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‘For Mum?’ he asked with a frown.
‘No. For Heather.’ Clara sighed. Jacob had a feeling she was starting to regret her insistence on taking him shopping.
‘She’s a student,’ he pointed out. ‘She wouldn’t wear something like that.’
‘She graduating this summer, right? So she’ll have interviews, internships, all sorts of professional opportunities coming her way. A statement accessory like this can make any outfit look polished.’ As always, Clara had a point. He’d almost forgotten how irritating that was.
‘Maybe,’ he allowed. But Clara was already walking on, probably in search of an even more expensive gift for his sister. He didn’t begrudge spending the money but he was beginning to think this was some sort of game for Clara. She’d certainly never encouraged him to buy such luxurious gifts for her.
The high-end shopping district Clara had directed the taxi to was filled with tiny boutiques, all stocking a minimum of products at maximum cost. Even the Christmas decorations strung between the shops on either side of the street, high above the heads of the passing shoppers, were discreet, refined and—Jacob was willing to bet—costly.
‘Is this where you usually shop for your clients?’ he asked, lengthening his stride to catch up with her as she swung into another shop.
Clara shrugged. ‘Sometimes. It depends on the client.’
Which told him nothing. Jacob wasn’t entirely sure why he was so interested in the day-to-day details of her job, but he suspected it had something to do with never realising she wanted one. He’d thought he’d known Clara better than anyone in the world, and that she’d known him just as well. It had been a jolt to discover there were some parts of her he’d never known at all. What if this entrepreneurial side of her was just the start?
Of course, for all that he’d shared with Clara, there were some things he’d kept back too. He couldn’t entirely blame her for that.
‘This would be just right for your father.’ Jacob turned to find her holding up a beautifully wrought dark leather briefcase, with silver detailing and exquisite stitching. She was right; his father would love it. Except...
‘He won’t be coming in to the office much longer.’ It still caught him by surprise, almost daily. In some ways, he suspected he was in denial as much as Heather; he wanted to believe that if he could just make Christmas perfect then the rest would fall into place.
But he couldn’t save his father’s life. Even if a part of him felt he should be able to, if he just worked long enough, tried hard enough. If he was good enough.
Jacob knew he’d never been good enough, had known it long before his father fell sick.
Clara dropped the briefcase back onto the shelf. ‘You’re right. Come on.’
Even Jacob had to agree the next shop was spot on.
‘You want something your dad can enjoy.’ Clara opened her arms and gestured to the bottles of vintage wine lining the shelves. ‘From what I remember, this should suit him.’
Jacob smiled, turning slowly to take in the selection. ‘Yes, I think this will do nicely.’
One in-depth conversation with the proprietor later, and Jacob felt sure that he had the perfect gift for at least one member of his family, ready to be delivered directly to Clara’s offices in time to be shipped up to Scotland.
‘How are they all?’ Clara asked as she led him into a tiny arcade off the main street. The shops inside looked even more sparse and expensive. ‘Your family, I mean. The news about your dad... It must have been terrible for you all. I can’t imagine.’
‘It was,’ Jacob said simply. ‘It still is. Mum... She takes everything in her stride—you know her. But Heather’s still hoping for a miracle, I think.’
Clara looked sideways at him. ‘And you’re not?’
‘Perhaps,’ he admitted. ‘It’s just too hard to imagine a world without him.’
Watching as she paused by a display of necklaces, Jacob remembered the first time he’d brought Clara home to meet his family—just days after their elopement. He remembered his mother’s shock and forced cheer as she realised she’d been done out of the big wedding she’d always imagined for him.
But, more than anything, he remembered his father’s reaction. How he’d taken him into his study and poured him a brandy in one of the last two crystal glasses handed down from James’s own great-grandfather. A sign of trust that had shocked Jacob’s hands into trembling, even as he’d reminded himself that he was grown up now. A married man.
‘You’ve taken on a big responsibility, son,’ James had said. ‘A wife is more than a lover, more than a friend. More even than family. She is your whole world—and you are responsible for making that world perfect.’
He’d known instantly what his father was really saying. Don’t screw it up this time. Remember what happened last time we gave you any responsibility. You can’t take that kind of chance again.
And he hadn’t. He’d thought that Clara—easy-going, eager to please Clara—would be safe. She was an adult, her own person, after all. Far less responsibility than a child, far harder to hurt. He’d tried to make things just right for her—with the right house, the right people, the right levels of success. But, in the end, he’d done just as his father had so obviously expected him to, that day in the study drinking brandy.
Why else would she have left?
‘They must all be looking forward to this Christmas together, though?’ Clara had moved on from the necklaces, Jacob realised belatedly, and he hurried to join her on the other side of the shop.
‘I haven’t told them yet,’ he admitted, admiring the silver-and-gold charm bracelet draped across her fingers.
Clara paused, her eyebrows raised ever so slightly, in that way she always had when she was giving him a chance to realise he was making a mistake. Except he was giving his family a dream Christmas. What was the mistake in that? How had he screwed up this time?
‘Don’t you think you’d better check with them before we go too much further?’ Clara went on, her eyebrows just a little higher.
‘I want it to be a surprise,’ Jacob said mulishly.
‘Right. Well, if that’s how you want to play it.’
‘It is.’
‘Fine.’ Somehow, just that one word made him utterly sure that she thought he was making a mistake. Now she had him second-guessing himself. How did she do that?
She was almost as good at it as his father was.
‘So, beyond the wine we’ve already ordered, what would James’s perfect Christmas look like?’ Clara asked, and suddenly Jacob felt on surer ground again.
‘That’s easy,’ he said with a shrug. ‘He always says the best Christmas we ever had was the one we spent in Scotland, just the family, spending time together.’
‘How old were you?’ Clara asked.
‘Fifteen, I think.’
‘Okay, so what did you do that Christmas?’
‘Do?’ Jacob frowned, trying to remember. ‘I mean, there were presents and turkey and so on.’
‘Yes, but beyond that,’ Clara said with exaggerated patience. ‘Did you play games? Charades or Monopoly or something? Did you sing carols around a piano? Did you open presents on Christmas Eve or Christmas morning? Were there cracker hats? Did you go to church? Were there stockings? Did you stay up until midnight on Christmas Eve or get an early night? Think, Jacob.’
‘Cluedo,’ Jacob said finally. ‘That Christmas was the year we taught Heather to play Cluedo. Sort of.’
Suddenly, the memory was unbearably clear. Sitting around the wooden cottage kitchen table, Heather watching from her dad’s lap, him explaining the rules as they went along. Jacob wanted to take that brief, shining moment in time and hold it close. That was what he wanted his father’s last Christmas to be—a return to the way things used to be. Before the
