Snowflakes on Silver Cove: A festive, feel-good Christmas romance (White Cliff Bay Book 2) (22 page)

Part of him wanted to carry on driving. He didn’t do well with beautiful women; his startling impression on Giselle had made that obvious. He really didn’t want to make a fool out of himself by getting out of his car and staring at her, no words forming in his mouth. She would think he was a right idiot, either that or an axe murderer.

But the chivalrous part of him wasn’t about to leave a woman, no matter how beautiful, stranded on the side of the road.

He could do this. Libby was always telling him how lovely and sweet and funny he was. How any woman would be lucky to go out with him. Surely he could offer his help without coming across like a weirdo.

He would just ask if she needed some help. Yes, that was very simple, very easy … So why was his heart thundering against his chest?

He took a deep breath and got out the car.

A
my was pacing
inside the town hall, feeling nervous. Jackson had deliberately chosen this time of day because the Giant Gingerbread House Race was happening in the marquee. He didn’t want a big audience and Amy had to agree, but what if no one came, or – even worse – what if everybody came? Would they all look at her with the same disgust that Judith looked at her? Would they chase her from their quiet unassuming town before she even got a chance to pack? Most importantly, what would Seb think?

Conrad approached her, a tall dark, beautiful man who had the gorgeous lilt to his voice of his South African heritage.

‘Stop pacing, Amy, you will wear a hole in the floor.’

‘Is it OK, Conrad, really?’

‘It’s beautiful, but then you know I’m so very proud of Jackson. I don’t think he could do anything that I didn’t like.’

She smiled and took his hand and squeezed it. ‘He’s very lucky to have you.’

Conrad looked down at her. ‘No, I am the lucky one. We drift through life finding people to amuse us along the way. But to actually find my soul mate, the one person I want to spend the rest of my life with, I feel very blessed indeed. If you find it, Amy, if you find true love, then hold on to it with both hands and don’t let go.’

She looked over to the other side of the room, where Jackson was pacing too. She just had to hope that Seb had the same attitude.

L
ibby stood
outside the town hall, waiting for George. It was snowing lightly, tiny flakes swirling through the late afternoon sky. Quite a few people had filtered past her now. The three old ladies from Flower Cottages that Amy did the gardens for; Verity and Bill, George’s parents; Bob, George’s uncle; Polly from the cake shop; Kat and Dave; as well as a handful of other people she didn’t know. Lots of people were at the annual Giant Gingerbread House Race, which was probably why Jackson had chosen this time slot, so he wasn’t swamped with people, but Libby was a little bit sad that she wouldn’t get to see the race, it sounded like a lot of fun. Would she even be here next year to see it?

She watched as George waved at her excitedly from the other side of the street, and disappeared into Matt’s jewellery shop.

Matt’s jewellery was beautiful, all handmade, individual pieces, some of it simple and elegant, some of it contemporary, obscure twists of gold woven with jewels. But every piece was ridiculously expensive. The tourists seemed to like it though, and Matt did very well out of it.

She checked her watch; she would have to go in on her own in a minute. Amy would kill her if she missed it.

Just then George appeared from the shop and literally bounced across the road towards her. He kissed her on the cheek, which surprised her, as they didn’t normally greet each other that way.

‘I have a date, Lib, the most beautiful red-head you have ever seen, she’s like Venus. She’s stunning and funny and lovely and she wanted to go out on a date with me. Here, I bought you something, we better get in,’ he gabbled as he passed her a small paper bag and grabbed her hand and ran up the steps.

‘Wait, George, you have a date? Who with? Where did you meet her?’ Libby couldn’t help the sudden wave of disappointment that crashed over her with his words. She tucked the paper bag, which she assumed was a bar of fudge by the feel of it, into her bag as she ran in his wake.

‘Shush, it’s about to start,’ George said.

L
ibby looked
at the beautiful painting of Amy hanging in front of her and wanted to cry for her. She looked stunning. Of the twelve nude or semi-nude paintings of Amy adorning the walls of the town hall, this one was her favourite.

Jackson had given a speech about the paintings, about his muse, how she had inspired him, but how everyone always asked the same question: who was the girl in the painting? Eleven of the pictures showed Amy from different angles, but not one of them showed her face. When she was looking forward, her face was partly obscured by a sheet of black silk hair. Amy had said she was worried that when Jackson had wanted to obscure her identity with her hair the paintings would make her look like the creepy girl from
The Ring
, but every single one of them made her look beautiful.

