Page 3 of Christmas, Actually

When the door of the car opened and someone got out, her stomach did a wobbly nosedive. The driver was about six two, with broad shoulders and a face that might have made angels sing if they could stop drooling for long enough to find a tune. He had a square jaw which was more angular than boxy, brown eyes the colour of polished chestnuts and a wide, generous mouth that made Clara want to go up onto her tiptoes to test it out. She suspected if she did, she’d easily rate it five stars.

Was he just a hallucination brought on by jetlag? The slither of snow that chose that moment to glide down the front of Clara’s coat told her he probably wasn’t.

‘I’m sorry – I saw you putting weight on the door and I know the hinges are fragile, so I braked too aggressively,’ the man said, grimacing as the remaining ice snaked down her cheek.

‘I’m not that heavy,’ Clara mumbled, flushing.

‘That’s not what I meant, I’m supposed to be working on the door tomorrow and changing a plug socket.’ He went pink too as he took in her soggy appearance. ‘I’ve got a towel in the car if you want it?’ He waved at his truck and then dropped his hand as if reconsidering. ‘It’s my dog’s; he’s chewed it, but it’s clean. Mostly.’ He pulled a face.

‘Thanks, but I think I’ll pass,’ Clara said as something poked her knee. She shrieked before glaring down at a lustrous golden retriever who appeared to be sniffing her coat. It must have got out of the car while she was ogling its owner.

‘Figgy, stop!’ the man said sternly, leaning down to grab the dog’s collar and tug him away. ‘I’m sorry but for some reason he likes smelling clothes. He has a thing for soggy cashmere, apparently.’ He gave her a bright smile that probably would have stopped traffic in New York.

‘Your dog has a good eye for fabrics,’ Clara said dryly, eyeing the dog as he tugged at his collar, seemingly determined to sniff her again.

‘Are you okay?’ the man asked, his eyes travelling to the bag on the pavement beside her which was dripping slush.

‘Aside from the ice shower you mean?’ she asked, and he grimaced. ‘Not really.’ She pointed to the shop. ‘My… friend lives here. I came to surprise her.’ She wasn’t going to go into details. Instead, she moved to the door and tried to push it again. More carefully this time but it still didn’t budge.

‘Your friend’s not there,’ the man said. ‘The shop’s closed.’

‘The sign says it’s open?’ The jetlag and everything else that had happened in the last twenty-four hours suddenly caught up with her, making her feel unreasonably irritated.

‘Yep, Eleanor often forgets to turn the sign around. You said you know her?’ he asked, cocking his head.

‘Yes, and you obviously do too.’ Clara eyed him speculatively. Was he single? Clara knew her godmother had enjoyed a few relationships over the years, but none had lasted. Eleanor’s boyfriends were usually a bit older than her – her godmother thought maturity was sexy and wasn’t particularly interested in anyone younger. This adonis was closer to Clara’s thirty and a good twenty years younger than Eleanor. Were they seeing each other, though? The thought set off an unexpected frisson of jealousy.

‘I’m her electrician and odd job man amongst—’ He stopped and glanced up the high street, then shrugged. ‘Other things.’ His mouth pinched.

What other things?

‘Look. I know where Eleanor is at the moment. In fact, I was going to meet her when I spotted you by the shop. Do you want me to drive you there?’ he offered.

Clara cleared her throat. ‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea,’ she said, stepping away from him. She’d lived in New York for too long to be hopping into cars with just anyone. Another wedge of ice slithered down her neck before stopping in the dip of her back, making her shiver.

He looked torn. ‘It’s just you’re obviously cold and I feel responsible.’ He waved a hand at her red coat. ‘I’d like to make amends somehow.’

‘I appreciate the offer, but I’m sorry.’ She wrapped her arms around herself. ‘I don’t want to be rude, but I don’t know you – and I know this is a cute village and it’s almost Christmas, but I’m not going to get into a car with a stranger, even if his dog does have excellent taste in textiles.’

He jerked his chin, that incredible mouth curving upwards, making her insides jiggle, which was unnerving.

‘You’re right.’ He shook his head, and the movement made his dark hair shine in the moonlight. ‘That’s a good point. I should have thought. I spend too much time with Figgy – he’d get into anyone’s car, especially if it had leather seats…’ He trailed off as he glanced up the cobbled pavement, looking thoughtful. ‘How about I walk you? Eleanor’s at a meeting in the village hall.’ He pointed down the high street. ‘It’s well-lit and I can walk three steps ahead if you’d prefer?’ He didn’t look like he was joking.

Clara glanced along the pavement taking in her surroundings properly for the first time. It was quintessential Cotswolds. There were quaint shops with heavy slate roofs as far as the eye could see lining each side of the meandering street. She could see a huge tree in the far distance and a little honey-coloured stone bridge which crossed the stream running parallel to the road where the man had just parked.

Warm white fairy lights had been strung above each of the shops and they wound into the distance, punctuated periodically with ornaments in the shape of snowmen, Santa Claus and Christmas gifts. The display ended at the tree which had been adorned with multiple golden, red and green lights which looked like huge fireworks. It was a glorious technicolour festive dream. Just looking at them was balm to her fractured soul.

‘Is it far?’ she asked, grabbing the handle of her bag.

He shook his head. ‘Less than ten minutes.’ He signalled to her luggage. ‘I can pull that if you like? I’m not going to steal it – although I can’t say the same for Figgy, he likes denim bags too.’ He stared down at his dog. ‘You can keep an eye on both of us if you walk behind.’ His eyes glittered and Clara wondered if he was teasing her, but she was too jetlagged to know.

‘It’s fine, it’s not heavy and we can walk together.’ She smiled. ‘I’m Clara Frost.’ She held out a hand. ‘If you’re going to be my guide for this evening, I suppose we should at least exchange names.’

He took it and gave her an odd look. ‘I’m sure I recognise your surname, how do you know Eleanor?’ His eyes scoured her face, making her insides fizzle like firelighters on a flame.

‘She’s my godmother. She used to be best friends with my mother,’ she explained, wincing because her mother had nothing to do with Eleanor now.

He nodded slowly as understanding dawned. ‘Maeve Frost.’ His eyebrows drew together, obviously unimpressed. ‘I’ve heard about her. Eleanor did mention you. I thought you were about twelve.’ He looked her up and down, clearly confused.