Page 8 of Christmas All the Way

The older woman smiled. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

They parted company then, with Ivy explaining she was short-staffed and needed to help on the tills. Grace and Keeley continued to wind their way around the festive labyrinth, pausing to admire an aisle dressed with giant sweets, gaudy lollipops and other oversized sugary delights. It made Grace’s teeth hurt just to look at them but she could imagine what a show-stopping display they would make in the right setting.

‘Ivy supplies a lot of the stands at Winter Wonderland,’ Keeley said, when Grace suggested the decorations might be a bit much for the average family. ‘And last year’s pantomime in Chelmsford turned the entire foyer into a sweet shop with these.’

It made sense, of course, and Grace was impressed all over again. ‘What a wonderful place to work,’ she said. ‘I’m a bit surprised Ivy is short-staffed, I can’t imagine a nicer working environment. I bet they never have to deal with grumpy customers. How could anyone be bad-tempered surrounded by so much joy?’

Keeley laughed. ‘Oh, I’m sure they encounter plenty of grinches. Look, this is the last aisle before we get to more practical stuff. Have you got everything you want?’

Biting her lip, Grace looked down at the basket. ‘Would you be very annoyed if I nipped back to grab one of the miniature Nutcracker dolls?’

‘Not at all,’ Keeley said. ‘Why don’t I meet you by the tills?’

Grace felt quite proud of herself for resisting a set of exquisite London landmark tree ornaments as she retraced her steps along the ‘Christmas Around the World’ display. It was a tougher challenge to ignore the siren call of the twirling Sugar Plum Fairy, however, and she added a pair of plump mice for good measure. The pink tinsel was probably a step too far, she told herself, thrusting her hand into her pocket before it could reach out and snare the glistening strands. Then again, who did she have to please but herself? But she left the tinsel where it was – she could always revisit the shop if she changed her mind.

Keeley was chatting amiably with the girl behind the counter when Grace finally puffed through the door into the entrance foyer. ‘There you are,’ she said, eyeing her flushed cheeks with amusement. ‘I thought you’d been whisked away by Dr Drosselmeyer.’

‘I wish,’ Grace said, picturing the wizard whose magic sent Clara on her dreamlike adventure to save the Nutcracker in the story. ‘But sadly, I merely underestimated how heavy my basket would be once I’d added everything I wanted to buy. I had to drag it the last few metres.’

The girl on the till grinned as she saw Grace’s overflowing basket. ‘My mum is exactly the same when she comes here. She can’t resist the sparkle.’

‘Guilty as charged,’ Grace sighed. ‘But on the plus side, my Christmas tree is going to look amazing.’

‘Definitely,’ the girl said. ‘If you can’t go all out at Christmas, when can you?’

While she rang the items through, Grace allowed her gaze to wander. Beside the till, in a transparent A4 stand, was a poster advertising a job vacancy.

WANTED:

Part-time worker

(20 hours per week, some evening and weekend working required)

Must be fit, with some experience of working with the public, and a genuine passion for Christmas. A good eye for display an advantage.

Competitive salary and staff discount available.

For further details, and for an informal chat, telephone 01245 548 8565 and ask for Ivy, or email admin@santassecret

‘That’s everything for you,’ the girl said, snapping Grace back to attention. She tried not to wince as she saw the amount and tapped her card on the reader. She’d spent more than she’d anticipated but supposed it would all be worth it in December, when the opening scenes of Love Actually began to play and she was sipping a glass of Bailey’s. Keeley’s purchases had been much more modest but, Grace reminded herself, it wasn’t her first visit to Santa’s Secret.

‘Oh yes, I spent a fortune the first time I came here,’ Keeley said as they loaded their bags into the boot of the car, taking care not to crowd the bedding plants. ‘And on my second and third visits. Don’t beat yourself up.’

Grace reached out a hand to stroke the fluffy pink feathers adorning one of the mice and sighed. ‘I’ll try not to.’

She stepped back, allowing the boot to close and made for the passenger door. As she did so, a grey Land Rover drove into the car park and stopped a few spaces away. ‘Speaking of grinches,’ Keeley said, rolling her eyes, ‘here’s one now.’

The tinted glass made it difficult for Grace to see who was driving but she assumed her friend was joking. There was a swish as a door opened, the crunch of feet on the gravel and a thud as the door closed. A dark-haired man of around forty appeared around the back of the car, talking into a mobile phone. He glanced towards Keeley’s car and his gaze slid to Grace, who suddenly felt as though all the wind had been punched from her lungs. He was tall and tanned, with finely chiselled cheekbones and a long, slender nose that might have been beaky in a less handsome face. A mane of untidy black hair was swept back from a proud forehead, tinged with grey at the temples. As she desperately tried not to stare, he waved a key fob to lock the Land Rover and strode past them, nodding to Keeley as he went. Grace felt her stomach lurch as his gaze swept over her, and she thought for a paralysing moment that he would stop. But then he was gone, disappearing through the door of Santa’s Secret. Feeling suddenly in need of support, Grace leaned against the car and took a deep breath. ‘Um. Who was that?’

Keeley paused as she was about to climb into the driver’s seat and eyed her curiously. ‘Raff Caldwell. He’s Ivy’s son and all-round grumpy bugger, although he’s not so bad once you get to know him. Why?’

‘Oh, no reason,’ Grace said, hoping her cheeks weren’t as flaming red as they felt. ‘I just wondered. He didn’t look the type to love oversized candy canes.’

What he looked like was a Greek god, she wanted to say, all lean muscle and classical features – a face that Michelangelo would have sculpted in a heartbeat. But Keeley was staring at her now, so she ducked into the car and pretended to check her phone.

‘He’s not,’ Keeley said, settling into the seat beside her. ‘He’s a landscape gardener – the one who manages the gardens at Juniper Cottage – and he’s very good at his job.’ She started the engine and shook her head. ‘What he’s less good at is interpersonal skills. I suppose that’s why he likes plants – they don’t expect him to maintain a conversation.’

‘But that hardly makes him a grinch,’ Grace objected, wondering how anyone so beautiful could be anything less than perfect on the inside, before remembering that most of her favourite novels were littered with gorgeous men who’d turned out to be utter scoundrels.