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The Unexpected Holiday Gift
Sophie Pembroke


Reunited for Christmas?

When Jacob Foster walks back into Clara’s world, her heart races. She won’t, can’t, allow herself to hope it could lead to something more. But when her soon-to-be ex-husband hires her to create a perfect Christmas for his family, she simply can’t afford to refuse.

Yet Clara has a secretone she thought Jacob would never be ready to hear. Until snowbound with her husband, their bond is rekindled Dare she hope that Jacob could be there for her and their daughter not just for Christmas, but for ever?







Reunited for Christmas?

When Jacob Foster walks back into Clara’s world, her heart races. She won’t, can’t, allow herself to hope it could lead to something more. But when her soon-to-be ex-husband hires her to create a perfect Christmas for his family, she simply can’t afford to refuse.

Yet Clara has a secret...one she thought Jacob would never be ready to hear. Until she is snowbound with her husband, and their bond is rekindled... Dare she hope that Jacob could be there for her—and their daughter—not just for Christmas, but forever?


‘I remember.’

The heat in Jacob’s voice surprised her after all this time. Did he still feel that connection? The one that had drawn them together that night and seemed never to want to let them go.

She bit her lip. She had to know. ‘Do you? Do you remember how it was? How we were?’

‘I remember everything.’

Clara’s body tightened at his words.

‘I remember how I couldn’t look away from your eyes. They mesmerised me. I remember I was supposed to go home for Christmas the next day, but I couldn’t leave your bed. Couldn’t be apart from you no matter what day it was. I thought I might go insane if I couldn’t touch your skin…’

So he did remember. She’d thought she might have embellished the memory of that connection over the years, but he described it just the way she remembered it feeling. Like an addiction, a tie between them. Something she couldn’t escape and didn’t even want to.


The Unexpected Holiday Gift

Sophie Pembroke






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


SOPHIE PEMBROKE has been reading and writing romance ever since she read her first Mills & Boon romance at university, so getting to write them for a living is a dream come true! Sophie lives in a little Hertfordshire market town in the UK with her scientist husband and her incredibly imaginative six-year-old daughter. She writes stories about friends, family and falling in love—usually while drinking too much tea and eating homemade cakes. She also keeps a blog at www.sophiepembroke.com (http://www.sophiepembroke.com).


For Auntie Barbara and Uncle Viv, for so many perfect Christmas days!


Contents

Cover (#u5ecc1213-ff38-5210-8ffe-db5e73d0330b)

Back Cover Text (#u8b7574dd-0ae9-5b7d-8a2b-bd50f55c041c)

Introduction (#u35f87fdb-4889-52fa-a16b-2c8163cc3dab)

Title Page (#ua3a39ad9-855d-5fd2-a3d5-067ee34a81e4)

About the Author (#uac5293d5-fc15-582f-8a0f-563a63f2096e)

Dedication (#u0bf69b0f-c531-5416-b79a-67e98e328270)

CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_aed88152-3c3d-5ed4-99e0-2d3dc710bb5d)

CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_ce9895f2-da99-5284-8c73-c4fd1c457093)

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_2460a14e-0623-5547-b70a-eeb4ed43d91d)

CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_56681b2c-eaa0-5e69-bfd8-9c549b6024a9)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_2a61b78b-f4f3-5257-8439-c685fd3e6bf5)

CLARA TUGGED THE candy-striped ribbon just a millimetre farther out, then leaned back to admire the neatly wrapped present with beautifully tied bow. Really, it was a shame to give it away.

‘Are we done?’ Her business partner, Merry, added one last gift to the pile and looked hopefully at Clara. ‘That was definitely the last one, right?’

‘For this client, yes.’ Clara grinned. ‘But I’m fairly sure we’ve got another three Christmas lists to work through before the big day. Not to mention the five decorating projects, three last-minute requests for tickets as presents and two Christmas dinners we need to arrange.’

‘And a partridge in a pear tree,’ Merry grumbled. ‘Whose stupid idea was this business anyway?’

‘Yours,’ Clara reminded her cheerfully. ‘And I know you love it, really.’

Clara hadn’t been sure there was a market for this sort of thing when Merry had first suggested it. Did Londoners really need another concierge and events service? Would people really pay them to organise their lives, buy their gifts, arrange special access and perks, plan their parties and family gatherings, their holidays and so on? Merry had been adamant that they would.

With your magic at making things perfect and my business knowledge, we can’t fail, she’d insisted over a bottle of wine at Clara’s tiny rented flat one evening.

So Perfect London had been born and, four years later, business was booming. Especially at Christmas.

‘I suppose it’s all right,’ Merry said, the smirk she threw Clara’s way showing her real feelings. ‘Pays the bills, anyway.’

And then some. Clara was still amazed at just how successful they’d been. Successful enough that she’d been able to move out of that tiny flat into her own house two years ago. Successful enough that she no longer lay awake at night, panicking about how she would provide for her daughter, Ivy, alone.

Clara stared at the mountain of presents again, then turned her attention to the Christmas tree standing in their shop front office window. Gazing at the star on top, she made a wish. The same wish she’d made every year since Perfect London had taken the city by storm that first Christmas, when media mentions and word of mouth had seen them triple their income in a month and the numbers had held at that level for the following year.

Please, let things stay this good for another year?

The fact that they had so far went a long way to wiping out some of the less than wonderful Christmas memories from her childhood. Clara would even go so far as to say that, these days, Christmas was a magical time of year for her—especially with Ivy around to share it with.

‘What have you and Ivy got planned for Christmas?’ Merry asked.

Clara shrugged. ‘Nothing much. She wants a bike, so I imagine we’ll be taking that out for a ride.’ She frowned just for a moment, remembering that a bike wasn’t the only thing her daughter had asked Father Christmas for that year. Ivy didn’t know that she’d overheard, but Clara couldn’t shake the memory of her whispering to the man in the red suit at the shopping centre that what she wanted most in the world was ‘to have a dad’.

At least the bike was more achievable, even if keeping it hidden was proving tricky. She could walk out and buy a bike at any number of shops in the city.

A father was rather more difficult to procure. Especially Ivy’s real dad.

She shook the thought away. There were only a couple of weeks until the big day, and Clara was going to focus on the wonderful Christmas she could give her daughter.

‘Other than that,’ she went on, ‘pancakes for breakfast, the usual turkey for lunch and a good Christmas movie in the afternoon.’ Quiet, cosy and just the way Clara liked it.

Worlds away from the Christmases she had once expected to have, before Ivy had come along, before Perfect London. Before she had walked out on her marriage.

It was strange to think about it now. Most of the time, she could barely imagine herself still married to Jacob. But every now and then, something would happen to remind her and she’d find herself picturing the way her life might have gone. Like a parallel universe she kept getting glimpses of, all the might-have-beens she’d walked away from.

They would probably be spending Christmas in one of his many modern, bright white, soulless properties. They were barely houses, let alone homes, and they were certainly not cosy. Maybe his family would be with them this year, maybe not. There’d be expensive, generic presents, designer decorations. Maybe she’d have thrown a party, the sort she loved organising for clients these days—but it would have felt just as much like business, when all the guests would have been Jacob’s business associates rather than friends.

But there was the other side of it too. They’d only managed two Christmases together, but they had both been packed with happy moments—as well as the awful ones. She had memories of waking up in Jacob’s arms, the times when it had been just the two of them and a bunch of mistletoe. A walk in the snow with his arm around her waist. The heat in his eyes as he watched her get ready for another party. The way he smiled, just sometimes, as if she was everything he’d ever imagined having in the world and so much more.

Except she wasn’t, and she knew that now. More than that, she knew that she was worth more than he was willing to give her—only bestowing his attention on her when it suited him, or when he could drag himself away from work. When you truly loved someone, it wasn’t a chore to spend time with them and they should never have to beg you for scraps of attention. Ivy had taught her that—and so much more. She had taught her things Clara couldn’t imagine she’d spent twenty-seven years not understanding but that Ivy had been born knowing.

