Reawakened by His Christmas Kiss Page 10

  It took Alex less than five minutes to change, and when she returned to the office she was outdoors-ready, the dark trousers showcasing long, lean legs, the berry-red top just visible under the half-zipped jacket. She’d already laced up her boots, and as she reached him she put on her hat before slipping her hands into the gloves.

  ‘You should be on the front cover of our catalogue!’ he said.

  He was only half joking, but she shook her head.

  ‘My modelling days are well and truly over. I never enjoyed it, but my mother loved it. Loved people saying I reminded them of her. It was something that bonded us. And I needed that.’

  ‘Do you still see her?’

  Her gaze fell, but not before he saw the dark shadows in her eyes. ‘She prefers not to be reminded of that time.’

  There wasn’t anything anyone could say to that and Finn didn’t try. ‘Come on, let’s try out those boots. They’re a new model, not due for release until later next year.’

  The cold hit them as soon as they stepped outside, fresh and icy, momentarily robbing Finn of his breath. By unspoken accord they walked away from the castle and away from the lake, to the parkland at the back of the castle. It was now officially open for business, with nature trails and hikes winding through, a treetop walk newly installed, bike tracks freshly laid, but he was sure they’d have it to themselves. The weather was bound to deter all but the most hardened of adventurers, and the snow was swirling more quickly now, blocking visibility.

  ‘You know, these jackets are designed for proper alpine conditions. I didn’t think they could be tested so close to home.’

  Finn turned to look at Alex as he spoke, blinking the snow out of his eyes. She was transformed, cheeks pink with cold, the snow coating her with white glitter, her smile wide and genuine.

  ‘This is bracing!’

  ‘That’s one word for it. I was about to call in the huskies.’

  It was easier to walk and talk now they were in the woods. The snow was slowed by the branches overhead, and the trees sheltered them from the worst of the wind. Alex looked so much more relaxed, arms swinging as she tramped through the snow, that Finn almost wanted to forget the purpose of the walk and just let her have this time. But he knew getting her to open up was hard, that this chance might never come again, and the curiosity and renewed regret which had hit him so hard in Armaria needed answers.

  He had to move on. Once and for all.

  ‘So,’ he said, as lightly as he could. ‘Tell me about your transformation from Lola Beaumont to Alexandra Davenport.’

  Her smile instantly dimmed, as though it had never been. ‘First I need you to tell me something. If Penelope hadn’t had to stop working so suddenly, would you ever have told me that you’d found me? Or after looking me up and researching my agency would you have just walked away and forgotten about me again?’

  ‘I never forgot about you, ever. But as for the rest...? I don’t know,’ Finn confessed. ‘I told myself to leave the past where it was. The girls need me now, so what’s the point of dragging up the past? But, Alex, seeing you again was like rediscovering part of myself I didn’t know I had lost. I picked up the phone to call the agency time after time, only to realise I didn’t know what to say. I wrote dozens of emails I couldn’t send. When I finally actually had a genuine reason to call you I don’t know if I was more relieved or disappointed when Amber answered instead of you. It was clear Amber had no idea where Blakeley was or what it meant to you. When I said we needed you urgently and offered to send a car for you, she agreed. But it wasn’t her agreement I should have sought. It was yours. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have blindsided you the way I did, insisting you came straight here. I shouldn’t have threatened you to make you stay. I just didn’t want you to leave without knowing that you were okay. That you were happy. Are you happy, Alex?’

  It was the most important question of all.

  ‘I’m content.’

  ‘And that’s enough?’

  She shrugged. ‘It has to be.’

  ‘I don’t believe you,’ he said roughly. ‘The girl I knew would never settle for “content”.’

  ‘That girl is gone. You need to accept that, Finn. Lola Beaumont has gone.’

  ‘No.’

