The Unexpected Holiday Gift (4 page)

Jacob turned away, moving towards the high-end coffee machine behind the sitting area. This conversation definitely needed coffee.

‘I've spoken with my partner,' Clara said. ‘We think we've found a way to work around our other commitments so we can take on your project.' She didn't sound entirely happy about the conclusion, but that wasn't his problem. Neither was this partner, whoever the unlucky man was. Jacob felt something loosen inside him, something he hadn't even realised was wound up too tight.

She was going to help him. That was all that mattered.

‘That's good news,' he said, trying not to let his relief show too much. Instead, he busied himself making them both a cup of strong black coffee. ‘I assume you have a standard contract with payment schedules and so on?'

‘Of course,' Clara replied. ‘Although, given the timescales, I rather think we're going to require full payment up front, don't you?'

‘Understandable.' Paying wasn't a problem. And once she had his money, she'd have to follow through. It was far harder to pay back money than walk out on the potential of it. And heaven knew Jacob would do everything in his power to stop Clara walking out on him again.

He placed the coffee on the table in front of her, and her nose wrinkled up. ‘Actually, I don't drink coffee any more.'

‘Really?' She used to drink it by the bucketload, he remembered. Her favourite wedding present, in amongst far more expensive and luxury items, had been a simple filter coffee maker from Heather. ‘I can offer you tea. Probably.' He frowned at the machine. Did it even make tea? ‘Or ask someone else to bring some up.' Maybe he'd ask the receptionist—a small, perhaps petty act of revenge. Especially if he insisted that she bring it via the stairs instead of the lift...

‘It's fine. I don't need anything.' Jacob bit back a sharp smile at her words. Clara had made that clear five years ago when she'd refused any support after she'd left.

‘So, just business then.' Jacob lifted his own coffee cup to his lips and breathed in the dark scent of it.
This
was what he needed. Not his ex-wife in his office at eight-thirty in the morning.

‘Yes. Except...the usual contracts don't cover the more...personal side of this arrangement,' Clara went on delicately.

Jacob would have laughed if it weren't so miserable a topic. ‘You mean the divorce.' The idea that she wanted one still rankled. What was it about him that made him want to just keep flogging this dead horse? Why couldn't he just cut her loose and get on with his life? Even his lawyer had started rolling his eyes whenever the subject came up. Jacob knew it was time to move on—past time, really. But, until the paperwork was signed, he hadn't failed at marriage. Not completely.

He rather imagined that Clara would say differently, though.

‘Yes,' she said. ‘The divorce. I think...I'd like to get that sorted in the New Year, if we could. I think it would be good for us both. We could move on properly.'

‘Are you planning to get married again?' He regretted asking the moment the words were out of his mouth, but it was too late.

‘No! I mean maybe, one day, I suppose. But not right now. Why do you ask?'

Yes, Jacob, why did you ask that?
He didn't care what she did now. So why let her think he did?

He shrugged, trying to play nonchalant. ‘You mentioned a partner.'

‘Business partner. Merry. You met her yesterday, actually.'

The redhead at the office. Well, in that case, unless Clara had changed far more than he'd realised, there wasn't a marriage in the making. ‘You're not seeing anyone then?' He wished it didn't sound as if he cared, but he couldn't not ask. He needed all the facts. He always had done.

‘No. Not right now. It's hard when...' She cut herself off. ‘Well, you know.'

‘When your husband won't give you a divorce,' he guessed. Although why that should make a difference he wasn't sure. They'd been apart five years as it was; if she'd really wanted to move on with another guy, he couldn't imagine a lousy piece of paper would stop her. Her wedding vows hadn't kept her married to him, after all.

If she'd really, truly wanted the divorce, he doubted he could have stopped her. His lawyers were good, but some things were inevitable. He'd known all along he was only stalling, and somewhere on the way he'd even forgotten why. But Clara hadn't wanted to take anything from him, hadn't wanted to make anything difficult. Really, it should have been straightforward.

But she'd never pushed, never insisted, never kicked up a real fuss. Surely, if she'd really wanted this divorce she'd have done all that and more.

