Liz Fielding - Fairytale Christmas - Mistletoe and the Lost Stiletto / Her Holiday Prince Charming / A Princess by Christmas

Even if, beneath the rouge and abundant freckles, someone spotted a passing resemblance to the face that had been on the front cover of Celebrity magazine a dozen or more times in the last few months, they would dismiss it. Why, after all, would Lucy B, aka Cinderella, be working as an elf in a department store?

‘You can start by tidying up, straightening shelves while you find your way around. When you’ve done that you can take the empty space on the bench, dressing dolls and teddies. You’ll have to fit in a break with the rest of the staff.’

‘Right. Thanks.’

She stood in the doorway for a moment, taking a look around, familiarising herself with the layout before launching herself into the mix of elves, children and parents.

This was all new to her. Shunted around the care system all her life, she’d never been taken to see ‘Santa’ when she was a child. Even if she had got lucky, it would never have been like this.

The grotto had been designed to give children the illusion that they were in Santa’s North Pole workshop and there was a touch of magic about it that only a high-end designer—and a great deal of money—could have achieved. She didn’t know about the kids, but it certainly worked for her.

She was still taking it all in when there was a tug on the hem of her tunic and she turned to find herself looking at the child from the lift.

‘You’re not an elf,’ she declared loudly. ‘I saw you out there—’ she pointed dramatically ‘—in the real world.’

Oh…fairy lights!

Having done her best to restore a little girl’s faith in Santa, she’d immediately shattered it.

Maybe that was the message. There are no such things as fairy tales. On the other hand, if she’d had a moment or two of fantasy as a child, she might not have grabbed so desperately for it as an adult.

But this was not about her and, putting her finger to her lips in a quick, ‘Shh!’ she folded herself up so that she was on the same level as the child. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Dido.’

‘Can you keep a secret, Dido?’

The child, thumb stuck firmly back in her mouth, nodded once.

‘Well, that’s great because this is a really huge secret,’ she said. ‘You’re absolutely right. You did see me in the lift, but the reason I was up there in the real world was because I was on a special mission from Santa.’

She hadn’t worked as an assistant in a day-care nursery for years without learning how to spin a story. The pity of it was that she hadn’t learned to spot one when it was being spun at her.

‘What’s a mishun?’

‘A very special task. The toughest. I shouldn’t be telling you this, but the thing is that Rudolph—’

‘Rudolph?’ Eyes wide, Dido abandoned the comfort of the thumb.

‘Rudolph,’ she repeated, ‘had run out of his favourite snack. I had to disguise myself as a human, go up to the food hall—’

‘Is he here?’

Lucy raised her finger to her lips again and then pointed it towards the ceiling. ‘He’s up there, on the roof with all the other reindeer,’ she whispered. ‘As soon as the store closes on Christmas Eve, we’re going to load up the sleigh and off they’ll go.’

‘Really?’ she whispered back, eyes like saucers.

‘Elf’s honour,’ she said, crossing her heart.

‘Can I see him?’

Oh, good grief… ‘He’s resting, Dido. Building up his strength. It’s a big job delivering presents to all the children in the world.’

‘I ‘spose…’ For a moment her little face sagged with disappointment, then she said, ‘Was it a carrot? His favourite snack? We always leave a carrot for Rudolph.’

‘Well, carrots are good, obviously,’ she said, wondering what the rest of the poor reindeer had to sustain them. ‘Great for his eyesight as he flies through the night. Good for children, too.’ Good for you was so boring, though. Christmas was about excitement, magic. ‘But what Rudolph really loves when it’s cold is a handful of chilli-flavoured cashew nuts to warm him up.’ She paused. ‘They’re what make his nose glow.’

‘Wow! Really? That is so cool…’

‘That’s a very special secret,’ Lucy warned. ‘Between you, me, Rudolph and Santa.’

‘So I can’t tell Cleo? She’s my big sister.’

‘The sister who tried to tell you that Santa doesn’t exist? I doooon’t think so.’

The child giggled.

‘Only a very small handful, though. If Rudolph has too many his nose will overheat…’

Stop! Stop it right there, Lucy Bright!

‘Dido…It’s time to go,’ her mother said, rescuing her. Mouthing a silent thank you over her daughter’s head. ‘Say bye-bye.’

‘Bye-bye.’ Then she whispered, ‘Say hi to Rudolph.’

‘I will.’ Lucy put her finger to her lip, then said, ‘Merry Christmas.’

‘Merry Christmas.’

Whew. The magic restored to one little innocent. Clap if you believe in fairies…

Not her.

Not fairies. Not fairy tales.

Lesson learned.

She looked up, saw the Chief Elf watching her from his little window and, as ordered, began picking up toys that had been picked up and dropped, restoring them to the shelves. Holding the hands of children who’d momentarily lost sight of their mothers.

When all was calm and ordered, she hitched herself onto the vacant stool and began buttoning teddies into jackets and trousers. While her fingers moved on automatic, she found herself wondering not about her future, or where she was going to spend the night, but about the man on the stairs. The way he’d caught her, held her for what seemed like minutes rather than seconds.

The broad support on his hand at her back. Dangerously mesmerising grey eyes that had locked into hers, turning her on, lighting her up like the national grid. She could still feel the fizz of it. She’d never understood why men talked about taking a ‘cold shower’ until now.

‘Any trouble evicting the bodyguards?’ Nat asked, dropping in at the security office in the basement. It was hopeless hunting through the store, but he might catch a glimpse of her on the bank of screens being fed images from CCTV cameras around the store.

‘No, although they were on the phone calling up reinforcements before they were through the door. Whoever replaces them won’t be as easy to spot.’

Women. He’d use women, he thought, scanning the screens but she’d gone to earth. Found a hiding place. Or perhaps she really had slipped back out into the dark streets. That should have been his hope; instead, the idea of her out there, alone in the cold and dark, filled him with dread.

‘Have you seen them before?’ he pressed. ‘Any idea who they work for?’

Bryan Matthews, his security chief, frowned, clearly puzzled by his interest, but shook his head, keeping whatever he was thinking to himself.

‘They didn’t say anything? Offer any explanation?’

‘No, they were clam-mouthed professionals. They must have been in a flat panic to have drawn attention to themselves like that. Any idea who they’ve lost?’

‘Maybe. It’s possible that she’s about this high,’ he said, his hand level with his chin. ‘Short pale blonde hair, green eyes, wearing a black knitted dress with a big collar.’ He looked at the shoe he was still carrying. ‘And no shoes.’

‘You saw her?’

He’d done more than that. He’d not just seen her, but caught her, held her and she’d filled up his senses like a well after a drought. There had been a connection between them so physical that when she’d run it had felt as if she’d torn away a chunk of his flesh and taken it with her.

‘I saw someone who seemed to be in a bit of a state,’ he said. ‘Pass the word to keep alert for anything out of the ordinary, especially at the store exits. When she does leave I want to be sure it’s her decision. Any problem, call me.’