  He stopped and turned to face her, holding her loosely by the shoulders. She made no attempt to break free, just stood there, her eyes entreating him. To what? To stop pushing? To let her stay in the dream world she inhabited? The one where she told herself she needed nothing and no one and ‘content’ was as good as it got?

  Maybe it would be kinder to leave her there, to let her sleepwalk through the rest of her life. But didn’t he owe it to the girl he’d loved, that sweet and sassy and misunderstood wild child, to help her live again? Because, painful and unpredictable as life could be, it was better than barely living at all.

  He couldn’t make that decision for her. No one could. But he could help her.

  ‘Lola Beaumont was always a chameleon,’ he said. ‘Maybe that’s why it was so easy for you to leave her behind. Because half the time she was just a costume. You modelled her just as much as you modelled any of those designer outfits and perfumes. But there was always far more to you than that costume. I knew it. Mrs Atkinson knew it. Hell, half the village knew it. I’d say that the only person who didn’t know it was you. You fooled your parents and your teachers, and most of those toffee-nosed friends of yours, but you didn’t fool me then and you don’t fool me now. You can call yourself Lola or Alex or Jane, for all I care. But I still see you. And you are worth seeing. You always were.’

  Alex didn’t answer. She just stood, mute and compliant under his grasp, her eyes swimming with unshed tears.

  The tension stretched until he could bear it no longer. He’d promised himself not to get involved, reminded himself that there was no future here, that the girls came first. But the girls were at school and the future seemed like a distant dream as he looked deep into the ocean of Alex’s eyes, no longer pebbles but deep, deep grey and full of passion, suppressed and hidden, but there. He knew it, he saw it, it called to him, and his blood thrilled to it.

  With a muttered curse he threw his promises and scruples aside and bent to her.

  His kiss was neither gentle nor exploratory, but a deep claiming that sent his blood dancing. Her mouth was warm under his, welcoming him even as she made no move to touch him, to close the distance between them. Emboldened, Finn deepened the kiss, his hands still light upon her, feeling the delicacy of her bones beneath the tips of his fingers.

  ‘No.’

  The word sent him reeling back. Had he misread the situation? Misread her? Surely she’d come alive under his kiss? Or was that merely wishful thinking on his part?

  ‘No,’ she said again. ‘You wanted a story and I promised you one. You need to understand who I am now, Finn. And then you’ll know. I’m not a chameleon. I’m just empty. I always was.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  FINN GLANCED AT Alex but she stared straight ahead, her mouth set. There was no trace of the warm, yielding woman in the granite hardness of her face, and her eyes were now like stone. What did she think she could tell him that he didn’t know? He knew her truth. Had tasted it and loved it and yearned for it. But he had asked for her story and she was ready to tell him. He owed her the listening.

  They hadn’t discussed their path, but they didn’t need to. There was only one destination, and as they tramped through the still, snow-decked woods it seemed to Finn that, despite Alex’s desperate words, her past wasn’t as done and dusted as she claimed. How could it be when she knew her way better than he?

  Finally, a small cottage came into view, chimney first, and then the rest, curious and crooked, more like something out of a fairy-tale than a real, live cottage.

  ‘You haven’t let this out as well.’

  It wasn’t a questio
n.

  ‘No.’ Finn deliberately kept his voice low and his tone matter-of-fact, as if the kiss had never happened, not wanting to scare her. ‘It’s too impractical all the way out here. Hard for people to get to, too much of a trek for regular cleaning. Besides...’ his voice was so low he wasn’t sure she heard it ‘... I didn’t want anyone else here.’

  She didn’t respond. Finn couldn’t tell if her heightened colour was due to his words and the memories they evoked, or simply a reaction to the biting cold.

  He had the key to the front door in his pocket and she slanted a sideways glance at him as he produced it. ‘How very Boy Scout of you. How did you know we were coming here?’

  ‘I always carry it,’ he said.

  The key stayed on his key ring, the original from before. It was a talisman, a symbol, even more than the key to the castle. That one symbolised his change in status. This key symbolised the moment he had truly found what he wanted. The moment he had lost it.

