is it who leaves the rose, Nathaniel?’

  ‘That’s enough, Lucy,’ he said sharply.

  ‘It’s him, isn’t it? A daily reminder that she loved him. He can’t abuse his wife any more, frighten her, hurt her, because she’s beyond his reach,’ she continued, recklessly ignoring the warning. ‘So he’s abusing you instead.’

  There was a long moment of silence.

  So not bright, Lucy Bright.

  Blown it, Lucy Bright.

  And then he touched her cheek with his cold hand. A gesture that said a hundred times more than words.

  ‘Bright by name, bright by nature. Good guess, but you’re not entirely right. I’m punishing myself for failing to protect her. But I’m punishing him, too. Even while it gives him pleasure to know that I’ve been jerked back into the family business, robbed of something I loved, at the same time it’s eating him alive to know that I’m in control. In his place.’

  ‘He had Claudia.’

  ‘Yes, he had Claudia. His tragedy, and ultimately hers, is that he never believed that she could love him more than me. That he always thought of himself as second choice in all things.’

  ‘Let it go, Nathaniel. If you don’t, it will destroy you and then he’ll have killed you both.’

  ‘I know,’ he said, looking at her. ‘I know.’ And somehow she was the one holding him. Hugging him to her, holding him safe. She could have stayed there for ever, making their own warm, safe space in an icy world. Then he dropped a kiss on the top of her head. ‘Your turn, Lucy.’

  ‘Mine?’ She looked up at him.

  ‘That was the deal. I tell you mine and you tell me yours. Tell me what happened on the stairs.’

  ‘I…’ About to deny it, she thought better of it. ‘I don’t know. I was in a bit of a state, confused. An emotional basket case.’

  ‘That would explain it,’ he replied dryly, ‘but I have to tell you that, between your criticism of the penthouse and the basket case explanation of a stop-the-world-moment, you are not doing a lot for my ego.’

  ‘I didn’t mean…’

  Lucy faltered. She didn’t know what she meant. She was more confused now than she had been then. When he’d caught her, their eyes had met and the instant connection had entirely bypassed her brain.

  Her response to him had been entirely physical, without thought or reason. Completely honest. Without guile. Innocent.

  ‘I wanted you to kiss me,’ she said. Then, because being honest really mattered, ‘I wanted you.’

  Even in the light from the street lamps, Nat could see the blush heat Lucy’s cheeks. Felt an answering and equally primitive rush, a desire to recapture that atavistic moment of connection. The caveman response, with no need for words or complicated ritual.

  Her honesty shamed him. He’d wanted her, too, with a raw urgency that shocked the civilised man. It was the same primal instinct that urged him to protect her. They were two sides of the same basic need for survival. Take the woman, plant your seed and then protect her against the world because she was your future. And he would. From what, he wasn’t entirely certain, only that this time he wouldn’t stand back. Wouldn’t fail. No matter what the cost.

  The ‘no involvement’ mantra had gone right out of the window the moment he’d suggested this mad adventure.

  That first life-changing encounter had given him back something of himself. The kisses they’d shared in the snow had broken through a barrier. More would have them naked, in bed. That was why he’d stopped by the hot dog stall instead of taking her straight home.

  ‘“I wanted you”,’ he repeated thoughtfully. ‘Maybe it could do with a little work. I was thinking that it was one of those perfect, never to be repeated, once-in-a-lifetime moments when everything seems to drop into place.’

  She pulled a wry smile. ‘You’d think so, wouldn’t you. But they will keep happening to me.’

  ‘You’re telling me that you keep meeting strangers you want to kiss?’ he asked, his voice even, but the caveman response was, he discovered, a lot more powerful than the civilised veneer would suggest. ‘Oh, not kiss.’ Her smile deepened. ‘That was a bonus feature. And of course last time it wasn’t a chance encounter, but stage-managed, so actually you’re right. Once-in-a-lifetime it is.’

  ‘Stage-managed?’

  ‘You want the story.’ She nodded as if she’d been expecting that. ‘I warn you that it’s long. You’ll probably want another hot dog. Extra onions for me.’

  He returned with two fresh hot dogs, dripping with mustard and onions, and leaned back against the wall, his shoulder just touching hers. Just so that she’d know he was there.

  Giving her courage to tell her story. Face the betrayal head-on.

  ‘The Henshawe Corporation’s High Street fashion chain had lost market share,’ she began. ‘It was no longer hot so they made the decision to give the stores a new look, a new name. Re-brand it. Take it upmarket.’

  Lucy bit into the bun, chewed it for a while, watching a police launch moving slowly up the river, the lights dancing on the water, while she gathered her thoughts.

  Nathaniel slipped his arm around her shoulder as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

  ‘They went to their PR company, as you do,’ she said, ‘and commissioned them to come up with a strategy to launch the new brand. One that would not only garner maximum media coverage, but engage their target consumer audience of young women who read gossip magazines and aspire to be the wife, or at least the girlfriend, of a top sports star.’

  ‘Or, failing that, one of the minor royals,’ he said, raising a smile.

  ‘You’ve got it.’

  ‘So far, so standard.’

  ‘Their first step was to set up focus groups to find out what that group were looking for. Get feedback on likely “names” to launch the new brand.’

  ‘Cl
assy, stylish, sexy clothes. Good value. A label with cachet. You don’t need a focus group to tell you that,’ he said.

  ‘No, but they were surprised to discover that concerns were raised about sweatshop labour. And then someone said wouldn’t it be great if they used an ordinary girl, someone like them, rather than a celebrity to be the face of the store.’

  ‘What they meant was one of them.’

  ‘Undoubtedly,’ she said. ‘But it gave the PR firm their hook. Their media campaign. All they needed was an ordinary girl.’

  ‘So how did they find you, Miss Ordinary?’ he asked.

  ‘They advertised for a junior clerical assistant.’

  ‘Interesting approach,’ he said dryly. ‘You ticked all the boxes?’

  ‘Good grief, no. I wasn’t thin enough, tall enough, pretty enough or even smart enough.’

  It was all there in the file. Painful reading.

  ‘I thought they wanted ordinary.’

  ‘Ordinary in quotes,’ she said, using her fingers to make little quote marks.

  ‘You must have had something.’

  ‘Thanks for that,’ she said, waving towards the road, where the cars were moving slowly past in the slushy conditions.

  ‘Who are you waving to?’

  ‘My ego and yours, hand in hand, hitching a ride out of here,’ she said, her breath smoking away in the cold air. Her mouth tilting up in a grin. Because, honestly, standing here with Nathaniel, it did all seem very petty. Very small stuff. Except, of course, it wasn’t that simple.

  ‘Actually, I happen to think you’re pretty special,’ he said, capturing her hand, wrapping it in his. ‘But we both know that you’re not classic model material.’

  ‘You’re right. I know it, you know it, the world knows it. But I had three things going for me.’ They’d handily itemised them on a memo. ‘First, I had a story. Abandoned as a baby-’

  ‘Abandoned?’

  ‘The classic baby in a cardboard box story, me.’

  He made no comment. Well, what could anyone say?

  ‘I had a dozen foster homes,’ she continued, ‘a fractured education that left me unqualified to do anything other than take care of other people’s children. Not that I was qualified for that, but it was something I’d been doing since I was a kid myself.’