Praise for Phillipa Ashley
‘When I see Phillipa Ashley’s name on the cover of a book, I know I’m in for a glorious escape . . .’
Sarah Bennett
‘Filled with warm and likeable characters. Great fun!’
Jill Mansell
‘Warm and funny and feel-good. The best sort of holiday read’
Katie Fforde
‘A delicious festive treat with as many twists and turns as a Cornish country lane’
Jules Wake
‘A transporting festive romance, full of genuine warmth and quirky characters’
Woman’s Own
‘Serious festive escapism . . . like a big warm hug’
Popsugar
‘A page-turner of a festive read’
My Weekly
‘Gloriously uplifting and unashamedly warm-hearted’
Faith Hogan
‘A fantastic setting and intriguing premise, all bound together by Phillipa Ashley’s storytelling talent’
Sue Moorcroft
Also by Phillipa Ashley
Decent Exposure
Wish You Were Here
Just Say Yes
It Should Have Been Me
Fever Cure
Return to Cornish Bay
The Little Deli by the Lake
Summer at the Cornish Café
Christmas at the Cornish Café
Confetti at the Cornish Café
Christmas on the Little Cornish Isles
Spring on the Little Cornish Isles
Summer on the Little Cornish Isles
A Perfect Cornish Summer
A Perfect Cornish Christmas
A Perfect Cornish Escape
A Surprise Christmas Wedding
An Endless Cornish Summer
A Special Cornish Christmas
A Golden Cornish Summer
The Christmas Holiday
A Secret Cornish Summer
Four Weddings and a Christmas
Second Chance Summer
Escape for Christmas
One Cornish Summer With You
About the Author
Phillipa Ashley is a Sunday Times, Amazon and Audible bestselling author of uplifting romantic fiction. After studying English at Oxford University, she worked as a copywriter and journalist before turning her hand to writing. Since then, her novels have sold well over a million copies and have been translated into numerous languages. Phillipa lives in an English village with her husband, has a grown-up daughter and loves nothing better than walking the Lake District hills and swimming in Cornish coves.
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For Joy Skeels, Happy Birthday
Chapter One
Lara gazed up at the fells in sheer amazement. The first snow of the Lakeland winter had arrived at Ravendale Castle, dusting the trees with icing sugar and adding snowy hats to the statues in the gardens.
She crunched across the cobbled courtyard that led to the front of the castle. Here the view was even more spectacular, with white-robed mountain peaks soaring into a sky of washed-out winter blue.
It was a scene of perfection, and, if Lara had her way, snow would always fall exactly like this: just enough to look pretty without causing any disruption. However, as she was painfully aware, the weather in this remote part of the Lakes had never run to plan – rather like her life.
At least today the snow had made its entrance with perfect timing for the Christmas at the Castle tour that would mark the start of the festive events programme at Ravendale. The previous autumn, Lara had landed her dream job as manager of this medieval castle tucked away in a remote corner of the Lake District, and it had been her idea to run the tours, offer festive afternoon teas, and create a Christmastree tour through the castle’s principal rooms. The highlight of the events programme would be the Winter Spectacular,
a fantastic light trail that would illuminate the grounds and hopefully draw in thousands of visitors.
Her fingers were firmly crossed, however, because the previous month a major glitch had threatened to derail their plans. Gerald, the well-loved castle maintenance manager, had gone on long-term sick leave and there was no sign of him returning – in fact, rumours had started to circulate that he might retire, though nothing official had been announced yet.
His absence had been sorely felt and meant that Lara had taken on the job of liaising with the illuminations contractors directly. On top of all her other duties as curator and events manager, it had been a big strain. Her history degree hardly qualified her as an electrical expert.
With a deep breath, she let her eyes rest on the snowy fells again, the view calming her as always, just as it had when she’d first arrived at Ravendale a year ago, nursing a broken heart and a loss that had been hard to bear.
She reminded herself that the light trail would happen, even if she had to give up sleep or meals for the next two weeks. And she wasn’t totally alone: Ravendale had a team of enthusiastic staff and dedicated volunteers who had become her friends.
As the working day swung into action, they began to appear, pushing trolleys of supplies and equipment from the car park into the grounds.
Dull clangs rang out from the rear of the castle where the contractors had arrived to start installing the lighting infrastructure. A laundry van arrived with linen for the
All We W A nt for Christm A s banqueting hall and café, and the local postie jogged up the stone steps to the oak door and handed over several parcels to the housekeeper.
Lara felt an electric thrill of hope and excitement run through her: Christmas had finally started at Ravendale. Surely this one – her second in the job – had to be a huge improvement on the last, which she’d spent hiding her sorrows behind a professional smile.
She was about to walk up the steps to the castle when she became aware of a new sound, one that sent a different kind of thrill through her, far more powerful than anything that work could inspire.