  He opened the door and stood aside to let Alex enter. No one knew when the cottage had been built or who had originally lived there. Right in the middle of the woods, with no garden separating it from the trees around, the stone-built old cottage looked as if it belonged on a film set.

  The front door led straight into the one original room, a kitchen and living space, dominated by a wood-burning stove which heated both the radiators and the hot water. A later addition housed the downstairs bathroom and scullery; upstairs was just one large bedroom.

  ‘It’s been redecorated.’ Alex stood stock-still, her keen gaze taking in every detail.

  Finn went over to the stove and began to load it with logs from the filled basket. ‘One of the first things I had done when I first bought the castle. It didn’t need much; structurally it was surprisingly sound, and the damp was because of the lack of regular heating rather than anything more sinister. A damp-proof course, new plastering and painting and a deep clean and it’s perfectly habitable, if a little rustic. I come here sometimes when I need time alone, to think. There’s always someone who needs me at the castle or in the office, always decisions to make. I built the business on creativity and sometimes I feel that slipping away. Do you mind? Me using it?’

  Her eyebrows arched in elegant if disingenuous surprise. ‘Why would I?’

  ‘Because this was your special place.’

  ‘No.’ Now it was her turn to be almost inaudible. ‘It was ours.’

  It didn’t take long to light the stove. Alex had taken off her boots and curled up in one of the armchairs, pulled close to benefit from the stove’s heat. Finn sat opposite her. He’d come out determined to get answers, closure, and yet he still felt as if he were fighting through thickets to reach her. She was as hidden as ever, only her momentary loss of control in the woods hinting that she was reachable if he just kept pushing.

  The stove always heated quickly, and within a few minutes it was warm enough to cast their coats to one side. Alex didn’t speak for a long time and Finn sat back, letting her set the pace. It was surprisingly soothing, just sitting, watching the emotions play out on her face. She wasn’t as in control as she would have him believe.

  Finally, she sighed and turned to him, curling up tighter in the chair as if, like a hedgehog, the curve of her body would protect her. ‘What are you doing, Finn?’

  ‘I was about to offer you tea. We might have biscuits somewhere too.’

  ‘Not right now. I mean, why are you here, at Blakeley? You could have made a new life for you and the girls anywhere. Why exhume all these ghosts? Why are we right here, right now?’

  It was a good question. One he had asked himself several times whilst negotiating a price for the castle and estate and beginning the extensive renovations and investment: an investment that had made a serious dent in the fortune he had so painstakingly built up.

  He stared at the polished stove, at the room with its scrubbed table, the comfy armchairs, the bookshelves. He was a thirty-year-old man and the retreat he had refurbished for himself was no man cave. Instead it was an exercise in nostalgia. Because this had been Lola’s place. In those days the armchairs had needed reupholstering, the cottage had often been damp and cold, covered in dust and cobwebs, but to them it had been playhouse, palace and freedom.

  When she’d been sent to boarding school she’d solemnly presented him with the key—the key he still carried—knowing he needed a sanctuary, away from his father’s anger and his sister’s unhappiness.

  And this was where they had slipped away, nearly ten years ago to the day, on the night of her eighteenth birthday. Memory of that night was in every line of her defensive body.

  ‘Blakeley is my home. It always was. I wanted the girls to grow up here, free and wild and safe. The childhood we so nearly had? I want that for them.’

  She nodded, as if she had anticipated his answer.

  ‘Okay.’

  She was tense now, ramrod-straight in the armchair as if she was being interrogated. Her hair had slipped out of its coil while she wore the hat and she had pulled it back into a tight ponytail which accentuated the taut lines of her face and her high, haughty cheekbones. She wore the berry-red fleece as if it were cashmere. Still every inch the lady of the manor.

  ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘Everything.’

  She huffed out a laugh. ‘You don’t ask for much, do you?’

