A Little Christmas Magic Page 7

  Two glasses?

  Well … he had to start somewhere, didn’t he?

  ‘I’m sorry.’ It was harder than he’d expected to get the words out. A shame it made it sound like he didn’t really mean it but he did. He was absolutely appalled at how he’d behaved. And in front of the children …

  He shoved the empty glass towards the closest chair at his end of the table. ‘Help yourself.’

  She probably didn’t even drink whisky, he thought, as he remembered her refusal the other night. The night when he’d had the impression that she understood exactly how he was feeling.

  Could he make her understand this?

  The fact that she sat down in the chair and then reached to pull the stopper out of the decanter gave him a glimmer of hope. At least she was prepared to listen. He waited until he’d heard her pour herself a dram and then the clink of the stopper going back. He still couldn’t look up to meet her gaze, however.

  ‘It was the tree,’ he said. ‘It was in the same place. Exactly the same place.’

  There. He’d said it. Only maybe it wasn’t enough because all he got back was an expectant silence. He risked a glance up from the amber liquid he was swirling in the bottom of his glass.

  Blue eyes, she had. With a hint of grey, like the sea when there was a storm on the horizon. Right now they looked as big as oceans, too. She looked as though she could already see all she needed to know but she wanted to hear the words as well.

  Adam took a sip of the warmed whisky and felt the fire trickle down his gullet.

  ‘The tree was right there beside the fire,’ he said finally. ‘When I got back home on Christmas Eve. It was covered with all its decorations and the lights were still flashing as though nothing had happened. All the presents were underneath, waiting for the bairns in the morning.’

  Still Emma said nothing.

  ‘I’d had to go all the way to Edinburgh,’ Adam continued. ‘To identify Tania’s body. I’d been thinking all the way that she would be terribly burned and it would be the worst thing I’d ever seen but there wasn’t a mark on her, apart from the soot in her hair and around her nose and mouth.’

  It had still been the worst thing he’d ever had to deal with, though. The shock of seeing his dead wife had been terrible enough. To be told she hadn’t been alone in her bed had been an additional blow he hadn’t been able to handle.

  The police had been so understanding. Apologetic, really, at having to deliver the extra blow. Sympathetic. It could be kept quiet, if that’s what he would prefer.

  Of course he would. Nobody would ever know. Emma certainly didn’t need to know, even though it was tempting to tell her, thanks to the look of appalled empathy in her eyes. Did he want her to really understand? To feel … sorry for him?

  No.

  He cleared his throat. ‘She’d died from the smoke inhalation, not the flames.’

  Flames. How shocking had it been to see that paper chain erupt? The children must have been terrified and it was all because he hadn’t known what to do with that dreadful surge of feelings that had been unbearable.

  ‘It was very late by the time I got back. My mother was asleep upstairs with the children and it was the early hours of Christmas Day. The day I would have to tell my bairns that their mummy wasn’t coming home.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Adam.’ The words were a whisper and when he looked up again there were tears rolling down the side of Emma’s nose.

  ‘It’s not your fault.’ He wanted to reach out and catch one of those tears with his thumb and wipe it away. He wanted to go upstairs and kiss his children and tell them he was sorry and that they would never see him like that again. He would do that. Soon. Even if they were asleep. And then he’d do it again tomorrow.

  ‘None of this is your fault,’ he told Emma. ‘It’s me.’

  ‘It’s me who’s tried to force you to bring Christmas into the house. I’m so sorry. For your loss and for the hurt I’ve caused. I was thinking about the children and their Christmas and I lost sight of how much it might hurt you.’

  Emma was clearly not a practised whisky drinker. She took a gulp that made her cough and splutter and Adam had to resist the urge to pat her on the back.

  To smile even.

