Читать книгу: «A Perfect Cornish Christmas»

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Acknowledgements

Keep Reading …

About the Author

Also by Phillipa Ashley

About the Publisher

Chapter One
Christmas Day 2018

Brushing sleet from her eyes, Scarlett Latham hesitated over the sign on the door of the Smuggler’s Tavern.

Feeling lonely and lost? On your own on Christmas Day?

Join us for a free festive dinner.

No need to book! Just walk in!

Everyone welcome.

Scarlett wrapped her arms around her body, trying to hug some life into her frozen limbs, but her thin party dress offered no protection from the biting wind.

The streets of Porthmellow were deserted as all the normal people of the Cornish harbour town prepared to enjoy Christmas lunch with their friends and families. In contrast, the windowpanes of the pub glowed with warmth and the sound of laughter and music drifted out onto the quayside. Scarlett looked at the sign again, teetering on the brink: step into the light, or stay out here in the sleet? The board’s words were becoming fuzzy as her tears mingled with the wet snow, but she could still make them out.

Feeling lonely and lost?

A sob caught in her throat. She hadn’t felt lonely or lost until two hours before. Now she’d never felt more alone in her life … She caught sight of her reflection in the dark glass of the outer door. It was even worse than she had thought: she was soaked to the skin in her Christmas Day finest, her mascara running down her face in rivers. Did she dare cross the threshold? What would people think?

She read the last line again.

Everyone welcome.

Some instinct deep inside propelled her through the tavern’s entrance. It seemed bizarre to join someone else’s Christmas festivities when her own had gone so spectacularly wrong. Maybe she wanted to prove that Christmas could and should be a happy time when people set aside their differences and enjoyed each other’s company for a few hours. Or maybe she was simply afraid she’d otherwise freeze to death and be found huddled against a pile of lobster pots, covered in snowflakes, like the Little Match Girl.

The oak door creaked open onto a scene of warmth and light that was a world away from the frozen gloom of the deserted harbour. People in paper hats were letting off party poppers and blowing tooters in each other’s faces. Crimson and green cloths covered the tables, which were laid for a Christmas feast, while tinsel shimmered in the glow from the fire. The smooth voice of Michael Bublé was crooning from the speakers, ‘Tis the season to be jolly …’

A gust of wind snatched the door from her hand and banged it shut behind her. In an instant, the cold was cut out and a dozen faces turned in her direction.

It was too late to turn back now, she’d stepped over the threshold. They’d be bound to ask questions, seeing how distressed she was, but was she ready to answer them?

An elderly man in a fisherman’s cap decorated with tinsel hurried over to her. He was vaguely familiar … though her numb brain couldn’t put a name to the weather-beaten features.

‘Hello, my maid. Welcome to the Smuggler’s Tavern. Have you come for the Lunch for the Lonely? You’re very welcome, even if you’ve a strange choice of shoes for the weather.’

With a cackle of laughter, he pointed to her feet. Scarlett looked down too. Her new rabbit slippers, a gift from her sister, Ellie, were now a sodden mush of grey fluff, as if the unfortunate bunnies had met a sad end on a snowy road. Her Christmas tights had a spud-sized hole at the knee and the hem on her sequinned skirt was drooping.

‘You must be freezing.’ The old man’s tone softened. ‘Here, have my cardi.’

‘I’m …’ Scarlett was going to refuse, but realised that her teeth were chattering. ‘It l-looks new … Don’t you n-need it?’

Already taking it off, he pulled a face. ‘No. Can’t stand the bleddy thing. Unwanted present from my cousin. Does it every year. Same cardi, same colour, always the wrong size.’

He draped the cardigan, a sludge-coloured cable-knit with leather buttons, around Scarlett’s shoulders. The warmth was instant and for a second, she felt comforted. Then she realised that the tooters had stopped tooting and she’d replaced Michael Bublé as the festive entertainment.

