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The car turned another nausea-inducing curve and Clara looked up to see an imposing stone building looming ahead. Crenellations, thick grey stone, arrow slit windows... ‘I think that’s it!’
‘Thank God. Hang on.’ Jacob swung the car onto the side of the road and pulled to a stop. Pulling his phone from his pocket, he angled himself out of the car and held it up to capture the view. Clara watched him snap a few shots, then climb back into the car and start the engine again.
‘I don’t remember you being much of a photographer.’ It was an easy subject, at least. With the castle so nearly in sight, and the realisation that she still had the rest of the day and most of tomorrow to spend in his company, at the least, Clara was very grateful for that.
Jacob shrugged. ‘It’s for posterity. I want Mum and Heather to have something to remember this Christmas by for the rest of their lives.’
‘I’m sure they wouldn’t forget,’ Clara murmured. ‘But the photos will be lovely.’
It struck her again what a big thing this was for Jacob to do. Not in terms of money—that was nothing to him, she was sure. No, Jacob had poured something far more valuable into this Christmas weekend. His time, his energy and his thoughts. Jacob was a busy man; Clara knew that better than most. Usually, showing up in time for Christmas lunch and staying long enough for pudding was an achievement for him. This year, not only was he giving his family a whole weekend, he had also helped with the preparation. Well, after some nudging, anyway.
He wasn’t just giving his father a perfect last Christmas; he was giving his whole family memories of James that they’d treasure always.
Clara stared up at the castle and pretended the stone walls weren’t a little blurry through her suddenly wet eyes.
Maybe Jacob had changed, after all. She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that the man she’d walked out on would never have even thought of arranging a Christmas like this one, let alone being so involved in making it happen.
But could she trust him with her daughter’s heart—when he’d already broken her own?
CHAPTER EIGHT
JACOB PULLED THE CAR to a halt just outside the imposing wooden doors of the castle and got out to take a closer look at the location of his Perfect Christmas.
‘It doesn’t exactly say homely,’ he said, staring up at the forbidding grey Scottish stone.
‘Nor do any of your homes.’ Clara slammed the boot closed, their suitcases at her feet, and he winced at the noise.
‘My homes are...’ he searched for the words ‘...state-of-the-art.’
‘They’re all white.’ She’d always complained about that, Jacob remembered now. But he couldn’t for the life of him remember why he hadn’t just told her to decorate if it bothered her that much.
Probably because white was what his interior designer had decided on—what she’d told him was current and upmarket and professional. In fact, he distinctly recalled her saying, ‘It screams success, darling. Says you don’t need anything to stand out.’
Jacob wondered if Clara would have stayed if the walls had been yellow. Or covered in flowers.
Probably not.
‘My parents’ home isn’t white,’ he pointed out instead. ‘Honeysuckle House is officially the colour of afternoon tea and Victoria sponge.’ His mother went out of her way to make their house, by far the largest in their village, appear just like all the others—at least, inside the security gates. As if they didn’t have eight times the money of anyone else in their already very affluent surroundings.
‘So, somewhere between brown and beige, then?’ Clara asked.
‘I meant it’s homely,’ Jacob replied, taking his suitcase from her.
‘It is,’ Clara admitted. ‘I always loved Honeysuckle House.’
‘You should go and visit. Dad would love to see you.’ The thought of Clara in that space again, the place where he’d grown up, made Jacob’s spine tingle. As if his past and his present were mingling and he didn’t know what it might mean for his future.
It was something he’d been contemplating on the drive, while she’d slept, merrily scuppering his plans to talk her into staying for Christmas Day with his family. Organising this Christmas had brought Clara back into his life and he couldn’t help but think that couldn’t just be the end of it. After five years of only communicating through lawyers, they were here together, being civil—friendly, even.
Maybe there wasn’t any hope for their marriage, but could they manage to be friends after this? People did become friends with their exes sometimes, didn’t they? And the thought of going back to a world without Clara in it... It felt strange. Unwelcoming.
Distinctly unhomely.
Clara ignored his suggestion about visiting his father and instead hefted her handbag onto her shoulder and extended the handle of her tiny suitcase to drag it along behind her. He assumed that she’d sent most of her stuff up with the courier, or poor Merry, because there was no way she had more than the bare essentials in that bag. It was another sign, as if he needed one, that she didn’t plan to stay any longer than necessary.