Unless she
didn't
really want it. Unless she'd been waiting for him to come after her.

Which he was doing, right now, in a way.

It didn't feel like Clara, that kind of complicated long game. And to drag it out over five years seemed a little excessive. But still, logic dictated that
something
had to be stopping her from forcing through the divorce. And he couldn't for the life of him think of anything else it might be.

But working with her on his Perfect Christmas project would give him the ideal opportunity to find out.

CHAPTER FOUR

C
LARA
TRIED
TO
BREATHE
through her mouth to avoid taking in the smell of the coffee. It was ridiculous, really. She'd
loved
coffee, almost as much as she'd loved Jacob. But then she'd fallen pregnant and suddenly she couldn't stand the smell of it, let alone the taste. She'd always assumed that once the baby was born she'd get her love of coffee back again, but no. Even now, four years later, the very smell made her want to gag.

So unfair.

As if this morning wasn't bad enough already, the universe had to throw in coffee.

Ivy had woken up bright and early at six and Clara hadn't seen much point in dragging things out so, over their traditional weekday morning breakfast of toast and cereal, she'd broached the subject of Christmas.

‘How would you like the idea of going somewhere snowy for Christmas? With Merry?' Merry was a definite favourite with Ivy, so that was bound to be more of a draw than most other things, Clara had decided.

‘Where?' Ivy had asked in between mouthfuls.

‘Scotland.' Clara had held her breath, waiting for an answer.

‘What about Norman?'

‘Norman?' Clara had been briefly concerned that her daughter had suddenly gained a seventy-year-old imaginary friend until Ivy clarified.

‘Our Christmas tree,' she'd said. ‘You said he was called Norman.'

Clara had blinked, ran back through a mental movie of the day they'd bought the tree and finally figured it out. ‘Nordmann. He's a Nordmann Fir.'

Ivy had nodded. ‘Norman the Nordmann. What will happen to him while we're away?'

‘We'll ask Mr Jenkins next door to come and water him, shall we? Then Norman will still be here when we get back.' Good grief, she had a Christmas tree with a name. How had this happened? ‘Is that all you're worried about? Do you think Scotland might be okay for Christmas?'

Ivy's little face had scrunched up as she considered. ‘Will they have pancakes there for Christmas morning?' she'd asked.

Clara had added pancakes to their list of hotel requirements, dropped Ivy at the childminder's house and headed off to talk to Jacob. There was no point putting it off, especially since she knew exactly where to find him—Foster Medical head office. He might more usually work from one of the American offices these days, but if he was in London, Clara knew he'd be at work.

But his work was going to have to wait. They only had a week and a half to put together a perfect Christmas. Two Christmases, if you counted Ivy's, and Clara did. So she'd rushed across London to the imposing skyscraper of an office, only pausing long enough to explain to the receptionist exactly who she was, and then bustled along to Jacob's office.

But now, with the scent of coffee making her queasy, and Jacob's sleep-ruffled hair looking all too familiar, Clara really wished she'd waited. Or even called instead.

‘Anyway. If that's all settled...' She picked up her hat from the table.

‘I wouldn't call it settled,' Jacob said and she lowered the hat again. No, of course not. That would be too easy. ‘We still need to discuss the particulars.' Putting his coffee cup down, Jacob came around from the counter to sit beside her. The leather sofa was vast—ridiculously so, for an office—and there was a more than reasonable gap between them. But, suddenly, it wasn't coffee she could smell any more. It was
him.
That familiar combination of aftershave, soap and
Jacob
that tugged at her memory and made her want to relive every moment. To imagine that this was that other life she could have been living, where they were together in London, still married, still happy.

‘Particulars?' she asked, shaking her head a little to try and stop herself being so distracted by his nearness.

‘Like where we want it to take place, how many people, what the menu should be, timings... Little things like that.' He was laughing at her, but Clara couldn't find it amusing. It just reminded her how much there was to do.

