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Skating at Somerset House
Nikki Moore
The first short story in the fun & flirty #LoveLondon series from exciting new chick lit author Nikki Moore!There’s nothing Holly Winterlake loves more than Christmas and skating, so working as an Ice Marshall at London's Somerset House is a dream come true.Noel Summerford hates the festive season and is a disaster on the ice, so taking his godson to Somerset House is his idea of the nightmare before Christmas!Things are bound to get interesting when these two collide…With a forty foot Christmas tree, an assortment of well meaning friends and relatives, and a mad chocolate Labrador, will this festive season be one to remember … or forget?
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First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2014
Copyright © Nikki Moore 2014
Cover images © Shutterstock.com
Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2014
Nikki Moore 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.
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Digital eFirst: Automatically produced by Atomik ePublisher from Easypress.
Ebook Edition © November 2014 ISBN: 9780008126841
Version: 2017-10-10
Dedication (#ulink_78336e81-3405-5aa0-98a2-762c395b7297)
For anyone who loves Christmas… and for those who aren't so keen on it either!
For my family and friends; thank you and Season's Greetings x
And to Holly Martin, who won a competition and leant me her first name.
Nb. While the beautiful setting for this book is real, the events are not, and some elements of the story contain necessary poetic licence.
Contents
Cover (#uf9ca5605-8e51-567e-8db8-819c874e587f)
Title Page (#uc05f9592-6390-5595-9a60-e18286c833db)
Copyright (#ufacb2d60-7b07-52af-b278-745f7ef01839)
Dedication (#u71aec5fa-e905-5e0c-a77d-1a43bd84d83b)
#LoveLondon Series (#u7bd2c42a-7f3a-51cb-aedc-a9bf570e29f4)
Skating at Somerset House (#ue875b166-0fab-5257-a8b4-7c5fb51f666c)
Also by Nikki Moore (#litres_trial_promo)
Nikki Moore (#litres_trial_promo)
About HarperImpulse (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
#LoveLondon Series (#ub91c1e7a-0c00-5cd3-91c8-98a8368dc4cd)
Skating at Somerset House
New Year at the Ritz
Valentine’s on Primrose Hill
Cocktails in Chelsea
Strawberries at Wimbledon
Picnics in Hyde Park
Skating at Somerset House (#ub91c1e7a-0c00-5cd3-91c8-98a8368dc4cd)
Noel Summerford hated Christmas.
The intense, harried craziness drove him half nuts every year. The pressure to buy everyone presents they didn't want and would never use. Shoving, rippling crowds on the streets forgetting their manners, desperate to cross every item off their shopping lists. People parting with their hard earned cash at rip-off prices that would reduce to near zero as soon as it hit Boxing Day. Endless turkey dinners with dry overcooked white meat, lashings of sickly cranberry sauce and stodgy stuffing. Unwanted, twee greetings cards with their cutesy reindeer or Santa cartoons. Cheesy, artificial music piped into every shop for months, seasonal tunes playing on every radio station until he thought his ears would bleed, especially as the girls in the office insisted on turning the music up to near deafening volumes. His female colleagues wearing silver bauble earrings and pressuring the men to dress in novelty ties and festive knitted jumpers made him grind his teeth, but worse was how they clambered up on desks in ridiculously high heels to hang decorations from the beige walls and white-tiled ceiling. It was an annual health and safety nightmare, given that he was the Corporate H&S Officer for a high-street retail giant.
Yes, Christmas was definitely his least favourite time of the year, and his preference would be to hide in his man-cave for the whole of December. He therefore couldn't think of anything worse than ice skating – or in his case falling on his arse countless, humiliating times – at Somerset House. It was London's favourite outdoor ice rink according to The Evening Standard magazine, or so Matt had informed him. He could admit that the main sandstone neoclassical building, set in a square shape around the central courtyard, was quite impressive with its graceful columns, Victorian style black lampposts, mini white-encrusted trees in massive gold leaf pots and grand entrances on the Strand and the Embankment. Right now that was contrasted against the modern single-storey, white-framed, temporary buildings that housed Tom's Skate Lounge, the Cloakrooms/Box Office and main skate entrance. Mint green and teal SKATE posters were displayed prominently and matching Fortnum & Mason flags flapped in the winter breeze. You couldn't deny there was a great buzz to the place with all the noisy, excitable visitors chattering and skating, both locals and tourists from the sounds of it. But Noel was a disaster on the ice, and the giant Christmas tree in a huge wicker hamper was overdecorated and overdone… as well as a sharp reminder it was only a few days until the dreaded C-day. There was no escaping it.