A man about her own age approached, a wary expression on his face. He was very tall, very blond and wearing a green sparkly jumper and an elf hat with pointy ears. He reminded Scarlett of the Big Friendly Giant. He was joined by a young woman wearing a Santa apron and an elderly lady in a glittery top and reindeer ears, holding a walking stick bedecked with tinsel. They were all smiling at Scarlett, with looks of pity on their faces.

The older man tucked the cardi tight around Scarlett’s shoulders and pulled back a chair from one of the tables that was laid for Christmas dinner.

‘Have a seat, love,’ he said. ‘I’m Troy, by the way.’

‘Yes, and have some hot punch,’ the younger woman added. Scarlett noticed that her apron had ‘Sam’ printed on it. ‘It’s non-alcoholic,’ she told her gently.

That was it. Sam must think she was pissed.

‘I – I h-have only had a couple of glasses of f-fizz,’ Scarlett said. ‘And some eggnog, but it tasted like sick so I chucked it in the c-camellias.’

Sam smiled indulgently. ‘Would you like us to find you some dry shoes?’ she asked.

The elf man produced a fleece and draped it over her knees as if she were in a nursing home. ‘Another unwanted present,’ he said, flashing her an apologetic smile. He held out his hand. ‘I’m Jude.’

‘I’m …’ Scarlett’s lips were numb. She tried to lift her hand, but couldn’t.

Jude subsided like a sunken cake. ‘Possibly bad timing. Maybe we can properly introduce ourselves when you’ve warmed up a bit?’

Scarlett nodded. Despite Troy’s cardigan, she was still shivering and finding it hard to understand what people were saying to her. Her brain felt like the slush clinging to her slippers. She opened her mouth but it wouldn’t connect to her thoughts.

‘I’m Sam,’ the kind-eyed, younger woman said, then pointed to her apron and rolled her eyes. ‘But you must have guessed that.’ She crouched down in front of Scarlett. ‘You’re wet through … What’s happened to you?’

‘I – I c-can’t really s-say right now,’ Scarlett stuttered, at a loss how to explain the havoc that had been unleashed on her family that Christmas morning.

‘OK … Maybe you’ll feel better when you’ve had something to eat,’ Jude said gently. He pulled off his elf hat, as if out of respect, and revealed blond hair tied in a ponytail.

‘Yes, why don’t you stay for a hot meal, my love?’ The elderly woman smiled at Scarlett. ‘I’m Evie. You don’t have to tell us anything you don’t want to, my dear, but it would help us if you could let us know who you are?’

‘Who I am …’ A series of images flashed into Scarlett’s hazy brain.

Her mum running into the scullery and refusing to come out. Her father standing outside the door, demanding to know what it all meant. Her brother, Marcus, shouting at Scarlett and her sister, Ellie, for ruining Christmas Day and Ellie, normally so calm, screaming back that it wasn’t their fault. The house ringing with accusations, shouts, tears and denials … and Marcus’s two boys in the middle of it all, pale-faced and terrified.

Heidi, Scarlett’s sister-in-law, had threatened to take them out of ‘this toxic situation’ before screeching, ‘And I would do if I hadn’t had so much eggnog.’

Scarlett had rounded on her saying: ‘It’s bloody horrible, anyway.’

Then, to cap it all, the smoke alarm had gone off.

‘Jesus Christ, the oven’s on fire!’ Marcus had bellowed. ‘Get the boys out!’

He’d opened the oven door and clouds of smoke had billowed out from the cremated roast potatoes and pigs-in-blankets.

Ellie, of course, had then tried to calm everyone down and their mum had let out a wail from behind the door.

And Scarlett hadn’t cared. She’d wanted her mother to suffer. How could she have done this to the family? To her father? To her?

She’d had to get away, knocking back a full glass of fizz as she went. What a mess, what a horrible mess. She had only just begun to get over her split from her boyfriend, Rafa, and she’d thought she could at least rely on her family for some solace and fun. More importantly, she’d wanted so much to make them happy, to give them something that showed how much she cared for them and appreciated the bond they shared.

