banner banner banner
A Cosy Christmas in Cornwall
A Cosy Christmas in Cornwall
Оценить:
Рейтинг: 0

Полная версия:

A Cosy Christmas in Cornwall

скачать книгу бесплатно

A Cosy Christmas in Cornwall
Jane Linfoot

A December to remember… Christmas in a Cornish castle? Sign Ivy Starforth up! Hired to kit out the holiday rental as the world’s most Instagramable festive dreamland, there’s only one thing standing in the way of her hefty paycheque – the lord of the manor. Bill Markham could give Scrooge a run for his money but Ivy is firmly #TeamChristmas… even if her handsome host seems to be doing everything he can to sabotage her staging. Maybe she shouldn’t have stumbled in on him starkers in the hot tub? As the temperature outside cools, things inside the castle heat up. It’s been a long time since Ivy allowed herself to give in to temptation… surely one little kiss under the mistletoe won’t hurt? Readers are LOVING A Cosy Christmas in Cornwall ‘This is one book you won’t be able to put down, I definitely couldn’t’ Meena, 5* Netgalley reviewer ‘An absolute charm of a book from the brilliant Jane Linfoot. It’s a gorgeous, festive treat that will have you feel all warm and fuzzy for days after the end’ Jenn, 5* Netgalley reviewer ‘The fabulous Jane Linfoot is back with an irresistible, uplifting and feel-good romantic comedy you will want to devour like a mince pie and a glass of mulled wine this holiday season’ Julie, 5* Amazon reviewer ‘Oh, I love, love, loved this book, I didn’t want it to end!’ Kirsten, 5* Netgalley reviewer ‘I’m sold on any character who, when you first meet them, is talking to their dog’ Kate, 5* Netgalley reviewer ‘You know the saying… Christmas hasn't started until you've seen the castle's resident hunk naked in a hot tub’ Kerry, 5* Netgalley reviewer ‘Linfoot is known to make wonders with words and she has done it again’ Finitha, 5* Netgalley reviewer ‘Was unable to put this book down’ Mary, 5* Amazon reviewer

A Cosy Christmas in Cornwall

JANE LINFOOT

One More Chapter

a division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2019

Copyright © Jane Linfoot 2019

Cover design by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2019

Cover images © Shutterstock.com (http://Shutterstock.com)

Jane Linfoot asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008356316

Ebook Edition © October 2019 ISBN: 9780008356309

Version: 2019-10-04

Table of Contents

Cover (#udd6fe955-c5aa-571e-8c8c-d5eaba8e5617)

Title Page (#u8f1c5340-4c49-52f2-a9b9-6b5f8f3eb14b)

Copyright (#u1c188ce0-56c4-5d10-961a-485dc160b4a3)

Dedication (#u1a9336a9-5eca-56ad-9682-8c7eb0e8b343)

Epigraph (#uaf79b5ad-f7dc-5eb3-b9df-993c5fb5109e)

Chapter 1. Be Jolly

Chapter 2. Merry and (not so) Bright

Chapter 3. Fa la la la la (or maybe not)

Chapter 4. Hello cold days

Chapter 5. Make it a December to remember

Chapter 6. If in doubt, add glitter

Chapter 7. Let the fun beGIN …

Chapter 8. Surprise surprise

Chapter 9. Happy landings

Chapter 10. It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas

Chapter 11. Mwah!

Chapter 12. Wrap up!

Chapter 13. Define good …

Chapter 14. Everybody’s having fun …

Chapter 15. Deep and crisp and even …

Chapter 16. The more the merrier …

Chapter 17. Angels with dirty faces

Chapter 18. Looks like rain, dear

Chapter 19. Have a banging Christmas …

Chapter 20. Worth melting for …

Chapter 21. This way to the North Pole

Chapter 22. No ski boots …

Chapter 23. Marshmallows this way …

Chapter 24. Antlers, angel wings, snowberries and pretty things

Chapter 25. On a cold and frosty morning

Chapter 26. Dashing all the way …

Chapter 27. Chestnuts roasting on an open fire … with bells on

Chapter 28. Fifty words for snow

Chapter 29. And a partridge in a pear tree …

Chapter 30. Cocoa served here

Chapter 31. This way to the North Pole

Chapter 32. The strongest blizzards start with a single snowflake …

Chapter 33. With love …

Chapter 34. Sledges at dawn …

Chapter 35. Tinsel, sprouts, turkey, snow!

Chapter 36. Jingle bells and cockle shells

Chapter 37. PS …

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Also by Jane Linfoot

About the Publisher

For Yoyo, my wonderful Old English Sheepdog, beside me all day, every day, fifteen lovely years together.

The strongest blizzards start with a single snowflake …

Wednesday

11th December

1. (#ua8069c64-4126-5be2-8f74-297862a8075c)

Be Jolly (#ua8069c64-4126-5be2-8f74-297862a8075c)

‘Could there be a better present for the woman who has everything?’

