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One Week ’Til Christmas
Belinda Missen
‘Absolutely fell in love with this book!… I just couldn't put it down!… The perfect Christmas read!’ NetGalley reviewer, 5 stars Two people. One chance meeting. Seven days to Christmas. Isobel Bennett is waiting for the number 11 bus when a man quite literally falls into her lap. Snow is falling, Christmas lights are twinkling, and a gorgeous man with dark brown hair has just slipped on ice and is now pressed against Isobel. Isobel knows she’s not imagining the chemistry between them. But then his ride arrives and, embarrassed, he beats a hasty retreat, murmuring apologies – and Isobel realises only too late that she didn’t manage to catch his name… When she runs into him again the next morning, she decides it’s fate. It’s a second chance for Isobel and Tom – but there’s only one week until she’s leaving London for good. Seven days of enjoying all the festive delights the city has to offer: ice-skating at Somerset House, mulled wine on the Southbank, Christmas shopping at Liberty. There’s magic in the air and mistletoe in the trees – but what will happen when the week is over? For fans of Josie Silver, Lucy Diamond and Marian Keyes, this is one Christmas romance you don’t want to miss! Readers LOVE One Week ’Til Christmas! ‘I devoured this book! I was so engrossed that I read it in one afternoon. ’ NetGalley reviewer, 5 stars ‘One of my favourite festive reads… A gorgeous festive treat of a read. ’ NetGalley reviewer, 5 stars ‘What a wonderful book. A total delight from the very beginning to the end… I loved it. ’ NetGalley reviewer, 5 stars ‘A wonderful book from start to finish… Literally made me laugh out loud…An utterly perfect read. Highly recommended and worthy of five shiny stars. ’ NetGalley reviewer, 5 stars ‘Swoon-worthy romance, laugh-out-loud comedy, more drama then you can shake a stick at… Sure to put everyone in the Christmas spirit. ’ NetGalley reviewer, 5 stars ‘This book had me from the start… A great story to get you in the mood for Christmas. ’ NetGalley reviewer, 5 stars ‘Incredible. ’ NetGalley reviewer, 5 stars
About the Author (#u6ba6818e-5ff7-551d-b64f-a4c325508ac5)
BELINDA MISSEN is a reader, author, and sometimes blogger. When she’s not busy writing or reading, she can be found travelling the Great Ocean Road and beyond looking for inspiration. She lives with her husband, cats, and collection of books in regional Victoria, Australia.
Readers Love Belinda Missen (#u6ba6818e-5ff7-551d-b64f-a4c325508ac5)
‘An awesome read’
‘I fell in love with Belinda’s writing’
‘There is an air of lightness and love over the whole novel’
‘Wonderful heart-warming romance’
‘This is a perfect fun, flirty beach read’
‘Belinda has a warm, witty style of writing that makes characters and emotions leap off the page’
‘A lovely summer read’
Also by Belinda Missen (#u6ba6818e-5ff7-551d-b64f-a4c325508ac5)
Lessons in Love
An Impossible Thing Called Love
A Recipe for Disaster
One Week ’Til Christmas
BELINDA MISSEN
HQ
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2019
Copyright © Belinda Missen 2019
Belinda Missen asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for 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, downloaded, 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.
E-book Edition © November 2019 ISBN: 9780008296933
Version: 2019-10-01
Table of Contents
Cover (#u4299b7b3-e0c4-5a3a-b457-00a3756ea329)
About the Author
Readers Love Belinda Missen
Also by Belinda Missen
Title Page (#uec591bf4-e88f-5678-be80-21e7c92b6c31)
Copyright (#u314bfa6e-bf27-5796-9d06-9a90bf8964ce)
Dedication (#ue2c93150-c7b3-5769-9af5-4fdfea9cf965)
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Dear Reader … (#litres_trial_promo)
Keep Reading … (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher
For the SBG
Chapter 1 (#ulink_2cfc17ec-e131-5164-8161-ba5c91ce6eb7)
10 Days ’til Christmas
The bell above my head chimed as I stepped inside from the cold. My hair stopped whipping around my face and I loosened the belt of my coat. The reassuring clack, clack, clack of my suitcase followed me over the tiles like a trusty steed.
‘Here she is!’ Alfred looked up from behind his glossy red coffee maker, tapped the portafilter on the bench and dangled a takeaway cup in the air. ‘Good to see you again.’
‘I’m just like Halley’s Comet,’ I teased. ‘Only I show up more often and I’m not as bright.’
‘I won’t hear a word of it.’ He laughed. ‘How long are you here for this time?’
‘An entire eight days.’ I dug my purse out of my backpack. ‘Well, seven and a half now, I suppose. I’ve just dropped the hire car at Heathrow.’
‘Hire car? You mean you’ve been here long enough to have a road trip, and this is the first I’m hearing of it?’ He feigned disgust. ‘You awful woman.’
‘I probably shouldn’t tell you about Belfast, then?’ I smirked.
Alfred clucked his tongue.
I guess the first thing you should know about me is that I love to travel. There’s nothing more thrilling than the thrust of an aeroplane the moment the wheels leave the tarmac. It says, ‘Here you are, welcome to your next adventure. Enjoy your stay, make sure your tray table is upright, and tip your wait staff accordingly.’