‘I'm assuming the timings are fairly self-explanatory,' she said drily. ‘Christmas Eve to Boxing Day would be my best guess—I can't imagine you wanting to take any more time off work than that, regardless of the circumstances.' Even that was two days more than he'd managed for their last Christmas together. Two and a half if she counted him sloping off to the study for an hour or two after Christmas lunch. ‘Guests. I'm assuming just your parents and Heather, unless she has a partner she'd like to bring? Or you do,' she added, belatedly realising that just because her love life was a desert didn't mean his was.

‘No, you're right, just the four of us.' He still looked amused, but there was less mockery in his expression. ‘Go on.'

‘Location. you said the Highlands, and I happen to know of a very festive, exclusive castle that would be brilliant for your celebrations.' And particularly helpful to her, since the client she'd originally booked it for had pulled out and she'd promised the owner she'd do her best to find someone else to take over the booking. If she didn't find someone, thanks to a contract mishap Perfect London would be losing the rather hefty deposit.

‘Sounds ideal.'

‘As for the menu—traditional Christmas turkey dinner plus appetizers, puddings, wine and liquors, cold cuts and chutneys in the fridge, then smoked salmon and scrambled eggs with croissant for breakfast. Sound about right?'

‘Yes.' He blinked, looking slightly bemused. ‘How did you know all that?'

‘It's my job, Jacob,' Clara said, irritation rising. He might not have appreciated everything she'd done to keep his nice little business gatherings and parties ticking over, but even he had to respect that she'd built up a successful business with her skills. ‘And it's not like you're asking for anything out of the ordinary.' If she was lucky and used every contact she had, she could pull this off for Jacob and manage her own wonderful Christmas with Ivy too.

‘No, I suppose not. Of course, snow is obviously essential,' Jacob added.

Clara stared at him. Was the man insane? ‘Snow. You want me to arrange snow?'

Jacob lifted one shoulder. Was he teasing? She never
could
tell when he was teasing her. ‘Well, it is Christmas, after all. I think we can all agree that the perfect Christmas would have to be a white one.'

Clara's mouth tightened. ‘I'll check the weather forecast then.' Jacob looked as if he might be trying to dream up some more outlandish requests, just to throw her off her game, so Clara hurried on.

‘Which just leaves us with the presents.' This, she knew, was the real test. If Jacob truly had changed—if this perfect Christmas idea was a sign that he was ready to embrace a family and, just possibly, the daughter he didn't know he had—the presents would be the giveaway.

‘Presents?' Jacob frowned, and Clara's heart fell. ‘Aren't you going to buy those? I'd have thought it would be part of the contract.'

‘Usually, Perfect London would be delighted to source the perfect gift for every member of your family,' she said sweetly. ‘But, under the circumstances—with less than a fortnight to go, not to mention this being your father's last Christmas—I am sure that you will want to select them yourself.' She stared at him until he seemed to get the idea that this was not a suggestion.

‘But what would I buy them?' He looked so adorably flustered at the very idea that for a moment Clara forgot that she was testing him.

Then she realised this could be an even better opportunity.

‘I'll tell you what,' she said, making it clear that this was a favour, just for him. ‘Why don't we go shopping together and choose them?'

‘That would be great.' The relief was evident in his voice.

‘Right now,' Clara finished, and his eyebrows shot up.

‘Now? But I'm working.'

‘So am I,' she pointed out. ‘By taking a client shopping.'

‘Yes, but I can't just leave! There are meetings. Emails. Important decisions to be made.'

‘Like whether your sister would prefer a handbag or a scarf.'

‘Like the future of the company!'

Now it was Clara's turn to raise her eyebrows. ‘Do you really expect that to come up in the three hours you'll be gone?'

‘Three hours!' Clara waited and finally he sighed. ‘No, I suppose not.'

‘Then I think that your father's last Christmas might matter rather more than emails and meetings. Don't you?'

He looked torn and Clara held her breath until, finally, he said, ‘Yes. It does.'

She grinned. The old Jacob would never have left work at 9:00 a.m. on a weekday to go Christmas shopping.
Ha!
He'd never left work
or
done Christmas shopping.

Maybe he really had changed after all. She could hope so. After all, Christmas
was
the season of hope and goodwill. Even towards ex-husbands.