Now it had all been blown to smithereens and some of the people she’d thought she knew and loved were strangers to her. Worse, some of them seemed to blame her for what had happened, as if she was the one who’d lied and cheated and lobbed a bomb into the family.

While the smoke alarm shrieked and her siblings argued in the kitchen, she’d slipped through the French windows into the grounds of Seaholly Manor. The cold had snatched her breath away and the sleet had felt like needles on her face, but she hadn’t cared.

She’d fled up the lane, her party dress soaked within minutes, praying no one came after her. Her lungs were bursting by the time she reached the main road. A pick-up truck had passed her, slowing briefly before speeding up again when the driver saw a wet madwoman in a party dress and bunny slippers rushing down the hill into Porthmellow.

She’d been shivering uncontrollably by the time she reached the harbour, its Christmas lights twinkling through the grey haze of a winter noon. That’s when she truly clocked that she might be in danger of hypothermia and that bunny slippers, a party dress and a stomach full of twiglets and Prosecco might not be the best protection against the worst the Atlantic could throw at her.

Reluctantly, she’d realised that the only thing to do was get to a pub or restaurant and call Ellie and ask her to walk down with some dry clothes and meet her … she hadn’t taken her bag or her phone, so she’d have to beg someone to let her use their landline. She wouldn’t call her mother; she couldn’t bear to speak to her – and as for her father, how could she ever face him again?

‘How’s your knee, my maid?’ Evie’s voice reached her. It was gentle and soft, the voice of a mother to her daughter, and triggered a fresh wave of despair at what she’d lost.

Her gaze fell upon the red and bleeding skin beneath the hole in her tights.

Oh yes, she’d stumbled on the cobbles by the Fisherman’s Institute. Just like when she was little and had tumbled, it hadn’t truly hurt until someone had tried to comfort her. Now, it throbbed like mad. Everything had begun to hurt as the numbness thawed, her senses came back to life and the awful realisation of what had happened back at the manor hit her.

The gift – from Scarlett and her older sister, Ellie – was supposed to be the perfect present to her family. It was meant to fill their faces with delight and joy, not pain and anger.

She stared back at Troy, Sam, Evie and Jude, and the blur of faces behind them.

Evie patted her hand. ‘Do you even know who you are, my maid?’

‘I thought I did,’ said Scarlett. ‘But I don’t any more.’

Chapter Two
Two hours earlier Seaholly Manor, Porthmellow

Scarlett took a moment to scan the sitting room at Seaholly Manor. Everything was running like clockwork. The floor was a sea of wrapping paper and packaging, coffee cups and champagne flutes, some containing the dregs of the Buck’s Fizz they’d sipped while opening their presents.

The past few months of careful planning alongside Ellie were about to pay off.

Ellie appeared by Scarlett’s side, a laptop in her arms. ‘Auntie Joan would have approved, don’t you think?’ she murmured.

‘Definitely,’ Scarlett replied, taking the laptop from Ellie.

‘I’ll get us a drink while we set up.’

Ellie went into the kitchen and Scarlett connected her laptop into the TV. A ripple of excitement ran through her. Their plan to have the perfect family Christmas at Seaholly Manor was all going according to plan and yes, Great Aunt Joan would surely have been proud of them. Sadly, she’d passed away in the summer, but Scarlett felt that the Lathams were honouring her memory in the best possible way by gathering at Joan’s home for a couple of weeks.

Joan had been a very successful and flamboyant romance novelist, whose bestselling books had enabled her to buy the eighteenth-century manor in the sixties. She had loved company and was legendary for her parties, held in the lush gardens or on the beach at the bottom of Seaholly Cove. It was Joan who’d left the house to Scarlett’s mother, Anna.

Scarlett, her parents, Marcus and his family all lived within ten miles of each other in Birmingham, although their busy lives meant they didn’t get together as often as they probably ought to. As a rule, their father wasn’t a great one for parties but he’d always been happy to make the journey to Cornwall to spend the holidays with his family.

