“So, Lucy says that you’re a party planner?” Susan asked.
“Uh, an event manager, yes.”
“Oh, that sounds like an interesting job. What sort of parties are they?” asked Max.
“Well, they’re not really parties as such, more like corporate events. You know? Like, when a company is launching a product and they throw an event with giveaways and drinks and music. Like that.”
“Like a party.” Chloe was certain that Max wasn’t being obstreperous on purpose and when she thought about how she’d explained her job, she realised he was right. She was, of sorts, a party planner.
She smiled, “Actually, yes, you’re absolutely right. I plan parties for companies and do all the PR,” she added.
“And is it fun?” asked Susan.
“Sometimes, sure, but it’s also hard work. There are a lot of moving parts, and just one thing going wrong can affect the whole event. Mostly, I love it, even if it does get a little ‘samey’ sometimes. I mean, it’s project-based, which is good, and I get to do two of my favourite things—organising and communicating—but I can see myself doing something else in the future, maybe in a related field. I’ve never been like Lucy, happy working for the same company for years and years.
“Mmm, well, I’m not sure how happy Lucy is of late. At her work, I mean. She’s been having a hard time with her new manager.”
This was news to Chloe. “I didn’t know that.”
“Susan.” Max threw his wife a look. From where Chloe sat, it said, “Let’s not bring that up now, not while we have company.” Chloe watched them both closely as Susan’s lips pressed together. There was clearly more to the story, and Chloe planned to ask Lucy about it the next time they talked.
The tension in the room was interrupted by the phone ringing—a proper, sitting on the table, landline phone.
Susan leapt up and answered in the middle of the third ring. “Hello? Oh, Cecily, hello, dear.” Chloe noticed how her tone of voice flattened a little as soon as she discovered the caller’s identity. “She what? Oh, no, the poor thing. That’s terrible. No, quite right, she’s got to do as doctor says. There’s no two ways about it. No, dear, she can’t help. She’s in America. Yes, for Christmas. Well, no, she’s been planning it for months now, with her friends, you see. They’ve all swapped Christmases. We’ve got one of her best friends, Chloe, staying … Hang on a moment, Cecily. I’ve just had a thought.”
Chloe had been listening intently, wondering what had happened to whom. She didn’t have to wonder for long, however, because Susan put a hand over the handset and addressed her in a loud whisper.
“Chloe, it’s Cecily on the phone,” she said, as though Chloe should know who the heck Cecily was. Her face must have betrayed her, because Susan went on to explain, “She’s the Co-chair of the committee for the Christmas Fair with Deirdre, and apparently Deirdre’s gone and turned her ankle stepping into a rabbit hole while she was out walking her dog.” This was a lot of seemingly unnecessary detail and Chloe wished she would get to the point.
“In any case, Deirdre can’t run the fair with Cecily anymore. Strict doctor’s orders for bed rest, I’m afraid. So, you see what I’m getting at, don’t you?”
Chloe stared at her blankly, her mind fuzzy from hearty food, jet lag, exhaustion and, well yes, the sherry.
“Chloe love, would you step in and help run the village Christmas Fair?”
Chapter 8
Lucy
Lucy had never been anywhere as beautiful as Breckenridge.
Her mind flew to Oxford, Cambridge, even Stratford-upon-Avon—all picturesque and perhaps all the more beautiful for their rich histories. She thought of Paris—stunning Paris, which she had been fortunate enough to see under a fresh fall of snow.
She thought of her home hamlet of Penham, which was quaint and charming, especially when fondant-like snow iced the brown thatched roofs, evoking her mum’s much-loved Christmas cake.
But none of those places were anything like this.
Shopfronts like gingerbread houses were trimmed neatly in coloured lights, their windows spilling warm light onto the footpath in cone-shaped beams. The streetlamps wore bright red velvet bows, and were wrapped like candy canes in green garlands, as if they were on their way to a posh party.
And there were thousands—maybe millions—of pinpoints of white light. Every tree was brimming with them, aglow like the flames of giant birthday cake candles. Couples, families, friends—all wrapped in brightly-coloured quilted coats and donning pompom hats and broad grins—wove in and out along the footpaths. Some parents pulled delighted children along on sledges.
As the traffic streamed slowly through the heart of the town, Lucy emitted exclamations in a constant stream of awe.
Then they passed what she assumed was the town square. “Oh, look at that Christmas tree!” It came out as a near-whisper. The enormous tree was so densely adorned, it looked like it was made from light. More people milled about the square, the crowd seeming to be in high spirits as many sipped from takeaway cups. She even saw a couple of people dressed up as Father Christmas.
She looked across at Will and saw that he was watching her. “Pretty incredible, huh?” he asked. She realised she had tears in her eyes and blinked them back. “Yeah, it can have that effect on you, for sure,” he added. They shared a smile and her gaze returned to the town. Lucy could have stayed in that car forever, watching out the window.
And being with Will.
She indulged the thought, trying it on for size.
It wasn’t just that he was handsome—very handsome—he was clever and accomplished, and he was unbelievably easy to talk to. She’d never known a man like that; she had even told him about her problems with Angela, her manager.
And in the quiet moments over the past few hours—none of them awkward, she realised—her fantasy of the fireside lovemaking