I’m smiling across at Merwyn in the front seat and, as I take in the words Cockle Shell Castle carved into the monumental gateposts, I’m so excited I’m finding it hard to breathe. Then I ease my car through the gateway and onto the winding approach, and as we round a bend and the pale walls and castellated towers come into view, washed in moonlight, I can’t help letting out a gasp. I’ve held my anticipation in check for six whole hours since we left London, but now we’re here there’s a butterfly storm in my tummy. In the pictures the castle looked wonderful, but in the flesh, above the twinkle of the dashboard fairy lights, it’s more magical still. As I pull the car up by some big square planters and gaze up at the building, it’s one of those rare moments in life when it feels like I’m actually living in a fairy tale.

‘Christmas in a Cornish castle by the sea has to be the perfect gift. It’s as if those small-paned windows are drawing us in. We’re just so lucky to be here.’

After so long in his doggy travelling harness, Merwyn’s side eye tells me he’s less enthusiastic than me. He may look like a messy brown floor mop more often than he looks like a dog, but in his Yappy Christmas neck tie he’s beyond cute, and he’s been surprisingly good company on the way. He never grumbled once about me playing non stop Christmas tunes and singing along to I Wish it could be Christmas Every Day, which would be my tag line if I had one. George, my ex, would never have put up with non stop Pirate FM either; sometimes it’s good to make comparisons with the past and come out ahead.

‘Come on, time to stretch your legs, we have to go round the back for the key.’ I drag on my coat and pull my woolly bobble hat further down, clip on Merwyn’s lead, and let him scramble out over me as I open the car door. Then I grab the wodge of instructions and follow his bounds.

As we pass a studded front door that’s big enough for a giant, I feel as if I should be pinching myself to be sure I’m not dreaming. Then an icy blast of air slices up under my fake fur jacket, whips straight through my chunky fair isle jumper, and saves me the trouble – anything this freezing has to be real.

And just in case anyone’s wondering who this woman who has everything is, it definitely isn’t me. Hell no! It’s my best friend, Fliss’s, older, more successful, and seriously driven sister, Liberty Johnstone-Cody. Libby is one of those amazing multi-tasking entrepreneur super-mums who started a decade ago with a new-born, a toddler and an idea for a baby carrier, and went on to take over the world.

Just to get things straight from the start, where Libby is fabulous at amassing and seizing the day, I’m more of an accidental dropper. I got as far as a steady boyfriend, but I managed to lose him. One time I was going to buy a very small flat, but then I didn’t. This time last year I had an awful disaster it’s very difficult not to think about. Let’s just say, right now I’m trying really hard to do better.

I do have a job I used to love, as a visual merchandiser at Daniels, which is a family run department store tucked just behind Regent Street in London. My mum calls it window dressing but I actually style and build displays. But along with everything else, that’s gone a bit pear-shaped lately, since Fliss, my best friend who works in the same team, went on two lots of maternity leave in quick succession. The first was very much planned, the second was a disaster because it happened too fast. But that’s what life’s like for Fliss and me; we have calamities but we have so many of the damned things, mostly we grit our teeth and try to ride those catastrophe waves. Whereas lucky old Libby wouldn’t recognise a setback if it slapped her in the face, because, quite simply, she doesn’t allow negativity into her life.

Libby actually grabbed this two week rental in a Cornish castle for Christmas within six seconds of it appearing on Facebook Marketplace. She bought it herself, because that’s what she’s like, and got her husband Nathan to pay for it afterwards. But it’s only slightly less romantic because of that. Sometimes we women have to do things for ourselves, and there’s nothing wrong with that. Realistically, Nathan’s a high flying banker who struggles to find time to go home to see his kids, he’s not going to have space in his day to mess around on Facebook. And buying your own present might mean you forfeit those two seconds of amazement when it arrives. But the plus side is you get exactly what you want and you’re never disappointed. Best of all, you’re in control. And for Libby control is a must.

That’s the other thing about being a hot shot business mother of four, nurturer of kids and a burgeoning business, running through life at a million miles an hour with all her hands full, while juggling fruit at the same time. These days it’s not enough to be one, she has to show the world she’s doing it too – if the social media posts aren’t there, whatever she’s doing may as well never have happened.

So Libby pulling off a fortnight over Christmas in a castle will be entirely wasted if she doesn’t get the word out – she has to get those Instagram photos loaded. And not only that, every single one has to look more amazing than anything anyone else is posting. No pressure there then. Which is basically where I come in – I’m here to style the arse off Libby’s Christmas, and to make her uploads look prettier than everyone else’s.

A few years ago, Fliss would have been the obvious choice for this job. But she’s up to her ears in sleepless nights and stroppy toddlers, and – she won’t mind me sharing this – multi tasking just isn’t a thing that’s working for her. She’s barely made it out of her pyjamas in three years. Which is why Libby turned to me.

