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Ivy had woken up bright and early at six and Clara hadn’t seen much point in dragging things out so, over their traditional weekday morning breakfast of toast and cereal, she’d broached the subject of Christmas.
‘How would you like the idea of going somewhere snowy for Christmas? With Merry?’ Merry was a definite favourite with Ivy, so that was bound to be more of a draw than most other things, Clara had decided.
‘Where?’ Ivy had asked in between mouthfuls.
‘Scotland.’ Clara had held her breath, waiting for an answer.
‘What about Norman?’
‘Norman?’ Clara had been briefly concerned that her daughter had suddenly gained a seventy-year-old imaginary friend until Ivy clarified.
‘Our Christmas tree,’ she’d said. ‘You said he was called Norman.’
Clara had blinked, ran back through a mental movie of the day they’d bought the tree and finally figured it out. ‘Nordmann. He’s a Nordmann Fir.’
Ivy had nodded. ‘Norman the Nordmann. What will happen to him while we’re away?’
‘We’ll ask Mr Jenkins next door to come and water him, shall we? Then Norman will still be here when we get back.’ Good grief, she had a Christmas tree with a name. How had this happened? ‘Is that all you’re worried about? Do you think Scotland might be okay for Christmas?’
Ivy’s little face had scrunched up as she considered. ‘Will they have pancakes there for Christmas morning?’ she’d asked.
Clara had added pancakes to their list of hotel requirements, dropped Ivy at the childminder’s house and headed off to talk to Jacob. There was no point putting it off, especially since she knew exactly where to find him—Foster Medical head office. He might more usually work from one of the American offices these days, but if he was in London, Clara knew he’d be at work.
But his work was going to have to wait. They only had a week and a half to put together a perfect Christmas. Two Christmases, if you counted Ivy’s, and Clara did. So she’d rushed across London to the imposing skyscraper of an office, only pausing long enough to explain to the receptionist exactly who she was, and then bustled along to Jacob’s office.
But now, with the scent of coffee making her queasy, and Jacob’s sleep-ruffled hair looking all too familiar, Clara really wished she’d waited. Or even called instead.
‘Anyway. If that’s all settled...’ She picked up her hat from the table.
‘I wouldn’t call it settled,’ Jacob said and she lowered the hat again. No, of course not. That would be too easy. ‘We still need to discuss the particulars.’ Putting his coffee cup down, Jacob came around from the counter to sit beside her. The leather sofa was vast—ridiculously so, for an office—and there was a more than reasonable gap between them. But, suddenly, it wasn’t coffee she could smell any more. It was him. That familiar combination of aftershave, soap and Jacob that tugged at her memory and made her want to relive every moment. To imagine that this was that other life she could have been living, where they were together in London, still married, still happy.
‘Particulars?’ she asked, shaking her head a little to try and stop herself being so distracted by his nearness.
‘Like where we want it to take place, how many people, what the menu should be, timings... Little things like that.’ He was laughing at her, but Clara couldn’t find it amusing. It just reminded her how much there was to do.
‘I’m assuming the timings are fairly self-explanatory,’ she said drily. ‘Christmas Eve to Boxing Day would be my best guess—I can’t imagine you wanting to take any more time off work than that, regardless of the circumstances.’ Even that was two days more than he’d managed for their last Christmas together. Two and a half if she counted him sloping off to the study for an hour or two after Christmas lunch. ‘Guests. I’m assuming just your parents and Heather, unless she has a partner she’d like to bring? Or you do,’ she added, belatedly realising that just because her love life was a desert didn’t mean his was.
‘No, you’re right, just the four of us.’ He still looked amused, but there was less mockery in his expression. ‘Go on.’
‘Location. you said the Highlands, and I happen to know of a very festive, exclusive castle that would be brilliant for your celebrations.’ And particularly helpful to her, since the client she’d originally booked it for had pulled out and she’d promised the owner she’d do her best to find someone else to take over the booking. If she didn’t find someone, thanks to a contract mishap Perfect London would be losing the rather hefty deposit.
‘Sounds ideal.’
‘As for the menu—traditional Christmas turkey dinner plus appetizers, puddings, wine and liquors, cold cuts and chutneys in the fridge, then smoked salmon and scrambled eggs with croissant for breakfast. Sound about right?’
‘Yes.’ He blinked, looking slightly bemused. ‘How did you know all that?’
‘It’s my job, Jacob,’ Clara said, irritation rising. He might not have appreciated everything she’d done to keep his nice little business gatherings and parties ticking over, but even he had to respect that she’d built up a successful business with her skills. ‘And it’s not like you’re asking for anything out of the ordinary.’ If she was lucky and used every contact she had, she could pull this off for Jacob and manage her own wonderful Christmas with Ivy too.
‘No, I suppose not. Of course, snow is obviously essential,’ Jacob added.
Clara stared at him. Was the man insane? ‘Snow. You want me to arrange snow?’
Jacob lifted one shoulder. Was he teasing? She never could tell when he was teasing her. ‘Well, it is Christmas, after all. I think we can all agree that the perfect Christmas would have to be a white one.’
Clara’s mouth tightened. ‘I’ll check the weather forecast then.’ Jacob looked as if he might be trying to dream up some more outlandish requests, just to throw her off her game, so Clara hurried on.
‘Which just leaves us with the presents.’ This, she knew, was the real test. If Jacob truly had changed—if this perfect Christmas idea was a sign that he was ready to embrace a family and, just possibly, the daughter he didn’t know he had—the presents would be the giveaway.
‘Presents?’ Jacob frowned, and Clara’s heart fell. ‘Aren’t you going to buy those? I’d have thought it would be part of the contract.’
‘Usually, Perfect London would be delighted to source the perfect gift for every member of your family,’ she said sweetly. ‘But, under the circumstances—with less than a fortnight to go, not to mention this being your father’s last Christmas—I am sure that you will want to select them yourself.’ She stared at him until he seemed to get the idea that this was not a suggestion.
‘But what would I buy them?’ He looked so adorably flustered at the very idea that for a moment Clara forgot that she was testing him.
Then she realised this could be an even better opportunity.
‘I’ll tell you what,’ she said, making it clear that this was a favour, just for him. ‘Why don’t we go shopping together and choose them?’
‘That would be great.’ The relief was evident in his voice.
‘Right now,’ Clara finished, and his eyebrows shot up.
‘Now? But I’m working.’
‘So am I,’ she pointed out. ‘By taking a client shopping.’
‘Yes, but I can’t just leave! There are meetings. Emails. Important decisions to be made.’
‘Like whether your sister would prefer a handbag or a scarf.’
‘Like the future of the company!’
Now it was Clara’s turn to raise her eyebrows. ‘Do you really expect that to come up in the three hours you’ll be gone?’
‘Three hours!’ Clara waited and finally he sighed. ‘No, I suppose not.’
‘Then I think that your father’s last Christmas might matter rather more than emails and meetings. Don’t you?’
He looked torn and Clara held her breath until, finally, he said, ‘Yes. It does.’
She grinned. The old Jacob would never have left work at 9:00 a.m. on a weekday to go Christmas shopping. Ha! He’d never left work or done Christmas shopping.
Maybe he really had changed after all. She could hope so. After all, Christmas was the season of hope and goodwill. Even towards ex-husbands.
* * *
‘What about this?’ Clara held up a gossamer-thin scarf in various shades of purple that Jacob suspected cost more than his entire suit. Everything else Clara had suggested had and, since his suit had been handmade especially for him, that was quite an achievement.