Scarlett was also particularly looking forward to enjoying some time with her sister, who at thirty-eight was six years her senior. After spending most of her life travelling all over the world while working in bars and cafés, Ellie had moved into the manor in the early autumn as ‘caretaker’. Scarlett was amazed how quickly she’d settled into Porthmellow life after her globetrotting lifestyle. Since returning to the UK, Ellie had found work as ship’s cook with Porthmellow Sailing Trust and helped out at the Harbour Café.

The previous year had brought big changes for Scarlett too, and not in a happy way. She’d broken up with her ex, Rafa, which had knocked her confidence where dating was concerned, and she hadn’t dated anyone since. The split was followed by the loss of a major client from the freelance copywriting business she’d built up over the past few years. Scarlett had written the copy for a large engineering company who made all kinds of screws and fasteners, and while it was hardly glamorous, they gave her a lot of work, from their website to press releases. However the company had been taken over by a giant American corporation who’d made lots of people redundant and slashed their budget, meaning she was having to fight hard to find new business in very uncertain times.

So she was trying hard to stay positive that New Year and a happy Christmas, surrounded by the family she loved, would kick off the fresh start.

Ellie walked in from the kitchen, a grin on her freckled face. ‘Woo hoo! I’ve got a surprise for you.’

She handed Scarlett a glass of something that looked like a Minion who had been put through the blender. ‘Here you go. Have a sniff of this.’

Scarlett wrinkled her nose. ‘What is it?’

‘Heidi’s homemade eggnog,’ said Ellie.

‘Heidi made eggnog?’ Scarlett exclaimed.

‘Shh, she might hear you,’ Ellie said, smirking all the same.

‘I’m just amazed that Healthy Heidi would even think of touching anything alcoholic, especially when mixed with eggs.’

‘She says it’s healthier than the commercial variety, packed with protein, and she’s added some secret ingredients.’

Scarlett pulled a face. ‘Like what?’ She put the glass to her lips.

‘Powdered kelp.’

Scarlett swallowed a gulp of the yellow liquid and gagged. ‘Yeugh.’

Ellie sipped hers and pulled a face. ‘It’s awful, isn’t it?’

‘Truly horrible, but I don’t want to hurt Heidi’s feelings. Can we chuck it in a plant pot?’ Scarlett headed for a large aspidistra in the corner of the room.

‘I don’t think so. It might not soak into the soil and the plant will probably wilt on the spot. Quick, open the French doors.’

Scarlett took both glasses and stepped into the garden. The contrast in temperature with the cosy house made her chest tighten. Overnight, a cold front had blown in, coating the flagstones with a film of sleet. Her bunny slippers weren’t ideal for venturing too far so she quickly threw the eggnog into a flowerbed and hurried back inside.

‘Brrr. So much for this being the Cornish Riviera. Look at my bunny slippers.’ She held up a foot to Ellie.

Ellie laughed. ‘They are a bit soggy. Let me put them in front of the fire, while you get the laptop ready.’

‘Thanks. You know … I’m starting to have cold feet in other ways. I’m a bit nervous now it’s come to the crunch.’

‘It’ll be fine,’ Ellie said, placing the damp slippers on the hearth tiles.

Even though all three of the Latham children were the wrong side of thirty, their parents still gave them stockings, although the ‘fillers’ had long since ceased to fit inside the actual stockings. They always contained small bottles of posh ‘smellies’, the latest book by their favourite author, chocolates and a ‘silly’ gift. This year everyone had received a pair of novelty slippers – even Marcus, who had groaned when he’d opened a pair of size eleven badger slippers.

Ellie was wearing fleecy alpacas, while Scarlett’s feet were cocooned in the fluffy rabbits. They were ridiculously impractical and probably lethal on the polished boards of Seaholly Manor, but wasn’t that the point of a stocking present? It had to be fun and, above all, silly. It was a stark contrast to Marcus and Heidi’s gift – a subscription to a health and fitness magazine and app.