* * *

‘What about this?' Clara held up a gossamer-thin scarf in various shades of purple that Jacob suspected cost more than his entire suit. Everything else Clara had suggested had and, since his suit had been handmade especially for him, that was quite an achievement.

‘For Mum?' he asked with a frown.

‘No. For Heather.' Clara sighed. Jacob had a feeling she was starting to regret her insistence on taking him shopping.

‘She's a student,' he pointed out. ‘She wouldn't wear something like that.'

‘She graduating this summer, right? So she'll have interviews, internships, all sorts of professional opportunities coming her way. A statement accessory like this can make any outfit look polished.' As always, Clara had a point. He'd almost forgotten how irritating that was.

‘Maybe,' he allowed. But Clara was already walking on, probably in search of an even more expensive gift for his sister. He didn't begrudge spending the money but he was beginning to think this was some sort of game for Clara. She'd certainly never encouraged him to buy such luxurious gifts for her.

The high-end shopping district Clara had directed the taxi to was filled with tiny boutiques, all stocking a minimum of products at maximum cost. Even the Christmas decorations strung between the shops on either side of the street, high above the heads of the passing shoppers, were discreet, refined and—Jacob was willing to bet—costly.

‘Is this where you usually shop for your clients?' he asked, lengthening his stride to catch up with her as she swung into another shop.

Clara shrugged. ‘Sometimes. It depends on the client.'

Which told him nothing. Jacob wasn't entirely sure why he was so interested in the day-to-day details of her job, but he suspected it had something to do with never realising she wanted one. He'd thought he'd known Clara better than anyone in the world, and that she'd known him just as well. It had been a jolt to discover there were some parts of her he'd never known at all. What if this entrepreneurial side of her was just the start?

Of course, for all that he'd shared with Clara, there were some things
he'd
kept back too. He couldn't entirely blame her for that.

‘This would be just right for your father.' Jacob turned to find her holding up a beautifully wrought dark leather briefcase, with silver detailing and exquisite stitching. She was right; his father would love it. Except...

‘He won't be coming in to the office much longer.' It still caught him by surprise, almost daily. In some ways, he suspected he was in denial as much as Heather; he wanted to believe that if he could just make Christmas perfect then the rest would fall into place.

But he couldn't save his father's life. Even if a part of him felt he should be able to, if he just worked long enough, tried hard enough. If he was good enough.

Jacob knew he'd never been good enough, had known it long before his father fell sick.

Clara dropped the briefcase back onto the shelf. ‘You're right. Come on.'

Even Jacob had to agree the next shop was spot on.

‘You want something your dad can enjoy.' Clara opened her arms and gestured to the bottles of vintage wine lining the shelves. ‘From what I remember, this should suit him.'

Jacob smiled, turning slowly to take in the selection. ‘Yes, I think this will do nicely.'

One in-depth conversation with the proprietor later, and Jacob felt sure that he had the perfect gift for at least one member of his family, ready to be delivered directly to Clara's offices in time to be shipped up to Scotland.

‘How are they all?' Clara asked as she led him into a tiny arcade off the main street. The shops inside looked even more sparse and expensive. ‘Your family, I mean. The news about your dad... It must have been terrible for you all. I can't imagine.'

‘It was,' Jacob said simply. ‘It still is. Mum... She takes everything in her stride—you know her. But Heather's still hoping for a miracle, I think.'

Clara looked sideways at him. ‘And you're not?'

‘Perhaps,' he admitted. ‘It's just too hard to imagine a world without him.'

Watching as she paused by a display of necklaces, Jacob remembered the first time he'd brought Clara home to meet his family—just days after their elopement. He remembered his mother's shock and forced cheer as she realised she'd been done out of the big wedding she'd always imagined for him.

But, more than anything, he remembered his father's reaction. How he'd taken him into his study and poured him a brandy in one of the last two crystal glasses handed down from James's own great-grandfather. A sign of trust that had shocked Jacob's hands into trembling, even as he'd reminded himself that he was grown up now. A married man.

‘You've taken on a big responsibility, son,'
James had said.
‘
A wife is more than a lover, more than a friend. More even than family. She is your whole world—and you are responsible for making that world perfect.'