Well, he had the whole of Christmas Eve to work on that. And perhaps her fondness for his father was his way in. After all, it had persuaded her to take on the job in the first place. What was a couple more days at this point?
The thought that he might actually end up paying his ex-wife to spend Christmas with him caused him to frown for a moment, but if that was what it took to give James Foster his dream Christmas then Jacob knew he’d swallow his pride and do it.
Clara pulled a large metal key from her pocket and opened the doors, using her shoulder to help shove them open. Jacob couldn’t help but feel that fortifications didn’t really scream cosy Christmas, but Clara had said this place was just right so for now he was inclined to trust her.
‘Okay, so this is your grand hall,’ she said, turning around in the expansive space just beyond the doors.
‘There’s a suit of armour.’ Jacob crossed the hall to touch it. It was real metal armour. ‘Are you planning on festooning it with tinsel?’
‘I’m planning on putting the tree—which should be arriving this evening, incidentally—here at the bottom of the stairs. I guarantee that by the time I’ve finished decorating it, no one will be looking at the armour.’ He turned to see where she was pointing and clocked the massive staircase that twisted its way up to the first floor. He could almost imagine his mother and Heather descending it, dressed in their Christmas finery. Another photo for the album.
‘Besides,’ Clara went on, ‘I rather thought your father would enjoy the armour. Doesn’t he have a thing about medieval military history?’
Jacob blinked. How had he forgotten that? ‘Actually, yes. Okay, I’ll give you the armour. Now, how about the grand tour?’
‘Absolutely.’ Clara nodded and, leaning her suitcase against the wall, disappeared down a passageway.
Jacob followed, wondering whether medieval castles also came with central heating.
* * *
Clara headed for the kitchen, her heart racing. Okay, so maybe she’d underestimated quite how...castley this place was. Still, she could already see it, decorated for Christmas, with the scent of turkey wafting out from the kitchen, presents under the tree...and a couple of glasses of something down everyone’s throats. Then it would be perfect.
But first she had to convince Jacob of that.
He’d said that the original perfect Christmas had been spent in a cottage in the Highlands, so she started with the kitchen. She knew from the photos the owner had sent over that it had a large farmhouse-style kitchen table that would be ideal for breakfasts or board games or just chatting over coffee. Between that and the Aga, hopefully Jacob would start to get the sort of feel he wanted from the place.
‘This is nice,’ he said as he ducked t
hrough the low doorway behind her. Rows of copper pots and pans hung from the ceiling and the range cooker had been left on low, keeping the room cosy and warm.
‘The owner did the whole place up a year or so ago, to hire out for corporate retreats and the like. It must have cost him a fortune to finish it to this kind of standard but...’ She remembered the rates that she—well, Jacob—was paying, and why she’d been so desperate to fill the castle and not have to pay her cancellation charge. ‘I guess he figures it’s worth the investment.’
‘He’s done a good job,’ Jacob admitted, running his fingers across the cascade of copper on the ceiling. ‘So, what is he—some sort of displaced laird, trying to make money from the old family pile?’
‘Something like that,’ Clara replied. ‘Do you want to see the rest?’
Jacob gave a sharp nod and Clara took off through the other door into the next part of the castle. That was another reason why she really wished she’d been able to get up here first and alone. She’d have been able to get the lie of the land, get her bearings. She had a feeling that studying the castle floor plans the night before might not totally cut it.
Still, Jacob seemed impressed by the pantry, already filled with the food she’d ordered for the festivities. And, once they found their way back into the main part of the castle, the banqueting room, the snug, the parlour and sunroom all went down well. Whilst Jacob managed to make a cutting comment about each, Clara could tell that he was secretly impressed.
So was she. And relieved.
‘I still say that nowhere in Scotland needs a sun anything,’ Jacob grumbled as they made their way back through the grand hallway to the staircase.
‘Ah, but imagine the views from the sunroom if the sun did actually come out,’ Clara said. ‘And I know you think the banqueting hall is too large—’
‘It has a table that sits thirty,’ Jacob interjected. ‘There’s going to be four of us. Five if you agree to stay. You should, you know, just to make the numbers up.’
