Escape for Christmas

Chapter Fourteen

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Mrs Agatha Freeman was at the Sunnyside reception on the dot of three, and Sophie would not have expected less.

‘Hello. Did you have a nice walk and lunch?’ she asked. ‘Did you avoid the revellers?’

‘Yes, to the first two. Not wholly to the third. Never mind, I found a quiet corner of a café where I could read my book in peace. Now I can leave all that tinsel and tat behind and properly relax.’

Sophie wondered what her reasons were for avoiding Christmas, but had no intention of prying. She had a feeling Agatha wasn’t one for baring her soul.

Aware that her other guests might arrive at any moment, Sophie gave her a whistle-stop tour of the dining room, guest lounge and veranda. The sun had come out and there was snow on the distant fells, with the lake shining in the valley. The view was at its tip-top best. However, Agatha didn’t comment, simply nodding and hmm-ing.

‘That’s the hot tub,’ Sophie said, pointing out the area on the terrace with the view over the fells.

‘Oh, I won’t be using the hot tub.’ She shuddered. ‘I’ve stayed at holiday cottages where they have one. Never got in, though! They don’t change the water between guests, just lob in a load of chemicals. Might as well bathe in the toilet!’

Sophie stayed in polite-hostess mode. ‘That’s obviously your choice, Mrs Freeman, though I can assure you that the hot tub is completely sanitary.’

‘My dear, I know a few things about germs.’ Agatha finally managed a smile. ‘Please call me “Agatha”. Let’s not stand on ceremony, as we’re going to be seeing a lot of each other over the next few days. Now I’m looking forward to a rest and a cuppa in my room. I presume there are tea- and coffee-making facilities?’

‘Of course,’ said Sophie, hoping Agatha wouldn’t think home-made shortbread was unsanitary.

‘I’m very pleased to hear it. Can’t bear those horrid things in plastic packets.’

Sophie wondered what Agatha would make of the turrón nougat that she’d left as a gift too. Would she consider it too exotic? What about the paella?

She put on a sunny smile, even though she was now second-guessing all of her carefully made plans. ‘There’s an information pack in your room, including the format for the evening. Supper is tapas and the flamenco display. Tomorrow,’ she almost said ‘Christmas Day’, but checked herself, ‘is a paella, and you can join in the quiz, although some of the guests might decide to use the hot tub.’

Agatha shuddered. ‘The quiz sounds infinitely preferable.’

‘I hope it will be fun.’ Sophie smiled warmly.

Agatha rubbed her hands together. ‘I was on an episode of The Chase , you know? And I won three rounds of Fifteen to One , but I expect you don’t remember that one?’

‘Er, I’m afraid not.’

‘Just as long as this quiz of yours has proper questions about capital cities and history. None of that rap music and celebrities that no one’s ever heard of.’

‘Like I say, it should be fun …’ Sophie inwardly shuddered at the Pop and Celeb rounds she’d spent ages devising. ‘Erm, there are cocktails from seven, followed by the tapas and the flamenco. I’ve got in plenty of soft drinks. If you don’t like cocktails.’

‘Soft drinks?’ Agatha snorted. ‘On Christmas Eve. Sorry, not Christmas Eve. Good grief, whatever gave you that idea? My dear, I shall be the first to sample the Pornstar Martinis.’

Agatha was one of those guests who was totally unpredictable. Miss Marple one minute, and party animal the next. Sophie sensed trouble …

She hadn’t even reached the foot of the stairs when the door opened and a young woman with a large rucksack walked in. She was barely five feet and petite, like a long-distance runner, with black hair caught up in a ponytail. She reminded Sophie of one of her best customers at the Christmas shop: a lawyer from Hong Kong who owned a huge house in Stratford that she decorated with a different theme every year.

‘Hello!’ Sophie called, hurrying to greet her new guest. By default, this must be Suzanne. ‘Welcome to Sunnyside. I’m Sophie, the owner.’

The woman shrugged the rucksack off her shoulders. ‘Hello. Thank goodness I’m here. The traffic’s been terrible.’

‘Have you come all the way from Cornwall in one day?’

She looked puzzled. ‘Cornwall? Why would I drive up from Cornwall? No, I’ve come from Edinburgh.’

‘Ah, of course. Sorry. One of our other guests is from Cornwall. Apologies, my mistake. You must be Amber.’ Sophie could have kicked herself. With all the disruption and drama, her head wasn’t in the right place. Of course this woman could also have been Amber.

‘I am.’ Finally Amber smiled and the tension ebbed from her strained features. ‘It is gorgeous here. It’s such a relief to find a place that looks as nice it does on the website.’

