Golden Christmas Read online

  As she pulled the bedroom door closed, she caught a glimpse of him as he lay down, still fully clothed.

  Were his migraines related to the scar on his head? He'd obviously been in an accident. On her way to the door, she passed a sideboard in the sitting room. Behind a pile of Braille books, a framed photograph had been pushed to the back. She picked it up and angled it towards the light coming through the window. It was a shot of soldiers in uniform somewhere hot and sandy with a military vehicle in the background. There were two rows of men and Jonathan stood in the middle of the front row, smiling, his brown eyes fixed on the camera.

  He'd been an army officer, by the look of it. Vicky pressed a hand to her throat, taking in every detail of him—his tanned and muscular forearms, short dark hair, and classically handsome face. His expression radiated confidence, his eyes alert with intelligence.

  This was his before picture, before fate kicked him in the teeth and ruined his life. She touched the bulge where her phone was stowed in her jacket pocket, remembering her own before pictures, and tears pricked her eyes.

  • • •

  Vicky sat on the sofa in the freezing sitting room of her rental property, her phone cradled in her chilly hands. The central heating wouldn't come on, and she couldn't be bothered to bring in logs and light the fire. She couldn't be bothered to make a cup of tea and have something to eat either, even though she was hungry. After seeing Jonathan's before photo, the compulsion to look at her own was overwhelming.

  Still clothed in her ski jacket and thermal hat, she scrolled through the five images on her phone that would have fallen apart from being handled if they were printed photos.

  On that terrible Christmas morning, Colin and Josh had gone to the playground by the school to build a snowman while she prepared Christmas dinner. Colin had texted her five photos to show her what they were doing.

  Every time her phone chimed, she'd stopped peeling vegetables and dried her hands on a dishtowel while she checked what her husband had sent. The first photo was a selfie of Josh on Colin's shoulders, both her boys grinning at the camera. The second was of Josh sticking his tongue out, the third of Josh with an armful of snow, the fourth of Josh lying in the snow giggling, and the fifth, her favorite, was of her two boys on either side of the snowman they'd built.

  Tears streamed down her face and she made no attempt to wipe them. These pictures were her last contact with the two most precious people in her life, her soul mate and her darling little boy. They had died nearly four years ago, yet her grief was still as raw as if she'd lost them yesterday.

  The playground had been a five-minute walk from their home, yet in those few minutes a driver had lost control of his car on the icy hill and plowed into Colin and Josh. They'd both died at the scene of the accident, even depriving her of a bedside vigil to give her time to say good-bye.

  Car headlights flashed through the gatehouse window as a vehicle passed on the narrow country road outside, dragging Vicky back to the present. She wiped her eyes with the side of her hand and got up to fetch a bunch of tissues from her bag.

  If only she'd gone with Colin and Josh that morning, she'd have been taken too. Why did she have to be left behind on her own?

  She wiped her eyes and sucked in a breath thick with tears. Darkness had fallen outside, and it was dark inside as well. She switched on a light and blinked at the sudden brightness. The gatehouse was comfortably furnished, but she couldn't care less. Where she lived didn't matter now. Without Colin and Josh, nothing mattered.

  She noticed the time on her phone screen and a thought penetrated her morose gloom. It was getting late. Honey would need to go outside. If Vicky didn't go and let her out, Jonathan would have to get up and struggle downstairs in the cold with a pounding head.

  Vicky blew her nose and pushed her phone in her jacket pocket. All she wanted to do was curl up in bed and disappear, but she'd made a promise to Jonathan and she had to keep it. Pulling on her fur-lined boots, she grabbed a flashlight hanging by the front door and stepped out into the freezing air.

  Darkness had lowered the temperature. Her cheeks stung where the tears froze against her skin. Directing the beam of light on the path, Vicky made her way along the shortest route to Rosemoor Hall. Security lights popped on as she reached the building and found the door.

  It felt strange walking into someone else's house without knocking, especially a huge manor house like this. In the flashlight beam, she found a light switch and clicked on the hall light before tucking the flashlight in her pocket.

  A tiny spark of curiosity flared as she peered along the shadowy hallway into the depths of the historic house. This entrance would have been used by the servants. Along the corridor must be a kitchen, pantries, and food-prep rooms. Yet almost immediately the flash of interest was extinguished beneath her resurging misery.

  She retraced her steps from earlier, ascending the narrow wooden staircase, her footfalls hollow and echoing. She tapped lightly on the door to Jonathan's apartment, not really expecting a reply. When none came, she cautiously opened the door.

  Honey was waiting just inside, a light patch in the dark room. Vicky switched on a light and patted the dog as she wriggled her way closer, tail wagging.

  "Do you want to go outside for a run, girl?" Honey's tail beat faster, and she picked up a ball from a basket by the door.

  "Too late for games tonight. I'm sure you'll get to play ball tomorrow, though."

  Vicky let the dog out and followed her down the stairs, Honey's claws clattering on the wood. The security light popped on over the back door, and they wandered around the patch of gravel and lawn that was illuminated.

  An owl hooted nearby and in the distance a fox barked, a mournful sound that echoed through the darkness. While Holly sniffed around, Vicky turned her face up to the endless expanse of blackness speckled with stars. How could the world still be so beautiful? It didn't seem fair.

  After fifteen minutes when her nose grew so cold it hurt, Vicky took Honey back inside, wiping her paws on an old towel she found on a peg just inside the door.

  She followed Honey upstairs and let her into Jonathan's apartment. Going inside felt strange, as if she were invading his space, but she wanted to look in on him to make sure he was okay.

  Switching on the hall light, she peered inside the bedroom door that Honey had already nudged open. Jonathan lay still with his back to her, presumably asleep. Honey jumped on the bed and stretched out at his side with her head on the second pillow.

  A rare smile pulled at Vicky's lips. Honey was so sweet and obviously not just a guide dog—she was a companion as well. Maybe Vicky's well-meaning mother had been right when she'd recommended that a dog would help Vicky recover and move on.

  Chapter Three

  Vicky followed the same path on her run as she had the previous day, but today she made no pretense of taking the turn away from the house. She headed purposefully along the route that took her in front of the manor house so she could see if Jonathan was out with Honey.

  As she fell asleep last night, her rambling thoughts had included images of him throwing the ball for Honey, mingled with memories of him curled up in bed in pain. A twinge of something she hadn't felt for a long time tightened in her chest. Did she really care about a man she'd only just met?

  The rectangle of lawn where she'd first seen Jonathan came into view but it was empty. Cold and silent, the old house stood brooding beneath the overcast sky. The clouds hung dark and leaden above. Snow was forecast, and it looked as though the clouds were full to bursting, just waiting to drop their freezing burden on the silently waiting earth.

  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 thin
gs 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.

  Chapter Four

  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."