Leaning up against the transparent waist-high wall guarding the rink, taking a much needed break from skating, he shivered and shifted from one foot to another. Cold vapour formed in a puffy cloud in front of his face as he exhaled. It was seriously bitter today. He checked the watch that'd belonged to his grandfather; rectangular face, brown leather strap, built to last. It was three in the afternoon, so it was only going to get colder and bleaker. Although, if he froze to death, at least it would be a merciful release from this ice-encrusted hell. This was the last time he was doing a favour for a friend. Not that refusing had really been an option, given the favour was to carry out perfectly reasonable god-fatherly duties for Jasper, whose dad Matt was Noel's best friend.
Teeth chattering, as he watched people - including Jasper - whizz around the ice, he decided he was going abroad for Christmas next year. Somewhere he could sit on a beach, dewy beer bottle in hand and read a crime thriller while soaking up the sun's rays. Because even though he was wrapped up in black jeans, a long sleeved top, thick green jumper, woollen winter coat, scarf, thermal lined gloves and a beanie hat pulled right down to cover his hair, he was still bloody freezing.
As if the weather wasn't bad enough, every time he got on the rink four year old Jasper skated rings around him. It was embarrassing to be a thirty year old guy with no sense of coordination who couldn't push away from the wall, stop, or glide along the blindingly white ice without falling over … but it was mortifying that Jasper, who'd only skated once before (or so he claimed) was showing Noel up with such natural talent. Already having taught himself to do some kind of spinning stop, he was currently attempting to skate backwards, forcing his heels together then apart in curved S shapes. The kid had absolutely no fear, throwing his little body around like it couldn't be bent or broken. But that was kids for you. They were resilient little things, unlike some adults.
No. Not today. There were other things to worry about, like looking after Jasper, which was why he'd fought the temptation to dive into the Skate Lounge with its windows overlooking the rink and rainbow coloured assortment of round paper lanterns hanging from the ceiling, and was staying put. He should probably get Jasper to calm down a bit, stop with the tricks and skate in nice sensible circles holding Noel's hand instead. That was what the H&S part of him would do with a potentially dangerous activity; minimise the risk. Except:-
a) the kid probably wouldn't listen to a word he said,
b) Jasper was always on the verge of hyperactivity so it made sense to tire him out,
and most importantly,
c) it was probably safer for Jasper not to hold his hand.
The little tyke came hurtling towards him in an expensive blue ski suit, stopping with a scrape and spraying ice up into Noel's face.
'Jasper!' he snapped, scowling and scrubbing the sharp ice crystals off with his gloves.
The boy's round-cheeked face fell, eyes widening. Noel sighed, feeling like a complete bastard. It wasn't cool to upset Jasper, just because he wasn't enjoying himself. Besides, he was genuinely fond of the little whirlwind and loved being his godfather.
'Never mind,' he joked, forcing a grin and stretching over the wall to straighten Jasper's hat, 'it's only a bit of ice. I was getting bored anyway, needed something to wake me up!' Rolling his eyes in an exaggerated cartoon character way, he crossed then uncrossed them, making the boy giggle. 'How's it going? Enjoying yourself? You're doing some good stuff out there, Jay.'
'Uh-huh,' Jasper nodded, dark head bopping up and down like the dog in the insurance ads, 'it's really, really awesome. But it would be better if you were skating with me '’ncle Noel.' He beamed, showing a gap where his two front teeth should be, reminding Noel of the carol, All I Want For Christmas…
The hope that Jasper might be ready to go after nearly three hours of skating died, and the boy's expression became pleading as Noel fell silent. The rest of the day would be spent with a storm cloud of guilt hanging over his head if he said no. Jasper had been bugging Matt about skating at Somerset House for months, ever since one of his friends had mentioned going the year before.
Time to do his duty. Careful to keep the dread off his face, Noel nodded. 'Sure, I'll give it another go.' My seventh one today. 'Be right there.' He clomped through the skate entrance building and stepped on to the ice. Clutching the wall for support, trying to balance on the metal blades - stupidly risky if you asked him, who would think to put knives on a pair of boots? - he pulled himself over to his godson, sure his knuckles were not just white but positively glowing beneath his gloves. Perhaps he could manage a circuit without making an idiot of himself this time.
Nodding at Jasper, 'Come on then,' he smiled bravely and carefully pushed off from the side. Walking/wobbling more than actually skating, arms extended like a pair of crippled wings, knees shaking, doubt flashed through his head. There's a snowball's chance in hell of me not landing on my arse again.
