WARM WINTER KISSES a feel good Christmas romance novel (16 page)

‘Rocco told me she’s been having a rough time of it. Poor girl.’

‘She’s doing okay now, thanks.’ So Rocco had been talking about me. Well, that was something at least. ‘So,’ I looked down at the profusion of bags at our feet, ‘Christmas shopping?’

‘Yeah. I love it, don’t you? And this year’s gonna be extra special. I can’t wait. There’s so much going on, it’ll be a blast. I guess Rocco’s told you the news?’

‘News?
’
Then Zak’s phone buzzed into action. He fumbled around in the inside of his jacket. ‘Sorry, babe,’ he said, looking fretfully at his phone. ‘I should be somewhere else right now and if I don’t get going I’ll be in big trouble.’ Kissing me again on the lips, he gathered up his bags. ‘Catch up with you over Christmas, though. Deffo.’

‘Yes, great,’ I said, thinking it unlikely and feeling disappointed that we didn’t get to finish our conversation. ‘What was that news you were about to tell me?’ I called after his departing figure, desperate to know.

‘Oh that.’ He grinned wickedly. ‘Actually, I’m under strict instructions not to say anything until the official announcement is made, but I’m sure Rocco will tell you all about it later, get him to fill you in on all the details.’

Chapter 20

When I got back to the house the two trees I’d chosen from the farm shop at the bottom of the lane had been delivered and were propping up the kitchen door. I gasped, wondering how they’d managed to grow to double their size since I’d chosen them.

After dumping the shopping on the table, I hauled the trees inside and after a pick-me-up coffee, I got to work on decorating the house.

It wasn’t difficult to make Rocco’s house look beautiful; it looked pretty damn good without any additional decoration from me. The smaller of the trees I put in the imposing hallway beside the oak stairway, covering it in a profusion of twinkling fairy lights. Up the banister I wound a swathe of gold ribbon and greenery, the pine cones from the local woods adding the necessary rustic charm.

There was only one place for the eight foot tall Norwegian spruce. I wrapped it up in an old sheet to save Rocco’s beautiful oak floor and dragged it into the drawing room, positioning it between the huge fireplace and the French windows, through which there was a breathtaking view of the gardens and the fields beyond.

With the fireplace framed by three big squashy sofas adorned with tapestry-covered cushions, I could imagine how magical it would be to unwrap presents in this room, perhaps to the sound of a choir singing hymns in the background wafting through the magnificent hi-fi system. Rocco hadn’t mentioned his plans for the holiday, but I knew if he had his way he would want to be at home with the women in his life, Millie and Sylvia. Reluctantly, I had to admit that would include Pandora too, but I didn’t want to dwell on that.

Some hours later I finished putting the final touches to the decorations. I switched the lights on in the trees and those entwined around the log pile in the fireplace and the chromed candle arches, one each for all the tiny windows of the house. Like the lights, I glowed with a sense of satisfied contentment. It looked beautiful, just like one of those pretty German market towns bathed in a glow of twinkling stars.

I was just putting my wrapped presents under the tree, thinking how much I would have loved to have been here to see them opened, when I heard Sylvia’s cheery voice calling from the kitchen.

‘Beth! Are you there?’

‘In here!’ I called, getting up from my crouched position on the floor.

Seconds later, Sylvia was standing in the doorway, her face a picture of wonderment.

‘Well, well, haven’t you done a grand job in here! It looks beautiful.’ She walked across to the tree and breathed in the woody pine vapour.

‘Thanks.’ I wiped my forearm across my brow. ‘You don’t think I’ve overdone it, do you?’

The darkening sky outside provided a melodramatic backdrop for the array of white snow sprinkles glistening on the tree.

‘Oh, no. It’s lovely and I’m sure Rocco will love it too.’ She turned to me, genuine affection shining in her eyes. ‘It’s been lovely having you here, Beth.’ She squeezed the tops of my arms with her hands. ‘You’ve turned this house into a home. Really you have. I know Rocco appreciates everything you’ve done.’

‘You think so?’ Sometimes I wondered if he even registered my existence.