It was the distant roar of a motorbike. Nothing unusual there: the twisting road that hugged the Cumbrian coast was a magnet for bikers looking for a spectacular route. However, this was a working winter morning in November, and no summer bank holiday. It must be someone on their way to work . . . Even so, Lara found her feet rooted to the spot as the whine of the bike changed tone. It had become louder and lower, indicating that the bike had slowed to negotiate the sharp steep bend that led down to the entrance to the castle.
Then the engine sputtered and the motorbike came into view, gliding down the gravel driveway, leaving a trail in the snow. And somehow she knew, even though he was the last person she’d ever expected to see again, that its rider was Flynn Cafferty.
He killed the engine, kicked the stand down and lifted his long leather-clad limbs off the Harley.
Her pulse rate galloped like a runaway stallion. Surely he wouldn’t look like she remembered? Not the man who’d filled her dreams and fantasies for the past two weeks before riding off into a dark November morning.
He took off his helmet and pushed his thick black hair off his forehead. His smile was warm enough to thaw an icy lake and turn her limbs to butter. In answer to her own question, he was even better than she remembered. She shivered, though Flynn seemed unruffled.
‘Morning,’ he said, looking her up and down in amusement. ‘I must say this is rather nice. I hadn’t expected a personal welcome party.’
Still stunned by his appearing out of the blue, it took Lara a few seconds to reply. ‘This isn’t a welcome party,’ she squeaked. ‘I mean – um, of course you are welcome, but I – um – wasn’t expecting you. Are you visiting in the area?’ she managed, remembering that he had once been a guest at the castle, even if that one night had turned him into more in some of her wilder dreams.
He’d booked into the Haunted Halloween Sleepover and they’d ended up working together to deal with a power cut – and got trapped in the castle dungeons together for a while. Nothing physical had actually happened – although she’d wanted it to – and being stuck in close proximity to Flynn wasn’t something you forgot in a hurry – or ever.
His handsome brow creased. ‘In the area? No . . . Hasn’t anyone told you?’
‘Told me what?’ she asked, her confusion growing.
‘That I’ve accepted a job here. I’m your new technical manager.’
‘You? Our new technical manager? That’s not possible,’ she said, her shock and disbelief overriding her politeness. ‘I mean, I don’t see how it can be possible. Fiona and Henry haven’t said a word about a new person being appointed yet,’ she added. The aristocratic couple whose ancestors had owned Ravendale for centuries usually kept her well informed about anything that affected her role.
‘Ouch. That’s awkward. Fiona and Henry assured me that they’d warn you before I arrived. Gerald has decided to retire and I’ve been asked to take over as head of the maintenance team and I’m going to be in charge of the light trail.’ He softened his tone. ‘Fiona did say you were desperate for the help . . .’
‘I – I mean, we, are – but everything’s happened so fast. I didn’t know you were even looking for a job. I thought you were going biking across Asia.’ The last time she’d seen him, Flynn had told her his plans once he was finished with his work contract at the Cornish theme park.
‘I was . . .’ His dark blue eyes sparkled and Lara’s stomach did a double flip. ‘But this opportunity was too good to resist.’
Under that enigmatic gaze, Lara found it difficult to frame a coherent reply. Flynn had once again ruffled her outwardly calm and collected persona. ‘I . . . I must speak to Fiona and Henry. I’m sure they meant to tell me, but everyone’s been rushed off their feet with the light trail and the
new events programme starting.’ She needed to get hold of her employers at the first opportunity.
‘I’m sorry, I’ve rocked up with no warning. No wonder you look so shocked.’
‘No. No, don’t worry . . .’ Lara smiled, recalling that Flynn was now her colleague and she had to be professional. She was determined to regain control of the situation. After all, she was the one who’d been castle manager for the past year. Flynn was the new boy, even though he seemed perfectly at home already. ‘I’m sure it’s just an oversight.’
‘Lara!’
One of the castle guides jogged across the gravel towards them. The tip of her nose was bright red and she was out of breath. ‘Y-your t-tour party has started to arrive. I said you’d m-meet them in the great hall in a moment.’
‘Thanks,’ Lara said, recovering herself. ‘Please tell them I’m on my way.’ She left Flynn to unload his bike, hurrying through the melting snow and into the castle, trying to tame a maelstrom of emotions.
It had been barely two weeks since Halloween, when Flynn had made a dramatic entrance in a storm, arriving late and walking into the banqueting hall in his leathers. Sparks had flown between them that had nothing to do with the power failure that had plunged them into darkness. However, despite their instant connection, Flynn had ridden off back to his home in Cornwall the following day and Lara had expected to never see him again.
Since that chilly morning, she’d convinced herself it was for the best. Even so, Flynn was the only man she’d imagined
All We W A nt for Christm A s falling for since the break-up that had led to her own move to Ravendale.
After the heartbreak of the split, she’d vowed to never get involved in a workplace romance again. Now, Flynn’s reappearance – and as a colleague who she’d be living and working alongside at that – had threatened to derail her all over again.