  ‘I’ll get rid of everything,’ she offered. ‘I’ll explain to the children that you’re not ready to celebrate Christmas yet. That we can go and see the tree in the village and we don’t need to have one in the house. We can take the paper chains to school and I’m sure Caitlin will let us put them up in the classroom. And I’ll—’

  Adam reached out and put his hand over hers. Only because she wasn’t looking at him and he wanted her to stop talking.

  It worked. Emma went very still but Adam didn’t take his hand away from hers. It felt tiny and soft and warm under his and he liked it.

  ‘No,’ he said softly. ‘What you can do is show me how to make a paper chain. I want to fix this one so it’s right for when the children come down in the morning. And tomorrow I’ll go up into the attic and find the box of decorations for the tree.’

  ‘Oh …’ There was a sparkle in those blue-grey eyes that looked like more than the remnants of tears. And her hand moved under his. Turned and twisted so that her fingers were grasping his palm. Squeezing it. ‘Really? You’ll let us have a real Christmas? In the house?’

  ‘Aye.’ It was impossible not to catch a little bit of that childlike enthusiasm. The sheer joy that was breaking through. ‘Three years of grief is enough, I’m thinking. We’ll do this for the children.’

  ‘Oh …’ Emma jumped to her feet and Adam found himself standing up, too. Had he guessed that she would stand on tiptoe and throw her arms around him?

  ‘Thank you, Adam. Thank you so much …’

  ‘I’ll talk to the hall committee too, about Jemima being in the play. I still think it’s a bit daft but if they know it’s for the children—for the first real Christmas they’re going to celebrate since their mother died—they might just come on board.’

  She was beaming up at him. Impossible not to smile back. She was so loving, this gypsy waif of a woman. So full of joy.

  It was he who should be thanking her. He knew that but somehow the words wouldn’t form themselves. Instead, he felt his arms go around her. How long had it been since he’d felt the soft curves of a woman like this?

  Three years—that’s how long. He’d actually forgotten how good it could feel.

  He smiled back at her and she stretched up even more and kissed him on the cheek. Except that he moved his head somehow and it was the corner of his mouth that her lips brushed.

  And, heaven help him, for a heartbeat he wanted her to do it again. To kiss him.

  And not on his cheek.

  Maybe Emma had sensed the longing. She sprang away from him. ‘I’ll get the sticky paper,’ she said. ‘There’s plenty left.’

  Oh … help …

  She hadn’t intended to kiss Adam at all and she certainly hadn’t been aiming anywhere near his mouth, but he’d moved somehow and her lips had been aware of exactly where they’d landed, albeit so briefly.

  She’d dismissed the tingle that had run right through her body as embarrassment but it wasn’t going away as they sat cutting strips of coloured paper. It was more than embarrassment at being so inappropriate, wasn’t it? And hadn’t the lines between employer and employee been blurred beyond recognition by Adam talking about something so personal?

  So incredibly sad …

  Emma could understand completely how Adam felt about celebrating Christmas now and yet he was prepared to put his own feelings aside for the sake of the children.

  How brave was that?

  She stole a glance at the man sitting at the table with her. Such a serious face. And skilful hands that could probably do all sorts of incredibly intricate medical procedures but were currently being used with intense concentration to manipulate strips of rainbow-coloured paper. It was ridiculous but she actually felt … p
roud of Adam? For putting his children first. For being staunch.

  And that seemed to intensify the lingering tingle. Emma needed to distract herself before she said or did something else that might overstep a boundary that was becoming more difficult to identify. She looked at what Adam was doing. He had made two loops. Separate loops.

  ‘Once you’ve made one loop, you need to thread the next strip through before you stick it into a loop. That’s how they join up. Like this … see?’

  ‘Oh … aye …’ Adam made a face. ‘I was distracted by the taste. I might need another wee dram to wash it away soon.’

  He looked happier when he had three and then four loops joined together. ‘I can see why the children enjoyed doing this. It’s quite satisfying, isn’t it?’

  Emma nodded, smiling as she remembered how much the twins had loved the activity. ‘Poppy and Ollie are easy to entertain,’ she told him. ‘They’re gorgeous children.’

