A Vintage Christmas
TRISHA ASHLEY
Copyright
Published by Avon
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins 2015
Copyright © Trisha Ashley 2015
Trisha Ashley asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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Ebook Edition © September 2015 ISBN: 9780007585465
Version: 2015–08–18
Contents
The day I got the good news, Matt had to take the evening surgery at his veterinary practice and by the time he got home the chicken risotto was almost ready and a dark chocolate mousse was chilling in the fridge.
‘We’re celebrating?’ he said in surprise, taking in the candles on the table and the open bottle of red wine. ‘I know it isn’t your birthday, but I haven’t missed the anniversary of the day we first met, or something, have I?’
‘No, nothing like that,’ I assured him. ‘We’re pushing the boat out because I got the Pet Paradise order and it’s huge! They’re going to take three of my Christmas designs and I’ll have to deliver the stock by the start of November.’
I’d set up my pet coat company, Dog-Coature, right after I’d left college. It had gone from strength to strength, and I now employed one of my college friends full time, too. However, this was by far the biggest order yet.
Matt gave me a hug (being big and bear-like, he was good at hugs) and said, ‘Great news! But can you deliver the quantity they require in the timescale, Lucy?’
‘I’m sure I can, though of course I’ll still have all the other orders to complete. But Tonya’s already sent off an advert to the local paper for more knitters for the Christmas Critter jumper-coat and I think I’ve got enough pieceworkers for the warm tartan Highland Fling with the kilt pleat detail, and the Angel outfit, because they’re all keen to do extra.’
‘Minnie didn’t like the way the wings flapped on the Angel coat,’ he reminded me; I always tried out my designs on our little white Bichon Frise, which we’d got from a nearby dog rescue centre. Hearing her name now, she got up from her comfortable snuggly bed and padded over – or maybe it was the delicious smell of the food that had finally woken her.
‘I’ve modified the wings, so they fold in with Velcro,’ I told Matt. ‘Now, you pour the wine while I dish up the risotto.’
Sitting at the table, we clinked glasses and I said, ‘Here’s to success!’
‘To success!’ he echoed. ‘We’re both doing really well, what with your big order and my having been made a partner at the practice.’
‘And finding this lovely cottage with the perfect workshop right behind it,’ I agreed.
‘So, since everything is working out so well, why don’t we get married?’ he suggested.
‘But we are,’ I said, puzzled. ‘I mean, we’d more or less decided on next summer, hadn’t we? And you came up with the idea of a small, vintage-style wedding, which sounds perfect.’
‘I know, I’m a genius,’ he said modestly. ‘Though that article about a thrifty wartime wedding you kept shoving under my nose might have had something to do with it.’
‘It would be fun, wouldn’t it? And goodness knows, we’ve had lots of experience of upcycling and recycling and making things to furnish the cottage,’ I said. ‘I’d enjoy the challenge of planning the perfect wedding for as little money as possible.’
‘Me, too, but we don’t have to wait till next spring or summer.’
‘I … suppose not,’ I agreed, thinking about it. ‘But it would have to be later in the year, after I’ve finished the Pet Paradise order.’
‘How about just before Christmas, then?’ Matt suggested.
‘Well … OK! But we’d better see the vicar and book the church and the village hall straight away,’ I said. ‘Then I’ll tell Mum, who’ll be delighted, while you’ll have to break the awful news to your parents.’
He grimaced. ‘My mother’s not going to be pleased, that’s for sure.’
‘She’s had me down as a gold-digging slut ever since she caught me coming out of your flat the morning after the Freshers’ Ball, and I don’t think she’ll ever change her mind,’ I said wryly.
Matt had been a second-year student studying veterinary science and had turned up at the ball with a friend whose sister was starting the same textile design course I was. We’d been chalk and cheese, yet from the moment our eyes had met, Matt and I were inseparable.
‘I told Mum the truth, that we’d spent the whole night talking to each other, but she didn’t believe me,’ he said. ‘Not that it was any of her business anyway – and trust her to turn up at my student digs at the crack of dawn with an over-the-top Fortnum and Mason hamper, in case her little boy was starving to death.’
‘I don’t think