Chapter Two
‘And this, everyone, is the famous Lucky Chalice of Ravendale. It was given to the owners’ ancestor by King Henry after he took shelter here on Christmas Day on his way to London. The Lake District was a wild and dangerous place in the fifteenth century and the king was grateful for the Penhaligons’ hospitality. He told them that the castle would never fall and the Penhaligons would always prosper as long as the chalice remained intact.’
Having temporarily banished Flynn from her mind, Lara swept up the tour party with a winning smile. ‘As you can imagine, we look after the chalice very carefully indeed.’
Every eye was on the simple glass goblet in the display cabinet. A velvet rope kept visitors at a safe distance and – just in case anyone decided to do something weird – the glass was bulletproof and built to withstand a sledgehammer.
‘Bet it’s worth a bomb, eh, love?’ A man in a Santa hat smirked. Even though there was still over a month to Christmas, Lara didn’t blame him for getting into the festive spirit early. Besides, the castle was chilly at this time of year. However, her heart sank at his comment about the value of the chalice.
‘It’s priceless to everyone at Ravendale,’ she replied diplomatically.
‘And has it ever been damaged?’ barked a woman from the rear.
Lara smiled. ‘Not as far as I know. Not bad when you think it’s been here for almost six centuries. Shall we move on to the haunted tower and then to the banqueting hall for mulled wine and warm mince pies?’
She led her tour party down the stairs, savouring the tang of wood smoke and pine wafting up from the banqueting hall where the refreshments had been laid out on the oak table by Ravendale’s catering team.
There were gasps as the guests gazed up at the vaulted ceiling with its coats of arms and floor-to-ceiling tapestries of medieval hunting scenes. The mullioned windows were filled with vases of holly and fir collected from the estate, but it was the tree that drew the biggest ‘wows’ of admiration. A twelve-foot spruce, it stood in the corner of the hall, its twinkling baubles and bows in shades of amber, red and gold. Lara allowed herself a quiet glow of pride, having supervised its decoration herself.
Everyone gathered around the fire, enjoying the refreshments and chattering about the castle. Lara answered countless questions about the legends and ghosts associated with the place, feeling the tension ebb from her body at last, relieved that the first festive tour of the season had been such a hit. She still hadn’t worked out how she felt about Flynn returning. They desperately needed a technical manager, with Gerald now off the scene, and she had no doubt
Flynn would do a great job, but working so closely with him every day? How would she cope with that when her every cell zinged whenever she looked at him?
With a professional smile still in place, Lara said her farewells to the tour party, several of whom had booked for the Winter Spectacular on the spot. The catering staff collected the empty glasses and plates, leaving the oak table bare, save for an arrangement of greenery and the pewter candelabra.
Apart from the pop and crackle of the fire, it was blissfully silent. As she’d done many times, she almost had to pinch herself to believe that living and working in such a magnificent place was her job.
‘Lara!’
Fiona Penhaligon strode across the floor towards her, a large vase of holly and ivy in her arms. A willowy platinum blonde in her late sixties, her formal title was Lady Penhaligon but she refused to let any of the staff address her by it. Her husband, Henry, was just as down to earth, considering he owned a massive castle.
Now was the moment to ask Fiona why Flynn had been appointed without her knowledge – as tactfully as she could.
‘Are you all right, my dear?’ her boss asked, placing the vase on the table with a concerned frown. ‘I do hope your first tour wasn’t too stressful. I passed some of the hordes on my way out. I must say they seemed very excited.’
‘It went well,’ Lara said, wondering how to introduce the subject of her new colleague. ‘Um, I think everyone really enjoyed themselves.’
All We W A nt for Christm A s
‘Phew. That’s a relief, although I can’t say I’m surprised. You’ve worked terribly hard to organise all these events.’
‘Thanks. It’s always good to find that a plan works in practice. Christmas treats by the fire were very popular. Would you please thank Henry for lighting it?’
Fiona rolled her eyes good-humouredly. ‘Oh, he loves lighting fires. Sometimes I worry he’s a closet pyromaniac . . . Now, is there anything else I can help you with?’
Lara smiled again and took her opportunity. ‘Well, I hear that you’ve found a replacement for Gerald.’
‘You have?’ Fiona screwed up her nose in discomfort.
‘Yes, I – er – happen to have bumped into him earlier. He’d just arrived. It was quite a surprise.’
Fiona groaned. ‘Oh, my dear, I am so sorry. It’s all been so last minute. We only heard he’d accepted the job the day before yesterday and we were going to tell you, but with us only getting home from Hattie’s in London yesterday evening, there hadn’t been a moment.’
Hattie was one of the Penhaligons’ two daughters and was a sculptor who had an art gallery in the capital.
‘It’s OK . I know how hectic things have been,’ Lara said politely, seeing that Fiona seemed genuinely apologetic.
‘Even so, we really should have warned you. Actually, we had planned to ask you and Flynn up to the flat this evening so we can all get to know each other better. Even better,’ she added with a smile, ‘why don’t you come up to the flat at five and we’ll have a glass of wine together? After all, we’re all going to be working very closely together, so we want to get off on the right foot.’