So Clara seldom thought twice about her decision to leave—she knew it had been the right one. But still, from time to time those parallel universes would sneak up and catch her unguarded, reminding her of the good things about her marriage as well as the bad.

‘What are you thinking about?’ Merry asked. ‘You’ve been staring at that tree for five solid minutes and you haven’t even asked me to start on the next job. I’m beginning to worry.’

Clara shook her head and turned away from the tree. It didn’t matter, anyway. Because in all those visions of that other life, there was always one person missing.

Ivy.

And Clara refused to imagine her life without her daughter.

‘Nothing,’ she lied. ‘Just Christmas Past, I suppose.’

‘I prefer Christmas Presents,’ Merry joked. ‘Or even Christmas Future if it means we’re done working for the year.’

‘Done for the year?’ Clara asked incredulously. ‘Have you forgotten the Harrisons’ New Year’s Eve Charity Gala?’

Merry rolled her eyes. ‘As if I could. Who really needs that much caviar anyway?’

‘Two hundred of London’s richest, most famous and most influential people.’ Twenty tables of ten, at ten thousand pounds a plate, with all proceeds going to the children’s charity the Harrison family had set up in memory of their youngest child, who’d died ten years ago from a rare type of blood cancer.

No one else would have dared to hold such an important—and expensive—fundraiser on New Year’s Eve. The one night of the year when everyone had plans and people they wanted to be with. But the Harrisons had the money, the influence, the charm and the celebrity to pull it off. Especially with Perfect London organising everything for them.

Clara had been nervous when Melody Harrison—activist, author and all-round beautiful woman—had approached her. The Harrisons were possibly the most recognisable family in London: the epitome of a perfect family. And Melody wanted Clara to organise the most important charity event in their calendar.

‘You did such a beautiful job with the True Blue launch event,’ she’d said. ‘I just know Perfect London is the right fit for our little charity gala.’

‘Little’, Clara had found out soon enough, had been the biggest understatement of the year. Possibly of the last decade.

But they’d managed it—with plenty of outsourcing, hiring in extra staff for the event and more than a few late nights. Everything was in place as much as it could be while they finished dealing with their more usual Christmas bookings. Clara planned to take Christmas Eve, Christmas Day and Boxing Day off entirely to spend the time with Ivy. Her own perfect little family.

It was natural for Ivy to be curious about her dad, Clara knew. But she also knew, deep in her heart, that they were better off with just the two of them. They were a team. A duo. They didn’t need anyone else, people who could walk out at any moment or decide they’d found something better or more important to focus on.

Right now, Ivy knew she was the most important thing in her mother’s world, and Clara would never do a thing to risk ruining that.

‘You’re staring at the tree again,’ Merry said. ‘It’s getting creepy. What’s got you all pensive? Christmas Past... Are you thinking about your ex?’

‘Sort of, I suppose.’ Clara busied herself, tidying up the wrapping paper and ribbons. As much as she loved Merry, she really didn’t want to talk about Jacob.

Merry, apparently, didn’t get that memo. ‘Do you ever regret leaving him?’

‘No,’ Clara said firmly. Did she feel guilty about it? Yes. Did she wonder what might have happened if she’d stayed? Sure. But regret... How could she regret the life she had now, with her daughter? ‘But... I guess I’m still missing some closure, you know?’

‘You know what would help with that?’ Merry said. ‘An actual divorce. Honestly, it’s been, what, five years?’

‘It’s not like I haven’t asked for one. Repeatedly.’ But Jacob had money and, more important, better lawyers. If he wanted to stall, they knew all the possible ways to make it happen. And, for some reason, he didn’t seem to want their divorce to go through.

‘Yeah, but it’s not like you’re even asking for anything from him. Not that it wouldn’t have been a help at the start.’ Merry still hadn’t quite got over the fact that Clara had walked out with nothing but the clothes on her back and a small bag of personal belongings. But she had wanted to leave that whole part of her life behind, and taking money from Jacob would have tied her to him.

Although, as it turned out, she’d walked away with something much more binding than money. Even if she hadn’t known it then.

That was where the closure came in. It wasn’t just about them—it was about Ivy too. Had she done the right thing, not going back when she’d discovered she was pregnant? At the time, she’d been so sure. Jacob had made it very, very clear that they would not be having a family together. And she’d wanted her baby so desperately, in a way she’d never realised she would until the moment she’d seen the word pregnant appear on the test.

But, every now and then, she couldn’t help but wonder what might have happened if she’d told him.

‘I don’t know what goes on in my ex-husband’s brain,’ Clara said. ‘I never did. If I had known, maybe we’d still be married.’

‘And then you wouldn’t be here with me,’ Merry replied. ‘And that would suck. So, let’s just forget all about him.’

‘Good plan,’ Clara agreed, relieved. ‘Besides, I need to talk to you about the decorations for the Colemans’ house...’

* * *

The Christmas lights twinkled along the length of the trendy London street, illuminating coffee shops and gift boutiques with flashes of glittering brightness. Jacob Foster moved slowly through the crowds of shoppers, feeling conspicuous in his lack of shopping bags, lists and most of all haste, even in the cold winter drizzle.

It wasn’t that his errand wasn’t urgent. He just wasn’t all that keen to jump into it. Especially since he had no idea how it was likely to go. He’d been trying to think his way through it for the whole journey there; which approach had the best chance of success, what he could say to get her to say yes. He’d still not come to a final decision.

He still wasn’t completely sure he should be there at all. This might be the worst idea he’d had since he was sixteen. He’d spent five years putting distance between them, moving on and forgetting her. The last thing he needed was to let Clara in again.

But he was doing it anyway. For family. Because, despite everything that had happened between them, Clara was still family—and this job couldn’t be given to anybody but family.

He turned down a small side street lined with offices and within moments he found himself standing outside a neat apple-green office with the words ‘Perfect London’ emblazoned above the door, and knew his thinking time was up.

He paused, his hand on the door ready to push it open, and stared for a moment through the large window. There she was. Clara.

Her dark hair hung down over her face as she leant across a colleague’s desk to point at something on a computer screen. It obscured her eyes but, since that meant she couldn’t see him, Jacob supposed that was for the best.

She looked well, he supposed. The cranberry-coloured wrap dress she wore clung to curves he remembered too well, and his gaze followed the length of her left arm from the shoulder down to where her hand rested on the desk. He looked closer. No ring.

Jacob took a breath, trying to quieten the large part of his brain that was screaming at him that this was a stupid idea and that he should just turn and leave now. It had been five long years; what was five more? Or ten? Or forever? He’d already been stung by failure with Clara before. Why risk that again?

But no. His plan mattered, far more than any history he and Clara shared, no matter how miserable. He’d decided he would make this thing happen, and he would. Jacob Foster kept his word and he didn’t let people down. Especially not his family.

And they were all counting on him. Even if they didn’t actually know about his plan just yet.

But he needed help. Clara’s help, to be specific. So he couldn’t turn and walk away.

He just had to make it clear that this was business, not pleasure. He wasn’t there to win her back, or remind her how good they’d been together. He was there to ask for her professional help, that was all.

He took another deep breath and steeled himself to open the door.

She’d listen, at least, he hoped. Hear him out. She had to.

She was still his wife, after all.

* * *

Clara brushed the hair back from her face and peered at the screen again. ‘I’m still not sure it’s going to be big enough.’

Sitting at the desk beside her, Merry sighed. ‘It’s the biggest I’ve been able to find, so it might just have to do.’

‘Have to do doesn’t sound very Perfect London,’ Clara admonished. ‘If it’s not right—’

‘We keep looking,’ Merry finished for her. ‘I know. But can I keep looking tomorrow? Only I’ve got that thing tonight.’

‘Thing?’ Clara searched her memory for the details. Best friends and business partners were supposed to know this stuff, she was sure. ‘Oh! The thing at the art gallery! Yes! Get out of here now!’

