Magic Under the Mistletoe Read online

  By Lucy Coleman

  The French Adventure

  Snowflakes over Holly Cove

  Summer on the Italian Lakes

  Magic under the Mistletoe

  Magic Under the Mistletoe

  by Lucy Coleman

  AN IMPRINT OF HEAD OF ZEUS

  www.ariafiction.com

  First published in the United Kingdom in 2019 by Aria, an imprint of Head of Zeus Ltd

  Copyright © Lucy Coleman, 2019

  The moral right of Lucy Coleman to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  ISBN 9781788541572

  Aria

  c/o Head of Zeus

  First Floor East

  5–8 Hardwick Street

  London EC1R 4RG

  www.ariafiction.com

  Contents

  Welcome Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1: Come Fly with Me

  Chapter 2: It’s Going to be a Long Night

  Chapter 3: Cold Comfort

  Chapter 4: The Introduction

  Chapter 5: A Startling Revelation

  Chapter 6: The Contract

  Chapter 7: The Countdown Has Begun

  Chapter 8: The Holiday Spirit is Flowing

  Chapter 9: ’Tis The Season to be Jolly

  Chapter 10: The Calm Before the Storm

  Chapter 11: The Modern Day Knight Drives a Range Rover

  Chapter 12: A Little Oasis

  Chapter 13: Quid Pro Quo

  Chapter 14: A Glimpse Inside an Ivory Tower

  Chapter 15: The Perfect End to the Christmas from Hell

  Chapter 16: The Makings of a Plan

  Chapter 17: New Year, Old Wounds

  Chapter 18: Back to Work with a Vengeance

  Chapter 19: Love, Life and Reality

  Chapter 20: A Glimmer of Hope

  Chapter 21: Acting Up

  Chapter 22: Happy Valentine’s Day

  Chapter 23: Bold and Brave, or Foolhardy?

  Chapter 24: It’s Not What They Say, It’s What They Do

  Chapter 25: Cressida’s Master Plan

  Chapter 26: Shocking News

  Chapter 27: Decisions

  Chapter 28: Time to Face Facts

  Chapter 29: The Final Straw

  Chapter 5th December

  Chapter 30: A Call for Help

  Chapter 31: The Rescue Remedy… is Me

  Christmas Eve

  Chapter 32: Counting Down

  Chapter 33: The Winter Wonderland is Revealed

  Acknowledgements: No man is an island …

  About the Author

  Become an Aria Addict

  To Clive, Claire, Ellie and Anna-Sophia for a wonderful day spent at Porthkerry – the perfect setting for this story. Love you guys. xx

  1

  Come Fly with Me

  The channel piping Christmas music through my earphones might be all singalong, jingle bells and goodwill, but I’m trying very hard to contain myself. If I let rip it won’t be to spread any seasonal joy. And as I’m in a plane flying at 38,000 feet over the Indian Ocean, it’s no place for a meltdown.

  As I switch screens on the laptop a message box pops up bearing that dreaded little flag.

  I’m having second thoughts about the opening shot. I think, on balance, I prefer the one you originally selected. Although, I recall seeing a side-angle shot before I turned to face the camera which might look more natural. Can we discuss please?

  The mere thought of Solar Powered Solutions’ CEO, Mr Cary Anderson, reclining in comfort a mere thirty feet away while he sips his cocktail, isn’t doing my blood pressure any good. It’s the twenty-third of December and we’re flying back to the UK from Sydney. The answer is, no, we can’t discuss this until the Christmas holidays are over, unless he invites me up to first class.

  Sitting in a row of four seats in economy class, with a boisterous toddler to the left of me, is a challenge. His father has the aisle seat the other side of him, but the child is out of his own seat more often than he’s in it. Add into the mix a woman to my right, sorting out an oversized bag and it’s little short of hell when you are trying to type.

  It’s unbelievable that Cary is continuing to harass me with messages as if we’re still at work. The list of changes he’d like made to the rough edit of the promotional video my company, Dynamic Videography, has been making for Solar Powered Solutions is beyond unreasonable.

  What is really incensing me about all this is that if we hadn’t over-run on the filming schedule then I’d already be at home relaxing. I had been due to fly back a little over a week ago with my cameraman, and long-time friend, Jeff Martin.

  But I reckoned without the interference of a CEO who didn’t just deviate from the previously agreed storyboard and script for the shoot but kept insisting I re-write bits of it. And now, when we’ve finally finished filming, he’s still not letting up.

  Cary isn’t the only workaholic around here, but even I acknowledge that you can’t work at full throttle twenty-four-seven. I get the impression that Christmas isn’t a big deal for him. However, most of us have family obligations to meet which aren’t always easy and I was hoping to unwind a little on the flight home.

  Hasn’t it occurred to him that after a stressful few weeks at his beck and call, I might actually want to sit back, relax and switch off? If only to get a break from him and his constant demands.

  There’s another reason my nerves are on edge at the moment, though. Jeff decided – rather wisely as it turns out – not to fly back with me to the UK, but to stay in Australia for the Christmas holidays. Self-professed, long-term bachelor Jeff is going to be experiencing an Aussie Christmas with a rather attractive woman named Tania. She was working on one of the exhibition stands next to where we were filming.