Holly Winterlake loved Christmas.
The chaotic, festive madness of it all thrilled her every year. The delight of spinning and dodging around people in shops to grab the best bargain to cross off her gift list, bought with her Christmas slush fund which she saved up towards monthly. Scrumptious turkey dinners with moist white meat, lashings of fruity cranberry sauce and fragrant, tasty stuffing, not to mention crispy butter-slathered roast potatoes. Exchanging cheery greetings cards featuring cutesy snowmen or North Pole cartoons, watching the assorted envelopes dropping onto her parents' doormat every morning. The jingling, jingly, upbeat tunes playing everywhere to get everybody into the Christmas spirit, which she turned up to maximum volume on the radio while she and her mum bopped around the breakfast table each morning. Having the perfect excuse to wear her favourite tiny silver snowman earrings. Hanging the circular red berry foliage wreath on the front door, set off perfectly by the green ivy twined around a wire topiary frame. The optimistic pining for snow and a white Christmas. Catching the tube with her mum's favourite metal tray if it did snow (more fun than a sleigh because you had to cram your legs onto it, tuck your chin into your knees and hope for the best) to slide down a steep Hampstead Heath hill.
Yes, Christmas was definitely her favourite time of year. In fact, Holly's preference would be to celebrate it every month, and pretend that summer with its muggy, prickly heat and scorching sun that burnt her fair skin and bleached her blonde hair lighter didn't exist. This December she couldn't think of anything better than ice skating for a living. It was a dream come true to be an Ice Marshall at Somerset House, being paid to loop the rink to make sure members of the public were safe, providing them with help where they needed it, issuing skates on request and helping the Ice Technician clean the ice when it became dented and scarred from use. The skating test before the job offer had been as easy as breathing, she'd completed the training at the beginning of the previous month easily and she was lucky enough to have picked up five shifts a week, working up to eight hours a day. Her mum might be worried about her overdoing it on the ice but the money would all definitely add up towards her start up fund. Come the New Year, she was going into business.
She glanced around, grinning. The forty foot Christmas tree near the North Wing, sprinkled with twinkling lights, gorgeous silver, gold, white, bronze and teal baubles and miniature Fortnum and Mason hampers, was an exciting reminder that it was Christmas Eve the next day.
Letting out a small squeak of anticipation, and checking she had enough room, Holly did a quick one foot spin, the first she'd learnt as a child. Starting with arms outstretched and pushing off with her right foot, twirling around she brought her arms in and her foot up against her knee, then span back out, ending with her arms crossed over her chest, both feet planted. Laughing, she did it again, joy and exhilaration zinging through her as the familiar move brought back a thousand happy memories of her professional figure-skating days. Those years had been filled with hard work, endless hours of practice, more bruises, grazes and sprains than she could count, and little time for friends or hobbies, but had also included some of the best moments of her life. When you got it right, it felt like you were flying.
It was a shame she could no longer do a Lutz or Axel as easily as a one foot spin, but she couldn't take the risk.
When she came to a stop, a small boy with big green eyes and a mop of brown hair peeking out from under a winter hat was staring at her. Steady on his feet, he looked more comfortable on the ice than the majority of adults. She'd seen him earlier, confidently gliding along. He hadn't needed her help and she'd been busy helping a family with twin girls, blonde hair in matching plaits, so she hadn't had a chance to tell him how well he skated.
'Wow,' he breathed, showing off a massive gappy grin. 'That was sooo good. You're a really cool ice person.'
'Thanks. I'm Holly, one of the Ice Marshalls.' Rather than someone who sounded like they were actually made of frozen water. She smiled. He was adorable. All massive eyes and cherry red cheeks. 'What's your name?'
'Jasper.'
'Well, I'll let you into a secret Jasper.' She scooted a little closer to him, bending down to his height. 'When I was only a tiny bit older than you, just after I started school, I started skating. I was in competitions, and won things. So I've had a lot of time on the ice.' Before the injury. When her world turned upside down. 'How long have you been skating? A few months?'
'Nope,' shaking his head, 'this is my second time. Daddy works a lot and Melody has gone home for Christmas. But she'll be back as soon as she can and she promised, promised, promised to bring me lots of presents and hugs. She said I'm a busy boy who keeps her running around but I'm on Santa's good boy list.' From the way he said it, he'd heard it a lot in the past few weeks.