Merry pushed her chair back from the desk, obviously wasting no time. ‘Thanks. Don’t you need to pick Ivy up?’

Clara checked her watch. ‘I’ve got another twenty minutes or so. She’s having dinner round at Francesca’s tonight, so I might as well use the time to finish things up here.’

‘Okay.’ Grabbing her bag and coat, Merry started layering up to face the winter chill outside. ‘But don’t work too late tonight, right?’

‘I told you; I’ve got to leave in twenty minutes. I’ll be out of here in no time.’

‘I meant once you get home, and Ivy’s in bed.’ Merry leant over and gave Clara a swift kiss on the cheek. ‘I mean it. Take a night off for once.’

Clara blushed, just a little. She hadn’t thought her friend knew about all the extra hours she put in during the long, dark evenings. It was just that, once Ivy was asleep, what else was there to do, really, but work? She didn’t have dates or any real desire to go out and meet people, even if her childminder was available to babysit for Ivy. It made more sense to get on top of the work, so that when she did have time with her daughter at weekends she didn’t have to be tied to her computer. That was all.

‘I was just going to finish up the accounts,’ she admitted.

‘Leave it,’ Merry instructed. ‘I’ll do it tomorrow. You can take over finding the biggest Christmas tree in existence!’

‘Somehow, I think I’ve been played,’ Clara said drily. ‘Go on, get gone. You don’t want to be late.’

Merry flashed her a grin and reached for the door but before she could grab the handle it opened, revealing a dark shadow of a man in the doorway. Clara stared at the shape. It was too dark to make out any particulars, certainly not a face or any recognisable features. And yet, somehow, that shadow was very, very familiar...

‘I’m very sorry,’ Merry said politely. ‘We’re just closing up, actually.’

‘I only need to talk to Clara,’ the man in the doorway said, and Clara’s heart dropped like a stone through her body.

‘Jacob.’ The word was barely a whisper but Merry’s head swung round to look at her anyway, her eyes wide.

‘Maybe you could come back—’ Merry began, already pushing the door closed, but Clara stopped her.

‘No. No, it’s okay.’ She swallowed, wishing the lump that had taken up residence in her throat would lessen. ‘Come in, Jacob. What can I do for you?’

Maybe he’d met somebody else at last and was here to finalise the divorce. That would make sense. For a brief moment, relief lapped against the edges of her panic—until a far worse idea filled her mind.

Maybe he’s found out about Ivy.

But no. That was impossible. She’d covered her tracks too well for that; even Merry believed that Ivy was the result of a one-night stand shortly after her marriage broke down. There was no one in the world except Clara herself who knew the truth about Ivy’s conception.

And she had no plans to share that information.

‘Want me to stay?’ Merry asked as Jacob brushed past her. When he stepped into the light, it was hard to imagine that she hadn’t known who he was, even for a second. He was exactly the same man she’d walked out on five Christmases ago. Same dark hair, with maybe just a hint of grey now at the temples. Same broad shoulders and even the same style of classic dark wool coat stretched across them. Same suit underneath, she was sure. Still all business, all the time.

Which made her wonder again what he was doing there, wasting time on her. Clara had no illusions about how her still-not-officially-ex-husband felt about her. He’d made it crystal-clear every single time he’d refused to sign the divorce papers, purely out of spite it seemed, sending his decision via his lawyers rather than talking to her in person. He’d made it clear how unimportant she, and what she wanted, was to him long before she’d ever left. He had never needed her before. What on earth could have made him start now?

Merry was still waiting for an answer, she realised. ‘I’ll be fine,’ she said, shaking her head. Her friend looked unconvinced but resigned.

‘I’ll call you later,’ she promised, and Clara nodded. ‘And don’t forget—you need to leave in twenty minutes.’

The seconds stretched out as the door swung slowly shut behind Merry. And then, with the noise of the street blocked out, it was just them again. Just Clara, Jacob and the sense of impending dread that filled Clara’s veins.


CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_55bd1706-bd1c-5440-abc3-2677321a61d1)

SHE DID LOOK DIFFERENT.

Jacob hadn’t been able to clock all the changes through the window, it dawned on him now. He’d thought she looked the same, but she didn’t, not really. And it wasn’t just that her hair was longer, or that slight extra curve to her body, or even that her wedding ring was missing.

It was just her.

Her shoulders straightened, just an inch, and he realised that was part of it. An air of confidence he hadn’t seen in her before. When they’d been married—properly married, living together and in love, not this strange limbo he’d been perpetuating—she’d been...what, exactly? Attentive, loving...undemanding, he supposed. She had just always been there, at home, happy to organise his business dinners or fly with him across the world at a moment’s notice. She’d been the perfect hostess, the perfect businessman’s wife, just like his mother had been for his father for so many years.

His father, he remembered, had been delighted in Jacob’s choice of wife. ‘She won’t let you down, that one,’ he’d said.

Until she’d walked out and left him, of course.

Perhaps he’d been underestimating Clara all along. So much for a five-minute job convincing her to help him. This was going to take work. This new Clara, he feared, would ask questions. Lots of them.

‘Jacob,’ she said again, impatiently. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘You need to leave soon, your friend said?’

Clara gave a sharp nod. ‘I do. So if we could make this quick...’

Unlikely. ‘Perhaps it would be better if we met up later. For dinner, perhaps?’ Somewhere he could ply her with wine, good food and charm and convince her that this was a good idea.

‘Sorry, I can’t do that.’ There was no debate, no maybe and no other offer. Even the apology at the start didn’t sound much like one. This Clara knew her own mind and she was sticking to it.

It was kind of hot, actually. Or it would have been if he didn’t sense it was going to make his life considerably more difficult.

Clara sighed and perched on the edge of the desk. ‘You might as well start talking, Jacob,’ she said, glancing down at her watch. ‘I’m leaving in...fifteen minutes, now. Whether you’ve said what you came here to say or not.’

What was so important, he wondered, that she still had to run out of here, even after the arrival of a husband she hadn’t seen in five years? Another man? Probably.

Not that he cared, of course. All that mattered to him was her professional availability. Not her personal life.

‘I want to hire you. Your firm, I mean. But specifically you.’ There, he’d said it. And, judging by the look on his wife’s face, he’d managed to surprise her in the process. The shock in her expression gave him a measure of control back, which he appreciated.

‘Whatever for?’ she asked eventually.

‘My father.’ The words came out tight, the way they always did when he spoke about it. The unfairness of it all. ‘He’s dying.’

And that was the only reason he was there. The only thing that could make him seek out his ex-in-all-but-paperwork-wife and ask for her help.

‘I’m so sorry, Jacob.’ Clara’s eyes softened instantly, but he didn’t want to see that. He looked down at his hands and kept talking instead.

‘Cancer,’ he said harshly, hating the very word. ‘The doctors haven’t given him more than a couple of months. If he’d gone to them sooner...’ He swallowed. ‘Anyway. This is going to be his last Christmas. I want to make it memorable.’

‘Of course you do,’ Clara said, and he felt something inside him relax, just a little. He’d known that she would understand. And what he needed would require more than the sort of competence he could buy. He needed someone who would give everything to his project. Who would do what he needed, just like she always had before.

And, for some reason, Clara had always been very fond of his father.

‘I’m planning a family Christmas up in the Highlands,’ Jacob explained. ‘Just like one we had one year when I was a boy.’

‘I remember you all talking about it once. It sounds perfect,’ Clara agreed. ‘And like you’ve got it all in hand, so I don’t really see why—’

‘That’s it,’ Jacob interrupted her. ‘That idea. That’s all I have.’

‘Oh.’ Clara winced. ‘So you want to hire Perfect London to...?’

‘Do everything else. Organise it. Make it perfect.’ That, she’d always been good at. She’d been the perfect businessman’s wife, the perfect housewife, the perfect beauty on his arm at functions, even the perfect daughter-in-law. Up until the day she wasn’t his perfect anything at all.

‘But...’ Clara started, and he jumped in to stop whatever objection she was conjuring up.