‘Of course he does. He’s been the happiest I’ve seen him in a long time. And that’s all down to your presence, I’m sure of it.’ I smiled at Sylvia, wanting to share in her certainty, but if Rocco was happier it was only because I’d made life a little easier for him, freeing up his time so he could devote more hours to those things he truly loved, fishing, food and flirting. ‘Come on.’ She grabbed my hand and led me out of the room. ‘I’ve got some lovely mince pies for you in the kitchen. They’re not long out of the oven. Will you have one?’

‘Ooh, yes please.’ Breakfast seemed a long time ago and my tummy rumbled at the mere mention of food. ‘I’ll put the kettle on and we can have a nice cuppa.’

‘I can’t I’m afraid, my darling. I only popped in to drop these off.’ She handed me a big tin packed with mince pies. I prised off the lid and the smell of mixed spices and fruit assaulted my senses. I helped myself to one, biting into the sweet, light pastry, the delicious flavours melting in my mouth.

‘Mmmm, these are fab.’ I ran my tongue around my lips, picking up the stray crumbs.

‘Good! I’ve been baking since first thing this morning. I’ve another few batches to drop off around the village before I go home. There’s a pile of presents waiting to be wrapped and then that’ll be me pretty much done for the holiday. How’s your sister’s doing now, lovey?’

‘Oh, you know, she’s a bit low, obviously, but she’ll be okay. I’ll be with her again for Christmas.’

‘Lovely. Family, that’s what it’s all about, eh?’ She picked up her shopper from the floor. ‘So,’ she shook her head in indignation, tutting as she did, ‘what do you make of all this kerfuffle, then?’

I looked at her nonplussed.

‘The news?’

I shook my head, uncomprehending.

‘Oh, it’s all over the papers today. Don’t tell me you haven’t seen it. I must say, I wasn’t expecting that. But then again, with Rocco and Pandora, you know to expect the unexpected.’

First Zak and now Sylvia. Why was I starting to feel uneasy about the news that everyone, apart from myself, seemed to have heard of?

‘Here.’ From her bag she pulled out a couple of well-thumbed tabloids and thrust them into my hands. ‘Have a read of these. You’ll never believe it. Anyway, I’d love to stay and chat, but I’ll never get home at this rate. See you in the morning; we can catch up on the gossip then.’ As she reached the back door, she turned. ‘By the way, Rocco was trying to get hold of you. He said to let you know he would be back tonight after all.’

‘Sure,’ I said, waving half-heartedly as my eyes lasered in on the photo of Pandora on the cover. She was looking over her shoulder, her eyes flirting with the camera, an enigmatic smile upon her lips. But I wasn’t looking at her face. Her left hand was held up to her mouth, her manicured fingers gently resting on her lips, showing off to maximum effect, as she no doubt intended, the biggest sparkliest rock that I’d ever seen throbbing on her third finger.

‘Sylvia!’ I yelled as I heard the kitchen door slam shut.

I gulped, feeling horribly alone, a cold dread seeping through my veins.

Greedily, my eyes pored over the words, trying to make sense of the glowing picture.

Pandora, queen of the catwalk, was being uncharacteristically coy after being spotted emerging from the Dorchester in the early hours of the morning sporting a huge diamond solitaire ring. When asked if an announcement of an upcoming engagement would be made soon, she would only answer, enigmatically, ‘ask my boyfriend’. The international supermodel has enjoyed a tempestuous on-off relationship with the flamboyant, hot-headed Michelin-starred chef, Rocco di Castri for some time now
.

I ripped open the pages to the centre spread where a dozen or so other pictures of Pandora were displayed, charting her progress over the last twenty-four hours.

Pandora, in effortlessly stylish jeans and hacking jacket, leaving her pied-a-terre in the morning.

Pandora enjoying a coffee with fellow model and friend, Saskia.

Pandora browsing the windows of designer clothes shops in Bond Street.

Pandora weighed down with her purchases, returning to her flat.

Pandora, in a simple two-piece skirt suit, being collected from her apartment by a black limousine.

Pandora lunching with Rocco di Castri at his exclusive Kensington eatery.

Pandora entering the premises of Royal Jewellers, Garrard.

Pandora escaping the melee of press photographers outside Garrard and slipping out the back entrance.

Pandora visiting her beauty salon late afternoon.

