A London Christmas Page 4

  "Time to head back," he said, giving her a long, unreadable look. "I imagine you've had quite enough of this by now."

  "No—it's all breath-taking. I've never seen so many beautiful lights. Where do you go tomorrow night?"

  "Knightsbridge, for Harrods. Then the Winter Wonderland at Hyde Park. It's like a quaint carnival with lots of beautiful lights. They're fairly close to each other and both are well worth the walk, trust me." He glanced at the time on his cell phone and gave her a rueful smile. "Once again, I forgot about dinner and now its past ten-thirty. Are you all right?"

  "I came prepared this time." She pulled a couple of red bags of Malteasers out of her jacket pocket and gave him one, then opened the other bag for herself. "I love these things. They're about a hundred times better than the malted milk balls back home."

  "They ought to get us back, anyway. Would you like to stop for pizza? There's a great place just a block from the pub."

  She nodded and smiled at him, feeling inexplicably happy. This was just a temporary job. There were no expectations, none of the awkward uncertainties of a date. Just a companionable, comfortable sharing of each other's company, with occasional snatches of easy conversation, as they walked along.

  And as she strolled, she found herself wishing that the night would never end.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Over pizza last night, in a secluded, dark corner of the restaurant, Cait and Sam had talked for hours about their hometowns. Schools. The plans they'd made and the plans they'd changed, as life took them in various directions.

  Somewhere between the last slice of pizza and closing time, Sam had held her hand across the narrow table, and she'd felt a warm, sizzling sensation that had settled in her chest like a bright, burning ember.

  How had this happened, with a stranger she'd met just a few days ago? It didn't make sense. No matter how much her analytical mind tried to dissect that unbidden, instant response, she could find no answer beyond the supposition that it was simply a fluke. The product of being in that dark, intimate restaurant, with old Frank Sinatra ballads playing softly and a discrete waiter who served them efficiently and then left them alone.

  That it wasn't merely a fluke was obvious when Sam walked her back to the pub, then kissed her goodnight before she went up to her little garret in the attic.

  His kiss caught her by surprise.

  Gentle, sweet, a wisp of a touch against her lips. Then he'd caught her up in an embrace and kissed her again. A kiss that warmed her heart and sent tingles along her nerves and made her want to kiss him again.

  She'd never been kissed like that. Never had she felt such a response to anyone else.

  Then he'd released her, and she'd gone upstairs for the night. Still wondering what in the world had just happened.

  FEELING FAR MORE ASSURED about the London bus system now, Cait made her way to Bond Street later that morning and walked past the fashionable stores for twenty minutes before going into the little café Derek had mentioned, promptly at eleven-thirty.

  She was right on time.

  He wasn't there.

  She sat on a little chair in the entryway, watching elegant, middle-aged couples being led back to their tables by an obsequious host in a dark suit.

  She looked at her watch. Fidgeted with her bracelet as the minutes passed.

  Was he just late, or had he set her up with retribution in mind?

  At noon, she stood and studied the miniature oils hanging on the wall in the entryway.

  She had a cheap, pre-paid cell phone now, but it didn't have her personal phonebook, so there was no way she could call him.

  At twelve-fifteen, she gave up.

  He was just strolling up the sidewalk as she stepped out of the café.

  She faltered to a stop. "Derek."

  He inclined his head in greeting. "You made it, I see."

  "I did, at eleven-thirty. I thought you might have changed your plans."

  "Actually, I was placating my mother and convincing her that another invitation would be in order. We can discuss things further over lunch, if you'd like."

  Placating. Convincing. Neither sounded like his mother was particularly welcoming. Cait suppressed a shiver, picturing an austere, cold mansion, where voices echoed and one never felt at home.

  She let him usher her back into the café, where they were seated immediately. A waiter hurried over with menus, then motioned to the sommelier who appeared instantly at Derek's side. Apparently, Derek was well known here.

  While they discussed the wine pairings, Cait surreptitiously surveyed the room.