In my decade as a travel writer, I’ve been to places I never thought possible. I’ve been smeared in coloured powders during the festival of Holi in India, bumbled my way through hymns inside St Mark’s Basilica, and watched the Northern Lights on a night so cold it felt like I’d found the dark side of the moon and decided to dance the jig in a polka-dot bikini.
But above all that, I’ve made friends in every corner, crevice, and back alley of the globe. Like a sailor (allegedly) has a girl in every port, so too do I have a bed in every city. It might be a couch, sofa bed, or bunk in a shared room, but it’s the unspoken pact of international friendship. The front door is always open. The keys are yours. You just have to get here.
Right now, here was London – ooh, and a text message.
If you’re at Alfred’s, can you grab a fresh baguette? Like The Proclaimers – I’m on my way.
I smiled at Estelle’s message and slipped my phone back into my pocket.
Estelle was one of those friends. We met during a sweltering summer in Japan ten years ago. It was my first assignment with the Melbourne Explorer, and her fifth with the magazine she wrote for. Like that scene from Forrest Gump, the only seat left on a crowded bus to Furano was next to her.
Our friendship was pieced together in the following weeks aboard tour buses and bullet trains. We gazed at rainbow ribbons of flowering fields, were rendered speechless at the haunting beauty of Hiroshima, and puffed our way up Mount Fuji with nothing but a bottle of water between us. By the time we said farewell in Sapporo, I knew I’d have a friend for life.
She’d since left journalism in favour of life as curator of Check-1-2 Gallery, a Chelsea art gallery. It kept her busy, rubbing shoulders with the rich and famous intent on expanding their collections of priceless pieces. It paid well enough that it afforded her a perfectly modern maisonette off the high street full of modern appliances and retro furniture, and me a warm bed whenever I was in town. When I wasn’t here, I missed her and our late-night wine-soaked chats dearly. More than once, we’d mused over how much fun we’d have if I lived a few thousand miles closer, rather than in Australia.
‘So, what’s the plan this time?’ Alfred asked, weighing a gingerbread person in one hand and fruit cake in the other. He was a regular scale of gastronomical justice … I pointed to the cake.
‘Nothing but Christmas,’ I said. ‘I’m getting my yuletide on.’
When my boss had first floated the idea of ‘popping over to the UK’ (his words, not mine) for a few weeks in December to report on a refreshed Game of Thrones tour and a new distillery in the Cotswolds, I’d leaped at the chance to swap the endless summer nights of Melbourne for the icy British air. I’d even managed to wrangle a few extra personal days into the deal so as I could experience all the snow-white beauty of Christmas in London.
‘Speaking of Christmas, I’ve been playing around with almond milk eggnog,’ Alfred said as I readjusted my backpack. ‘You want one to go?’
‘For you, I’ll be a willing guinea pig but I also need your best baguette to go with dinner.’ I wrapped my hands around the piping takeaway cup he handed to me as the aroma of vanilla swirled with cinnamon in the steam of the drink. Warmth radiated into my fingers and seeped across my palm. And if it smelled divine, it tasted even better. I let out an appreciative groan after my first sip. ‘This? This is amazing.’
‘Good, am I right?’
‘You know, I could have done with that a week ago when I was buried in cold showers and mud.’ I took another sip of my drink. A trip to the Giant’s Causeway was a lesson in wearing better shoes on my adventures. Finn McCool or not, it was an uncomfortably soggy trip back to Belfast after stumbling into the North Atlantic. To add insult to injury, the hot water in my accommodation had taken its own holiday.
‘Consider it on the house,’ Alfred said, handing me my change and a crusty baguette. ‘The drink, that is.’
‘You’re amazing. Thank you so much,’ I said. ‘See you soon!’
‘Don’t leave without saying goodbye!’ he called after me as I used my shoulder to shove past the dangling tinsel Christmas trees and through the door.
Drink in hand and baguette tucked under my arm, I pulled my coat tighter against the icy breeze and made my way towards the bus stop. Estelle’s was close by but, with slippery footpaths and a light drizzle, it wasn’t near enough that I wanted to walk the whole way. When the lights at the crossing changed, I skipped across the road with the crowd.
Passing an M&S, I veered into oncoming pedestrians to avoid a well-dressed man who’d burst from the doors like a long-held breath with a phone to his ear and newspaper in his hand. He fell into step behind me.
‘Is this article your doing? I’ve just picked up this rot you pass off as a newspaper,’ he stammered, his voice dropping a few notches. ‘Secret love affair … what? Are you kidding me? Who thinks of this? I was having coffee with her. To assume I’m now in some kind of sordid love affair is ridiculous.’
I resisted the ticklish urge to turn towards the scandal. Quick extrapolation told me he was either a politician or a celebrity, especially if his love life had hit the papers. A brief look at his face as he walked along behind me registered nothing but his outfit: dark trousers, a blue-knit pullover, shirt and long coat. Classically nice in that take home to Mum for Sunday roast kind of way. I fumbled about in my pocket for an Oyster card.
‘You have to do something,’ he pleaded. ‘You can’t just leave it like this! I’ll be tarred and feathered by the morning. Or was that the whole point?’
