Golden Christmas (3 page)

Pushing away a sting of disappointment, Vicky
continued around the route she'd planned to run. It took her up a
farm track past a beautiful old farmhouse and along the northern
boundary of the parkland, about three miles in total. On the way
back, she diverted and ran along the front of the house again,
hoping to see Jonathan.

When she spotted Honey on the lawn, her heart
leaped, but the man throwing the ball was a stranger. He looked to
be in his early thirties, about Jonathan's age, with dark hair. He
wore jeans, a heavy-duty waterproof jacket, and Wellington
boots.

"Fetch the ball, Honey." The man stooped to
pat the dog's head when she did as she was told. "Once more, then I
have to go."

Vicky descended the steps and jogged across
the lawn. The grass wasn't frozen this morning, but the air was
still very cold against her face.

"Good morning. Can you tell me how Jonathan
is today?"

Honey ran to Vicky, tail wagging, and nuzzled
her hand.

"Morning. You must be Vicky from the
gatehouse. Jon mentioned you. I'm Owen Bramwell, Jon's cousin. I
live at the farm." He held out a hand, and Vicky shook it.

"Jon should be up soon. The migraines always
leave him feeling wiped out for a few days, though."

Honey trotted back and dropped her ball into
Owen's hand. He glanced at his watch. "Sorry. I need to get going.
I have to drop my daughter somewhere."

"I'll take Honey inside, if you like. I want
to see how Jonathan is, anyway."

"Good idea. He could do with some company.
It's a shame he's on his own so much, especially at this time of
year. If you have time, maybe you could run him into the village
later. My sister, Shelly, has a litter of puppies. That's where I'm
taking my daughter this morning. I was going to take Jon as well,
but obviously he's not feeling up to it yet. If you come later, you
could both have lunch at my sister's pub while you're there."

Vicky stared at the man, not sure what to
say. She wanted to make sure Jonathan was okay, but going out to
lunch with him was getting in too deep. "Maybe."

"Well, think about it. You can't miss the Fat
Goose pub. It's right in the middle of the village."

Owen passed her the ball and raised a hand in
farewell, then strode towards a huge luxury four-wheel drive that
was covered in mud. Vicky called Honey over and watched as Owen
backed up and sped away, gravel spitting beneath his tires.

Once the vehicle was out of sight, Vicky
headed towards the back door. This time, she felt less awkward
walking into the house on her own. She toed off her dirty running
shoes and walked upstairs in her socks.

When she reached the door to Jonathan's
apartment, she tapped, then opened it a few inches and called out.
"Jonathan. It's Vicky. May I come in?"

In the distance she heard his faint
reply.

Honey trotted straight through to the
bedroom, confirming Jonathan's whereabouts. Vicky followed and
stopped in the hall outside his room. "I just wanted to check how
you are," she said.

Jonathan appeared in the doorway, tying the
belt of a green-and-red tartan dressing gown over his pajamas, his
hair mussed. "You saw Owen outside?"

"He was in a hurry, so I brought Honey
back."

"Thanks. And thank you for taking Honey out
yesterday evening." He put a hand to his scar and grimaced. "My
brain's a little bruised this morning, but I'm on the mend. Would
you like a cup of tea?"

"I don't want to put you to any trouble."

He ignored her comment and moved towards the
small kitchen. He obviously knew where everything was because he
filled the electric kettle and switched it on as if he could see
what he was doing.

"Have you eaten breakfast?"

Vicky laughed. "A long time ago. It's nearly
midday."

Jonathan gave a self-deprecating smile.
"Internal clock's a bit wonky today."

Vicky pushed her hands in her jacket pockets
and glanced around, wondering how quickly she could leave without
being rude. When the silence grew awkward, she searched for
something to say.

"Your cousin mentioned some puppies."

A grin spread across Jonathan's face, and
there was no mistaking his pleasure. "Do you want to see them?"

"I don't really mind."

"If you'd like to come, I'll treat you to
lunch at the pub. They have great food there."

Vicky pushed back the hair that had escaped
from her ponytail and cast around for a polite way to turn him
down. Yet what was the harm? It was only lunch in a village pub,
and she didn't really want to sit in her cold rental place.

