Page 18 of Christmas All the Way

Keeley sighed. ‘Fine.’

Apparently satisfied, Grace returned to her meal. ‘Apart from anything else, I’ve just started a new job, and you’re about to turn yours upside down. I don’t think we need any romantic complications, do you?’

Privately, Keeley felt that a romantic complication was exactly what Grace needed but she knew better than to say it out loud. Much safer to subtly nudge her in Raff’s direction and let Cupid do his thing, however long that took. Because Keeley had the strangest feeling the two of them might be perfect for each other, in spite of their differing personalities. All she had to do was make them see it too.

CHAPTER SIX

‘It does not feel like labour if one is working for love.’

Broadstairs House, ELIZA NORTON

Grace had visited Juniper Cottage a number of times since Keeley had become its curator and it never failed to make her smile. With its bright yellow, subtly patterned walls and well-maintained thatch, the cottage was not incongruous among its colourful neighbours, although it still drew the eye. Its size and location at the top of the green suggested it had once been the home of someone blessed with money and status, although Grace knew from Keeley that it had been in a state of disrepair before Eliza Norton had fallen in love with it while passing through the village, and impetuously made an offer for it on the spot. Her diaries showed the process of restoring it had been a long and expensive business, paid for in large part by a generous allowance from her brother, with mention made of having to rehome a family of owls that was nesting in the roof and enduring countless delays due to ‘idle builders’ and ‘fickle tradesmen’. But at last it had been done, and Eliza had spent the best part of four decades living and working under its roof. The building now was virtually indistinguishable from the way it had looked then, once Eliza’s labour of love was complete, and Grace knew Keeley had spent hours poring over letters and diaries to ensure it reflected her vision as closely as possible.

Set back from the road and surrounded by a glorious English garden, the cottage was accessed through an ornate roofed gate that led to a wide gravel path through the flowerbeds. A magnificent brass knocker hung on the front door but signs pointed visitors around to the right, where they would enter through the gift shop at the back of the house. It was five-thirty, meaning the cottage had closed for the day and the garden was empty, which allowed Grace the opportunity to pause for a moment beside the flowerbeds, listening to the buzz of the bees working their way through the profusion of blooms that nodded in the early evening heat. The garden had also been painstakingly recreated from Eliza’s writings and it really was idyllic, Grace thought, admiring a row of hollyhocks. She supposed Raff was responsible for much of what she saw; he must work hard to keep it looking this vibrant even in late summer. And then she shook the thought of Raff away, worried that Keeley would take one look at her and somehow guess she had been thinking about him. It was quite ridiculous the number of times he had strayed into her thoughts in the days since their last encounter and she didn’t want to encourage her feverish brain to dwell on him again. Turning away from the flowers and the ever-attentive bees, she crunched across the gravel and headed around the corner to the gift shop.

Keeley was waiting behind the glass inner door, looking cool and fresh in a white linen shirt dress that Grace knew, had she worn it, would have creased the moment she pulled it over her head. Yet somehow Keeley was defying the sweltering August heat, and instead of resembling a wilting English rose, seemed to be channelling a modern-day Greek goddess, complete with delicate gold sandals that wound upwards around her slender calves. Grace swallowed a sigh and tried not to imagine her own rumpled state, acquired despite the valiant efforts of her car’s air-conditioning unit. At least the thick stone walls of the old cottage meant it would be cooler inside.

‘You made it,’ Keeley said, beaming as she opened the door to allow Grace inside. ‘Was the journey awful again?’

Grace let out a groan. ‘Temporary traffic lights outside Upper Benbridge, doing who knows what. I think they just dig holes and fill them in again to make themselves look busy.’

Her friend snorted. ‘Sounds about right. But I’m sorry you had to sit through it to help me out.’

‘It wasn’t that bad,’ Grace reassured her. ‘And I have the tree in the car. Is your Australian Adonis here to help me carry it?’

‘Not for another hour,’ Keeley answered. ‘I wanted to get the bulk of the decorations up before he got here. But we can manage it between us, right?’

It wasn’t that the box containing the tree was heavy, Grace considered, but it was awkward to manoeuvre. Still, she could understand Keeley’s desire to get the decorations in place before Xander arrived and it would be easier with two pairs of hands. ‘Of course,’ she said, wondering how much more rumpled she was going to be once they’d manhandled the tree across the car park. ‘Where’s it going? In the drawing room?’