Pandora emerging from her flat in the early evening, dressed to kill in a black sheath dress and stilettos.

Pandora entering the Dorchester with no sign of a ring on her left hand.

Pandora emerging from the Dorchester the following morning, looking hugely triumphant, her white dazzling smile matching the glow of the diamond sparkling on her finger.

‘Bastard!’ I spat, feeling a stab of pain to my chest.

My legs gave way beneath me and I sank into a chair as I read on:

Rocco di Castri, with his customary cussedness, lashed out at reporters and photographers when questioned about the engagement. ‘Get that ******* camera out of my face before I ram it down your poxy throat,’ he threatened.

A photo of Rocco, his eyes blazing with fury, his mouth twisted, leapt out from the page.

I scanned the image for any hint of the warmth and tenderness I’d experienced, any sign of the real man I thought I’d come to know during those blissful few hours we’d spent alone together. But there was nothing.

So that was that. Pandora and Rocco engaged. To be married, I supposed. I mean that was the normal course of events, wasn’t it? So much for the ‘she’s not really my girlfriend; we’re just good mates
’
routine.

The celestial alignment certainly had it in for me. All around me people were falling in love and making plans together. I sighed and folded the paper up. A solitary tear ran down my cheek and fell onto Pandora’s perfect portrait. Bloody Pandora! I smudged it over her face and wiped my moistened face with the back of my hand before crumpling up the paper and tossing it into the bin

‘Aargh!’ I screamed at the Christmas tree, resisting the temptation to push the damn thing over.

Then I went upstairs to pack my bags.

Chapter 21

As I hurriedly threw my clothes into the case, my phone buzzed into action and Rocco’s name flashed up on the screen. My heart leapt to my throat. How dare he? I couldn’t trust myself to speak to him, not now, not when I was feeling so . . . so what, I wondered?

Humiliated?

Betrayed?

Stupid?

All of them and more. My finger stabbed at the reject button and I tossed the phone into my suitcase. What had the other night been all about, then? A last-minute fling before he made a life-long commitment to the woman he loved.

Knowing that I had no real reason to feel this way didn’t help matters either. It wasn’t as if he was my boyfriend and I’d caught him cheating. I was the one who was in the wrong. I’d cast myself in the unenviable position of hoping to be the other woman, albeit only briefly, and I’d been under no misapprehension as to what the true situation was. Deep down I knew Pandora wasn’t right for Rocco even if he didn’t, but that was no reason to trample over her feelings entirely and help myself to a bite of her boyfriend.

If I was feeling wretched then really I only had myself to blame for my fanciful longings.

Back downstairs, my case at the back door, I turned on the laptop. My fingers scampered over the keyboard.

“Rocco,

I’m sorry to leave at such short notice without fulfilling the last few days of my contract, but as I have dealt with all outstanding matters (please see the attached schedule for an updated status report on all projects) I’m hoping you’ll understand that, with just a couple of days to go until Christmas, I have certain personal obligations to fulfil.

I’d like to thank you for giving me the opportunity of working with you over the last few months. It has been an enjoyable and worthwhile experience.

With all best wishes for Christmas and the New Year.

Beth.”

I resisted the temptation to add a PS wishing him and Pandora all the best for their forthcoming marriage. Secretly, I hoped they’d both choke on the cake.

Writing a note in Sylvia’s Christmas card was much harder.

Dear Sylvia,

Sorry I didn’t get the chance to say goodbye.

I’ve loved my time at Whitefriars and meeting you and getting to know you has been such a big part of that. I’ll miss our daily chats over a nice cuppa and one of your lovely cakes. I’ll be in touch for all those recipes!

Have a lovely Christmas.

Much Love, Beth xx

With tears gathering in my eyes, I eased the card into its envelope, sealing it shut. Putting the pen down, I noticed Millie looking at me reproachfully. The sight of those big brown eyes made my heart surge.

‘Sorry, Mills.’ I threw my arms around her neck, nuzzling my face into her fur, thinking how much I’d miss her too. ‘I know you want a walk, but it’ll have to wait. Ask your daddy when he gets home. I’m gonna miss you so much, sweetie.’