  She looked down at her hands, and when she spoke again it was as if she were telling a story.

  ‘No one knows this, Finn. Not even Harriet or Amber or Emilia. Sometimes even I don’t know it. Lola belongs to a different time, a different place. She’s a story. A fairy-tale or a cautionary tale.’

  He didn’t argue, not this time. ‘How does it start?’

  She smiled, a mechanical curve of her mouth with no life or joy in it. ‘How does any fairy-tale start? Once upon a time there was a little girl who thought she was a princess. She lived in a beautiful castle and had everything she wanted: an antique dolls’ house, a rocking horse, a real horse. She was spoiled and fêted and allowed to roam free and no one was as exciting or as glamorous as her parents. Everywhere they went people took photos of them, and everyone told the little girl how very lucky she was. And the little girl believed it.’

  Finn inhaled, desperate to pull her into his arms and kiss the brittleness away, but he held himself still. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Sometimes her mummy and daddy seemed to forget about the Princess, and sometimes it seemed like they only liked her if she was wild and beautiful and fun. But she knew that it must be her fault when they forgot her or were impatient, because her parents were perfect, so she made sure she was always wild and free and beautiful. Sometimes it got her in trouble, but her parents didn’t mind. They liked it that way.’

  It was almost unbearable, listening to her recite the facts of her life in an almost singsong fashion, but again Finn restrained himself from interrupting. He’d asked, demanded to bear witness. He had to follow through.

  ‘The Princess had one true friend, and when she grew up she knew he was her one true love. And so, on her eighteenth birthday, she sneaked out of her party to be with him. That was the last time she was truly happy. Because that night a curse hit her family, and by the end of the week her father was disgraced and dead and her mother had run away. Neither of them remembered the Princess. Not even in their goodbye notes...’

  She paused, her throat working, and Finn’s fists tightened, his need to give her comfort more acute than ever.

  ‘No one wanted the Princess to be wild and free and beautiful any more. They wanted her to be humiliated—and she was. Unbearably so. It was like being poisoned. Every part of her hurt. Everything she touched shattered, people turned away from her, and she thought the boy she loved had betrayed her. She didn’t know how to carry on. For a while she didn’t. She just lay there and hoped it was all
a bad dream.’

  ‘Alex...’

  ‘For a long time she thought she was broken. She had ended up by the sea, staying in a cottage in a place where no one knew her. There she decided to stop being a princess. She changed her name and used the little bit of money her father hadn’t embezzled and the bailiffs couldn’t claim to go back to college and get the qualifications she’d been too wild and free to bother with before. And she decided she was never going to let anyone else tell her story again. She was going to be the one who decided how her story was told and she got a job that helped her do that. No one knew she used to be a princess and that was just how she liked it. And she lived quietly ever after and that was how she liked it too.’

  She lapsed into silence, almost unbearably still. None of the tale was new. He’d lived it with her. She’d touched on aspects of it over the last week. But to hear her tell it with so little emotion gave her words a power he hadn’t imagined. Finally, he understood how broken she had been. How broken she still was, for all her protestations, and he ached to fix her.

  ‘Where did you go to college? Did you live with your godmother?’

  She blinked and the spell dissolved. ‘Finn, since I left Blakeley I’ve worked for everything I’ve achieved the old-fashioned way. No trading off my name or connections. No trust fund, obviously. The debt collectors took care of that. No home, no contacts—I only saw my godmother a couple of times; she was as keen to disassociate herself from the Beaumonts as everyone else. When I found out that she had left me her house I was shocked. To be honest I almost didn’t accept it. I didn’t want anything from before. But it wasn’t just my life the inheritance would change. We’d been planning the agency for a couple of years, my co-partners and I, and I knew I could give the others the home and stability they needed.’

  ‘And you? Has it given you what you need?’

  Her smile was brittle. ‘Come on, Finn. You know as well as I do that stability is an illusion and there really is no place to call home.’