  That is good news in a way because it’s been a while since anyone caught his eye. Sadly, his little romantic interludes never last very long. Mainly because he’s not a wine ’em and dine ’em sort of guy who is prepared to make an effort. Tagging along for a beer at the local and then on to a football match isn’t every woman’s idea of the perfect date. Even though I’ve set him up on more than a dozen dates with friends over the years, I’ve accepted he was a lost cause. So this was a complete surprise, to say the least. He’s due back on the second of January and I hope he comes home prepared to tackle Cary’s growing list of edits at full throttle.

  A message alert signals yet another communication from Cary.

  I now have updated information with regard to some of the energy comparison figures you are using. Full spec uploaded to Google Docs for action.

  I stifle a groan. Being under contract to him doesn’t make me his slave.

  Taking a deep breath, I try not to take this personally. I’ve witnessed up close how tirelessly Cary works; the man is like a well-oiled machine. I get the impression he would never ask anyone to do something he wouldn’t consider doing himself because basically he seems fair, but his work ethic is a tad intimidating. He never stops, and – I’m loath to admit – his focus is admirable, if relentless.

>   Success comes at a cost and I know that myself. But he is a total control freak and I imagine that the employees who report directly to him have proven themselves time and time again. Understanding the way he likes to work and getting onboard with that is probably the only way to survive. I wonder what his marketing director thought when Cary insisted on starring in, and overseeing, the filming of the video himself. This is clearly his sole focus at the moment, so I guess a lot is riding on it.

  There you go – figuring out his excuse for acting like a total pain in the ass helps, doesn’t it? I ask myself. Ding. Another message alert flashes up.

  When Jeff zoomed in on the conference banner did you realise the sign for the public toilets off to the left-hand side is on the screen for a couple of seconds? I’m sure there must be the same shot taken from another angle. Can you sort it, please?

  Aarrgghh! Is he going to spend the entire flight lying back and replaying the footage over and over again?

  I jumped at the offer to fly to Sydney to make what has turned out to be more of a documentary than a promotional video. It was a first for us and Jeff was raring to go. But the reality is that I’ve probably underpriced the job, given the amount of time we’ve been away. Cary has acknowledged the parameters of the project have grown, but whether he’ll like the increased bill at the end of it, who knows?

  My back is really aching and I squirm around in my seat as much as I dare, given the constant jostling either side of me. To my left the increasingly hassled father has hauled his unruly, screeching child onto his lap. Now I’m having to dodge sharp elbows and kicking feet. To my right, the woman who has taken command of the armrest is spilling out over her seat, as are the items she’s sorting from her enormous carry-on.

  Snapping my laptop shut, I lean forward to stow it in the seat pocket in front of me for safety. Why me? I ask myself. I don’t do kids; I simply don’t have the patience, or that well of maternal instinct most other women I know seem to have.

  Without warning, a flying fist sends my head rocking. The struggling dad next to me hastily bundles the little nightmare across the aisle and into the lap of his equally stressed wife. He turns to me, looking distinctly hot, bothered and embarrassed.

  ‘I’m so sorry about that. Hayden is a little overtired; you know what kids are like at this time of the year. There isn’t much room in these seats, is there?’

  I nod briefly to acknowledge his apology but the excuse is a lame one. There are lots of children of varying ages on this flight and I don’t see any other passengers being used as a punch bag.

  ‘No, there isn’t. Maybe he’ll fall asleep soon,’ I reply, a hint of optimism in my voice.

  The guy looks me firmly in the eye, shaking his head. ‘I doubt it,’ he admits, sucking in a deep breath. ‘I fear it’s going to be a long flight.’

  He says the words out of the side of his mouth as if he doesn’t want his wife to overhear him, which she can’t. Hayden is now refusing to be restrained and complaining loudly.

  ‘Darling, I think Hayden needs to run off a little steam.’ She turns to her husband with a desperate look on her face and I instantly find myself feeling sorry for them both.

  The poor guy doesn’t have much choice. Rather reluctantly, he stands to begin grappling with the boy as his wife tries to hand him over. It’s the turn of the elderly gentleman sitting next to the desperate mum to dodge elbows and kicking feet now.

  ‘Is there a problem?’

  Cary suddenly appears in the aisle to the right of me and I spin my head in his direction. As I do so, I notice that I’m not the only female in close proximity whose eyes have alighted upon him. In fact, the air hostess standing patiently to his right could easily pass by but she’s lingering, hoping to be of some help. It’s hard to suppress a hint of the intense irritability I’m feeling. If he was her boss, it would soon wipe that fawning smile off her face.

  ‘No, why?’ I ask, trying to remain cool and ignore the kerfuffle going on in the aisle to my left. However, when I turn back around I see the screaming Hayden being forcefully carried, with great difficulty, and deposited on the floor. He rebels by refusing to stand and disappears out of view. All that is visible now are his flailing arms and legs. Heads are turning in his direction.

