Page 44 of Winter Magic at Hollybrae Castle

‘At that age, at this time of year, I imagined a Lapland-like place but without the snow. Santa, a herd of reindeer, dog sleds. Somewhere people would spend their holidays and enjoy them as much as we did. I liked the idea of that.’

It warms my heart and I nudge my arm against his, the twinkle of the lights giving me courage to voice something that’s still taking shape in my own mind. ‘Thank you for giving me a chance to come here. To get away from it all. To take a step back and do something different and reassess what’s been feeling so wrong in my life lately. When I get back, I think I’ll look for something different. A different kind of job. Smaller shops maybe. Something where I can be creative and feel like my work actually matters. Maybe even… move out of London.’ I can’t believe I’m even thinking a thought like that. I always thought that central London was the place to be, and I’d have really made something of my life if I lived there, and I’ve struggled for years, feeling that leaving would be admitting that I wasn’t good enough to do what I’d always wanted to do, but being here makes me feel like it might be just what I need. More affordable housing, and smaller shops without so much corporate pressure to impress the millions of Oxford Street shoppers. Maybe even something else entirely, something more towards interior design because this has been the best couple of weeks of my life, and seeing the castle start to transform is inspiring. To see what I’m doing making a difference and coming to life before my eyes…

‘Don’t go too far though, because if I get this promotion I’ll be moving to London. I was hoping you’d be there.’

‘In case you need a fake wife for more work events?’

‘No. Not because of that at all. Because…’ His hand twitches towards me, like he wants to stroke my hair but it ends up hovering in midair without touching. His eyes flick down to my mouth and his tongue wets his lips. That feeling of unsteadiness washes over me again, and my heart speeds up. I’m not imagining this. No one would look at me like that if he wasn’t feeling something too…

‘Yes, of course,’ he amends and steps back sharply. ‘No doubt Dand and Halston will come down for a grand opening, I can’t exactly hire a different wife, can I?’

‘Of course not,’ I agree wholeheartedly, because I don’t know where that was heading, but it’s a good thing he stopped it when he did. One of us needs to be the sensible one because I’ve been feeling things I shouldn’t be feeling for someone who’s paying me to pretend to feel things for him… and that look was just one of many things that have felt anything but pretend.

14

We are possibly on the wrong side of child labour laws when we set Maisie and Rory to work the following weekend, and I might feel bad about it if they weren’t so eager to help. They come barrelling in on Sunday morning with boxes of decorations they’ve been making at school. Maisie is thrilled to see the modern-day Barbie transport options are still available to the little ceramic people of the 1800s Christmas village, and even more thrilled to see that I haven’t decorated the entrance hall tree yet and have left it to them, with a silent promise that I will fix it later, no matter what they do to it.

After a few hours of tree decorating and hot chocolate drinking, we wrap up warm and go for a wintery walk along the coastal path, and then come home where Maisie insists that we all make paper chains and fold-and-cut snowflakes, and then she helps me with making bows for the ribbon-wrapped baluster posts along the stairs and upper balconies, while Ollie and Rory are busy coming up with the rules for the annual Hollybrae Castle slinky races, which we apparently do every year as a family. Hamish is outside, sweeping up winter-soaked remains of autumn leaves to make sure the paths around the grounds are clear for the guests, and Nancy is refusing any help with dusting or hoovering, which she seems able to do simultaneously, like a multi-armed octopus of the housekeeping world.

We stuff ourselves on the halloumi and veg traybake and the Christmas pudding cheesecake that Nancy’s made, and all six of us spend the evening playing board games in the living room, in front of the crackling fire with the rainbow of tree lights twinkling in the background. The kids with hot chocolate and the adults with the mulled wine Nancy has been making, and when it’s time for bed, Ollie volunteers us to clear up the carnage after the last game of Monopoly.

‘There’s plenty of that mulled wine left on the stove for you two,’ Nancy whispers as she herds the kids up to bed, and Hamish takes himself back to their cottage. ‘It’d be a shame to waste the last embers of that fire. It won’t crackle to itself, you know.’

Ollie and I catch each other’s eyes across the room and he gives me a wink. Maisie and Rory’s choice of Christmas music has been on all evening, which involves a lot of animal honking in tune to ‘The Twelve Days of Christmas’, and he changes the channel for one playing Christmas music that doesn’t include the sounds children think geese make when they lay eggs or the French-accented clucking that European hens might make.

He picks up our empty glasses. ‘Another one?’

I nod because I’ve never had homemade mulled wine until tonight and it’s really good, as is everything Nancy makes, and sitting here on the faux-fur rug in front of the woodburning fire is really not a bad way to spend an evening.

‘Ah, this is the life.’ Ollie turns the big light off when he comes back and hands me a refilled glass. He sits crossed-legged on the rug beside me and holds his glass up so I can clink mine against it. ‘Happy Christmas.’

‘It’s only the thirteenth of December!’

‘I know, but it’s going to get more stressful when our guests arrive. Right now, it’s the best Christmas ever so I’m enjoying it while I still can.’

‘The best bit about Christmas has always been the build-up for me. It’s not about the one big day, it’s about all of December, and I’m glad I’m getting to spend that with you.’

He flashes his eyebrows and my cheeks burn. ‘And Maisie and Rory, obviously, and Nancy and Hamish, of course.’

‘Of course.’ He stretches his legs out in front of him and leans back on the hand not holding his glass. ‘I’ve eaten too much. I’ve drunk too much. I’ve had too much fun today.’

‘Same.’ I take another sip of the warm wine to distract myself from how much I mean that. I wish every day could be like this.

He takes another big gulp from his glass. ‘And I’d forgotten how lethal Nancy’s mulled wine is.’

‘Same,’ I repeat, even though it doesn’t quite make sense because it’s my first time trying it, but it definitely is strong stuff, although I think Ollie’s closeness and proximity to his aftershave might be partially responsible for the flush I’m currently feeling.

‘The Christmas Song’ comes on and he flops onto his back and fidgets to get comfortable on the faux-fur rug. He shifts until he can see the Christmas tree lights and meets my eyes upside down from the floor with a butterfly-inducing wink.

‘You’re a big guy, you’re not that tipsy yet.’

He laughs, even though his cheeks are flushed too. ‘I don’t think it’s just the wine.’

I love that he’s brave enough to voice those thoughts out loud. The kids have spent most of the day shouting instructions at us for things like ‘Put your hand on her waist!’ and ‘Rub his arm!’, along with Rory quizzing us on everything we know about each other from how Ollie takes his tea to which side of the bed I sleep on, despite the fact it’s incredibly unlikely to come up in conversation over Christmas. I haven’t been able to shake the intimacy I feel with him, like we’ll pull this off because we’re in this together.

He jerks his head to say that he wants me to join him in lying down, and after emptying my glass, it doesn’t seem like the worst idea.

The white faux fur of the rug is so thick that it’s like lying on a duvet, and I lie in the opposite direction to Ollie so we’re head-to-head, and he tilts his head to the side, openly inviting me to rest mine on his shoulder. It’s not the distance I was intending to keep, but it’s impossible not to wriggle nearer and we end up lying in a sort of yin-yang position – my head on his shoulder and his head on mine which is deceptively comfortable.