Chapter Seventeen: A Bad Day
Chapter Eighteen: The Presentation
Chapter Nineteen: Father and Son
Chapter Twenty: Good News/Bad News
Chapter Twenty-One: The Christmas Fair
Chapter Twenty-Two: Not Quite Driving Home for Christmas
Chapter Twenty-Three: Step into Christmas
Chapter Twenty-Four: All I Want for Christmas Is Me
Epilogue: A New Year
About the Publisher
Copyright
T. A. Williams
For the perfect Christmas…
When career-girl Holly Brice learns that her estranged father has died, she decides to take a trip down memory lane and find out about the man she never knew. Arriving in the sleepy little Dartmoor village, she’s shocked to discover that she’s inherited the cosy little cottage she remembers so fondly, a whole load of money – and her father’s adorable dog, too!
Head to snow-covered Devon!
And as the first snowflakes begin to fall and Holly bumps into her gorgeous neighbour, Jack Nelson, life gets even more complicated! Men have always been off the cards for high-flying Holly, but there’s something about mysterious writer Jack that has her re-thinking her three-date rule…
A fabulous, feel-good festive read, perfect for fans of Debbie Johnson and Carole Matthews.
TREVOR WILLIAMS
lives in Devon with his Italian wife. He lived and worked in Switzerland, France and Italy, before returning to run one of the best-known language schools in the UK. He has taught people from all over the world, among them Arab princes, Brazilian beauty queens and Italian billionaires. He speaks a number of languages and has travelled extensively. He has eaten snake, live fish and alligator. A Spanish dog, a Russian bug and a Korean parasite have done their best to eat him in return. He has written historical novels, humorous books and thrillers. His hobby is long-distance cycling, but his passion is writing. You can follow him on Twitter, @TAWilliamsBooks, find him on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/TrevorWilliamsBooks or visit his website: www.tawilliamsbooks.com.
With thanks to my lovely editor, Charlotte Mursell
To Mariangela and Christina with love
‘So why did your dad choose to come and live all the way out here? It’s very pretty and all that, but, let’s face it, it’s the back of beyond.’
Five minutes earlier, they had turned off the busy A38 trunk road and now found themselves plunged into a totally different world of narrow winding lanes, woodland, rivers and hills. So far the only other vehicle they had seen had been an ancient tractor pulling a trailer full of sheep.
Holly shook her head in annoyance and glanced across at Julia. ‘I wish I knew for sure. It’s like I’ve been telling you, I know virtually nothing about my dad at all. Mum refused to talk about him. The news that he’d died was the first I’d heard of him for over twenty-five years.’
Julia still couldn’t get her head round that. ‘But surely you must have known if he was dead or alive?’
Holly shook her head. ‘No idea at all. I haven’t seen or heard from him since he left. And, don’t forget, I was only seven when that happened. I barely remember him at all. He could have been anywhere, alive or dead.’
Still puzzled, Julia arched her back and did her best to straighten her legs. ‘I love your car to bits, Hol, but bloody hell, it’s uncomfortable. I feel as if my backbone’s about to come out through the top of my skull. Any chance of stretching my legs? Apart from anything else, I’m dying for a pee.’
They had been driving non-stop for over four hours. Holly pressed back against the steering wheel and stretched her back. ‘Now that’s a thought, Jules. And a hot drink would be a good idea too. The next service station I find, I’ll pull over. Coffee and a comfort break coming up.’
Twenty minutes later, they still hadn’t found a petrol station. Holly’s old Porsche was loving the twisting, turning road that snaked up and down like a rollercoaster through an ever changing patchwork of fields, woods and open moorland. The road was getting steadily narrower and the warning light on the dashboard was now reminding Holly that it might have been prudent to fill up with fuel before heading out into the wilds of Dartmoor. Beside her, Julia was squirming around in the passenger seat. ‘Do something, Hol, I’m really getting desperate now.’
Then, miraculously, they came down a steep hill to a ridiculously narrow humpbacked granite bridge and spotted a sign on the right advertising, Last fuel before the Moor. Holly pulled in and drew up in front of one of only two pumps. As a gesture towards the festive season, a Christmas tree had been planted rather incongruously in a rusty oil can. The wind had removed most of the decorations, but a lone glass ball remained lodged in the middle of it, looking rather forlorn. Holly climbed out of the car, feeling a frozen blast of air on her neck as she did so. She reached back inside and grabbed a coat. She was zipping it up when an old man appeared. He was wearing ancient overalls, apparently held together by the oil and paint stains that covered them like camouflage, the military impression heightened by the khaki-coloured woolly hat on his head. He limped across to her, his eyes alternating between the bright red car and her long legs. Clearly, he was fascinated by what he saw.
‘Morning, miss. Come far, have us?’ His accent was deepest Devonshire and the wind whipping round her ears didn’t help comprehension, but Holly nodded and grunted, and he appeared satisfied. He ran his hand along the sleek wing of the car, nodding quietly to himself, before looking up. ‘Fill her up for you, my sweetheart?’
‘Yes, please, and is there a toilet we could use? And maybe somewhere we could get a cup of coffee?’
‘No coffee, I’m afraid, my lover, but you’ve got the Fisherman’s Rest two miles up the road. They’ll give you coffee. The toilet’s round the side of the building.’ He pointed vaguely behind him and left it to Julia to locate what proved to be an unexpectedly modern loo.
While the old man filled the car with fuel, Holly flicked the engine cover up and checked the coolant level. It was reassuringly normal and there were no unexpected oil leaks to be seen either. Her hard work the previous evening had clearly been worthwhile to ensure the thirty-year-old car made it all the way to Devon without mishap.
‘Do you want me to do that for you, sweetheart?’ The old man had finished refuelling and was hovering alongside her, clearly fascinated to see a girl looking at an engine. Holly, reassured that all was well, stood up and slammed the cover shut, wiping her hands on a tissue.
‘No, thanks. I thought I might have a coolant leak last week and I was just checking. But it all looks fine.’
‘You know your way round cars, then?’