Eve Devon - Christmas at the Little Clock House on the Green - An enchanting and warm-hearted romance full of Christmas cheer

‘What are you talking about?’ She turned towards him and blinked. ‘When I get The Call, you’ll just hire someone else.’

Rudy gave her a long measured look and then shrugged. ‘Okay. Yes. This is what I would do. But would they be as good as you? Would they practically run the place when I’m not here?’

Emma’s heart skipped a beat. ‘Are you planning on going somewhere?’

‘Maybe. This place is doing well. Makes me think I might like to open another one.’

Terrific. Was everyone moving onto something except her? ‘Where?’

‘New York.’

Huh. If only she’d actually made the move to trying theatre. She’d have been in with a shot of getting a job to pay rent while going for auditions.

‘I guess I’m asking what you want more,’ Rudy said. ‘Your name in lights? Or, maybe, your name above this door?’

Emma started shuffling the pile of party requests. He wanted her to run this place for him while he scouted out and set up a bar in New York? ‘I want my name in lights, Rudy. You’ve known this from day one.’ Her heart felt heavy because, okay, day one had been three years ago and she hadn’t been able to make it happen.

Rudy looked at her shrewdly and then got up and headed for the door before pausing and saying, ‘You don’t have to answer now but think about it will you?’

Left alone in Rudy’s office once more, Emma didn’t know what to think. Could she really manage this place for Rudy? Could she really give up chasing The Dream in favour of being surrounded by people who were pursuing that very same dream? Every night, could she watch happily as one by one they started their new adventures and made it in the industry, or would it make her bitter?

Not much of an adventure for her, she thought and immediately felt awful because sweet, sweet Rudy was offering her more options than she’d given herself for the last three years.

With a huge sigh she pulled up her emails hoping to distract herself.

She was young and single with talent.

When did she get to start her adventure?

Idly she clicked on a new email from Kate:

To: WritingHer‌OscarAccep‌tanceSpeech

From: Kate Somersby

Subject: Season’s Greetings

Attachment: Invite

Emma, Hi!

Beyond excited to show you the mock-up of the invitation we’ll be sending out.

Can you do me a massive favour and give me your honest opinion? We’ve been working on these for so long I’ve got analysis paralysis!

Oh, can you pay particular attention to the last business and give me your thoughts?

Intrigued, Emma clicked on the attachment and was hopelessly enchanted when an old-fashioned cream-coloured linen envelope, whizzed across her screen and came to a stop, looking like something straight out of a Jane Austen novel. It had her name and address written on it in flowing script, like it had been written with fountain pen and sent by messenger to end up on a silver tray, waiting to be sliced open with a beautifully engraved letter opener.

A second later and it was turning itself over and opening up right in front of her eyes.

The flowing script in the middle read:

This Christmas you are cordially invited to the grand opening of The Little Clock House on the Green…

Oh, wow. Emma squinted past the cursive script. Was that the actual Clock House in the background? It looked so stately, so fabulously and so quintessentially English, that she felt an unexpected pang of home-sickness.

Which was completely ridiculous, since LA was her home, not England.

The envelope closed up again and divided into four triangles with a number and a ‘play’ symbol in the centre of each one. Charmed she clicked on the top triangle of the invitation and as it ‘unsealed’ itself to open up, she read:

Beauty @ The Clock House

Day Spa

Manager: Kate Somersby.

Smiling, Emma clicked on the second leaf and with a smile on her face watched it magically open up to read:

Hair @ The Clock House

Hair Salon

Manager: Juliet Brown

She clicked on the third:

Hive @ The Clock House

Rentable Co-Working space

Manager: Daniel Westlake

And then she clicked on the last one:

Cocktails & Chai @ The Clock House

Tearoom/Bar

Manager: Emma Danes

Emma stared at the screen in shock.

Absurd excitement shot through her, exploding like fireworks. Reaching out she quickly clicked back onto the email to make sure she wasn’t imagining things.

How about it, Emma?

Fancy coming to Whispers Wood and setting up Cocktails & Chai?

p.s. I can help out with airfare.

p.p.s. On days off you could finally get to visit where Jane Austen lived.

Ooh, that was sneaky.

Kate knew she’d wanted to do that for as long as she could remember.

p.p.p.s. And as Jane Austen once famously said … If adventures will not befall a young lady in her own village, she must seek them abroad.

Emma

Emma adjusted her grey wool beanie to a more attractive angle and wrapped her dusky-pink pashmina more securely around her shoulders as she wrenched open the front door of Wren Cottage.

She was late.

So very late for her first day at The Clock House.

She hated being late. Stupid jet lag. Now she was going to feel on the back-foot all day as well as feeling nauseous from the butterflies hurling hand-grenades at the walls of her insides.

Quickly she bent down and shoved her feet into the pair of boots sat outside the front door.

Holy moley, they were beyond freezing. Why in God’s name did people in this country leave perfectly good footwear outside? It was barbaric.

Honestly, mid-November in Whispers Wood could not be more different to mid-November in LA.

That was it, she thought, her toes curling and clenching inside the boots. When she got in tonight she was bringing these puppies inside and shoving them by the fire – once she’d plucked up the courage to ask again how to switch the fire on, that was.

Quite sure her toes were going to drop off if she didn’t get moving, she half-shlepped, half-slid along the icy path and came to an abrupt halt at the front gate.

‘Wow. Cow.’

Master of the understatement. That was her all over. Because, excuse me, but what the hell was an actual four-legged, real-life, black and white, farm animal doing standing in front of her, plain as day?

Emma closed her eyes and then opened them again.

It was still there.

And it wasn’t moving.

Oh God. Why wasn’t it moving?

Was it dead? Did cows die standing up?

And why was it staring at her, with those … cow eyes?

Slowly, Emma reached out and unlatched the little wrought-iron gate separating her from the cow and tugging it over the frosted tufts of grass, pulled it open enough to slip through.

The cow looked at her as if to say, ‘Hi there, it’s all good. Wanna chew the cud with me?’

Emma shook her head because, you know, Day! As in, she had one. Had places to be and people to meet and she really didn’t fancy her first phone call to Kate to be along the lines of a sickie that went, ‘I’m sorry I can’t come to work today, I’m trapped in my house by a cow.’

‘Shoo,’ she whispered, watching her breath turn misty as it left her mouth. When nothing happened she mustered her courage and, feeling brave, flung a hand out from under her shawl to make a shooing motion.

Her actions had zero effect.