‘I’ll pay, of course. Double your normal rate.’ He’d pay triple to make this happen but he’d keep that information in reserve in case he needed it later.

‘Why?’ Bafflement covered Clara’s expression.

‘Who else?’ Jacob asked. ‘It’s what you do, isn’t it? It’s right there in the name of your company.’ The company she’d left him to build—and which, by the looks of things, seemed to be doing well enough. He’d never even imagined, when they were married, that she’d wanted this—her own business, her own life apart from him. How could he? She’d never told him.

Well. If she was determined to go off and be happy and successful without him, the least she could do was help him out now, when he needed it.

‘Perfect London,’ Clara said, emphasising the second word. ‘We mostly work locally. Very locally.’

‘I imagine that most of the arrangements can be made from here,’ Jacob conceded. ‘Although I would need you in Scotland for the final set-up.’

‘No.’ Clara shook her head. ‘I can’t do that. I have...obligations here. I can’t just leave.’

Obligations. A whole new life, he imagined. A new man...but not her husband, though. That, at least, she couldn’t have. Not unless he let her.

Jacob took a breath and prepared to use his final bargaining chip.

The only thing he had left to give her.

* * *

This made no sense. None at all. Why on earth would Jacob come to her, of all people, to organise this? There must be a hundred other party planners or concierge services he could have gone to. Unless this was a punishment of some sort, Clara could not imagine why her ex-husband would want to hire her for this task.

Except...she knew his family. She knew his father, and could already picture exactly the sort of Christmas he’d want.

Maybe Jacob wasn’t so crazy after all. But that didn’t mean she had to say yes.

She had her own family to think about this Christmas—her and Ivy, celebrating together in gingerbread-man pyjamas and drinking hot chocolate with Merry on Christmas Eve. That was how it had been for the last four years, and the way it would be this Christmas too, thank you very much. She wasn’t going to abandon her daughter to go and arrange Christmas deep in the Highlands, however much Jacob was willing to pay. Especially not with the Harrisons’ gala coming up so soon afterwards.

‘No,’ she said again, just to make it doubly clear. ‘I’m sorry. It’s impossible.’

Except...a small whisper in the back of her mind told her that this could be her chance. Her one opportunity to see if he’d really changed. If Jacob Foster was ready to be a father at last. If she could risk telling him about Ivy, introduce them even, without the fear that Jacob would treat his daughter the way Clara’s own father had treated her.

Even twenty years later, the memory of her father walking out of the front door, without looking back to see Clara waving him goodbye, still made her heart contract. And Jacob had been a champion at forgetting all about his wife whenever work got too absorbing, walking out and forgetting to look back until a deal was signed or a project tied up.

She wouldn’t put Ivy through that, not for anything. She wanted so much more than that for her daughter. Clara might work hard but she always, always had time for her child and always put her first. Ivy would never be an afterthought, never slip through the cracks when something more interesting came up. Even if that meant she only ever had one parent.

But Jacob had come here to organise a family Christmas. The Jacob she’d been married to wouldn’t have even thought of that. Could he really have changed? And could she risk finding out?

‘This Christmas I’d like to have a dad, please.’ Ivy’s whispered words floated through her mind.

She shook her head again, uncertain.

‘What if I promise you a divorce?’ Jacob asked.

For a moment, it was as if the rain had stopped falling outside, as if the world had paused in its turning.

A divorce. She’d be completely free at last. No more imagining a life she no longer possessed. Her new life would truly be hers, clear and free.

It was tempting.

But then reality set in. That divorce would cut the final tie between them—the last link between Ivy and her father. How could she do that before she even told Jacob he had a daughter?

Clara bit the inside of her cheek as she acknowledged a truth she’d long held at bay. It hadn’t just been Jacob holding up their divorce for five long years. If she’d wanted to push for it she could have, at any time. But she’d always known that she’d have to come clean about Ivy first...and she was terrified.

The risk was always, always there. Jacob might reject them both instantly and walk away, but she could cope with that, she hoped, as long as Ivy didn’t know, didn’t hurt. But what if he wanted to be involved? What if he wanted to meet her, to be a part of her life—and then ignored Ivy the same way he’d kept himself apart from Clara after they were married? What if he hurt Ivy with his distracted, even unintentional, neglect? Nothing had ever meant more to Jacob than his work—not even her. Why would Ivy be any different?

So even if he thought he wanted to be a father...could she really risk Ivy’s heart that way?

No. She had to be sure. And the only way to be certain was to spend time with him, to learn who he was all over again. Then she could decide, either to divorce him freely, or to let him into Ivy’s life, whichever was best for her daughter. That was all that mattered.

But to spend time with him she’d have to organise his perfect family Christmas. Could she really do that? With all her other clients, the Harrisons’ Charity Gala—and her own Christmas with Ivy? It was too much. And she was still too scared.

‘I’m sorry, Jacob. Really I am.’ She was; part of her heart hurt at the thought of James Foster suffering and her not being there to ease it. An even larger part, although she hated to admit it, stung at the idea of Jacob going through this without her too.

That’s not my place any more. It’s not my life.

She had to focus on the life she had, the one she’d built. Her new life for her and Ivy.

‘I can’t help you,’ she said, the words final and heavy.

Jacob gave her a slow, stiff nod. ‘Right. Of course.’ He turned away but as he reached the door he looked back, his eyes so full of sorrow and pain that Clara could have wept. ‘Please. Just think about it.’

I can’t. I can’t. I won’t. I... She nodded. ‘I’ll think about it,’ she promised and instantly hated herself.

This was why she’d had to leave. She could never say no to him.

* * *

I’ll think about it.

One year of marriage, five years of estrangement and now she was thinking. He supposed that was something.

Jacob paused briefly on the corner of the street, rain dripping down his collar, and watched from a distance as Clara locked up the offices of Perfect London and hurried off in the opposite direction. She was a woman on a mission; she clearly had somewhere far more important to be. Things that mattered much more in her life than her ex-husband.

Well. So did he, of course.

The office was deserted by the time he’d walked back across the river to it, but the security guard on duty didn’t look surprised to see him. Given how rarely Jacob made it to the London office, he wondered what that said about the legend of his work ethic.

But once he had sat at his desk he found he couldn’t settle. His eyes slid away from emails, and spreadsheets seemed to merge into one on the screen. Eventually, he closed the lid of his laptop, sat back in his chair and swung it around to take in the London skyline outside the window.

Was it just seeing Clara again that was distracting him? No. She didn’t have that kind of power over him any more. It was everything else in his life right now, most likely. His father’s illness more than anything.

His mobile phone vibrated on the glass desk, buzzing its way across the smooth surface. Jacob grabbed it and, seeing his younger sister’s name on the screen, smiled.

‘Heather. Why aren’t you out at some all-night rave or something? Isn’t that what you students do?’

He could practically hear her rolling her eyes on the other end of the phone.

‘We’re having a Christmas movie night at the flat,’ Heather said. ‘Mulled wine, mince pies, soppy movies and lots of wrapping paper. I was halfway through wrapping my stack of presents when it occurred to me that there was still one person who hadn’t got back to me about what they wanted...’

‘You don’t have to buy me anything,’ Jacob said automatically. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t buy whatever he wanted when he wanted it, anyway. And, besides, Heather, more than anyone, never owed him a gift. Her continued existence was plenty for him.

‘It’s Christmas, Jacob.’ She spoke slowly, as if to a slightly stupid dog. ‘Everyone gets a present. You know the rules. So tell me what you want or I’ll buy you a surprise.’

Only his sister could make a surprise gift sound like a threat. Although, given the tie she’d bought him last year, maybe it was.

‘A surprise will be lovely,’ he said, anyway. ‘Anything you think I’d like.’

‘You’re impossible.’ Heather sighed. ‘While I have you, when are you heading home for Christmas?’

‘Actually...’

‘Oh, no! Don’t say you’re not coming!’ She groaned dramatically. ‘Come on, Jacob! The office can cope for one day without you, you know. Especially since no one else will be working!’