One, titled ‘Waiting’, was Amy from the back, naked, looking out the window. Another, titled ‘Sunday Mornings’, had her curled up in bed with a book. The other side of the bed from her had clearly been slept in, and there were two champagne glasses on the bedside table. Libby liked that one; although the title of the book wasn’t clear, the cover was quite obviously one of her own books.

Another had Amy wrapped in a towel, sitting on her bed drying her hair while behind her in bed the lump of a man slept on. Another was of her getting dressed, from the point of view of the man in the bed as he watched her – you could see his hand on the bed in front of him, fingering a strap of her satin nightie.

Two others were hung side by side. One showed Amy, completely naked as she admired her heavily pregnant belly in the mirror, and the other was of her breastfeeding an adorable chubby baby, the baby clutching at Amy’s finger, kicking his legs as she held him.

But Libby’s favourite, the one she was standing in front of now, was Jackson’s latest. In number twelve he had revealed Amy’s identity, showing her face in full as she lay in bed, a thin sheet covering what was clearly a naked body. Her hair was ruffled, and she was propped up on one elbow as she looked out, laughing freely. In her eyes, the silhouette of a man could clearly be seen. She looked amazing.

‘Well, what do you think?’ asked Amy from behind her.

Libby tore her eyes from the masterpiece before her and turned around. ‘Amy, you are so beautiful, these paintings, every single one of them, are… incredible. I can’t believe you did this and never told me.’

‘Ah, some people are not that understanding about posing nude.’ She shrugged and looked around the room.

Libby looked too, but from where she was standing everyone seemed to be enjoying the pictures as much as she was. Verity, Bill, Bob, the old ladies from Flower Cottages, they were all looking at the different paintings in awe. George, she could see, was standing in front of the one where Amy lay asleep in bed, her hair over her face, her mouth parted slightly as she slept deeply. He was clearly looking at it in admiration.

Libby looked round the other side and her heart leapt when she saw Judith, studying the ‘Sunday Morning’ picture.

‘Oh,’ she said.

‘Yes exactly. I’m not quite sure what she’s doing here. It’s certainly not to support me, but I guess curiosity got the better of her. I better go; I’ve got some more people to thank before they leave.’

Libby watched Amy move over towards Verity and then glanced back to George. Curiosity getting the better of
her
,
she wandered over to speak to him.

‘Come on then, George Donaldson, spill.’

He turned to look at her, breaking into a huge smile. ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ he said, innocently.

‘You know full well what I mean. Your date?’

‘Libby, she’s beautiful, her name’s Cerys Andrews, she works in Apple Hill, owns her own flower shop…’

‘Wait, back up, where did you meet her? Last I heard you were going to clean out your mum’s loft. Was she lurking up there amongst the dust and cobwebs?’

‘She’d got a flat tyre on the road between Mum’s and Apple Hill. I pulled over to offer to help.’

‘Very gentlemanly of you.’

‘Well, I could hardly leave her stranded. Anyway, whilst I changed her tyre we were chatting, and we were getting on so well. When I’d finished, she just asked me out. Can you imagine that, Lib, she actually asked me out?’

‘I can imagine it actually. As I said, you really are lovely.’

Libby cursed herself, she was an idiot. Why hadn’t she told him she was falling for him when she realised it. Why had she waited? Was it her fear of rejection or commitment? Maybe her fear of staying. Whatever it was, now she was too late. She had been pushing him into dating again and although the date wasn’t with Giselle, she couldn’t be angry that he had a date with someone else, that’s what they had been practising for all this time.

‘At first I was going to say no, that I wasn’t ready. But I kept thinking about our dates, and how well you said they went, and…’ he looked suddenly awkward as he rubbed a hand round the back of his neck, ‘and how lovely you said I was, and I thought “I can do this”.’

He was so excited she had to try to be happy for him. ‘That’s great, George, I’m really pleased for you. So when’s the big date?’

‘Tomorrow, I’m taking her to The Cherry Tree, just as we practised.’

‘It’s poker night tomorrow.’ She felt affronted on behalf of the other boys.

‘Ah, the boys will understand.’

‘Well, you’ll have to practise this dating competition on her then.’ She looked away, rummaging in her bag for the much needed fudge.

‘I could,’ he said, doubtfully.

‘What?’

‘Well, it seems a bit silly.’