  Crystal wine glasses glittered in the soft candlelight. Everything was done in a subdued ivory from the walls to the tablecloths and napkins. A trio of fresh ivory roses in a crystal vase graced each table, with votive candles flickering in cut glass holders on either side.

  It was awkward, not knowing what to say to a man she'd corresponded with for a good long while. They'd seemed so well-suited. And yet...maybe not.

  She tried asking about his cancer research. Received cursory answers. Asked about where he'd grown up. Where he liked to vacation in Britain. She could hear the reserve in his voice and after just few minutes knew this meeting was a failure. He'd seemed so pleasant, in his emails. Was he really this unforgiving over their first meeting going awry? If so, at least it was a relief to know early-on rather than to invest even more time.

  Shifting in her seat, she finally asked the question still burning at the back of her mind. "Just curious—I think I've seen you in some product advertisements in magazines. Is that really you?"

  He flicked a hand dismissively. "My mother dragged me into it while I was still at university. Companies owned by family friends, mostly. I donate the earnings back into my research, of course."

  "That's certainly admirable."

  Derek glanced at her, then proceeded to order wine for the two of them.

  It was the same with the menu—he ordered quietly, efficiently, without a word to her. Without caring about her preferences.

  Last night at the restaurant, the hours with Sam had rolled past in the blink of an eye. But with Derek, each minute seemed to last an hour. She fidgeted in her chair as the waiter left to take their food orders to the kitchen.

  Each of the waiter's steps seemed to add another brick to the wall growing between them.

  She stood. Hurried after the waiter, then returned to Derek's side. “I cancelled my part of the order. I’ve realized that going any further with this would be a mistake, because I could never make you happy. I’m so sorry.”

  He stared up at her in frozen shock—probably unaccustomed to seeing any woman stand her ground.

  She hesitated, feeling as if she should at least give him a farewell kiss on the cheek, but realized that she couldn't bring herself to do it. Even that would be a lie.

  Then she grabbed her purse and fled.

  BACK AT SMYTHE & KILLIGAN's pub, Cait rushed up the stairs to the first landing and pounded on Sam's door.

  He'd been so understanding when she'd told him about her plans to meet Derek. He'd smiled, a touch of wistfulness in his eyes, then he'd given her a hug. He'd be busy in his room most of the day anyway, he'd said, using photo editing software to perfect the best of his photos so he could email them to the book author for approval. He'd be working for hours, then he'd either be going for an after dark photo shoot at Harrods or perhaps someplace else.

  She pounded on the door again, listened. Then tried the doorknob.

  It turned easily in her hand. Holding her breath, she took a step forward.

  Maybe he was just asleep. But he could have fallen, trying to maneuver with that heavy cast.

  The drapes were wide open. The bed had been stripped of linens. There was no luggage in sight. Her heart started to pound as she checked the closet, the bathroom, the chest of drawers.

  There was no sign that anyone had ever been here.

  Sam was gone.

  DOWNSTAIRS, THE OLD ma
n behind the bar frowned at her. "Sam Holden? Left late this morning, he did. Before noon."

  She gripped the edge of the bar, her knuckles white. "Do you know where he went?"

  Lowell—according to his name badge—shrugged. "The few guests we take in don't tell us that. They go on their merry way and that's it."

  "But I'm a friend. I need to contact him. Do you have his phone number? Address?"

  Lowell gave her a beady-eyed look and snorted. "If you're a friend, you'd know those things."

  "Please."

  "Can't tell you even if I wanted to. Privacy issues. Big deal these days, you know." He started wiping down the bar.

  "Did he say anything—anything at all? About why he was leaving early? Anything about what he was going to do next?"

  "Already told you. I can't say—even if I remembered something, which I don't." He looked up at her and frowned. "Are you the lady on the top floor?"

  "Yes."

