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She was shaking and when the words came out it was the last thing he expected.
‘There’s no family. My gran...she died...she died a few months ago. And now, there’s just no one. I can’t face anything.’ She looked at him, her gaze almost pleading. ‘I thought I could do this. I thought I could. I thought if I kept busy and kept working everything would just fall into place. I wouldn’t have time to miss her so much.’ She kept shaking her head. ‘But it’s harder than I could ever imagine. Everywhere I go, everywhere I look, I see people—families together, celebrating Christmas the way I used to. Even Mrs Archer—I love her—but I’m finding it so hard to be around her. She reminds me so much of my gran. The way she speaks, her mannerisms, her expressions.’ She looked down as she kept shaking her head. ‘I just want this to be over.’ Now, she looked outside again into the dark night. In the distance they could see the Christmas red and white lights outlining Battersea Power Station. ‘I just want Christmas to be over,’ she breathed.
Every hair on his arms stood on end. He got it. He got all of it.
The loneliness. The happy people around about, reminding you of what you’d lost. The overwhelming emotions that took your breath away when you least expected it.
He put his hands on her shoulders. ‘Grace, you don’t need to be here. You don’t need to work at Christmas. It’s fine. We can cover your shifts. Take some time off. Get away from this. The last thing you want to do is watch other families eating Christmas dinner together. Stay home. Curl up in bed. Eat chocolate.’
It seemed like the right thing to say. Comfort. Away from people under her nose.
But Grace’s eyes widened and she pulled back. ‘What? No. You think I want to be alone? You think I want to spend the whole of Christmas without talking to anyone, without seeing another living soul? Do you think anything looks worse on a plate than Christmas dinner for one?’
As she spoke he cringed. What he’d thought might take her away from one type of agony would only lead her to another. He hated this. He hated seeing the pain in her eyes. The hurt. The loneliness. He recognised them all too well. He’d worn the T-shirt himself for five years.
He squeezed her shoulders. ‘Then what is it you want for Christmas, Grace? What is it you want to do? What would be your perfect Christmas?’
His agitation was rising. She’d got herself so worked up that her whole body was shaking. He hated that. He hated she was so upset. Why hadn’t he realised she was alone? Why hadn’t he realised she was suffering a bereavement just as he was?
Grace had always been so upbeat around him, so full of life that he’d missed the signs. He knew better than most that you only revealed the side of you that you wanted people to see.
He’d been struck by Grace’s apparent openness. But she’d built the same guard around her heart as he had. It didn’t matter that it was different circumstances. This year, she felt just as alone as he had over the last five.
He didn’t want that for her. He didn’t want that for Grace.
What if...?
The thought came out of nowhere. He didn’t know quite what to do with it.
Her eyes flitted between him and the outside view. ‘Tell me, Grace. Tell me what your ideal Christmas would be. What do you want for Christmas?’ His voice was firm as he repeated his question. The waver in her voice and tears had been too much for him. Grace was a kind and good person. She didn’t deserve to be lonely this Christmas. He had enough money to buy just about anything and he was willing to spend it to wipe that look off her face.
Her mouth opened but the words seemed to stall.
‘What?’ he prompted gently.
‘I want a proper Christmas,’ she breathed. ‘One with real snow, and a log fire, and a huge Christmas turkey that’s almost too big to get in the oven.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I want to be able to smell a real Christmas tree again and I want to spend all day—or all night—decorating it the way I used to with my gran. I want to go into the kitchen and bake Christmas muffins and let the smell drift all around.’ She squeezed her eyes closed for a second. ‘And I don’t want to be alone.’
Finlay was dumbstruck. She hadn’t mentioned gifts or ‘things’. Grace didn’t want perfume or jewels. She hadn’t any yearning for materialistic items.
She wanted time. She wanted company. She wanted the Christmas experience.
He glanced out of the window again. He was a little confused. Snow dusted the top of every rooftop in London—just as it had for the last week.
‘What do you mean by snow?’ he said carefully.
She opened her eyes again as he released his hands from her shoulders. She held out her hands. ‘You know—real snow. Snow that’s so thick you can hardly walk in it. Snow you can lie down on and do snow angels without feeling the pavement beneath your shoulder blades. Snow that there’s actually enough of to build a snowman and make snowballs with. Snow that, when you look out, all you can see is white with little bumps and you wonder what they actually are.’ He could hear the wonder in her voice, the excitement. She’d stopped being so sad and was actually imagining what she wished Christmas could be like.