Working very closely together. Lara’s nerve endings jumped. There was a crackle from the pocket of Fiona’s ancient Barbour. ‘Sorry, must get this.’ She plucked a radio from her pocket. ‘Hello. Jazz. Yes, yes, I’m on my way now. Give me two ticks!’ She listened to Jazz for a few seconds before turning back to Lara. ‘Sorry, Jazz needs me to finalise the menu for the reception. I must go. See you later in the flat. Well done, darling! You’re a star.’
Lara could well imagine her friend and colleague, Jazz, tactfully trying to persuade Fiona to make a decision regarding the evening’s menu. The reception was a PR and networking exercise for local suppliers, representatives from the tourist board, and hotel and accommodation providers. It had been Lara’s idea as a way of showcasing Ravendale as an attraction at both Christmas and in the coming year ahead. It was important it went well and that they convinced the invitees to add Ravendale to their list of recommendations to guests.
Lara didn’t see Flynn for the rest of the morning. Presumably he was settling into his cottage, and that afternoon she was busy dipping in and out of two more tours, conducted by other guides, to see how they were getting on.
As dusk fell, she took the chance to see how the light trail construction was going. The cables, bulbs and generators littered the grounds. The only illuminations at the moment were the harsh arc lights for the workforce as they hammered, banged and shouted to each other. Relief filled her. Although the trail had been her baby, she was more than happy to hand the technical duties over to Flynn.
It was past four, so after calling into her cottage to shower and change her fleece for a smart jumper, she headed back to the tower for her final and most important task of the day: checking that the Lucky Chalice had been taken back from the display case to the treasury safe after the last private tour. Lara trusted her guides, but her twelve years’ experience managing historic properties and treasures had taught her never to leave anything to chance.
In the quiet of the treasury, she unlocked the safe and took out the blue leather box from among the other precious items of silver and gold. She put the box on the table and opened the lid. The chalice, about the size of a large gin glass, was nestled inside.
It looked pristine apart from an almost invisible fingerprint on its stem. Reverently, she removed it from its case, checking that the prints were the only marks on it.
She shuddered at the idea of what it was worth, yet it truly was priceless as a symbol of Ravendale and of its centuries of history. It had survived sieges, battles, family feuds and two fires.
‘Lara.’
At the voice behind her, Lara started and lost her grip on the chalice. Time slowed down as it slipped through her fingers and tumbled through the air. With a soft thud, it landed on the oak boards between her feet.
‘Oh God, no!’
Her cry of horror echoed around the room and her heart seemed to stop before she fell to her knees. The chalice was all that mattered now.
Chapter Three
Flynn knelt beside her. Over the past couple of weeks, Lara had often fantasised about having him in this position but she now wished he didn’t exist.
‘No! Please don’t touch it!’ She peered at the chalice, too scared to handle it herself.
‘Bloody hell . . . it looks OK , though. It doesn’t seem damaged,’ Flynn said.
Lara met his eyes, which were full of remorse. ‘We’d better hope not.’
‘Maybe it’s OK ? These boards aren’t like tiles or stone.’
‘Maybe,’ she murmured, finally lifting the chalice as gently as she could and standing up. She placed it on the table carefully, worried it might slip from her unsteady hands again.
‘Can I do anything?’ he asked, on his feet again but keeping his distance.
‘Please don’t touch it!’ Lara said.
Wisely, he stayed silent as Lara peered closer at the glass, inspecting the rim, the bowl, the stem. It looked intact. She let out a breath.
Impossibly, there seemed to be no cracks. It was intact, which was a miracle after that fall. Somebody must be looking out for her.
She squinted at the chalice and her heart seemed to stop. No. It couldn’t be.
‘I think we got away with it,’ Flynn said, with a sigh of relief. ‘Phew.’
Lara stared at the glass, feeling sick. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘What?’
‘Look at the base. I think it’s – I think it’s chipped.’
He walked over to the table. ‘Where? I can’t see anything.’
‘Look closer. It’s only tiny but it’s there.’ She pointed to the edge of the base.
Flynn leaned over the chalice, his dark head of hair obscuring the chalice for a few moments before he turned back to her, his lips pressed together in a grimace.
‘Yeah. I hate to say it, but I think you’re right. It is only minuscule, and if you weren’t looking for it, you probably wouldn’t notice, but I’m afraid there is a tiny nick. I am so sorry.’
Lara sat down on a chair next to the table, her head in her hands. For six centuries, the Lucky Chalice of Ravendale had remained pristine and intact. Now, she’d done what sieges, battles, fire and flood could not achieve: ruined the most precious item that the Penhaligon family owned.
She glanced up. ‘I could lose my job. I’ll have to resign.’
‘Whoa. Hold on. It can’t be that bad, can it?’ Flynn said gently.
Although on the verge of tears, Lara held them back. ‘It is. I’ve destroyed a priceless object, the one thing that matters more to the family than everything else in the castle. I
must tell Fiona and Henry – but how can I?’ A groan of frustration slipped out.
Flynn’s hand was on her arm, his voice soothing. ‘Hold on a minute. Take a breath. Let’s think about this before we do anything rash.’
‘It’s too late for that. We, I – have done something rash. There’s no way I can hide this from Henry and Fiona. I’ll have to offer my resignation.’ The enormity of the situation rolled over her like a truck. ‘Just when I’d found a job I love and a place I want to stay.’
‘Lara. Lara. I know this is upsetting—’
‘Upsetting? It’s a disaster.’
‘Now wait,’ Flynn said calmly, but with an edge of firmness. ‘It’s not a disaster. A fire burning the place down would be a disaster. Something awful happening to a guest or a member of staff or to you would be a disaster . . .’
She stared at him.
‘What I’m trying to say,’ he went on, ‘is that this is unfortunate and not good, but it’s not life or death, is it?’
‘It might be,’ Lara said, ‘if you believe the myth around the chalice.’
He arched his eyebrows. ‘And do you?’
‘No, of course not!’ She laughed bitterly, partly through embarrassment as she realised how dramatic she’d sounded. It wasn’t like her to panic. She was cool, calm and competent. Normally. However, the combination of dropping the glass, the prospect of losing her job, and Flynn having a hand in it, had thrown all her normal rules of behaviour out the window. ‘No, I don’t believe the castle will fall and the
family will have to leave Ravendale, but the fact remains. I’ve damaged a priceless piece of art and I have to do something about it.’
‘If you’re dead set on telling Henry and Fiona, then why not let me take the blame?’
She followed his gaze to the chipped chalice, which stood there, accusingly. Lara was acutely aware that he’d somehow taken charge of the situation and she needed to get a grip. ‘Thanks for the offer, but you can’t take the blame for the damage. For a start, I wouldn’t let you. Besides, you haven’t even started your job here. How can you go to the Penhaligons and tell them your first act has been to wreck the family’s most precious heirloom?’
‘Yet it’s OK for you to do it?’ Flynn asked. ‘It was both our faults, but mainly mine, let’s be honest.’
‘I – I suppose they might not sack me,’ Lara said. ‘Even so, I’ll feel my professional credibility has been shattered – not to mention their trust in me. I love working here. It’s my dream job.’
‘I already knew how much this place means to you,’ he said.
That conversation had been almost three weeks ago, and since then she’d had to accept he’d been merely a guest passing through, like thousands of other visitors. She’d begun to think she might have imagined the briefest of kisses as he left and went off on his motorbike back to Cornwall.
Her shiver of desire ended when she caught sight of the chipped chalice again.
‘I admire your honesty, Lara,’ Flynn said gently, ‘but
there is another solution, if you don’t want me to take the blame or you to risk your job.’
‘What?’ she asked, torn between despair and hope.
‘Don’t jump down my throat before you’ve heard it, but can you get the chalice repaired – without anyone knowing, I mean?’
‘I – well I suppose it could be – maybe.’
‘You must know someone, with all your experience and contacts,’ Flynn said. ‘And won’t it have to be restored anyway if you tell the Penhaligons? They’ll need to claim on the insurance, surely?’
Either despite or because of her comment about the rarity of experts in the field, one name did immediately spring to mind. A name that caused a tiny spark of hope to flicker into life.
‘Actually . . . I do know someone who might be able to help. A friend from uni. I’ve worked with her a few times before, but I’d still have to tell Henry and Fiona.’
Flynn raised his eyebrows. ‘Would you really? I mean, do they look closely at the chalice that often?’
‘No. Only me and occasionally the tour guides usually handle it. It was out for a special display today.’
‘Do you think your restorer friend could be trusted?’
‘To lie, you mean?’ Lara asked, feeling nauseous at the prospect of such a charade.
‘I mean to cover for you and keep a secret.’
‘I suppose so . . . she probably would. I’ve put a lot of work her way and we’ve known each other a long time.’
‘Then ask her.’
‘I could, but it would be so wrong. I’d feel so bad about it. Lying and . . .’
‘And what?’ Flynn asked.
‘And – nothing. I need to think about it.’
‘I wouldn’t take too long if I were you. Seize your chance,’ he said.
He was right. Annoyingly right. Lara stared at the chalice. Even though the nick was tiny, it seemed to leap out at her like a giant crevasse – a gaping gorge of her stupidity and guilt. Why had she reacted so dramatically to Flynn’s voice and appearance in the first place?
Flynn squeezed her shoulder briefly. ‘Speak to your conservator friend and let me know how much the repair bill will be. We’ll go halves.’
‘Thanks. I do appreciate it,’ Lara said, touched by his offer yet determined to take her destiny into her own hands. ‘However, it was me that dropped it and I’ll take the consequences.’
Chapter Four
Flynn opened the door to his staff cottage with a heavy sigh. He’d left Lara after she’d replaced the chalice in the safe and he still needed to decompress and change, ready for meeting the Penhaligons for welcome drinks in their private rooms in the castle.
After hanging his leather jacket in the vestibule, he decided a strong coffee was required.
His arrival at Ravendale couldn’t have been more disastrous.
He’d hoped Lara would be pleased to see him. He’d hoped she’d been expecting him. He’d hoped his return to Ravendale wouldn’t have turned into a horror show.
He’d brought his own coffee with him, but his hosts – now his employers – had thoughtfully provided a pint of milk, which was waiting in the fridge.
On closer inspection, he decided the one-bedroom Groom’s Cottage must be a holiday let that had had been turned over for his use. It had that air of comfort yet minimalism and was too well maintained and smart for people to have lived in it full time. That suited him. He didn’t like a lot of clutter and travelled light, both in life as well as on the bike.
It was pitch black outside at four-thirty. He thought of the modern apartment he’d left behind in Newquay overlooking Fistral Beach. It still wouldn’t be dark there, due to the combination of the southern latitude, ocean and big skies all maximising the winter daylight.
Until a month ago, he’d been technical manager at a family-run Cornish theme park set in the grounds of an old estate. He’d enjoyed the job, even though he’d probably been in it too long. Sadly, times had changed, visitor numbers had dwindled, and the family had decided to retire and sell up. Flynn had taken it as an opportunity, as a signal that he should change his life and travel.
Yet here he was, plunging into the thick of a busy and unfamiliar role and already off on the wrong foot.
Flynn showered while the machine brewed his espresso, looking forward to a small comfort. He thought of messaging Lara, then decided not to put her under more pressure. The decision about the chalice had to be hers alone.
He’d managed to pull up his boxers when he received a message that drinks and nibbles were waiting in the sitting room and would he like to go along ‘when he was ready’.
It was probably the first time a work induction with an employer had been framed in those terms, but he’d already met Henry and Fiona when he was their Halloween guest and liked them a lot. How could he refuse Henry’s appeal for immediate help when the man, who was in his late seventies, had sounded so desperate and stressed out?
He felt terrible about startling Lara, and seeing her so conflicted about whether to tell the Penhaligons. He wished
she’d let him take the blame, although he understood why she wouldn’t. She was professional and honest; she played things straight.
The image of her in that crimson velvet dress at Halloween came back to him. That evening she’d worn her strawberry blonde hair long, so it had brushed the ‘v’ that had revealed her bare back. This afternoon, her hair had been restrained in a ponytail. Even in a Ravendale Castle fleece, eyes glittering with stress, he’d fancied her every bit as much as at Halloween.
No, he was lying. He fancied her more. There hadn’t been a day – or night – he hadn’t thought about her since he’d left to ride home to Cornwall.
Deep down, he’d known from that moment that he’d take the castle job, despite his rational side telling him all the reasons why he shouldn’t, like giving up his plans to take his first break from working in twenty years to follow his travel dreams.
He finished shaving hastily, nicking himself in the process and swearing again.
Ignoring the sting, he spritzed on the aftershave that he saved for special occasions. Finally, after hastily downing the now-lukewarm espresso, he decided what to wear. It wasn’t a difficult decision when his wardrobe was ‘capsule’ at best, yet he hoped his shirt and jeans would be suitable for drinks with the Penhaligons.
Although he’d worked in and outside plenty of stately homes, he had to admit Ravendale topped them all for impact and grandeur. The castle – really a fortified
All We W A nt for Christm A s house – had been built around a five-storey square tower with battlements on the top. Various wings had been added over the centuries and it was all surrounded by parkland that blended in perfectly with the rugged Lakeland landscape.
He’d been looking forward to taking the Harley out for some rides over the mountain passes, although now that he needed to take immediate control of the Winter Spectacular, that would have to wait until New Year. That is, if he lasted until New Year . . . his first day had hardly given him much optimism in that direction.
He’d swept and slicked his hair back as tidily as he could when his phone pinged with a message from Lara, whose number was still in his phone.
Still undecided. See you soon.
Still undecided . . . which meant he mustn’t say anything about the chalice incident. Not that he would have dreamed of doing so without her permission.
He glanced in the mirror and sighed again. His first meeting with the Penhaligons as his employers – and with Lara as his colleague – was going to be challenging.
Chapter Five
‘Ah, here he is! The man of the hour!’
Henry strode forward to meet Flynn, who wore a smile that looked as forced as hers.
In their brief exchange of messages, she and Flynn had agreed not to even mention their encounter in the treasury during the Penhaligons’ welcome drinks. While the subterfuge kept Lara’s options open, it also added another layer of deception. There would be many more, if she decided to go along with the plan of secretly having the chalice repaired.
Tonight should have been a chance to be introduced to Flynn as a new colleague. Instead, she felt as if her coconspirator had walked in and the guilt was weighing on her like the granite the castle was made of.
Her butterflies weren’t helped by the fact he looked like a Byronic hero, with his dark hair slicked back, black jeans, and a chunky jumper the colour of fir trees.
‘Of course, there’s no need to introduce you to each other.’ Fiona’s eyes twinkled.
Flynn put on a winning smile. ‘No, we got to know each other pretty well at Halloween.’ He looked directly into Lara’s eyes, as if daring her to glance away, sending her temperature soaring.
Fiona invited them to sit down. Since Henry had chosen his wing-backed armchair and Fiona took a club chair, Lara and Flynn were forced to share the Chesterfield. She was close enough to inhale a subtle trace of his spicy aftershave, and tried not to fidget in her seat.
‘Now, isn’t this cosy?’ Fiona asked, with a beam directed at Lara and Flynn as if they were her two favourite children.
Lara answered with a weak smile. ‘Cosy’ was not a word she would use to describe her sexy new colleague – and, she reminded herself, that was what he was. They would be working together in close proximity from now on and it would not be a good idea to get involved with him beyond a professional connection. She was still bruised and battered from her last workplace relationship, and she and Flynn needed no distractions from the important task in hand.
Henry huffed. ‘It was blindingly obvious we should have taken on a temporary maintenance manager as soon as Gerald went off sick, but we kept bumbling on and letting other stuff get in the way of appointing a temp, until finally Gerald hinted he actually wanted to retire. All that time, poor Lara was shouldering the burden. Apologies, my dear.’
‘Please don’t worry, Henry. I was managing,’ Lara replied. ‘But some professional help will be very welcome . . .’
‘Experienced maintenance staff are like gold dust in our remote little corner of the Lakes.’ Fiona directed the comment at Flynn. ‘And we didn’t want to disappoint Lara – or the team – if you couldn’t take the job.’
‘And it was a long shot that he could hare all the way up here and start tout de suite. What time did you set out from Cornwall, my boy?’ Henry asked.
‘Actually, I set off yesterday and stayed overnight with a friend who lives up here,’ Flynn said. ‘But I’m fine. I like a good long ride.’
Lara felt a flush creep up the back of her neck. With her hair piled on top of her head, she was acutely aware her heightened colour would be visible against her fair skin.
‘I’m sure. I did back in my day as well. I still haven’t shown you my vintage Norton. Plenty of opportunity now, though, eh? I’ll get us a sherry.’
Fiona rolled her eyes while her husband filled glasses from a decanter on the sideboard. ‘I’m sure Flynn will be far too busy with his new role and the Winter Spectacular to tinker with motorbikes.’
‘I’m sure he’ll find the time. So, how are you settling in, old chap? How’s the Groom’s Cottage?’ Henry Penhaligon was all rosy-cheeked affability as he handed a glass of sherry to Flynn.
Sitting in front of the crackling fire, Lara felt anything but affable. Her whole body was as taut as a wire.
‘It’s a great little place, thanks,’ Flynn said, accepting the glass and sipping it. Lara would have bet her beloved old Land Rover that he’d never tasted sherry in his life.
‘You’re not far from Lara,’ Henry continued. ‘She’s in Stable Cottage opposite if you need her.’
‘How convenient,’ Flynn said, exchanging an amused glance with Lara.
‘Isn’t it?’ she ground out, wondering how he could joke at a time like this.
Fiona collected a platter of canapés from the sideboard. ‘Our catering manager, Jazz, had these sent up. She’s a gem.’ She offered the platter to Flynn. ‘You’ll meet her soon enough. Won’t he, Lara?’
‘She’s great,’ Lara agreed. Having started working at Ravendale at a similar time, she and Jazz had hit it off very quickly and were now firm friends.
‘These look delicious,’ Flynn said, accepting a smoked salmon blini from a platter that also included Jazz’s sticky mini Cumberland sausages and some mushroom tartlets. ‘You needn’t have gone to all this trouble for me, though.’
‘Nonsense. I thought you’d need a bite to eat after that journey. If it makes you feel better, we have a candlelit drinks party in the banqueting hall tonight. Local businesses will be there. Jazz and the team were on duty anyway.’
‘In that case, thank you,’ Flynn said.
‘These mini sausages are good,’ Henry declared, helping himself to a second one. ‘Grab one quick, my boy, before they’re all gone.’
‘You mean before you wolf the lot,’ Fiona said, with an exasperated glance at her husband. She offered the platter to Lara. ‘My dear? You must be famished after such a busy day and you know we won’t get fed while we’re mingling at the party.’
‘Thanks,’ said Lara, although her appetite was nonexistent, even for the delicious sausages cooked in the
chef’s sticky, spicy marinade. They were speared on tiny sword-shaped cocktail sticks and she nibbled a small piece. Flynn, she noted, popped the whole sausage in his mouth. Clearly his conscience wasn’t troubling him as much as hers was.
‘I don’t mind admitting I’m incredibly relieved that Flynn could start the job at such short notice.’
‘You needed help and I was available. It was a no-brainer.’
‘What will you do with your flat in Cornwall?’ Lara asked, still not totally understanding the logistics.
‘I’m going to rent it out. There are plenty of people who need a place to live in Cornwall, that’s for sure.’
‘Not left any broken hearts down there, have you?’ Henry teased.
Fiona gasped. ‘Henry!’ She turned to Flynn, who sipped his sherry delicately. ‘I’m so sorry. My husband has no filter these days.’
Henry looked perplexed. ‘I’ve no idea what you mean,’ he said, and Lara knew he absolutely didn’t.
However, Henry’s question made her wonder if Flynn was in a relationship or not.
‘All my focus will be on Ravendale,’ he said, answering Henry politely. ‘And, on that note, can you tell me more about the Winter Spectacular?’
Lara was glad that he’d moved the conversation smoothly on to their jobs. They arranged a walkthrough of the site the following afternoon in order to do a trial run and spot any snags as dusk fell.
‘We’ll introduce you to the rest of the team properly in
All We W A nt for Christm A s the morning, and then I’m sure you’ll want to get stuck in,’ Fiona said.
Lara set her half-full glass of sherry aside. ‘I’m afraid I have to pop back to the cottage to collect my radio. The drinks reception starts in half an hour.’
Fiona glanced at the elaborate clock on the mantlepiece. ‘Gosh, yes! Time’s flown by today! There aren’t enough hours in the day at this time of year.’
Henry groaned and settled back deeper into his armchair. ‘I could stay here with a whisky and a book. I’m too old for partying.’
‘A, you’re not old, and B, our guests will be expecting you, so I will surgically remove you if I have to,’ said Fiona, with an arch of her eyebrows. ‘It’s only for a couple of hours, then you can slob around as much as you like.’
‘I’ve never slobbed around in my life,’ Henry protested.
‘Then up you get,’ said Fiona, with a wink for Lara.
The stratagem drew amused glances between her and Flynn too. He’d finished his sherry and stood up at the same time as she did, while Henry eased himself out of the armchair, muttering.
‘I’ll just touch up my warpaint in the bathroom,’ Fiona said, ‘while Henry gets his old bones moving.’
‘See you at the reception,’ Lara said.
Flynn insisted on her walking out of the drawing room, with a chivalry that would have amused her had she not been so troubled.
‘I’d like to settle in and get an early night to be ready for tomorrow,’ he said, as they walked down the stairs.
Once in the main hall, he made as if to head for the front entrance, but Lara stopped him. ‘Not that way. There’s a quicker route. Follow me.’
‘You know all the secrets of this place by now, I guess,’ he said, as they went through a small door behind the grand oak staircase.
‘I know my way around,’ she said. ‘I’m sure you will too in no time.’
She had a feeling that he’d fit in anywhere he wanted to.
Her chest tightened momentarily as the cold night air hit her lungs. Flynn kept pace with her across the courtyard. A side archway marked ‘Staff Only’ led to another smaller courtyard, with offices and workshops and a gap cut into a yew hedge.
Her cottage came into view, a single lamp lit in the sittingroom window. Flynn’s new quarters, almost opposite, were in darkness.
He stopped a few yards outside his front door. The winter moon shone down on his face and her heart did all kinds of things she didn’t want it to do.
‘Lara, I’m genuinely sorry to have landed on you so unexpectedly and caused such trouble.’
‘The chalice was an accident,’ she said. ‘As for you coming to work here, Henry and Fiona are absolutely right. We – the castle needs someone to help. It’s important for everyone that these illuminations are a success. It’s a major investment and we can’t afford for it to make a loss.’
‘It won’t make a loss with you at the helm. Fiona told me
it was your idea to have the grounds illuminated. She said you’ve worked wonders since you first came here.’
‘I wouldn’t say wonders,’ Lara said, keen not to hog all the credit and a little taken aback that her employers had spoken of her to Flynn. ‘I’ve just tried to put a decent programme of events in place that we can build on.’
‘And I’m here to support you. We can liaise on what you need at every step. You can call on me any time, night or day.’ His serious expression told her he meant it.
‘Thanks,’ Lara muttered, wanting to look away from that handsome face. It was a face that could so easily melt a heart – yet he was a colleague and, now, a neighbour. She couldn’t afford for him to become anything more. She’d learned the hard and very painful way what happened when you mixed business with pleasure. She shivered, surprised that the memory was still so raw over a year later.
‘I need to get off to the drinks reception,’ she said.
‘OK . Have you decided about the chalice yet?’
Even the mention of the C word sent unpleasant shivers through her, yet the situation had to be faced. Henry had looked very tired at drinks, and Fiona seemed frazzled. She couldn’t load any more worries onto them at this crucial time of year, especially when they thought some of their problems had been solved by the arrival of Flynn.
‘I – still haven’t decided 100 per cent. I’ll sleep on it and then decide whether to contact my friend to ask if she could do the repair quickly and discreetly.’
He let out a breath of approval. ‘I think that’s a very good idea and, as I said, my offer to go halves still stands.’