I gave her a big hug before tearing myself away and walking out of the kitchen door and Rocco’s life for the last time.

* * *

Buttercup yellow. At nine p.m. on a Saturday evening I had no inclination to spend any length of time studying colour charts, so in the big hardware store round the corner from my place I picked up the nearest big tin of matt emulsion. It just so happened to be Buttercup Yellow. Which in hindsight was probably a very lucky thing. The mood I was in, it could so easily have been Dire Drudge or Galvanised Grey.

Into the trolley I threw a roller, a paint tray, a brush and some sugar soap. I peered at the little square of colour on top of the paint tin and thought it yellowy. Yellowy in the extreme. It would have to do. Anything would be better than the hessian sack hue that had been sucking the life force out of the flat and me for the last few years.

But once upon a time hessian sack had suited just fine. I’d last decorated shortly after Martin had moved in. Within weeks of meeting we’d decided that pooling our resources and, more importantly, going to sleep and waking up together, would be a good idea. He’d rented out his place on the other side of town and our life together as a couple began. We had a mammoth re-decorating session one weekend.

Hessian sack had seemed good then. A neutral background for our disparate collection of belongings. My Indian dhurrie cushions, his odd stone sculptures, my silk flowers, his cacti, my odd assortment of spotted crockery, his Le Creuset cookware. Thinking about it, why did he have those in the first place and where had he got them from? I think in all the time we were together, the most he’d rustled up had been some pate on toast.

I tried to remember how it had been then, to recapture that feeling of excited anticipation, but looking back I couldn’t recognise the girl who’d felt so enthused about the big step she was about to take.

Whoever she was, I certainly couldn’t recognise her taste in paint finishes. Tonight on a sharp December evening, the flat felt cold, unwelcoming and soulless. It wasn’t home to me, not anymore. In a moment of clarity I decided that in the New Year I would give up the tenancy on my flat before moving away to start anew. Where that would be, I wasn’t certain, but I knew it wouldn’t be in London. My stint in the country had given me a taste of a different way of life, a better one, and just as soon as I could I wanted to return to that. I smiled wryly, thinking that a personal ad in
Farmers’ Weekly
might be the only way to achieve it.

For now though, I’d have to get used to living back in the flat. A few hours later with the roller in one hand, I took a step backward into the centre of the living room and surveyed my handiwork. My God! What had possessed me? It looked very patchy and, ahem, very yellow, a bit like waking up in the middle of a psychedelic dream. Well, at least it was bright. I consoled myself with that thought and picked up the tin. Another four hours before I’d be able to apply another coat.

I glanced at my watch. 2.00 a.m. How had that happened? I wasn’t even remotely tired. The last thing I wanted to do was go to bed. I knew that if I stopped doing and started thinking, my thoughts would only lead in one direction and I wasn’t ready to face a post-mortem on that whole sorry saga just then.

Spotting my case by the front door, I picked it up and took it into the bedroom, dumping it on the bed. I undid the catch and pulled out my clothes, putting them into separate piles for the wash. My phone, forgotten until now, rolled out from under a pair of black lacy knickers.

Ten missed calls.

Six texts.

Had somebody died, I wondered?

I scanned through the list, eight missed calls from Rocco, and two from Lexi.

Four texts from Rocco:

“Call me.”

“Where are you?”

“What the hell are you playing at?”

“WHY?? Call me, ASAP!”

Two from Lexi:

“
What’s going on?”

“Call me as soon as you receive this!”

A swirl of panic took over me as I thought of Lexi, wondering if she was okay. Maybe something had happened and she’d been rushed back into hospital. I stabbed at the phone, my fingers scrabbling for her number. It rang and rang until eventually she picked up.

‘Yeah?’ The sound of her bleary voice filled me with relief.

‘Lexi! Thank God. I was so worried about you. Are you ok?’

‘Ugh, Beth. What time is it, for Christ sake?’

‘Just after two a.m.,’ I said, feeling a moment’s guilty pang as I realised that Lexi sounded remarkably well, if a tad tired and pissed off. ‘You did say to call as soon as I received your message and, er, um, I’ve only just got it.’