‘I know you both want to turn over a new leaf,’ Heidi had said, with a dazzling smile. ‘But perhaps not today.’ She patted her stomach. ‘Even I’ll be relaxing my regime. Might even treat myself to a smidge of Christmas pud. After all, we can work off all the fat and sugar with some hill training on our run along the coastal path tomorrow, can’t we, Marcus?’

Marcus had almost snorted his Bailey’s onto the rug. ‘Um … Maybe not in these, eh, Heidi?’ He held up his badger-clad feet and everyone had laughed. Even Heidi had managed a titter before remarking,

‘Perhaps not, but you can definitely try out your new Christmas trainers tomorrow, darling.’

As Marcus sought refuge in the Good Beer Guide that Scarlett had given him, Scarlett hugged her sister-in-law. Over Heidi’s shoulder, she and her father had exchanged a knowing glance. He was now the proud owner of a Fitbit, whether he wanted to be or not.

‘Thank you, Heidi – and Marcus. I’m sure I’ll be very grateful for the subscription in the new year,’ Scarlett said. ‘Aren’t you going to try on your piglet slippers? Mum and Dad spent ages choosing an animal to suit each of us. The piglet was my idea,’ she said brightly. ‘Fabulous, aren’t they?’

Heidi’s eyes narrowed behind her forced smile. ‘Hilarious … but what made you think a piglet was appropriate?’

‘Well, you know, you’re so not a pig, are you? You’re so slim and healthy and you never pig out …’ Scarlett back-pedalled frantically. ‘And, um, a piglet is very cute. And pink.’

‘Cute and pink?’ Heidi raised her perfectly arched brows.

Marcus glanced up from his book. ‘I’d like to know whose idea it was to make me a badger.’

‘Dad’s, I think,’ Scarlett said, moving to her father’s side and perching on the arm of the chair next to him. ‘Wasn’t it, Dad?’

Roger waggled his feet. ‘I shouldn’t take offence, Heidi,’ he said wryly. ‘At least you’re not an elephant like me.’

‘That’s something, I suppose,’ Heidi muttered, eyeing the pink furry footwear with disdain before brightening up. ‘Now, does anyone want to try my healthy Christmas cocktail? I got it from an Instarecipe and it’s a superfoods version.’

Scarlett rubbed her hands together, trying to mollify her sister-in-law. ‘Luvverly. Sounds delish.’

‘In that case, I’ll pour you an extra large one,’ said Heidi, and scooted off to the kitchen.

As well as the stockings, their parents had given Ellie a tiny model Porsche along with some cash to help get her ancient car repaired. Scarlett had already received a contribution towards the new laptop she was now setting up next to the TV in the sitting room. They were very thoughtful presents, even Heidi’s – she probably thought she was helping to save her sisters-in-law from a whole raft of health problems caused by addiction to Bombay Sapphire and Hotel Chocolat.

At least, Scarlett thought, she hadn’t received A Self-Help Guide to Dating and Relationships, although it might have come in handy, considering her lack of progress since she’d split with Rafa. He’d been dark and handsome in the best Spanish tradition, a keen triathlete and a tennis player like his namesake. Maybe Heidi was hinting that Scarlett should take more exercise than the regular group swim sessions she enjoyed at her local ‘baths’ in Birmingham, although Scarlett went to the class as much for the social side as the workout.

There was one thing for sure. She had no intention of taking the plunge while in Cornwall. A toe-dip in the waters the day before had proved that was out of the question. These folk who did Boxing Day swims were barking, she’d decided.

Ellie opened the bottle of crème caramel liqueur that Scarlett had given her and topped up the empty eggnog glasses.

Scarlett connected the cable from the computer to the TV, surprised to find her fingers fumbling with the connectors. She was used to giving client presentations when pitching for a copywriting project but now the moment had come, she was nervous. She’d held onto the secret for over two months now and the suspense was killing her. It seemed like forever since she’d come down to Cornwall bearing the small box that had arrived from TreeFynder, a DNA testing company and ancestry website.