‘Thanks. We’d never want anyone to be disappointed and, actually, I think the photos don’t quite do it justice. Now would you like to leave your bags here and check in and have a very quick tour, so you can relax? There’s tea and coffee in your room or you can bring drinks down into the guest lounge.’

‘That sounds great. I think I’ll make a mint tea and chill out for a bit, before the tapas and cocktails. You do have mint tea?’

‘Not in the rooms, but I have a wide selection of teas in the kitchen. I’ll bring some sachets up to you.’

‘Great. Thanks.’

Despite being in welcoming host mode, Sophie’s stomach was knotting at the thought of all the work she had to do. Thank goodness Vee had persuaded her to ask Ricky in for a few hours on Christmas morning to help with the washing up and laying out breakfast. It would be worth every penny, and he said he’d be glad to get away from ‘doing cringe family stuff’ at home for a few hours. She’d have him home by Christmas dinner, though.

Having established that they were on first-name terms, Sophie collected some tea sachets from the kitchen and showed Amber to her room. She kept her run-through brisk, as she could already hear the arrival of another guest downstairs.

But it soon became clear there was more than one guest, when she heard conversations and laughter.

Three people stood in reception. Two had to be Una and Hugo Hartley-Brewer, judging by their Midlands accents. Even if they hadn’t spoken, Sophie would have guessed by the matching Berghaus puffer jackets and walking shoes. Una was short with curly ginger hair, while her husband was well over six feet and obviously still self-conscious about the fact, even though he looked around sixty. He slouched and hunched like a teenage boy who didn’t want to be noticed by anyone ever .

By default, the smiling woman in a sunflower-yellow mac must be Suzanne Smith, a fact confirmed by her accent, which was straight out of Poldark .

They all looked at Sophie as she trotted down the stairs.

‘Hello, everyone! Sorry I wasn’t here when you arrived. I’ve been showing another guest to her room.’

Relieved to hear they’d all been chatting away, Sophie gave them a joint tour and showed them to their rooms. That left only Nico Lombardi. She checked her phone and emails, but he hadn’t sent her any messages to say he’d be late. Still, he obviously ran to his own schedule and he’d turn up sometime. She had enough to stress about without worrying about him and, if the worst happened and he didn’t materialise, he’d paid up front for the room anyway.

As she prepared the tapas, Sophie hoped Nico didn’t leave things too late, because it was now almost sunset outside and the skies seemed very heavy. Vee had told her that Kev had checked the official National Park forecast and hoped he wouldn’t be called out over Christmas. It was likely to snow above 1,600 feet, with a distinct possibility of sleet or rain for the lower levels. That might put paid to any frolics in the hot tub this evening …

Sophie had, however, received a message from the flamenco troupe confirming the details for tonight. The six members of the group were on schedule to arrive at 8 p.m. and would require somewhere to change. Sophie only had one spare place, her own flat, but that was OK. No, they didn’t need food (thank goodness for that) and they’d be leaving at nine-thirty.

It was rapidly turning dark when she went outside to the bins, and to switch on all the lighting around the garden and hot-tub area. She pulled her fleece’s zip up to her chin and shivered. Even with sleet in the air, it looked very magical: perhaps a little too festive, but too late for that now.

Over the field, she noticed the lights were on in Brody’s yard and at the back of the house. Her brief glow of pride turned to a sharp pang of regret – and loss.

Was he there now with Tegan, cosied up in front of the fire? Were they in bed together?

Cursing under her breath, Sophie stomped back towards the door to the kitchen. She absolutely mustn’t be distracted by Brody-bloody-McKenna. Not now. Not—

‘Oh my God!’ she shouted.

A dark figure stepped into her path outside the back door.

‘Who are you? What do you want?’

‘I rather hoped you had a bed for the night.’ The voice was laced with amusement, though Sophie didn’t feel like laughing.

The man stepped into the light spilling out of the kitchen window. ‘I’m Nico – Nico Lombardi? I couldn’t see anyone in reception, then I noticed all the garden lights go on, so I came round the back. I hope I haven’t scared you?’

‘No,’ replied Sophie, her heart rate still leaping around like popcorn in a pan. ‘Well, yes, a bit, but it’s OK. Sorry I wasn’t manning reception. I’ll show you in through the front door, if you’ll come with me.’

Gesturing for Nico to walk ahead, Sophie followed him to the front door, asking him if he’d had a good journey, while she tamed her pulse rate. She showed him into the reception area, where Una, Suzanne and Agatha were helping themselves to the honesty bar earlier than planned. They all glanced up, then did exactly the same as Sophie had done when she’d first got a look at Nico. Three jaws unhinged in unison, and no wonder.

Nico might have stepped straight off the cover of a romance novel about titled Italian billionaire surgeons. Tall, dark-haired, handsome and chiselled, he was possibly the most beautiful man Sophie – and her guests – had ever seen.