‘Yes, but I didn’t think . . . Oh, never mind. I was worried about you. Rocco rang a couple of times asking if you were here. He was going frantic trying to find you. Said you left unexpectedly. Sounded proper put out. What’s happened, Beth?’

‘Oh, long story,’ I sighed, running my hands through my hair, feeling suddenly weary. ‘I’ll tell you about it sometime. I’m not sure why Rocco’s in such a state, though. I got everything finished for him.’

‘Well, whatever it is, he sounded pretty narked. Why don’t you just ring him?’

‘Maybe,’ I said, having absolutely no intention of doing any such thing. ‘Look, sorry, Lexi, why don’t you get back to sleep and we can catch up tomorrow. I’m glad you’re doing okay.’

‘I was,’ she groaned, ‘until my mad sister woke me up in the middle of the night. Goodnight, Beth!’

‘Goodnight, Lexi.’

I switched my phone off and sank back on to the bed, which is where I must have stayed for all of forty minutes until a loud banging noise roused me from my slumber. Groggily I got up, realising the racket was coming from my front door. I didn’t stop to think who might be knocking on my front door in the dead of the night, but I did have the sense to put the safety chain on before opening up.

‘Rocco!’

Oh God, I felt sick. Sickly elated. What on earth was he doing here? My hands flew instinctively to my eyes in a futile attempt to clear the confusion.

‘What on earth are you doing here?’ I said aloud.

‘Well, if you let me in, I might tell you. Or would you prefer it if we continued this entire conversation through a three-inch gap?’ He didn’t sound best pleased as his face peered through the hole.

‘Oh, sorry.’ I pushed the door to and fumbled with the chain, my fingers feeling like fat little sausages. ‘Come in. Come in.’

In the tiny hallway, with Rocco’s bear-like presence standing over me, I felt at once vulnerable and embarrassed to be seen in my modest little flat wearing a pair of grubby old overalls.

‘You’d better come through,’ I said, pressing my back into the wall, determined not to look him in the eye as he squeezed past.

In the living room, he looked around, clearly bemused by the scene in front of him. The furniture in the centre of the room, covered by a sheet, the paraphernalia of decorating, brushes and rollers; the ladder, the overpowering smell of newly applied paint.

‘You’ve been decorating?’

Talk about stating the bleeding obvious.

‘Yes,’ I said, crossing my arms defensively.

‘In the middle of the night?’ He walked up to the wall and dabbed a finger on the still sticky paint. ‘Interesting.’

‘It’s still wet,’ I said unnecessarily, as he wiped his paint daubed finger on a rag.

‘And is this the reason you walked out on me?’ He turned to look at me, his eyes coldly accusing. ‘Leaving me in the lurch, without any explanation whatsoever. To do your decorating?’

I felt a flame of colour tinge my cheeks. This was my territory, not his. I wouldn’t let him bully me.

‘I left you a note. All work related matters have been dealt with. You said yourself that my contract ends in a couple of days anyway. I didn’t think you’d mind me leaving a little earlier.’

‘Didn’t you? Well, I do actually. I mind very much.’

I turned away from the intensity of his gaze.

For a man who was newly engaged he didn’t look very happy; in fact he looked downright miserable. What was he doing here, worrying about a secretary who’d just walked out on her job, when he’d just made a commitment to the love of his life? These were questions I was longing to find answers to. But if he was waiting for me to pass on my congratulations then he would be in for a very long wait indeed. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

‘Well, I’m sure if you’re that desperate the agency will be able to find you a replacement for the next few days,’ I suggested, as I picked up the paint tin and proceeded to pour some into the tray.

‘But I don’t want a replacement.’ He crept up quietly behind me and whispered in my ear. ‘I want you.’ His strong arms encircled me. God, he was an expert in the art of seduction. His lips found the crease of my neck and his touch sent a wave of pleasure spiralling through my body.

Damn my treacherous body. Damn him. The bastard! I knew his game. He thought he could have his cake and eat it too. Didn’t he realise that his newly found status would change everything between us.

‘Get off!’ I thrust my elbow backwards catching Rocco hard in the solar plexus.

‘Bloody hell! He stumbled backwards clutching his chest. ‘What was that for?’

‘Because I hate you, that’s why! Now get out, will you! I don’t want to see you or your rotten job ever again!’