When she marched into Daniels a month ago like a pocket-rocket begging me to help style her castle Christmas, waving her arms and tossing around words like ‘sumptuous’ and ‘luxurious’, I was off to Human Resources to beg for time off faster than you could say ‘ramparts’.

Just to give you a picture, Fliss and Libby are both teensy, neat, and various shades of blonde, depending on the week. With my gangly frame I feel like the big friendly giant when I’m next to them. And it’s worse still since I had a car accident this time last year and cut my face really badly. Since then I’ve had to grow my cute dark haired pixie cut into one of those straight-ended wavy bobs that’s hell to maintain and isn’t quite working, and then top the whole lot off with whatever hat works for the weather. It’s not that I’m making light of the accident, because how could I when the man who was driving the car died in it, but the only way of coping I’ve found has been to throw myself into work. So for me the offer of working over Christmas felt like a life saver.

With twenty-four days still left to take before March, HR could hardly refuse me the time off. Libby promised me a wodge of cash too, but, I have to be honest, I’d have come without. Not being rude to my mum and dad, because I was so grateful for the way they came to the rescue last year. But I couldn’t face another Christmas in Yorkshire with them and the grans all worrying about me. And with Libby giving me the chance to help add all the trimmings to her Cornish house party I’m counting on her making so many demands there won’t be any time at all for me to think about how awful December was last year.

But the great thing is, if we’re talking professional expertise, Christmas is my speciality area. In retail we’re planning for next Christmas while the current one’s still going on. Behind the scenes in Daniels it’s Christmas most days of the year.

Libby, being the wheeler dealer she is, insisted on having a few extra days added onto the let at the start, which to be fair probably wasn’t that difficult to do. We all know December’s a slack time for holiday rentals, people are too busy with parties and preparations to go away. So I’ve come on a couple of days ahead of the rest of the party to be here for any deliveries.

As Merwyn and I make our way around the side of the castle, the moon is shining like a spotlight through the bare criss-crossed branches of the trees, and the crenellations at the top of the tower walls are pale against a black sky spattered with stars.

I’m actually looking for someone … I glance at the paper … called Bill. Not that I’m ageist, but aren’t most castle caretakers as old and decrepit as the buildings themselves? I’m mentally preparing myself to fall over someone stooped, white haired and wrinkly at any moment. Or maybe I’ve been watching too many Disney films.

After a full day of driving I know Merwyn’s enjoying the walk, and I know castles ramble, but I hadn’t expected it to be quite so far between the front door and the back. The terraced house I grew up in had its front door on the side, and its back door round the corner only a few feet away. My dad used to joke that if he chose his spot carefully he could answer both doors at the same time. Although if this place boasts that it sleeps twenty-five in ten glorious bedrooms, they have to fit in somewhere.

As we make our way further, the moon is washing the lawns with pale grey light, and the shrubbery is casting long shadows around the edges – I don’t think I’ve ever seen moon shadows before. And over the sound of Merwyn’s snuffles and the buffeting of the wind I’m catching a few notes of music. It’s funny how little you need to hear before you can pick out a tune. It takes about a second to know it’s that song where they repeat ‘Happy Christmas’ in Spanish over and over again, and end with the words ‘bottom of your h-e-a-r-t’.

My ex, George, had it down as the most maddening Christmas song ever, and after five years with him I found myself thinking the same. As you do. It’s certainly not the kind of song I’d expect anyone like Bill to listen to. He’d be way more likely to go for Frank Sinatra. Or Eartha Kitt singing Santa Baby. I only hope this Bill hasn’t gone out after we’ve come so far. As we get closer to the end of the wall we’re following the music gets louder and there are prickles of annoyance stinging the back of my neck.

And then we turn the corner, and as I take in the wide courtyard, its beautifully laid stone flags flooded with the kind of soft yet brilliant light that comes from expensive designer spots, my jaw sags. There are carved stone benches around the edge, hewn oak posts and pergolas, and in the centre of it all there’s the biggest hot tub I’ve ever seen. And lounging in the corner behind the steam clouds, muscular arms outstretched along the tub sides, there’s a guy. And even through the soft focus of the mist I can tell there isn’t going to be an ancient wrinkle anywhere in sight.

Phwoar. On second glancesmake that P-H-W-O-A-R.

Thank Christmas those completely uncharacteristic thoughts didn’t get as far as my mouth. It’s just, even though I work in high end retail, I don’t bump into beautiful, sexy, dark-eyed tousled-hair, stubble and cheekbones every day. More to the point, now it is laid this bare in front of me, my alarm bells couldn’t be clanging any louder. It’s great to look at raw power and beauty for a few seconds, in the way you’d enjoy watching a tiger from behind a barrier wall, a moat or two and a thick sheet of safety glass. But you totally wouldn’t want to meet it head on in the wild.

He’s shaking back his hair, rubbing the water out of his eyes, then his brows knit into a puzzled frown. ‘Hi, can I help you?’