"Okay. That would be nice. I'll go and
change, and will pick you up in an hour."

• • •

Jonathan ran a hand over his lower face, feeling for
stubble he'd missed when he shaved. Satisfied he was done, he set
the electric razor on its shelf and picked up his comb to tame his
hair. It felt like an unruly mess, very different from the last
time he'd seen himself in a mirror.

In his mind's eye, he pictured his reflection
when he'd shaved that morning at Camp Bastion. He'd taken his small
square mirror outside and set it against a rock, then lathered up
and dragged the razor across his skin with the unforgiving heat of
Afghanistan on his face. Back then, his hair had been short and his
skin tanned.

He touched his fingers to the slick, steamy
glass of the mirror over his sink and wiped it, wondering what he
looked like now. His fingers moved to his scar out of habit, and he
rubbed the irritating ridge of tissue. He imagined it as an ugly
slash across his forehead. What did Vicky think of it? Did it put
her off?

A knock sounded on his front door, then he
heard her shout hello.

"I'm in the bathroom. Won't be a moment."

Jonathan ran his fingers back through his
hair, trying to judge if it was neat or not, and blew out a breath.
His hair was the least of his worries. He turned and reached for
the door frame, sliding his fingers down to the door handle. Then
he made his way along the hall to his bedroom and opened his
wardrobe.

He touched the row of shoes on the rack. The
weather forecast on the radio had threatened snow, so he needed
something with good tread. His balance was not as good now he
couldn't see. He had to be careful when it was slippery.

The tips of his fingers found the textured
leather of his walking shoes, and he picked them up and carried
them through to the sitting room. Vicky's presence pinged his
senses and energized him like an electric charge. He couldn't stop
himself grinning like an idiot. "Hi there. What's the weather
like?"

"Not snowing yet, but the sky has that heavy,
leaden look as though it's just waiting to dump all over us."

Jonathan laughed. Vicky had a lighter tone of
voice now, as if she was happy to be here. He prayed she was—prayed
that she enjoyed his company and wasn't simply being nice to the
blind guy.

He sat on the sofa to tie his laces, then
rose and took his coat off the hook by the door. Honey bumped her
nose on the back of his leg, and he stooped to stroke her. "You
stay here, girl. No point in you coming when you'll have to spend
most of the time in the car."

"Isn't she allowed in the pub?"

"The pub will be bursting at the seams, and
she won't be allowed near the puppies. They haven't finished their
vaccination program yet."

"Oh, okay. I didn't think of that."

The rustle of fabric and soft tread of
Vicky's feet alerted him as she moved closer. He caught her
enticing fragrance as she crouched to make a fuss of Honey.

Feeling ridiculously jealous of his dog,
Jonathan grabbed his cane and locked his door, then followed Vicky
downstairs and outside.

"My car's about fifteen feet directly in
front of you."

Jonathan liked that she didn't try to take
his arm and guide him, but let him find his own way. He counted his
paces, careful with his cane so he didn't knock it against her
paintwork.

"Couple more paces," she said.

Jonathan touched the door, opened it, and
checked the head clearance. Then he felt for the dash and the seat
before climbing in and shutting the door.

The driver's door opened and the car bounced
lightly as Vicky climbed in. Her floral fragrance engulfed him
inside the small space in the car. He inhaled deeply, savoring the
feeling of being close to her. Jonathan reached for his seatbelt
and silky strands slid over his hand—her hair? Just the thought
sent his pulse racing.

He fastened his seatbelt and the car vibrated
as the engine hummed and Vicky pulled away. They chatted about
inconsequential things during the five-minute drive.

"Here we are." Vicky pulled up and the engine
stopped. "I hope this pub does good food because I'm starving."

"It does," Jonathan said. Although suddenly
his appetite had deserted him.

A burst
of welcoming heat and the delicious fragrance of food greeted Vicky
as she walked into the pub. Jonathan followed, and she held the
door open for him. It was difficult gauging how much assistance to
offer him. She didn't want to overdo it, but she didn't want to
leave him to cope when he wanted a hand.