  ‘You manage them very well. For someone who’s never been a nanny, you’re doing a good job, Emma.’

  It felt like high praise. Especially when it came with a smile and a softening of those dark eyes. Yes … the lines of those boundaries had definitely been blurred. Where exactly did they stop now?

  Inexplicably, that silent query kicked the tingle up by several notches. In a kind of backwards trickle that went through her limbs and pooled somewhere deep inside.

  ‘How do you know how to get on so well with kids? You said you didn’t have any younger brothers or sisters, didn’t you?’

  She nodded again. ‘I did have a kind of older brother, though. Jack.’

  ‘A kind of brother?’

  ‘He was the son of my parents’ best friends. A lot older than me but we got on really well. Still do. He’s … important in my life.’

  That was an understatement but Adam had obviously picked up on the vibe.

  ‘Your boyfriend?’

  ‘Heavens, no …’ Emma almost smiled at the question but there was something in Adam’s tone that she couldn’t place. Did he want her to have a boyfriend? So that those boundaries were clearly flagged? What would happen when he knew the truth?

  ‘I love Jack dearly,’ she said quietly, ‘but definitely in the brother category. And he’s happily married now with his first baby on the way. No … he’s even more special now because he became a doctor and then a specialist in oncology. He kept Mum going for a lot longer than she might have had otherwise and she had a good quality of life until … the end.’

  And he’d been her primary physician ever since her own diagnosis. How many people were lucky enough to get a doctor who cared so much? Who was so determined to succeed?

  ‘How long ago did you lose your mother?’

  ‘Just last year.’ Emma met his sympathetic gaze. The boundary lines were totally invisible now. It felt like she was sitting here talking to a friend, not her employer. ‘And I miss her terribly. You’re very lucky to have your mum as part of your life.’

  ‘I know. But she does too much. It’s not fair …’ For a heartbeat, as Adam held her gaze, it seemed like he was going to say something else. About his mother? About her?

  Something that might reveal he was feeling the extraordinary connection that had Emma slightly stunned?

  No. Emma couldn’t tell if it was relief or disappointment that coursed through her as Adam frowned and looked away. Normal service was being resumed. Maybe a breathing space was a good idea. For both of them. Or maybe she’d just been imagining that connection.

  He held up his paper chain.

  ‘Will this be long enough, do you think? When it’s joined to yours?’

  By the time breakfast was ready the next day, the paper chains were back in place as though nothing had happened last night.

  Poppy and Oliver had bounced back to normal in the delightful way children could. Not only was Adam apparently forgiven for his outburst, the twins were impressed that he had fixed the paper chain himself.

  ‘All by yourself?’ Poppy asked.

  ‘Emma showed me what to do.’

  Emma looked up from where she was spooning porridge into bowls and grinned at him. ‘I expect you could have worked it out all by yourself,’ she said generously. ‘Coffee?’

  ‘Please.’ It made him feel good to remember their time together last night. Talking about things he would never normally share. Feeling as if he was in the company of someone he could talk to about anything at all. Adam began to smile back at her but he was aware of the intense scrutiny of the children so he smiled at them instead.

  ‘It makes your mouth taste funny after a while, doesn’t it? Licking the sticky paper?’

  ‘Aye …’ Oliver nodded solemnly as he climbed onto his chair. ‘It does at that.’

  Adam’s mouth twitched into a wider smile at the adult turn of phrase from his small son but then it faded as he caught the glance slanted in his direction as Oliver reached for his glass of milk. There was a hint of wariness in those brown eyes that were so like his own. Ollie was on his best behaviour, wasn’t he? Just in case …

  And that hurt. How often had his children tiptoed around him? he wondered. To stop him being cross.

  Or sad.

  The resolution to put the years of mourning behind this family and move forward had seemed more of a mountain to climb when he’d woken this morning after a somewhat disturbing dream that had included the new nanny but Adam had gathered it back and shored it up.

