Linda Mitchelmore - Christmas at Strand House - A gorgeously uplifting festive romance!

She missed the warmth of her greeting and the scent of Shalimar on her godmother’s skin, and the depth of her loving. She knew she would miss always the myriad little ways Vonny found to spoil her – making shortbread biscuits on rainy days; filling a bath with what Lissy had discovered, when she was older and able to buy it for herself, was hugely expensive bath oil, and frothing it into a cloud of bubble so that only the tip of Lissy’s nose and her mouth had been visible; and letting her pick the first yellow peony from the bush even though they both knew it looked better on the bush than in a vase.

But this was a bedroom that needed to be shared. A bedroom that begged for her to wake up beside someone she loved and who loved her. They would sit up, propped against the huge hessian-covered headboard, and watch the sun rise over the water. And then they would make love, with no need to pull the curtains because no one could look in. There was nothing between Strand House and the continent.

‘And I have got to stop talking to myself! I’ve got three friends arriving soon and lots to do before then.’

The house had yet to be decorated for Christmas. There’d probably be some decorations of Vonny’s in a cupboard somewhere but Lissy didn’t want to use them. She had a fancy for a theme of some sort – silver and blue, or maybe gold and green. There was bound to be a shop in town somewhere that sold decorations and surely they wouldn’t all have been sold already. And flowers. Strand House had always been filled with fresh flowers when Vonny had been alive. White roses had been a favourite and Lissy decided that she would try and find some to honour her godmother’s memory. So many would be needed in a house this size – one little bunch of ten or so stems would look lost. Vases – she’d need lots of vases. And some smaller pots because she intended to put small posies in each of the rooms for her guests, something her godmother had always done for her, often picking buds of things, and interesting leaves from the garden – daisies even – to welcome her. Lissy looked around the room. Yes, that’s what she missed the most, perhaps … the little pot of hand-picked flowers on the bedside table in welcome. There probably wouldn’t be much in the garden in the way of flowers at this time of year but there’d be ivy and some evergreen shrub somewhere she could use with a few buds taken from shop flowers. Just as soon as Janey arrived she’d suggest they go into town and see what they could find, but they’d need to be back in time for her 2 p.m. Waitrose delivery.

She leapt from the bed and went to fetch her luggage.

Yes, perhaps the decision to ask Janey, Bobbie, and Xander to join her had been the right one. Maybe she was the loneliest one of them all.

‘Morning, sweetheart,’ the taxi driver said as Janey approached the open window of the passenger door.

‘Good morning. Are you free?’ Janey wasn’t in the habit of taking taxis but she knew the drill. The three taxis in front of this people carrier were already filling up with passengers who’d got off the train and were beginning to pull away.

‘Well, I’ll expect you to pay your fare, sweetheart. But I’m free as a bird at the moment and at your service. Sam’s the name.’

‘I don’t know that I need such a big taxi,’ Janey said, feeling a smile twitch up the corners of her mouth a little. ‘I can wait for the next one.’

She only had a small wheeled suitcase. It had been packed for ages with a few essentials like a change of underwear and some nightclothes, a dress and a spare pair of shoes. Her emergency exit luggage she always called it, all ready in case Stuart’s drinking and his temper put her in fear for her life. Up until now she’d been able to calm a situation, get herself out of danger by escaping to the bathroom or with the promise of a steak dinner when Stuart had sobered up. But she’d always known there’d be a time when she’d need that exit luggage and she’d come to her senses and was getting out before that time came, before a thump on the arm became much more, before a restraining hand went from her wrist to her neck.

‘Same charge, love, whether there’s one of you or half a dozen. Now you stay right there and I’ll come round and help you. I’m guessing you’re not a famous film star, or that Kate Moss, or foreign royalty or you’d be filling this taxi up with luggage.’

‘No,’ Janey said. ‘None of those.’

Janey knew she ought, perhaps, to wheel her case to the back of the taxi so the driver could load it but she felt frozen with fright at what she had done.

The taxi driver had reached her now. He loomed over her – at least six foot four inches to Janey’s scant five feet two. Standing facing him Janey, was just about level with the badge pinned to his jacket: Sam Webber, Ace Taxis .

‘Are you going to let that thing go, love, so I can get it in the boot? Or are you one half of its Siamese twin? You seem very attached. Your knuckles have gone white you’re gripping on that tight.’

And she could still keep on gripping it tight and go back into the railway station, find the other platform and take the up train back to Totnes, and home. It wasn’t far. Stuart was probably still crashed out on the couch and wouldn’t even have noticed she wasn’t there.

Janey had left before dawn, the previous night’s phone call still fresh in her mind.

‘Who was that?’ Stuart had asked when Janey put down the phone. He made it sound as though she ought not to have answered the phone in the first place.

‘Suzy.’

‘I might have known. That sister of yours is a total waste of space. What crisis is she having now?’

Yes, Suzy did seem to have more crises in her life than anyone else Janey knew, but then her health wasn’t as good as most people’s either. And Suzy’s son, Daniel, had learning difficulties and problems with mobility, while her six-year-old twin daughters needed a lot of attention as well. Janey wondered how she coped sometimes.

‘I might need to pop over there tomorrow,’ Janey had told Stuart, her voice a wobble with the lie she was telling. Would Stuart be able to detect that or was he too drunk? She hoped the latter. ‘Give her a hand with all the last-minute Christmas things.’

Janey had looked around the room, the only nod to Christmas by way of decoration was a few cards on the mantelpiece and a faux Christmas tree about a foot tall in a plastic pot. Janey hadn’t even bothered to put any tiny glass baubles on it this year. Or the miniature fairy on the top. Her sister’s house, she knew, would be full of colour and glitter and delicious smells of mince pies and brandy. And laughter. Despite all Suzy’s problems her house was always full of laughter. But then, Suzy didn’t have a husband like Stuart. And Janey wasn’t going there anyway.

‘Be her slave more like,’ Stuart had said.

And it was the word ‘slave’ that had made Janey’s decision for her. The only person she was a slave to was Stuart. And he didn’t exactly have her chained up so she couldn’t leave.

‘I’ve had more than a bit of practice,’ Janey said, her voice no longer wobbly.

‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Whatever you want it to,’ Janey said, a snake of fear rippling up her spine – a spine that seemed to be straightening as she stood there in front of Stuart challenging him, possibly for the first time. ‘There’s plenty to eat in the fridge, and more than plenty to drink seeing as the spare room has got cases of wine and twelve packs of beer from floor to ceiling.’

‘Won’t even miss you then, will I?’ Stuart said, opening yet another can of Foster’s.