Trisha Ashley - Footsteps in the Snow and other Teatime Treats

Avon

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Published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Publishers 2014

Copyright © Trisha Ashley

Trisha Ashley asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

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Ebook Edition © 2014 ISBN: 9780007585458

Version: 2014-08-19

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page Footsteps in the Snow and other teatime treats Trisha Ashley

Copyright

Prologue: What the Dickens?

1. One Man’s Treasure

2. Tipping the Scales

3. Melting Moments

4. Honey and Spice

5. Breaking the Ice

6. A Bit of Christmas Relish

7. Not Just for Christmas

8. Footsteps in the Snow

9. Slightly Cracked

10. A Kitten too Far

11. The Cinderella Dress

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About the Author

By the same author

About the Publisher

As always, Christmas seems to hover tantalisingly on the horizon for ages like an unattainable mirage and then, when we glance away, suddenly rushes up and takes us by surprise. Thrown into utter panic and urged on to an insane level of consumerism by a barrage of advertising, we shop as if we were about to pull up the siege drawbridge for a month.

And of course there’s a sudden rash of books and articles promising to show you how to create a stress-free and perfect Christmas, an immaculate concept with the decorations themed to the latest colour scheme, the swags hanging neatly from the staircase and mantelpiece and, above all, a festively dressed table groaning under the weight of a beautifully crisped turkey with all the trimmings, to be followed by Christmas pudding, Christmas cake and all the rest of it. Only by absorbing such seasonal advice, the authors seem to be implying, can you be sure of a happy Christmas … except for the person running his or herself ragged attempting to produce all this perfection, of course.

And this supposedly ‘traditional Christmas’ with all the extravagant trimmings is not what most of us grew up with. The decorations of my Lancashire childhood were a bright chaos of paper chains, garlands and clusters of balloons, the crackers were cheap and cheerful and the table decoration a couple of pine cones and some holly enthusiastically daubed with silver glitter. The turkey, a monster, would have gone into the oven around midnight on Christmas Eve and have been slowly roasting ever since, though the pork sausages that had followed the stuffing into the cavity would be removed and cooked for breakfast. The dinner itself was quite leisurely: we ate when it was ready and no one thought to add extra work by putting chestnuts into the Brussels sprouts, or anything fancy of that nature. Any slight deficiencies in the cooking, such as slightly overdone sprouts, say, were overlooked: what did it matter? Covered in my mother’s thick, tasty gravy made from the juices in the roasting tin, it was all delicious anyway!