  Things were going to change around here.

  And Christmas was the perfect time to start.

  ‘Tonight,’ he told his children, ‘when I get home from work, we’re going to have an expedition.’

  ‘What’s an exposition?’ Poppy looked at the bowl Emma put in front of her. ‘I don’t like porridge.’ She frowned. ‘It’s icky.’

  ‘Not when you put a little bit of cream and some brown sugar on it. Here, I’ll help you.’

  ‘An expedition is an adventure,’ Adam told his daughter. ‘And when I get home, we’ll get the ladder out and go up into the attic.’

  Oliver stopped making roads through his porridge with his spoon. ‘The attic? Where the ghost is?’

  ‘There’s no such thing as ghosts,’ Adam said firmly. ‘It’s where the box of Christmas decorations is. We’re going to find it and then decorate your tree.’

  Poppy’s gasp was one of pure excitement. She had to climb off her chair, onto her father’s lap, throw her arms around his neck and plant a kiss—sticky with brown sugar—in the middle of his cheek.

  The dogs caught the excitement. Benji barked and chased his tail over by the fire and staid old Bob’s tail was waving like a flag. Even studious little Oliver was grinning widely.

  Adam could almost taste the sweetness of the sugary kiss Poppy had bestowed but when she returned to her own chair he looked across to where Emma was sitting with her own bowl of porridge. He might have expected to see her beaming at him with that infectious joy she had but, instead, her smile was poignant and there was a sparkle in her eyes that reminded him of when they had been full of tears.

  She knew how much of an effort he was making here. That things were going to change and that this was going to be the best Christmas he could manage for the twins.

  The memory of that butterfly’s-wing touch of Emma’s lips on the corner of his mouth came flooding back. And that peculiar moment when he’d caught her gaze after she talked about her mother and he’d had the disconcerting notion that he was actually falling into those blue pools. And that merged into a remnant of his dream that he couldn’t quite catch and probably didn’t want to anyway, but something was hanging in the air between him and Emma.

  Yes. Things were changing. Had he thrown a pebble into a still pond and the ripples were only just beginning?

  That was disturbing. Adam fed his crust to the dogs and drained the last of his coffee.

  ‘Time for me to go to work,’ he announced gruffly, careful to avoid any more eye contact with Emma
that might add to the alarming impression that he might have started something that could get completely out of control.

  ‘You won’t forget, will you, Dad?’

  ‘What’s that, Ollie?’

  ‘About the adventure. In the attic.’

  ‘No, son.’ He ruffled Oliver’s hair. ‘I won’t forget. I promise.’

  He kissed Poppy and nodded farewell to Emma. And it only took that microsecond of a look to realise that there were other things he wasn’t about to forget either.

  However much he wished he could.

  CHAPTER SIX

  HE’D BEEN WRONG about the ghost in the attic.

  Adam realised that the instant he stepped through the hole in the ceiling, even before he turned to help first Oliver and then Poppy to climb off the steep set of stairs cleverly concealed behind a door that had been locked for years.

  The light switch he flicked made several bulbs glow but the light was inadequate for the huge space. Despite the shadows, however, his gaze went straight towards that long rack of dresses in the far corner where the roofline sloped sharply towards the small latticed windows. And the stacks of boxes beside it, full of other clothing and shoes and handbags. He could even make out the jewellery case sitting on top.

  They represented what had attracted him to Tania in the first place. The beauty. The glamour. In retrospect he was ashamed of how shallow it was to judge people on their outward appearance like that. Look at how he’d judged Emma in her oversized clothes with her musical accessory as a refugee from the sixties. If fate hadn’t stepped in and made it imperative that he give her a chance, he might never have discovered what an astonishing person lay beneath that appearance.

  And fate had been responsible for discovering the real reason for more and more of those ‘shopping’ trips that Tania had needed to keep her happy. Had she even worn half those clothes or had they only ever been a mask for her infidelity?