The place was full of cheerful people,
chatting and laughing, sitting at tables set around the edge of the
snug old-fashioned room with its oak bar and shiny bar taps. Pine
boughs decorated with gold baubles and red bows adorned the beams,
and Christmas music competed with the sound of voices.

Behind the bar, a young woman with long blond
hair raised a hand in greeting. She made her way through the crowd.
"I'm so pleased you made it, Jon." She embraced him and he kissed
her cheek. "You must see the puppies while they're small. They're
simply adorable. I want to keep them all!"

Jonathan touched Vicky's back. "Vicky kindly
played chauffeur. She's staying in the gatehouse."

"Hi, I'm Shelly. Owen mentioned you might be
in. It's so good of you to give Jon a ride."

"Hi, Shelly. Nice to meet you." Vicky held
out a hand and Shelly shook it.

"Are you happy to eat lunch first and visit
with the puppies afterwards? I'm rushed off my feet at the
moment."

"Of course. We're not in a hurry," Jonathan
said.

"Take the booth beside the fire. I reserved
it for you when Owen mentioned you might come."

Shelly picked up a couple of menus, and with
no comment, she took Jonathan's arm and carefully led him through
the throng of people to a table set in a small alcove beside a
roaring log fire. On a wooden beam above the fire hung a banner
that read Merry Christmas from all at the Fat Goose.

Jonathan touched the chair and table,
obviously getting his bearings, then slid onto the padded booth
seat. Vicky sat beside him, and Shelly laid the menus on the table.
"I'll send someone over in a moment to take your orders."

"Thank you."

Despite the Christmas decorations and
unmistakable air of celebration, the circumstances stopped Vicky
from feeling guilty for being here—she was only doing Jonathan a
favor.

She held out her fingers towards the heat of
the fire and wriggled them, relieved to be somewhere warm. "Do you
have a maintenance man on the estate who could help me?"

"Why?"

"The heating in the gatehouse isn't
working."

Jonathan frowned. "I'm sorry. Normally we
have a full staff working out of the estate office, but my brother
gave them all time off over Christmas while he's away. I'll call
the agents who rent the properties for us and get them to send out
a repairman."

"I tried that when I arrived. The agents
don't think they can get anyone out until after Christmas."

Jonathan frowned. "They're happy enough to
take their cut for managing the properties. I'll take a look on the
way back and see if I can get it running."

"Thanks. It'll be great if you can fix it."
Although Vicky couldn't imagine how he'd fix a boiler if he
couldn't see. But she didn't want to say that, so she picked up a
menu and ran her gaze down the list of dishes. "What do you
recommend?"

"I'm told the sea bass is good."

"Is that what you're going to have?"

He grinned. "Nope. I'll have my usual, game
pie. Shelly makes the best pies. They've won awards."

"She makes them herself?" Vicky had assumed
she was front of house.

"She trained as a chef and does some of the
cooking. She has a business partner who's also a chef who does the
rest."

A waitress took their order, then returned
with the drinks—soda and lime for Vicky, and a pint of local ale
for Jonathan.

They chatted about his family and when he
asked about hers, she didn't immediately change the subject—her
normal defensive reaction. Instead she briefly told him about her
parents.

"Why aren't you spending Christmas with
them?"

Vicky opened her mouth to give the usual
stock reply that they weren't close, but the words didn't come.
Instead she closed her eyes against the sudden prick of tears as
memories of Colin and Josh swelled inside until she couldn't hold
them back.

"I don't celebrate Christmas," she said, her
voice little more than a whisper.

Jonathan was quiet for a moment, then he
said, "Do you want to tell me why?"

Vicky pressed her lips together as the room
fractured into a kaleidoscope of colors through the tears in her
eyes. "I lost my husband and four-year-old son in an accident four
years ago. On Christmas morning." The final three words came out as
a croak through her tight throat.

Jonathan laid his fingers on her arm and slid
them down to her hand. He squeezed gently and she clung to him, his
warm hand suddenly feeling like a lifeline.

For long moments she fought her tears,
confused by her sudden urge to confide in a man she'd only just
met. She'd never told anybody about that morning, not even her mum
and dad. Even though they'd encouraged her to share, suggesting it
might help her heal.