  I watch in total disbelief, as the wife begins to accuse her husband of mishandling the situation. Not wishing to add to the poor guy’s embarrassment, I turn back around and try to divert Cary’s gaze. I should imagine it’s bad enough coping with a child throwing a tantrum in such a confined space, without being pulled into an argument over it. That’s family life for you, but people don’t always realise what they are getting themselves into.

  ‘Everything’s fine. Just a tired little boy and two stressed parents,’ I inform Cary.

  We’re talking over the head of the woman sitting to my right and I give her a little sardonic smile of apology.

  ‘You didn’t respond to my last three messages. I’m checking you received them.’ Cary’s tone is clipped.

  Is he joking? He can see the situation I’m in.

  I nod, unable to answer him for fear that the sarcastic retort in my head will find its way to my lips. Time to remind myself he is a client and maybe I’m not doing a very good job of managing his expectations. Well, reining in his unreasonable demands, to be precise. Like assuming that I’m sitting here ready and waiting to act upon every command he issues.

  The woman alongside me glares up at Cary disapprovingly and his frown instantly dissolves.

  ‘Is there anything I can do?’ he asks, in a more civilised tone.

  Guilt is a wonderful thing.

  Considering I’ve spent the last three-and-a-half weeks working twelve-hour days alongside this man, this is probably only the second time he’s said something that makes him sound like a normal human being.

  The first occasion was during a brief encounter we had, early one morning. We both happened to be doing an early morning run around the perimeter of the hotel grounds. Ironically, in opposite directions, which says a lot.

  Seeing him coming towards me I had absolutely no intention at all of stopping, but as he slowed he yanked out his Rovking earbuds. Inwardly I’d groaned.

  ‘I didn’t know you were a runner,’ he’d said as he drew alongside, running on the spot. Which set me on edge. Who does that? Rather annoyingly, he hadn’t even sounded the teensiest bit out of breath, although his skin had been glistening with sweat. I’d consoled myself by assuming he was on his first lap, whereas I was on my fifth and only pleasantly glowing. Or so I thought at the time, but sweating isn’t really glamorous under any condition, is it?

  ‘It’s the best time of the day,’ I’d admitted, not really knowing what else to say.

  I remember wishing he hadn’t stopped, just waved and continued on by. I had tried, with limited success, to avoid making eye contact. Instead I’d found myself glancing over those solid, tanned arms of his. Muscles that showed he was as committed to the gym as he was to his work. When I’d looked up at him again his smile had been warm. Engaging, even. And I clearly remember seeing his eyes flickering over me. Was it appreciation I’d seen reflected back at me as I’d quickly looked away?

  ‘It seems that’s something else we have in common,’ he’d mused. ‘Aside from being workaholics and perfectionists.’

  With that, he’d given me a rather amused smile, popped his earbuds back in and off he ran. But when we caught up again just over an hour later it had been business as usual – and by then he was frowning again.

  A sudden jolt as we hit an air pocket sees Cary grabbing the side of the seat alongside him as he stares at me, awaiting my answer.

  ‘I’m fine, thank you.’ My tone infers that I’m not fine at all, but what can I say with everyone around me listening in on our conversation.

  Cary frowns. ‘Can I at least get you a drink, or a snack?’

  Now his conscience is bothering him but not enough to offer to exchange seats.

&nb
sp; I declined an alcoholic drink when the cabin crew were doing the rounds but after only two hours of little Hayden’s antics I’m in dire need of something fortifying. And I rather like the thought of Cary having to put himself out for me, for a change.

  ‘Yes, please. A gin and tonic would go down really well.’

  He takes a moment to study my face before returning a polite smile. And then I realise this is the first time he’s really noticed me. I mean me as a person, rather than a contractor hired to make a promotional video.

  ‘G and T it is, then,’ he throws back at me nonchalantly.

  Out of the corner of my eye I notice that a little smile is creeping over the face of the woman sitting next to me.

  ‘Your boss?’ she leans in to ask as he walks away.

  Well, I suppose he is while I’m under contract.

  ‘Yes, unfortunately.’

  ‘Commiserations,’ she offers, diving back into that bag which seems to contain a weird assortment of items.

  Cary heads off down the aisle, and with two empty seats next to me for the first time since boarding I feel that I finally have room to stretch and breathe. I can still hear Hayden screaming somewhere in the background. But as I look over to smile at the elderly gentleman sitting across the aisle on my far left, I draw in a long, slow breath. It feels good.

  ‘Kids, eh?’ The man nods, raising his eyebrows before focusing once more on the book in front of him. The one Hayden was repeatedly trying to kick out of his hands a few minutes ago.

  It isn’t long before the mother returns, anxiously searching through her bag and retrieving a packet of wet wipes.

  ‘I’m so sorry about the disruption,’ she apologises, looking first at the elderly gentleman sitting next to her and then across the aisle at me.

  He gives a nod and a little smile.

  ‘It’s difficult when they’re so young,’ I offer, hoping to make her feel a tad less awkward. ‘Would you like to swap places with me? It might allow you to make your little boy more comfortable, so he can get some sleep.’