She looked back at the painting, for want of something to do, though she wasn’t really looking at it. She felt stung by his comment.

He somehow knew he had upset her. ‘Lib, it’s different with you, I can completely be myself, we can be silly and do fun things together, and you make me laugh so much. I like being silly with you, but Cerys seems more…’

‘Sophisticated, mature,’ she suggested, rummaging in her bag again.

‘Libby Joseph, OK, if you want to get down to the nitty gritty, yes, she isn’t as silly as you, she seems a bit more… mature. But you know what, I like the silly and fun in our relationship. I’d want that in any relationship. If I was to get married again, it would have to be to someone fun like you. But I should give her a chance, right? The fun stuff can come later, once we know each other a bit better. I want to impress her, and handing her a sheet of paper on our first date that talks about dirty sex and partial or full nudity I think would send her running for the hills.’

She conceded this. ‘I see your point, but you have to be yourself as well. If she’s going to fall in love with you, she has to fall in love with the real you, the funny, silly you, not the person you think she would like.’

‘You’re right, Lib, but let me just get through this first date. If I can string a coherent conversation together and she wants to see me for a second date, then maybe the fun element can come in then.’

She nodded. Finally finding the bar of fudge that he had given her earlier, she freed it from the jumbled contents of her bag.

‘Have you not opened that yet?’ He sounded slightly affronted.

‘No, the whole Amy nude painting thing kind of took over for a while. Want a piece?’

‘What?’

She opened the paper bag, but inside was a black velvet box. She looked back at him in confusion. ‘What’s this?’

‘Oh, just something I saw and thought of you,’ he said, casually, looking away back to the painting again.

She pulled out the box, still confused, half expecting to see some fudge in there when she opened it. But when she did, her heart leapt.

Inside, nestled against the black velvet, was a beautiful jewel-encrusted starfish, on a thin gold chain. Its legs were bent slightly, as if it was caught in a strong tide, but each leg had a multitude of different coloured jewels running along the ridge. It was stunning.

Oh no, this was not good, not good at all. She was falling for him and this was making it worse. He clearly didn’t return the feelings when he had flitted so quickly from kissing her the night before to agreeing to go on a date with Cerys. But this gesture was so sweet.

‘Do you like it?’

She looked up at him in shock. ‘I… it’s beautiful. Did you get this from Matt’s?’

‘Yeah, I was in there giving him the script for his new advert, and I saw it and thought of you. You remember last week, we were on the beach and we found that starfish and you said how you loved them, that they were a little bit of magic washed up on the sand?’

She swallowed. How on earth did he remember that? She barely remembered it. This was making the situation worse.

She looked back at the starfish, running her finger lightly across one of the legs. ‘But… his stuff is really expensive.’

‘Ah, it’s OK. It’s your “four days before Christmas” present. Besides, I owe you, for all the dating advice. I couldn’t have agreed to go on a date with Cerys if it wasn’t for you. You’ve made me realise that what I have to offer is quite good – so I wanted to say thank you.’

Libby looked back up at him again, and reached out to touch his face. ‘What you have to offer is more than quite good, George Donaldson. You are one of the most beautiful people I know.’

He blushed. ‘Well, put it on.’

Taking it carefully from the box, he gestured for her to turn around, which she did. He put it round her neck and she swept her hair up so he could fasten it at the back. His fingers fumbled on the clasp for a second, but his touch sent goosebumps straight down her spine. This definitely wasn’t good.

The necklace sat perfectly in the hollow at the base of her neck, and she admired how it looked against her throat in the reflection of a nearby glass door. She couldn’t help looking at George standing behind her, his hands on her shoulders as he too looked at her reflection.

‘Thank you,’ she said, quietly.

T
he last few
people were drifting out the town hall now, and as Amy stood awkwardly in the middle, Kat and Big Dave made their way over to say goodbye.

‘Amy, you should be very proud, these paintings look beautiful,’ Kat said, hugging her.

‘Yes, we especially like the pregnancy one, you look lovely. Almost as beautiful as my wife,’ Big Dave said, fondly stroking Kat’s pregnant belly.

Kat beamed at him, and with an arm round her shoulders, Big Dave escorted her out.

Amy turned back to see who was left. Seb still hadn’t turned up yet. She’d left him at the party and he promised to be there but there had been no sign since the exhibition had opened an hour before. She noticed Judith was still amongst the stragglers, standing now in front of the ‘waiting’ picture.