  "A copper was here for you this morning around ten." He pawed through a stack of papers next to the cash register, rifled through a drawer, then glanced at the floor. He picked up a business card and handed it to her. "Said you could call this number. Something about our pub surveillance tape and your theft."

  She felt her heart lift with a rush of hope. "Did he say if my property was found?"

  "They caught the thief, but everything he took was either pawned, tossed or spent." The man shrugged, but a twinkle sparkled in his faded blue eyes. "The cop said he admitted to breaking into homes and offices to steal information from computers or take whatever he could find in desk drawers. For identity theft and such."

  "But—he wouldn't know passwords, right? How could that even work?"

  The man tipped his head toward the business card and shrugged. "Apparently some folks keep password lists in their files or desk drawers, or use easy ones. Ask him."

  Hadn’t Derek mentioned just such a break-in at his home a couple weeks ago? He'd been called away to a ruckus of some kind at the front door, and returned to find his home office had been quickly ransacked. Maybe he'd even been catching up on emails and left his computer running...which could explain how the thief had intercepted information on the plans she and Derek had made.

  If he’d gotten access to Derek’s emails, he must have cackled with glee over not only the prospect of a naïve single woman arriving alone, but knowing the meeting time and location.

  "Did Mr. Holden happen to run into him and discuss this?" She held her breath. If Sam had gone to the police station, maybe he would come back to tell her.

  "Nope. Holden was long gone."

  Cait sagged against the counter. She didn't have Sam's cell phone number. His address. Any information at all, other than he was a photographer and lived in the Chicago area.

  It was early days, but that deep sense of connection between them just had to mean something. Maybe he had a website. Maybe he would show up on a Google search. But otherwise she'd never see him again, and the thought made her heart ache and her stomach hurt and filled her with a profound sense of grief.

  Lowell stood and braced his hands on his desk. "I guess it doesn't hurt to say your friend mentioned something about the Winter Wonderland as he went out the door."

  Relief rushed through her. "Thank you. Thanks so much."

  She ran to the front entryway and flagged down the first cab she saw. "Hyde Park—the Winter Wonderland area. Please!"

  CHAPTER NINE

  Winter daylight was fading when Cait reached Hyde Park. She paid the cab driver and hurried toward the bright lights and music of the Winter Wonderland festivities, her heart in her throat.

  Crowds of people moving slow as cold molasses were ahead of her. The excited chatter and laughter of hundreds of children and the sounds of the amusement park rides and Christmas music coming from the loudspeakers made it impossible for her to call Sam's name. If he'd come here by mid-day, was he already gone?

  She had to admit it would be a beautiful place to take photographs.

  One by one, she began scouring the various areas. At the Angels Christmas Market, she stepped through the lighted archway and edged her way through the slow moving crowd, searching for Sam's familiar Cubs baseball cap amongst people shopping for gifts, and praying that he'd thought to wear it.

  He wasn't at the ice rink, photographing the skaters gliding under strands of thousands of tiny Christmas lights. She checked the beautiful old merry go round. The towering Ferris wheel, and the midway, where dozens of rides for young and old were more colorful than anything she'd seen in the States.

  She stared up at the Christmas Cracker, amused at the different names for rides that were similar to those back home.

  No luck.

  She stopped and studied an ice sculpture of a rearing horse. "Sam," she muttered under her breath. "Why aren't you here, taking a picture of this? That would be so convenient."

  Frustrated and getting cold, she turned back to the Winter Wonderland box office and waited in line for ten minutes to ask the staff if they'd seen anyone with a Chicago Cubs cap, which only earned a laugh.

  "Do you know how many people have gone through this line?" the girl hooted. "Good luck!"

  The scents of fresh donuts drew her back through the ever-growing crowds to a charming little food stand selling fresh, hot donuts and Belgian waffles.

  And there he was, taking photos of the profusion of beautiful lights overhead.

  She heaved a big sigh of relief. "I didn't think I'd ever find you," she murmured.

  He stilled for a second, then rose to his feet and turned around. "Cait."

