Liz Fielding - Mistletoe and the Lost Stiletto

‘Damn women’s lib,’ Frank muttered, stomping off to send her in.

‘Nathaniel?’ Lucy appeared in the doorway, hat slightly askew, curls wild, tunic rucked up behind. She tugged on it. ‘Is anything wrong?’

‘Nothing. My father wanted to meet you.’

‘Oh.’ She extended her hand. ‘Hello, Mr Hart.’

‘Hello, Lucy. I’m delighted to meet you. I’ll leave Nathaniel to explain the situation.’ He put his hand on his son’s arm. ‘Whatever you decide about the holiday. Your decision.’

‘The holiday?’ she asked when the older Hart had gone.

‘We’ve been invited for Christmas.’

‘We?’

‘Us,’ he said. ‘It’s okay. They ask me every year. They don’t expect me to go.’

‘Oh.’

‘You sound disappointed. Sorry, but there’s no way you’re getting out of cooking Christmas dinner.’

‘Shouldn’t you check that I can cook before you commit yourself?’

‘I don’t actually care,’ he said. Then told her about Option Five.

City Diary, London Evening Post

It was announced today that Hastings & Hart, continuing their expansion under the steady hand of Nathaniel Hart, have today acquired the Lucy B chain from the Henshawe Corporation, who are withdrawing from the fashion business in order to concentrate on their core business.

Lucy Bright, the face of Lucy B, will be taking a more hands-on role in the business and is joining Hastings & Hart in January as a director of the Lucy B division with responsibility for fair trade development.

Rupert Henshawe is relinquishing the chairmanship of the Henshawe Corporation with immediate effect. Shares in the company were down in trading.

Slight wobble, tweeps, but the frog has been vanquished and LucyB is back and on target. Thanks for all the support.

LucyB , Fri 3 Dec 10:14

Lucy flicked through her followers, picking out the ones that were missing. Jenpb was gone. A couple of others. But WelshWitch was cheering her on and, on an impulse, she sent her a direct message. Something only she could read.

WelshWitch Want to meet for lunch? DM me.

Fri 3 Dec 10:16

There was just one more thing to do. She scrolled through the numbers in her phonebook and hit ‘dial’.

‘Lucy?’

‘Mum…’

And then they were both crying.

Friday, 24th December

Appointments

09:30 Hair and stuff

11:00 Meeting with Marji from Celebrity

12:30 Lunch (with my mum!)

17:00 Reception for trustees in boardroom

20:00 Dinner in Garden Restaurant to celebrate Hastings & Hart takeover of Lucy B launch

‘Happy?’ Nat said as they returned to the apartment after a Christmas Eve dinner for family and friends in the Garden Restaurant on the seventh floor-a celebration that her mother had been part of, too. Because, while Rupert Henshawe’s ability to deceive had gone as far as pretending that he’d looked for her, she was the one who’d come forward when she’d read the story in the newspaper.

‘Blissful,’ she assured him. ‘But what about you?’ she asked, hooking her arm in his. ‘Are you really prepared to let go of your career in architecture?’

‘Says my biggest critic.’

‘No. This building is amazing. The apartment is amazing. It just needs a little internal glow.’

He paused at the entrance, turned to her.

‘You give it that, Lucy. It means light, doesn’t it. Lucy?’ She nodded.

‘Well, that’s what you are. A light shining into all the dark places. You’ve lit up my life. Warmed my heart-’

‘Nathaniel…’

‘It’s too soon to say this, you’re going to think me a fool and, no, it’s nothing to do with making you a director of Lucy B. You’ve earned that with your heart.’

‘I’m terrified I’ll get it wrong.’

‘Terror is the default setting when you’re at the top. But you’re not on your own.’ He reached out to her hand. ‘Never on your own.’

Her fingers wrapped around his and he felt the tension slide away as it always did when she was close. ‘You are going to be wonderful. My father said so and he’s no pushover for a pretty face.’

‘I like your dad. And your mother. It was so kind of them to invite my mum for Christmas, too.’

‘They knew that, wherever she was, you’d want to be, Lucy. That, wherever you were, I’d want to be, too.’

‘I owe you a Christmas dinner,’ she said, looking up. ‘I guess that takes us to two thousand and fifty-two-’

‘You think I’m letting you go that easily?’ he growled. ‘What I’m trying to say is that this is not a get-your-kit-off line. I love you. I loved you from the moment I first saw you.’ With his other hand he reached out and touched her cheek, very gently, almost afraid that she would disappear under his touch. ‘Just saying. You don’t have to do a thing about it.’

‘But, if I wanted to get my kit off, that would be all right?’ she asked seriously. Looking up at him with those green-gold eyes, soft, filled with warmth, joy, happiness.

He swallowed. ‘Your call.’ Then, before she could move, ‘But maybe you want to think about that. Give yourself some time.’

‘And if I don’t?’

‘Then you can forget about flat-hunting. You won’t be going anywhere.’

‘If I stay here, I’ll make changes,’ she warned.

‘You already have.’ Pop music on the radio first thing in the morning. Pots of early jonquils brightening every surface. Laughter everywhere.

‘Phooey. That’s nothing. If I stay, I warn you, I’ll want to paint the walls primrose-yellow.’

‘I’ll help you.’

‘Hang pictures everywhere.’

‘I’ve got a hammer.’

‘Get a kitten.’

‘Only one?’ he asked.

‘Well, they do get lonely without their brothers and sisters,’ she said, a glint of mischief in her eyes. ‘Two would be better.’

‘Bring the whole damn litter.’

Her smile deepened momentarily and then, suddenly, she was serious. ‘There’s one more thing.’

‘You want your mother to live with us?’

‘You’d do that for me?’ she asked. Then, shaking her head, she let him off the hook. ‘It’s not that. I want you to build the house in Cornwall.’

‘For you-’

‘No, Nathaniel; not for me. For you.’ And, as if she knew that was the most difficult thing she’d asked, she lifted herself onto her toes and, coiling her arms around his neck, she kissed him. Giving him her courage, her strength, all her love.

There was no need. She’d been giving him that since the day she’d stumbled in front of him on the stairs. In that moment the fairy tale had changed from Cinderella to something entirely new. She’d brought the sleeping Beast back to life with a kiss, made him whole again. But he had one condition of his own.

‘It’s a house for a family, Lucy. I’ll build it if you’ll help me fill it.’

‘Fill it?’

‘With kittens, puppies, your mother. Our children.’ There was a still moment when the world seemed to hold its breath. ‘I love you, Lucy Bright. Will you marry me?’

‘I…’

‘It’s a big decision. You’ll need time to think about it.’

‘Yes…’ For a moment the world seemed to hang on its axis. Then she said, ‘I’ve thought about it.’ And, reaching for the single button holding together the green-gold silk Lucy B jacket that she was wearing, ‘How soon can you get that door open?’

Lucy hadn’t got it free when he pushed the door open, but this time he was the one who came to a shocked halt.

‘A little extra glow,’ she said as he took in the eight-foot Christmas tree laden with toys and candy canes and painted glass balls. A replica of the one in the grotto. Or had she just had it shifted? Frank would do anything for her.