Jacob blinked as an almost exact echo of Heather’s words flooded his memory—except this time it was Clara speaking them, over and over. He shook his head to disperse the memory.

‘That’s not what I was going to say,’ he said. ‘In fact... I went to see Clara today.’

‘Clara?’ Heather asked, the surprise clear in her voice. ‘Why? What on earth for?’

‘I wanted to ask for her help.’ He took a breath. Time to share the plan, he supposed. If Clara wouldn’t help, it would all fall on him and Heather anyway. ‘I was thinking about Dad. This is going to be his last Christmas, Heather, and I want it to be special.’

His sister went quiet. Jacob waited. He knew Heather was still struggling to come to terms with their father’s diagnosis. He wouldn’t rush her.

‘So, what have you got planned?’ she asked eventually.

‘Do you remember that year we hired that cottage in Scotland? You can only have been about five at the time, but we had a roaring log fire, stockings hung next to it, the biggest Christmas tree you’ve ever seen... It was everything Christmas is meant to be.’ It had also been the last Christmas before the accident. Before everything had changed in his relationship with his family.

‘You mean a movie-set Christmas,’ Heather joked. ‘But, yeah, I remember, I think. Bits of it, anyway. You want to do that again?’

‘That’s the plan.’

‘And what? You’re going to rope Clara into coming along to pretend that you’ve made up and everything is just rosy, just to keep Dad happy? Because, Jacob, that’s exactly the sort of stupid plan that will backfire when Dad defies all the doctors’ expectations.’

‘That’s not... No.’ That wasn’t the plan. He had no intention of pretending anything. Except, now that Heather had said it, he was already imagining what it would be like. Clara beside him on Christmas morning, opening presents together, his dad happy and smiling, seeing his family back together again...

But no. That was not the plan. The last thing he needed was to get embroiled with his almost-ex-wife again. And, once Christmas was out of the way, he’d give her the divorce she wanted so desperately and make a clean break altogether.

‘She runs a concierge and events company here in London now,’ he explained. ‘They can source anything you need, put together any party, any plan. I wanted to hire her to organise our Christmas.’

Heather sounded pitying as she said, ‘Jacob. Don’t you think that’s just a little bit desperate? If you wanted to see your ex-wife, you could have just called her up.’

‘Wife,’ he corrected automatically, then wished he hadn’t. ‘We’re still married. Technically.’

His sister sighed. ‘It’s been five years, Jacob. When are you going to get over her?’

‘I’m over her,’ he assured her. ‘Very over her. Trust me. But she knows Dad and she knows the family. She could make this Christmas everything it needs to be, far better than I ever could. You probably don’t remember the parties she used to throw...’

‘I remember them,’ Heather said. ‘They were spectacular.’

‘Look, she hasn’t even said yes yet. And if she doesn’t I’ll find someone else to do it. It won’t be the end of the world.’ But it wouldn’t be the perfect Christmas he wanted either. Somehow, he knew in his bones that only Clara could give them that. She had a talent for seeing right to the heart of people, knowing exactly what made them light up inside—and what didn’t.

He wondered sometimes, late at night, what she’d seen inside him that had made her leave. And then he realised he probably already knew.

‘Okay,’ Heather said, still sounding dubious. ‘I guess I’m in, in principle. But Jacob...be careful, yeah?’

‘I’m always careful,’ he joked, even though it wasn’t funny. Just true.

‘I’m serious. I don’t want to spend my Christmas holiday watching you nurse a broken heart. Again.’

Jacob shook his head. ‘It’s not like that. Trust me.’

Not this time. Even if he was harbouring any residual feelings for Clara, he would bury them deep, far deeper than even she could dig out.

He wasn’t going to risk his heart that way a second time. Marriage might be the one thing he’d failed at—but he would only ever fail once.


CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_85d403cd-d483-5d6f-aca6-74c47c232ed7)

‘WHAT DID HE WANT?’ Merry asked the moment Clara picked up the phone.

Clara sighed. ‘Hang on.’

Peeking around Ivy’s door one last time, she assured herself that her daughter was firmly asleep and pulled the door to. Then, phone in hand, she padded down the stairs to the kitchen, poured herself a glass of wine and headed for the sofa.

‘Right,’ she said, once she was settled. ‘Let’s start with your thing at the art gallery. How was it?’

Merry laughed. ‘Not a chance. Come on, your ex-husband walks into our offices right before Christmas, after five years of nothing except letters from his lawyers finding reasons to put off the divorce, and you think I’m not going to want details? Talk, woman.’

So much for diversion tactics. ‘He wanted to hire Perfect London.’

There was a brief moment of shocked silence on the other end of the phone. Clara took the opportunity to snag a chocolate off the potted Christmas tree in her front window and pop it in her mouth.

‘Seriously?’ Merry said at last. ‘Why?’

‘God only knows,’ Clara replied, then sighed again. ‘No, I know, I suppose. He wants us to arrange a perfect last Christmas for his dad. He’s sick. Very sick.’

‘And he thought his ex-wife would be the best person to organise it because...?’

It wasn’t as if Clara hadn’t had the same thought. ‘I guess because I know him. All of them, really. I know what he means when he says “a perfect Christmas for Dad”. With anyone else he’d have to spell it out.’

‘So nothing to do with wanting to win you back, then,’ Merry said, the scepticism clear in her voice.

‘No. Definitely not.’ That, at least, was one thing Clara was very sure of. ‘He offered me a divorce if I do it.’

‘Finally!’ Merry gave a little whoop of joy, which made Clara smile. Sometimes, having a good friend on side made everything so much easier. Even seeing Jacob Foster again for the first time in five years. ‘Well, in that case, we have to do it.’

‘You haven’t heard the fine print.’ Clara filled her in on the details, including the whole ‘have to travel to Scotland on Christmas Eve’ part. ‘It’s just not doable. Especially not with the Charity Gala at New Year to finalise.’ Which was a shame, in a way. A project like this would be a great selling point for future clients. And a good testimonial from Foster Medical—especially alongside delivering a great event for the Harrisons—could go a long way to convincing people that Perfect London was a big-time player. It could make the next year of their business.

Merry was obviously thinking the same thing. ‘There’s got to be some way we can pull it off.’

‘Not without disrupting Ivy’s Christmas,’ Clara said. ‘And I won’t do that. She’s four, Merry. This might be the first proper Christmas she’s able to remember in years to come. I want it to be perfect for her too.’ Of course, it could also be an ideal opportunity to discover if Jacob was ready to hear about the existence of his daughter. The guilt had been eating her up ever since he’d left her office that evening. Watching Ivy splash about in her bath, tucking her in after her story... She couldn’t help but think how Jacob had already missed four years of those things. And even if he didn’t want to be part of them, she knew she owed him the chance to choose for himself.

Except that he’d already made his decision painfully clear five years ago. She had no reason to imagine that decision had changed—apart from him wanting to organise Christmas for his family. Was that enough proof? How could she be sure? Only by spending time with him. And there was the rub.

‘You always want everything to be perfect,’ Merry moaned. ‘But I take your point. Does...does he know? About Ivy?’

A chill slithered down Clara’s spine. ‘I don’t think so. Not that it would be any of his business, anyway. I didn’t fall pregnant with her until after I left.’ She hated lying. But she’d been telling this one for so long she didn’t know how to stop.

If she told Jacob the truth, she’d have to tell Merry too. And Ivy, of course. And Jacob’s family. She’d be turning everybody’s lives upside down. Did she have the right to do that? But then, how could she not? Didn’t Jacob’s father deserve the chance to know his granddaughter before he died? Or would that only make it worse, having so little time with her?

What on earth was she supposed to do? When she’d left, it had all seemed so clear. But now...

‘I know, I know. Your one and only one-night stand,’ Merry said, still blissfully ignorant of the truth, and Clara’s internal battle. ‘Still, it might make a difference if you explained why you can’t go to Scotland for Christmas. Maybe he’d be satisfied with me going instead, once you’ve done the set-up.’