‘And then you go inside the house and all you can smell is the Christmas tree, and the muffins, and then listen to the crackle of the real fire as you try and dry off from being outside.’ She was smiling now. It seemed that Grace Ellis could tell him exactly what she wanted from this Christmas.
And he knew exactly where she could get it. The snow scene in her head—he’d seen that view a hundred times. The crackling fire—he had that too.
This was Grace. The person who’d shot a little fire into his blood in the last few days. The person who’d made him laugh and smile at times. The girl with the warm heart who had let him realise the future might not be quite as bleak as he’d once imagined.
He could do this. He could give her the Christmas she deserved.
‘Pack your bag.’
Her eyes widened and she frowned. ‘What?’
He started walking through the penthouse, heading to his cupboards to pull out some clothes. It was cold up north; he’d need to wrap up.
‘I’ll take you home to grab some things. I can show you real snow. I can light a real fire. We can even get soaked to the skin making snow angels.’ He winked at her. ‘Once you’ve done it—you’ll regret it.’
Grace was still frowning. ‘Finlay, it’s after eight o’clock on Christmas Eve. Where on earth are you planning on taking me? Don’t you have plans yourself?’
He shook his head as he pushed some clothes in a black bag. ‘No. I planned on staying here and going up on Boxing Day to visit my parents and sister. My helicopter is on standby. We can go now.’
She started shaking her head. ‘Go where?’
‘To Scotland.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
THINGS SEEMED TO happen in a blur after that.
Her cart abandoned, Finlay grabbed her hand and made a quick phone call as they rode down in the elevator. The kitchen was still busy and it only took two minutes for him to corner the head chef.
‘I need a hamper.’
The head chef, Alec, was in the middle of creating something spectacular. He shot Finlay a sharp look, clearly annoyed at being interrupted.
‘What?’
But enthusiasm had gripped Finlay. ‘I need a hamper for Christmas. Enough food for dinner tomorrow and all the trimmings.’ He started opening the huge fridges next to Alec. ‘What have you got that we can take?’
Grace felt
herself shrink back. Alec was clearly contemplating telling Finlay where to go. But after a few seconds he gestured to a young man in the corner. ‘Ridley, get one of the hampers from the stock room. See what we’ve got to put in it. Get a cool box too.’
Finlay had started stockpiling everything he clearly liked the look of on one of the counters where service was ongoing. The staff were dodging around them as they tried to carry on. She moved next to his elbow. ‘I think we’re getting in the way,’ she whispered.
Prosciutto ham, pâté, Stilton and Cheddar cheese, oatcakes, grapes and some specially wrapped chocolates were already on the counter. Finlay looked up. ‘Are we?’ He seemed genuinely surprised about the chaos they were causing. ‘What kind of wine would you like?’ he asked. ‘Or would you prefer champagne?’
Alec caught sight of her panicked face. He leaned over Finlay. ‘Where exactly are you going?’
‘Scotland.’ It was all she knew.
Alec didn’t even bat an eyelid, he just shouted other instructions to some of the kitchen staff. ‘Louis, find two large flasks and fill them with the soups.’
Finlay still seemed oblivious as he crunched on a cracker. ‘What are the soups?’
Alec didn’t even glance in his direction; he was scribbling on a piece of paper. ‘Celeriac with fresh thyme and truffle oil, and butternut squash, smoked garlic and bacon.’
A wide smile spread across Finlay’s face. ‘Fantastic.’
Ridley appeared anxiously with the hamper already half filled and looked at the stack of food on the counter. He started moving things between the hamper and cool box.
‘Christmas pudding,’ said Finlay. ‘We need Christmas pudding.’ Ridley glanced over at Alec, who let out a huge sigh and turned and put one hand on his hip and thrust the other towards Finlay.
Finlay frowned as he took the piece of paper. Alec raised his eyebrows. ‘It’s instructions on how to cook the turkey that’s just about to go in your cool box.’ He gave Grace a little smile, ‘I’d hate it if you gave the lovely lady food poisoning.’
Finlay blinked then stuffed the paper into the pocket of his long black wool coat. ‘Great. Thanks.’