It had been Scarlett’s idea to arrange the test, which had been billed on the site as ‘The Ultimate Family Christmas Gift’. Her father, a retired civil engineer, had an interest in history and had often joked that the Lathams had Viking heritage. Marcus had often mentioned he’d be interested in finding out more too. It had seemed like the perfect celebration of the Latham family’s close bonds and an entertaining way to spend Christmas Day. She and Ellie had both agreed that Auntie Joan, who’d loved her extended family dearly, would have been delighted at the gift.

Admittedly, the initial DNA test had been slightly gross. Scarlett and Ellie had had to spit into a pot and the test had required a surprising amount of saliva. She recalled the two of them standing in this very room all those weeks ago, reading the instructions with a mix of excitement and disgust.

‘Can you imagine Auntie Joan’s face, if she’d known we were spitting in her sitting room?’ Scarlett had asked.

Ellie had laughed and held up the pot. ‘Maybe we should rename it the spitting room.’

The results had taken about four weeks to arrive. The pots had gone off to TreeFynder.com and the results were posted online. They would reveal Scarlett and Ellie’s heritage and be linked to other people around the world who shared their DNA, if they were registered with the same company.

It had taken everything for Scarlett not to look at the report, but it seemed like cheating if she knew the outcome ahead of everyone else, so she managed to restrain herself. She’d know everything in a few minutes, anyway.

‘Hey, you two.’ Her father, wearing a stripy apron, popped his head round the sitting room door. ‘Are you ready yet with this “big surprise”?’

Anna followed him into the room. Their mother’s face was red from the heat of the kitchen. ‘The suspense is killing us, isn’t it, Roger?’ she said. ‘And as everything’s under control in the kitchen for a bit, can we get it over with?’

Ellie nodded. ‘Yes. You can round up the troops, Dad, if you don’t mind.’

He rolled his eyes. ‘It’s like herding cats, but I’ll do my best. What about the boys?’

‘Oh, you can leave them in the snug with their games,’ Scarlett said, aware that tearing the boys away from their Xboxes might be impossible anyway. ‘Thanks for coming all this way for Christmas.’

‘How could I miss it?’ He put his arm around her. ‘Especially with this big surprise you and Ellie have planned. You’ve been acting like a pair of kids for the past week. No idea what it is, though.’

‘All will be revealed any moment.’

A few minutes later, Roger managed to get everyone – except the twins – gathered in the sitting room with a glass of fizz in their hands. Six pairs of eyes turned on Scarlett in expectation.

Her parents were sharing the love seat, while Marcus and Heidi occupied the larger of the two sofas. Ellie was perched on the edge of the small sofa, a smile on her face. Only she knew what was coming. Now it came to the announcement, Scarlett had a momentary wobble. What if the gift was an anti-climax after all this build-up?

‘You’ve probably guessed that I’ve been up to something, and Ellie has been in on the surprise for a while. This present is especially for you, Mum, Dad and Marcus, but you’ll be interested too, Heidi.’

Her parents exchanged glances.

‘You’ll love it, Dad,’ Scarlett said, mentally crossing her fingers. ‘You know how you’ve always said you must be a Viking?’

‘Er … Yes …’ Her dad looked a little confused. A quiet, thoughtful man with an engineer’s precise mind, he wasn’t given to effusive outbursts. However, Scarlett was convinced he’d be totally fascinated by all the data and details uncovered by the test.

Marcus snorted. ‘What is this present? A custom-made helmet with horns?’

Heidi sniggered. ‘Not planning on pillaging Porthmellow, are you?’

Their mum frowned. ‘Am I the only one who’s confused?’

‘It’s not a helmet,’ said Scarlett. ‘It’s something even more exciting, and it’s for everyone. Now we’re going to find out if you really are a Viking, Dad. Ellie, are you set?’

‘Yup.’ Ellie held up her phone.

Scarlett tapped her keyboard and a page from the TreeFynder website appeared on the telly, complete with its tree logo and banner announcing: