Page 46 of Escape for Christmas
‘And it sounds like she’s clearly fallen for your rugged charms, otherwise she wouldn’t be so upset now, would she?’ Carl went on.
Brody snorted. ‘I hope you’re right about Sophie, although I don’t have rugged charms.’
‘Now you’re fishing! You know very well that half the village fancies the scrubs off your handsome arse.’
‘You don’t,’ Brody said, his toes curling in embarrassment.
Carl rolled his eyes. ‘That’s because: A, you’re not my type; and B, I know where your hands have been.’
Brody finally erupted in laughter. ‘God, Carl, I’m sorry. You invite me for a Christmas drink and all I do is bring along my own personal raincloud and unleash a deluge on you. I haven’t asked you how you are, or how you’re spending Christmas? Still going to your sister’s?’
‘Don’t worry – it’s what mates are for. I’m going to my sister’s later today, and my parents are coming too.’
‘That will be nice. Some family time,’ Brody said, knowing that Carl was part of a close-knit unit.
‘It should be, though I doubt I’ll have much time to relax. I’m the only one who knows how to deal with the turkey. Or the whole dinner, to be honest.’
‘You love cooking, though?’
‘I do, and I shall probably have to go all Gordon Ramsay and start barking at people.’ He grinned. ‘It’s the one daywhen I can be as bossy as I like and no one in my family minds a bit.’
‘You’ll be in your element,’ Brody replied, finally smiling and feeling better, after having Carl to chat to. At least there would be one household experiencing uncomplicated peace, joy and harmony – up to a point.
‘If you need me, though, you only have to call; and I’m around on Boxing Day – ish.’
‘“Ish?”’ Brody queried, intrigued.
‘Someone from mountain rescue asked me if I wanted to go for a Boxing Day hike on the fells with him.’
‘Mountain rescue?’ Brody couldn’t believe what he was hearing. ‘You’re not in the mountain-rescue team.’
‘Not at the moment,’ Carl said. ‘You never know, I might volunteer after Boxing Day. They’realwayslooking for people to hand out flapjacks and hot soup in the middle of the night.’
Brody laughed, before jokily winding up Carl about the man he was meeting up with. They stayed and talked for another half-hour before they both headed home, Carl on foot to his cottage in the village and Brody to his car at the surgery. With every step, his happier mood ebbed away. He was due to spend the evening with Tegan when she came back from her parents’, and they were going back there with his mother on Christmas Day to spend it together with the families.
He thought of Carl and his family, laughing and getting under each other’s feet in the kitchen. He thought of Sophie,trying to entertain her guests, and hoped they’d both be having a better time of it.
He turned on the windscreen wipers to clear the icy sleet that was falling from the skies. As he passed the last of the Christmas lights decorating the ferry houses by the lake, he thought about his dad and what he might have said about the ‘right old pickle’ Brody was in.
Brody hoped he would have approved of lying to spare someone’s feelings and to protect their health, but he wasn’t sure. His dad was always such a straight talker, and Brody worried that he wouldn’t be proud of him, for this or the way his life had turned out.
No answers came and he drove on up the fells, his headlamps highlighting the snow settling on the stone walls and fields. The wheel wobbled and he found his eyes wet with tears. Suddenly he missed his father as much as the day he’d lost him. He dreaded the sham that awaited him at home and had never felt less festive in his life. Even though it had been years since his dad passed, this time of year always made him miss the loved ones who weren’t there.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Five of Sophie’s guests were now in the lounge, chattering away while sipping cocktails and tucking into bowls of nibbles. Someone had told the smart speaker to play Abba’sGreatest Hitsand as yet no one was complaining, so Sophie decided not to interfere, glad to see it going well so far.
After the initial shock of finding that Nico Lombardi was the living embodiment of your typical Titled Italian Billionaire cover model, Sophie had given herself a stern talking-to to pull herself together and keep things professional.
Nico proved an expert at mixing Aperol Spritzes. Agatha, Suzanne, Una and Hugo had all either tried the drink before or been persuaded to try one now. Hugo was already on his second. No one had ventured out to the hot tub yet, which was fine with Sophie, as it saved on the heating costs. She could hardly blame them, as it looked like the sleet could be turning into snow and settling.
She had been worried about the flamenco troupe, but they’d messaged half an hour earlier saying they had a four-wheel-drive van and, being local, were used to the weather. She flitted between the guest lounge and the kitchen, checking the guests had everything they needed while preparingthe tapas, which would be followed by her tropical pavlova after the dancing.
There was no sign of Amber, which seemed a bit odd. Sophie had been up to her room and heard the TV on, but she knew better than to disturb guests. Her only dilemma was whether to alert Amber to the fact that the tapas were being served. Tapas were on the agenda for the evening after all, and she’d assumed everyone would come down for meals, rather than having to serve people in their rooms. Perhaps Amber had fallen asleep after her nightmare journey or simply not felt like company.
Sophie busied herself with laying out the Spanish meat and cheese on platters and took them through to the others.
Hugo and Una were in the middle of telling Nico about their walking holiday in Sicily. Sophie’s arrival was greeted with appreciative sounds, though the guests carried on talking. Sophie didn’t mind being politely ignored. It suited her current mood and she didn’t want to engage too deeply in conversation about her own circumstances, if possible. She placed the plates on the sideboard for guests to help themselves, but lingered to listen.