‘Maybe,’ Clara allowed, but even as she said it she knew it wasn’t true. Jacob wouldn’t take second best. Not that Merry was, of course—she was every bit as brilliant at her job as Clara was at hers. That was why Perfect London worked so well. But Jacob’s plan involved Clara being there, and she suspected he wouldn’t give that up for anything. Even if it meant letting down a little girl at Christmas. ‘I’d rather not tell him,’ she said finally. ‘The dates are close, I’ll admit, and I don’t want him using Ivy as an excuse to hold up the divorce while we get paternity tests done and so on. Not when I’m finally on the verge of getting my freedom back.’ And not when the results wouldn’t be in her favour.

‘Only if you take on the project,’ Merry pointed out. ‘That was the deal, right? Organise Christmas, get divorce. Turn him down...’

‘And he’ll drag this out with the lawyers for another five years,’ Clara finished. ‘You’re right. Damn him.’

She tried to sound upset at the prospect, for Merry’s sake. But another five years of limbo meant another five years of not having to pluck up the courage to tell Jacob the truth. And part of her, the weakest part, couldn’t deny that the idea had its appeal.

But no. If his arriving unannounced had taught her anything it was that it was time for the truth to come out, or be buried forever. No more maybe one day. She needed to move on properly. If Jacob still felt the same way about kids as he had when they were married, then her decision was easy. Get the divorce, move on with her life and let him live his own without worrying about a daughter that he’d never wanted.

If he’d changed his mind, however...

Clara sighed. If she’d known she was pregnant before she’d left, she would have had to tell him. But finding out afterwards... She hadn’t even known how to try.

Jacob had always made it painfully clear that he didn’t want a family. At least he had once they were married. During their frantic whirlwind courtship and their impulsive elopement, the future had rarely come up in conversation. And, if it had, all Clara could imagine then was them, together, just the two of them.

It wasn’t until the next summer, when she’d realised she was late one month and Jacob had come home to a still-boxed pregnancy test on the kitchen table, that she’d discovered how strongly he felt about not having kids.

What the hell is that? Clara? Tell me this is a joke...

The horror on his face, the panic in his eyes... She could still see it when she closed her eyes. The way he’d suddenly decided that her oral contraceptive wasn’t reliable enough and had started investigating other options. The tension in the house, so taut she’d thought she might snap, and then the pure relief, three days later, when her period finally arrived. The way he’d held her, as if they’d avoided the Apocalypse.

And the growing emptiness she’d felt inside her as it had first dawned on her that she wanted to be a mother.

So she’d known, staring at a positive pregnancy test alone in a hotel bathroom six months later, that it was the end for them, even if he didn’t realise it. She could never go back.

He wouldn’t want her if she did and she wanted the baby growing inside her more than anything. She hadn’t changed her mind about that in the years since. Had he changed his?

‘There’s got to be a way,’ Merry said thoughtfully. ‘A way we can take the job, still give Ivy a wonderful Christmas—and pull off the New Year’s gala.’

Clara sat on the other end of the phone and waited. She knew that tone. It meant Merry was on the verge of something brilliant. Something that would solve all of Clara’s problems.

She’d sounded exactly like that the night they’d dreamt up Perfect London. Clara had been clutching a wine glass, staring helplessly at the baby monitor, wondering what on earth she would do next—and Merry had found the perfect solution.

Clara reached for another chocolate while she waited, and had just shoved it into her mouth whole when Merry cried out, ‘I’ve got it!’

Chewing and swallowing quickly, Clara said, ‘Tell me.’

‘We do Christmas together in Scotland too!’

For a second Clara imagined her, Ivy and Merry all joining the Fosters in their Highland castle and worried that she might be on the verge of a heart attack. That, whatever Merry might think, was possibly the worst idea that anyone had ever had. In the history of the world.

‘Not with them, of course,’ Merry clarified, and Clara let herself breathe again. ‘We find a really luscious hotel, somewhere nearby, and book in for the duration, right? You’ll be on hand to manage Project Perfect Christmas, I’ll be there if you need me and to watch Ivy, and then, once things are set up at the castle, we can have our own Christmas, just the three of us.’

Clara had to admit, that did sound pretty good. It would give her the chance to get to know this new Jacob—and see if he was ready to be Ivy’s father. Then, in January, once the crazily busy season was over, she could find the best moment to tell him.

It gave her palpitations just thinking about it, but in lots of ways it was the perfect plan.

‘Do you think Ivy will mind having Christmas at a hotel instead of at home?’

‘I don’t see why,’ Merry said. ‘I mean, we’ll have roaring log fires, mince pies by the dozen and probably even snow, that far up in the country. What more could a little girl want?’

‘She has been asking about building snowmen,’ Clara admitted. And about having a father. Maybe this could just work after all. ‘But what about you? Are you sure you don’t mind spending Christmas with us?’

‘Are you kidding? My parents are heading down to Devon to stay with my sister and her four kids for the holidays. I was looking at either a four-hour trek followed by three days minding the brats or a microwave turkey dinner for one.’

‘Why didn’t you say?’ Clara asked. ‘We could have done something here. You know you’re always welcome.’

‘Ah, that was my secret plan,’ Merry admitted. ‘I was going to let on at the last minute and gatecrash your day. Ivy’s much better company than any of my nephews and nieces anyway.’

‘So Scotland could work, then.’ Just saying it aloud felt weird. ‘I mean, I’ll need to talk to Ivy about it...’ She might only be four, but Ivy had very definite ‘opinions’ on things like Christmas.

‘But if Ivy says yes, I’m in.’ Merry sounded positively cheerful at the idea. In fact, the whole plan was starting to appeal to Clara too.

As long as she could keep Jacob away from Ivy until she was ready. If he didn’t want anything to do with his daughter then it was better if Ivy never knew he existed. She wouldn’t let Jacob Foster abandon them.

Clara reached for one last chocolate. ‘Then all I need to do is call Jacob and tell him yes.’ It was funny how that was the most terrifying part of all.

* * *

Jacob awoke the next morning to his desk phone ringing right next to his head. Rubbing his itching eyes, he sat up in his chair, cursed himself for falling asleep at work again and answered the phone.

‘Mr Foster, there’s a woman here to see you.’ The receptionist paused, sounding uncertain. ‘She says she’s your wife.’

Ah. That would explain the uncertainty. But not why Clara was visiting his offices at—he checked his watch—eight-thirty in the morning.

‘Send her up,’ he said. The time it would take her to reach his office on the top floor, via two elevators and a long corridor, should give him time to make himself presentable.

‘Um...she’s already on her way?’ Jacob wondered why she phrased it as a question as Clara barrelled through his door with a perfunctory knock.

He put down the phone and made a mental note to send all the company’s receptionists for refresher training on how to do their job.

‘Clara. This is a surprise.’ He made an effort to sound professional, and not as if he’d just woken up two minutes earlier.

Except Clara knew exactly what he looked like when he’d just woken up. ‘Your hair’s sticking up at the back,’ she said helpfully.

Smoothing it down, Jacob took in the sight of his ex-wife. Clara stood just inside the doorway, a dark red coat wrapped around her, her gloved hands tucked under her arms for added warmth. She had a grey felt hat perched on top of her glossy brown hair and her make-up was immaculate.

He knew that look. She was wearing her ‘impressing people’ make-up—lots of dark lipstick and she’d managed some trick or another that made her eyes look even larger than normal. He blamed the receptionist a little less for letting her through. This new confident Clara, combined with her old charm, was hard to say no to.

‘You’ve come to a decision?’ he asked, motioning her towards the comfortable sitting area at the side of the office. It was too early for guessing games. And visitors, come to that.

‘Yes.’ She took her hat from her head and placed it on the table by the sofas, then removed her coat to reveal another flattering form-fitting wrap dress, this one in a dark forest green. Settling onto the chocolate-brown leather sofa, she looked utterly at home. As if she belonged not just in his office but in the corporate world. He supposed she did, now.

Jacob turned away, moving towards the high-end coffee machine behind the sitting area. This conversation definitely needed coffee.

‘I’ve spoken with my partner,’ Clara said. ‘We think we’ve found a way to work around our other commitments so we can take on your project.’ She didn’t sound entirely happy about the conclusion, but that wasn’t his problem. Neither was this partner, whoever the unlucky man was. Jacob felt something loosen inside him, something he hadn’t even realised was wound up too tight.

She was going to help him. That was all that mattered.

‘That’s good news,’ he said, trying not to let his relief show too much. Instead, he busied himself making them both a cup of strong black coffee. ‘I assume you have a standard contract with payment schedules and so on?’

‘Of course,’ Clara replied. ‘Although, given the timescales, I rather think we’re going to require full payment up front, don’t you?’

‘Understandable.’ Paying wasn’t a problem. And once she had his money, she’d have to follow through. It was far harder to pay back money than walk out on the potential of it. And heaven knew Jacob would do everything in his power to stop Clara walking out on him again.

He placed the coffee on the table in front of her, and her nose wrinkled up. ‘Actually, I don’t drink coffee any more.’

‘Really?’ She used to drink it by the bucketload, he remembered. Her favourite wedding present, in amongst far more expensive and luxury items, had been a simple filter coffee maker from Heather. ‘I can offer you tea. Probably.’ He frowned at the machine. Did it even make tea? ‘Or ask someone else to bring some up.’ Maybe he’d ask the receptionist—a small, perhaps petty act of revenge. Especially if he insisted that she bring it via the stairs instead of the lift...

‘It’s fine. I don’t need anything.’ Jacob bit back a sharp smile at her words. Clara had made that clear five years ago when she’d refused any support after she’d left.

‘So, just business then.’ Jacob lifted his own coffee cup to his lips and breathed in the dark scent of it. This was what he needed. Not his ex-wife in his office at eight-thirty in the morning.

‘Yes. Except...the usual contracts don’t cover the more...personal side of this arrangement,’ Clara went on delicately.

Jacob would have laughed if it weren’t so miserable a topic. ‘You mean the divorce.’ The idea that she wanted one still rankled. What was it about him that made him want to just keep flogging this dead horse? Why couldn’t he just cut her loose and get on with his life? Even his lawyer had started rolling his eyes whenever the subject came up. Jacob knew it was time to move on—past time, really. But, until the paperwork was signed, he hadn’t failed at marriage. Not completely.

He rather imagined that Clara would say differently, though.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘The divorce. I think...I’d like to get that sorted in the New Year, if we could. I think it would be good for us both. We could move on properly.’

‘Are you planning to get married again?’ He regretted asking the moment the words were out of his mouth, but it was too late.

‘No! I mean maybe, one day, I suppose. But not right now. Why do you ask?’

Yes, Jacob, why did you ask that? He didn’t care what she did now. So why let her think he did?

He shrugged, trying to play nonchalant. ‘You mentioned a partner.’

‘Business partner. Merry. You met her yesterday, actually.’

The redhead at the office. Well, in that case, unless Clara had changed far more than he’d realised, there wasn’t a marriage in the making. ‘You’re not seeing anyone then?’ He wished it didn’t sound as if he cared, but he couldn’t not ask. He needed all the facts. He always had done.

‘No. Not right now. It’s hard when...’ She cut herself off. ‘Well, you know.’

‘When your husband won’t give you a divorce,’ he guessed. Although why that should make a difference he wasn’t sure. They’d been apart five years as it was; if she’d really wanted to move on with another guy, he couldn’t imagine a lousy piece of paper would stop her. Her wedding vows hadn’t kept her married to him, after all.

If she’d really, truly wanted the divorce, he doubted he could have stopped her. His lawyers were good, but some things were inevitable. He’d known all along he was only stalling, and somewhere on the way he’d even forgotten why. But Clara hadn’t wanted to take anything from him, hadn’t wanted to make anything difficult. Really, it should have been straightforward.

But she’d never pushed, never insisted, never kicked up a real fuss. Surely, if she’d really wanted this divorce she’d have done all that and more.

Unless she didn’t really want it. Unless she’d been waiting for him to come after her.

Which he was doing, right now, in a way.

It didn’t feel like Clara, that kind of complicated long game. And to drag it out over five years seemed a little excessive. But still, logic dictated that something had to be stopping her from forcing through the divorce. And he couldn’t for the life of him think of anything else it might be.

But working with her on his Perfect Christmas project would give him the ideal opportunity to find out.


CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_c126ad94-2bc5-5176-a3f5-121ad5d62767)

CLARA TRIED TO BREATHE through her mouth to avoid taking in the smell of the coffee. It was ridiculous, really. She’d loved coffee, almost as much as she’d loved Jacob. But then she’d fallen pregnant and suddenly she couldn’t stand the smell of it, let alone the taste. She’d always assumed that once the baby was born she’d get her love of coffee back again, but no. Even now, four years later, the very smell made her want to gag.

So unfair.

As if this morning wasn’t bad enough already, the universe had to throw in coffee.

Ivy had woken up bright and early at six and Clara hadn’t seen much point in dragging things out so, over their traditional weekday morning breakfast of toast and cereal, she’d broached the subject of Christmas.

‘How would you like the idea of going somewhere snowy for Christmas? With Merry?’ Merry was a definite favourite with Ivy, so that was bound to be more of a draw than most other things, Clara had decided.

‘Where?’ Ivy had asked in between mouthfuls.

‘Scotland.’ Clara had held her breath, waiting for an answer.

‘What about Norman?’

‘Norman?’ Clara had been briefly concerned that her daughter had suddenly gained a seventy-year-old imaginary friend until Ivy clarified.

‘Our Christmas tree,’ she’d said. ‘You said he was called Norman.’

Clara had blinked, ran back through a mental movie of the day they’d bought the tree and finally figured it out. ‘Nordmann. He’s a Nordmann Fir.’

Ivy had nodded. ‘Norman the Nordmann. What will happen to him while we’re away?’

‘We’ll ask Mr Jenkins next door to come and water him, shall we? Then Norman will still be here when we get back.’ Good grief, she had a Christmas tree with a name. How had this happened? ‘Is that all you’re worried about? Do you think Scotland might be okay for Christmas?’

Ivy’s little face had scrunched up as she considered. ‘Will they have pancakes there for Christmas morning?’ she’d asked.

Clara had added pancakes to their list of hotel requirements, dropped Ivy at the childminder’s house and headed off to talk to Jacob. There was no point putting it off, especially since she knew exactly where to find him—Foster Medical head office. He might more usually work from one of the American offices these days, but if he was in London, Clara knew he’d be at work.

But his work was going to have to wait. They only had a week and a half to put together a perfect Christmas. Two Christmases, if you counted Ivy’s, and Clara did. So she’d rushed across London to the imposing skyscraper of an office, only pausing long enough to explain to the receptionist exactly who she was, and then bustled along to Jacob’s office.

But now, with the scent of coffee making her queasy, and Jacob’s sleep-ruffled hair looking all too familiar, Clara really wished she’d waited. Or even called instead.

‘Anyway. If that’s all settled...’ She picked up her hat from the table.

‘I wouldn’t call it settled,’ Jacob said and she lowered the hat again. No, of course not. That would be too easy. ‘We still need to discuss the particulars.’ Putting his coffee cup down, Jacob came around from the counter to sit beside her. The leather sofa was vast—ridiculously so, for an office—and there was a more than reasonable gap between them. But, suddenly, it wasn’t coffee she could smell any more. It was him. That familiar combination of aftershave, soap and Jacob that tugged at her memory and made her want to relive every moment. To imagine that this was that other life she could have been living, where they were together in London, still married, still happy.

‘Particulars?’ she asked, shaking her head a little to try and stop herself being so distracted by his nearness.

‘Like where we want it to take place, how many people, what the menu should be, timings... Little things like that.’ He was laughing at her, but Clara couldn’t find it amusing. It just reminded her how much there was to do.

‘I’m assuming the timings are fairly self-explanatory,’ she said drily. ‘Christmas Eve to Boxing Day would be my best guess—I can’t imagine you wanting to take any more time off work than that, regardless of the circumstances.’ Even that was two days more than he’d managed for their last Christmas together. Two and a half if she counted him sloping off to the study for an hour or two after Christmas lunch. ‘Guests. I’m assuming just your parents and Heather, unless she has a partner she’d like to bring? Or you do,’ she added, belatedly realising that just because her love life was a desert didn’t mean his was.

‘No, you’re right, just the four of us.’ He still looked amused, but there was less mockery in his expression. ‘Go on.’

‘Location. you said the Highlands, and I happen to know of a very festive, exclusive castle that would be brilliant for your celebrations.’ And particularly helpful to her, since the client she’d originally booked it for had pulled out and she’d promised the owner she’d do her best to find someone else to take over the booking. If she didn’t find someone, thanks to a contract mishap Perfect London would be losing the rather hefty deposit.

‘Sounds ideal.’

‘As for the menu—traditional Christmas turkey dinner plus appetizers, puddings, wine and liquors, cold cuts and chutneys in the fridge, then smoked salmon and scrambled eggs with croissant for breakfast. Sound about right?’

‘Yes.’ He blinked, looking slightly bemused. ‘How did you know all that?’

‘It’s my job, Jacob,’ Clara said, irritation rising. He might not have appreciated everything she’d done to keep his nice little business gatherings and parties ticking over, but even he had to respect that she’d built up a successful business with her skills. ‘And it’s not like you’re asking for anything out of the ordinary.’ If she was lucky and used every contact she had, she could pull this off for Jacob and manage her own wonderful Christmas with Ivy too.

‘No, I suppose not. Of course, snow is obviously essential,’ Jacob added.

Clara stared at him. Was the man insane? ‘Snow. You want me to arrange snow?’

Jacob lifted one shoulder. Was he teasing? She never could tell when he was teasing her. ‘Well, it is Christmas, after all. I think we can all agree that the perfect Christmas would have to be a white one.’

Clara’s mouth tightened. ‘I’ll check the weather forecast then.’ Jacob looked as if he might be trying to dream up some more outlandish requests, just to throw her off her game, so Clara hurried on.

‘Which just leaves us with the presents.’ This, she knew, was the real test. If Jacob truly had changed—if this perfect Christmas idea was a sign that he was ready to embrace a family and, just possibly, the daughter he didn’t know he had—the presents would be the giveaway.

‘Presents?’ Jacob frowned, and Clara’s heart fell. ‘Aren’t you going to buy those? I’d have thought it would be part of the contract.’

‘Usually, Perfect London would be delighted to source the perfect gift for every member of your family,’ she said sweetly. ‘But, under the circumstances—with less than a fortnight to go, not to mention this being your father’s last Christmas—I am sure that you will want to select them yourself.’ She stared at him until he seemed to get the idea that this was not a suggestion.

‘But what would I buy them?’ He looked so adorably flustered at the very idea that for a moment Clara forgot that she was testing him.

Then she realised this could be an even better opportunity.

‘I’ll tell you what,’ she said, making it clear that this was a favour, just for him. ‘Why don’t we go shopping together and choose them?’

‘That would be great.’ The relief was evident in his voice.

‘Right now,’ Clara finished, and his eyebrows shot up.

‘Now? But I’m working.’

‘So am I,’ she pointed out. ‘By taking a client shopping.’

‘Yes, but I can’t just leave! There are meetings. Emails. Important decisions to be made.’

‘Like whether your sister would prefer a handbag or a scarf.’

‘Like the future of the company!’

Now it was Clara’s turn to raise her eyebrows. ‘Do you really expect that to come up in the three hours you’ll be gone?’

‘Three hours!’ Clara waited and finally he sighed. ‘No, I suppose not.’

‘Then I think that your father’s last Christmas might matter rather more than emails and meetings. Don’t you?’

He looked torn and Clara held her breath until, finally, he said, ‘Yes. It does.’

She grinned. The old Jacob would never have left work at 9:00 a.m. on a weekday to go Christmas shopping. Ha! He’d never left work or done Christmas shopping.

Maybe he really had changed after all. She could hope so. After all, Christmas was the season of hope and goodwill. Even towards ex-husbands.

* * *

‘What about this?’ Clara held up a gossamer-thin scarf in various shades of purple that Jacob suspected cost more than his entire suit. Everything else Clara had suggested had and, since his suit had been handmade especially for him, that was quite an achievement.

‘For Mum?’ he asked with a frown.

‘No. For Heather.’ Clara sighed. Jacob had a feeling she was starting to regret her insistence on taking him shopping.

‘She’s a student,’ he pointed out. ‘She wouldn’t wear something like that.’

‘She graduating this summer, right? So she’ll have interviews, internships, all sorts of professional opportunities coming her way. A statement accessory like this can make any outfit look polished.’ As always, Clara had a point. He’d almost forgotten how irritating that was.

‘Maybe,’ he allowed. But Clara was already walking on, probably in search of an even more expensive gift for his sister. He didn’t begrudge spending the money but he was beginning to think this was some sort of game for Clara. She’d certainly never encouraged him to buy such luxurious gifts for her.

The high-end shopping district Clara had directed the taxi to was filled with tiny boutiques, all stocking a minimum of products at maximum cost. Even the Christmas decorations strung between the shops on either side of the street, high above the heads of the passing shoppers, were discreet, refined and—Jacob was willing to bet—costly.

‘Is this where you usually shop for your clients?’ he asked, lengthening his stride to catch up with her as she swung into another shop.

Clara shrugged. ‘Sometimes. It depends on the client.’

Which told him nothing. Jacob wasn’t entirely sure why he was so interested in the day-to-day details of her job, but he suspected it had something to do with never realising she wanted one. He’d thought he’d known Clara better than anyone in the world, and that she’d known him just as well. It had been a jolt to discover there were some parts of her he’d never known at all. What if this entrepreneurial side of her was just the start?

Of course, for all that he’d shared with Clara, there were some things he’d kept back too. He couldn’t entirely blame her for that.

‘This would be just right for your father.’ Jacob turned to find her holding up a beautifully wrought dark leather briefcase, with silver detailing and exquisite stitching. She was right; his father would love it. Except...

‘He won’t be coming in to the office much longer.’ It still caught him by surprise, almost daily. In some ways, he suspected he was in denial as much as Heather; he wanted to believe that if he could just make Christmas perfect then the rest would fall into place.

But he couldn’t save his father’s life. Even if a part of him felt he should be able to, if he just worked long enough, tried hard enough. If he was good enough.

Jacob knew he’d never been good enough, had known it long before his father fell sick.

Clara dropped the briefcase back onto the shelf. ‘You’re right. Come on.’

Even Jacob had to agree the next shop was spot on.

‘You want something your dad can enjoy.’ Clara opened her arms and gestured to the bottles of vintage wine lining the shelves. ‘From what I remember, this should suit him.’

Jacob smiled, turning slowly to take in the selection. ‘Yes, I think this will do nicely.’

One in-depth conversation with the proprietor later, and Jacob felt sure that he had the perfect gift for at least one member of his family, ready to be delivered directly to Clara’s offices in time to be shipped up to Scotland.

‘How are they all?’ Clara asked as she led him into a tiny arcade off the main street. The shops inside looked even more sparse and expensive. ‘Your family, I mean. The news about your dad... It must have been terrible for you all. I can’t imagine.’

‘It was,’ Jacob said simply. ‘It still is. Mum... She takes everything in her stride—you know her. But Heather’s still hoping for a miracle, I think.’

Clara looked sideways at him. ‘And you’re not?’

‘Perhaps,’ he admitted. ‘It’s just too hard to imagine a world without him.’




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