  He slipped out of his backpack, stowed away the camera, and just...looked at her, his gaze so warm, so intense that she thought she might melt.

  "You left without saying goodbye," she said quietly, her gaze locked on his, her heart aching. "Everything in your room was gone, and the old guy at the pub wouldn't tell me anything. Not your address, not your phone number. If he hadn't mentioned this Winter Wonderland, I might never have found you. Is that what you really want? If it is, I'll turn around and leave."

  A muscle flicked along the side of his jaw and he looked away. "You have a wonderful opportunity with your boyfriend. A life with someone who shares your talents and career, someone who could give you a secure future. There's no way that I'd want to keep you from that."

  "Funny, I just walked out on a lunch with him today, and all I could think was that I didn't want to be a part of his life. Not now, not ever. All I could think of was you." She moved close to Sam and rested a palm against his cheek. "So I'm here, wondering if we can give this a chance and see where it leads."

  He stared down at her for a moment, silent. Assessing. As if he could see clear to her soul. "You're sure."

  She nodded, unable to speak.

  "Then I can't think of anything in the world I could want more." And then he lowered his mouth to hers and gave her a long, sweet kiss.

  DEAR READER, I HOPE you enjoyed this story of overcoming the past in order to find love and happiness. If you think other readers might enjoy this short novella, please consider leaving a quick review at your favorite online bookseller’s website. Thank you so much!

  I have a series of six Christmas novellas being released October through December of 2020, and I hope you will enjoy them! Click this LINK to subscribe to my monthly newsletter, in which you can find out about chances to win monthly prizes and learn about new book releases.

  At that link, you can also find my blog about “life in the country,” see where to buy my books—like the rest of this series plus other, full-length novels to come—and even find some family favorite recipes!

  This novella is a part of my six-novella Christmas series published in 2020. All are just $.99 each until December, 2020. An excerpt of the next one follows.

  The titles are:

  The Mistletoe Puppy

  A Montana Christmas

  An Irish Christmas

  A London Christmasr />
  A Scottish Christmas

  Christmas in Paris

  Here’s an excerpt from A Scottish Christmas....

  She'd made it this far, and despite her expectations, she hadn't died yet.

  Lucy Davis looked down at her white knuckles, took a deep breath, and forced her hands to relax on the steering wheel of the Vauxhall sedan.

  She'd figured out how to start the rental car. Managed to stay on the left-hand side of the road, thus far...and she'd even made it out of the confusing construction area at the Edinburgh airport and onto the M9, despite the conflicting advice between the local signage and her GPS.

  Now, with the morning traffic thinning and the rolling terrain gradually giving way to scenic hills and stands of dense timber, she was on the A9, and even dared take quick glances at the beautiful Scottish landscape as she passed signs for quaintly named villages with unpronounceable Gaelic names.

  Each one sparked her interest, making her think of her favorite historical novels, invariably set in the U.K., and a pang of remorse settled deep in her stomach. It would be so much fun to stay longer and extend this trip into an adventure of a lifetime...an exploration of the country her mother had left when Lucy was just a baby.

  As a child she'd fantasized about being a medieval princess sent away to America for safe hiding from nefarious royal enemies. Imagined a knight in shining armor would arrive someday to whisk her back to a grand palace.

  As a far more pragmatic adult, her fantasies now centered solely on quickly settling her late aunt Maura's affairs, then a return flight to the U.S. and the harsh reality of continuing her search for new job before she defaulted on her condo lease.

  This time, without an embezzler for a boss...and preferably far, far away from her cheating ex-boyfriend.

  On the British-accented orders of the GPS, she turned off the A9 onto a narrow, single-track road and headed deeper into the Highlands. The road climbed higher and higher, offering breathtaking vistas and heart-stopping curves where she had to pull into the only slightly wider lay-bys for oncoming traffic to pass. The stunning panoramas of pristine lochs and highland mountains faded into deepening gloom as the gray day turned to mist and then a steady rain.