'I'm sure you are,' Holly agreed, amused at his babble. 'Melody sounds cool.' Who she was, Holly wasn't quite sure of, obviously not the boy's mum, but would his Dad's girlfriend really disappear off for Christmas? 'But is this really only your second time? You're very good you know.' She paused, 'Do you want me to show you a few tricks a bit later on?' Strictly speaking she was here to help the customers who needed it but she could wait until the end of the afternoon, when it got a bit quieter, to spend some time with him.
'Would you?' he jumped, heels to his bum, and landed perfectly again on both skates, which was harder than it looked. 'That'd be super cool!' he paused, expression dropping. 'I have to ask if it's okay though.'
'Ask who?'
Spinning around in a perfect one eighty, he glanced around the rink. After a moment he extended a podgy finger, glancing at her sheepishly. 'Him…he's not very good.'
'I'm sure he's not that bad- Oh.'
They watched in silence as a man wrapped up to the max with a face like a British thundercloud under a beanie hat slipped and lurched around the rink, arms flailing, even though every few feet he was using the wall to steady himself.
From the look on his face, Jasper was embarrassed. Heck, Holly felt embarrassed, but it was for Jasper's dad on his behalf, rather than not wanting to be seen with him. 'Well, at least he's trying,' she said from corner of her mouth, 'he might get better.'
'Ummm…' the boy gave her a doubtful look.
But bless, you had to give the guy points for being here for his son, and making a bit of an idiot of himself in the process. Maybe he just wasn't very fit. He looked a bit bulky and soft around the middle. Or perhaps he didn't have good balance. Shame he wasn't a child; otherwise he could use one of the penguin skating aids available for the younger skaters in the separate area down the South Wing end.
Right. Two birds with one diplomatic, tactful stone then. 'Come on,' she gestured the boy to follow her, 'let's go ask him about you trying something a bit more adventurous.'
'Hi, there!' Her tone was friendly as she skated up behind the man, but unfortunately it unnerved him. Whipping his head round, his feet scissored, arms wind-milling. Trying to find his centre of gravity but failing, his legs started to slide in opposite directions. 'Oops!' Acting on instinct, Holly moved in, threading her arms under his to hoist him up, leaning forward for balance. 'Woah, there you go. I've got you.'
Practically spooning the guy upright wasn't the most professional way to help and she might get a telling off by the Front of House Manager, but it was the best she could do at short notice.
He didn't reply, just made a grunting sound and shook his head.
With his back plastered to her front and bum tucked into the curve of her hips, she realised he wasn't as bulky as he first seemed; it was the never ending amount of layers he was wrapped in. No wonder he was having issues, his upper body was totally constricted. No, he wasn't soft around the middle; he was actually quite nicely built.
'Okay?' she asked a little breathlessly. Untangling their arms, she steadied him with a firm hand and glided them over to the side, checking to make sure Jasper was still with them. The little boy gave her a reassuring nod, keeping pace.
'No, I'm not okay,' the guy spat as soon as he was hanging on to the wall, 'you scared the crap out of me!'
The girl took a step back at his tone, emotions flickering over her face; astonishment, irritation, simmering anger, settling at last on blank politeness. Pale blonde hair tied back in a high ponytail, she had glacier blue eyes, creamy skin and was girl next door pretty, but everything about her screamed winter. He preferred the hot Latin type. Women with curves and smouldering dark eyes. Not women who looked like Taylor Swift's slightly taller twin. The loose purple tabard - Ice Marshall in white script across the front - worn over some kind of waterproofs was hardly sexy. She could be straight up and down under there. Not that it mattered.
'I'm sorry if I startled you,' she said, every word coated with frost. 'But perhaps I can talk you through some skating tips?' Looking pointedly at Jasper, who was gazing up at Noel with a puzzled expression.
Noel realised what he'd said and the way he'd said it, and gritted his teeth. First he'd had to be publicly rescued, then he'd spoken to his rescuer like a spoilt five year old. That wasn't okay. Frustration tumbled through him. He wasn't getting any better at skating. And there was a funny hitch in his stomach at having a woman plastered up against him for the first time in two years, since- Stop. There was no way he was going to think about her now.
'I'm sorry if I was rude,' he glanced at the girl apologetically. 'And thank you for the offer…?’
'Holly.'
'Holly. But I'm not interested in getting any better.' Shaking his head. 'I might be here tomorrow, but after that I don't plan to come near an ice rink for a really long time.'
She giggled, then bit her lower lip, teeth straight and white except for a slightly crooked canine. It was a tiny imperfection, but somehow appealing.
He cleared his throat, raising one eyebrow, 'Are you allowed to laugh at customers?'
