Page 29 of Never Gonna Happen

‘You can open it,’ said Mr Hunter, wafting his hand. ‘It’s not very original, I’m afraid.’

Emily pulled off the wrapping and opened the box. Inside was a black and silver Montblanc rollerball pen with E. Wilkinson engraved on the cap.

‘I don’t know what to say,’ she stuttered. ‘It’s beautiful.’

‘I bought Andrea a similar one the first Christmas she worked here, and she’s still using it twenty-five years later. I hope you like it.’

‘I love it,’ said Emily, genuinely touched. ‘Thank you.’

‘You’re very welcome,’ said Mr Hunter. ‘Is there anything else we need to talk about before I head off tomorrow?’

Emily hesitated, thinking of the photocopies in her desk. She still hadn’t shown them to Mr Hunter, and on a number of occasions she’d considered putting them through the shredder.

She took a deep breath. ‘Actually, there is one thing.’

Mr Hunter pored over the pages, his brow knitted into tight furrows.

‘When did you photocopy these?’ he asked.

‘Two weeks ago,’ said Emily. ‘I would have shown them to you sooner, but I wasn’t sure if I should have them at all. And I didn’t know if it was something you already knew about. I guess Adam’s behaviour seemed a bit strange, but I’m sorry if I’ve overstepped the mark.’

‘You did the right thing,’ said Mr Hunter, looking up at her with a reassuring smile. ‘I appreciate it.’

Emily nodded and stood to leave. ‘I’ll see you in the morning to go through all your final travel arrangements,’ she said.

Mr Hunter nodded. ‘Thank you, Emily.’ She wandered back up to her room, clutching the box containing the pen and wondering whether it was her travel planning skills he was grateful for, or her quick thinking when faced with a son who was very clearly up to no good.

Chapter Seventeen

On 23rd December Emily loaded up her car with her suitcase and bags of presents for her family and Kelly and Beth, enjoying the peace and tranquillity of a completely empty house. The Hunters had departed the previous day with only the minimum of last-minute chaos, mostly involving Catherine not being able to find her Chanel sunglasses and refusing to leave without them in case there were paparazzi at the airport. The idea that the paps would slog to Norwich Airport a few days before Christmas to get a long-distance picture of Catherine Hunter seemed laughable to Emily, but she seemed to be under the illusion that she was Kim Kardashian. Emily was despatched to look for them, and by the time she returned empty-handed ten minutes later the whole family had left.

Luckily private jets don’t leave without their passengers, so later Emily was able to confirm with the charter plane company and the helicopter transfer firm that the Hunter family had been safely delivered to their chalet in Verbier. For the next ten days they were not her problem, although she’d been disappointed that she and Jamie hadn’t managed to say goodbye before he left. She had a little Christmas present for him, but it could wait.

She’d also made Leon an origami sports car out of Christmas wrapping paper; a skill that her brother David had taught her when they were children. He’d taken the box like it was a precious jewel and thanked her with tears in his eyes, before heading off to Stansted to fly home to Croatia. Later she found a badly wrapped parcel outside the door to her room, with a note saying not to open it until Christmas Day. It felt soft and squidgy, but beyond that she didn’t have a clue. Anna had also left this morning to spend Christmas with a friend, not bothering to elaborate and giving Emily a ‘Merry Christmas’ that was distinctly lacking in festive cheer.

None of them were expected back until 2nd January, so Emily had wrapped up all the final bits of office admin, put Mr Hunter’s Out of Office on, and messaged the Estate Manager so he could pop by and lock the house up. Now all that remained was to drive home and immerse herself in several litres of Wilkinson festive spirit.

‘Oh good, you haven’t left yet,’ said Jamie, popping up behind her and making her scream.

‘Fuck, you scared me. Why aren’t you in Switzerland?’ She tried not to panic, wondering if she’d messed up some of the arrangements.

Jamie shrugged. ‘I decided not to go. Really not my scene.’

Emily rolled her eyes as she breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Yeah, sure. Snow, mountains, hot chalet girls as far as the eye can see. I can see why that wouldn’t be your scene.’

‘Well, maybe under different circumstances. I’m just not sure I can do ten days of intensive family time.’

Emily couldn’t really argue with that. With the exception of Mr Hunter, Jamie’s family were absolute horrors.

‘So who are you spending Christmas with?’ she asked, wondering which local family had offered to take him in like a Dickensian orphan.

Jamie didn’t say anything for a moment, and Emily looked at him as the penny dropped. ‘You’re kidding.’

‘I’ll be with the horses, and the stable hands will be back on Boxing Day. They love Christmas hours, we pay triple time.’ He laughed at Emily’s horrified face. ‘Don’t look all sorry for me, I really don’t mind.’

But Emily did mind. She minded a lot, as it happened. In her world Christmas was about togetherness and laughter and spending time with the people you loved. Jamie being here alone just wasn’t right, so the words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. ‘Why don’t you come home with me?’

‘I’ve been thinking,’ said Emily as they drove down the A11. She was on a hands-free call to Jamie, who was in a blue VW Golf behind her; it was another Bowford car that any of the staff could use for running estate errands. He’d easily found festive cover for the horses, but he still needed to get back for Boxing Day and there were no trains. So they were driving to Chichester in two separate cars.