‘In the hall,’ Keeley said. ‘Xander wants to capture the sense of treading in Eliza’s footsteps, the idea that she’s in the house with us but in another room, so he wants to come in through the front door and sweep into the rest of the cottage.’

‘Oh,’ Grace said, and frowned. ‘Does the front door actually open? I’d always assumed it didn’t.’

Keeley shrugged. ‘I guess we’re about to find out.’

She led Grace through the gift shop and into the house. The hall was in shadow, its grand staircase curving around like a cat’s tail. ‘The tree will go here,’ Keeley said, pointing to a spot at the base of the stairs. ‘I’ve got some swags of greenery to hang along the banisters, and more for the mantelpiece in the drawing room, plus a wreath for the front door.’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘I’m not entirely sure how we’re going to hang that yet.’

Grace reached into her handbag and pulled out a packet of transparent suction hooks. ‘These might help. I discovered them a few years ago and though they might come in handy this evening.’

Keeley’s expression broke into a smile. ‘See, I knew you were the perfect person to do this. You think of everything.’ She checked the time and her smile dimmed. ‘Come on. Let’s get the tree in before Xander arrives and demands to know why we’re not ready.’

Forty-five minutes later, Grace was damp with perspiration and her hands prickled from countless jabs from spiky leaves, but the hard work was starting to pay off. The wreath hung on the door – a vast circle of red-berried holly and lush green ivy that instantly made Grace crave a glass of mulled wine, even though it would only make her hotter. Beyond the front door, the tree was in position at the bottom of the stairs, decorated with delicate glass baubles and slender faux candles that flickered atmospherically in the fading light. In the drawing room, more holly adorned the mantelpiece, which was also dotted with glass baubles and a pair of tall silver candlesticks that would hold actual lit candles. ‘Just for a few minutes, when Xander needs to film,’ Keeley said, when Grace voiced her surprise that her friend would even consider allowing naked flames. ‘I’m planning to order some pretend ones before the tours begin.’

But it was the spindly legged occasional table in front of the gentle smouldering fire that really drew the eye. It sat between two tall, wing-backed chairs, each angled invitingly as though the occupants had momentarily left the room. The table was laid for tea, with a teapot and milk jug alongside a plate of thin lemon slices and two delicate cups on saucers. ‘I’ll make a fresh pot just before Xander starts filming,’ Keeley explained. ‘Then we can fill the cups and he’ll hopefully be able to capture the steam curling up.’

Grace nodded. They really were following Delores Semple’s lead and perhaps even taking things a step further. ‘It’s going to look amazing. The tours will sell out faster than you can blink.’

Keeley looked uncomfortable. ‘Yes, about that. The idea still hasn’t been put to the volunteers. I’m a bit worried they’ll refuse the change in hours.’

‘Some will,’ Grace said, remembering when the library where she’d worked had first proposed extending their opening hours. ‘But you might be surprised by how many like the idea of—’

She was interrupted by a series of thunderous raps on the front door that made them both jump out of their skin. ‘Must be Xander,’ Keeley muttered in exasperation, once she’d regained her poise. ‘I’m not sure that was necessary.’

‘How else was he supposed to let us know he’d arrived?’ Grace asked reasonably, but Keeley was already moving, grumbling under her breath. Grace followed, curious to see the man who seemed to get under her cool best friend’s skin without even trying.

The front door swung back noiselessly, which wasn’t a surprise thanks to the liberal dousing of oil Grace had applied to its hinges once they had managed to wrestle the ancient iron bolts back. She looked past Keeley and was immediately faced with a tall, athletically built man with a halo of blond hair and an irrepressible grin. ‘Hello,’ he said, his accent sounding odd and out of place in the quintessentially English cottage. ‘You must be Grace. I’m Xander Jones.’

He stepped across the threshold to shake her hand and she found herself smiling a little breathlessly at him. Keeley had not lied when she’d likened him to a certain Australian actor. He looked very much as though he could pass for a film star, albeit a slightly dishevelled one. ‘Yes, I’m Grace Murphy,’ she said, fighting to keep her voice steady so that Keeley would not be utterly disgusted by her. ‘Nice to meet you.’