A Perfect Cornish Christmas. Phillipa Ashley
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gaze fell upon the red and bleeding skin beneath the hole in her tights.
Oh yes, she’d stumbled on the cobbles by the Fisherman’s Institute. Just like when she was little and had tumbled, it hadn’t truly hurt until someone had tried to comfort her. Now, it throbbed like mad. Everything had begun to hurt as the numbness thawed, her senses came back to life and the awful realisation of what had happened back at the manor hit her.
The gift – from Scarlett and her older sister, Ellie – was supposed to be the perfect present to her family. It was meant to fill their faces with delight and joy, not pain and anger.
She stared back at Troy, Sam, Evie and Jude, and the blur of faces behind them.
Evie patted her hand. ‘Do you even know who you are, my maid?’
‘I thought I did,’ said Scarlett. ‘But I don’t any more.’
Two hours earlier Seaholly Manor, Porthmellow
Scarlett took a moment to scan the sitting room at Seaholly Manor. Everything was running like clockwork. The floor was a sea of wrapping paper and packaging, coffee cups and champagne flutes, some containing the dregs of the Buck’s Fizz they’d sipped while opening their presents.
The past few months of careful planning alongside Ellie were about to pay off.
Ellie appeared by Scarlett’s side, a laptop in her arms. ‘Auntie Joan would have approved, don’t you think?’ she murmured.
‘Definitely,’ Scarlett replied, taking the laptop from Ellie.
‘I’ll get us a drink while we set up.’
Ellie went into the kitchen and Scarlett connected her laptop into the TV. A ripple of excitement ran through her. Their plan to have the perfect family Christmas at Seaholly Manor was all going according to plan and yes, Great Aunt Joan would surely have been proud of them. Sadly, she’d passed away in the summer, but Scarlett felt that the Lathams were honouring her memory in the best possible way by gathering at Joan’s home for a couple of weeks.
Joan had been a very successful and flamboyant romance novelist, whose bestselling books had enabled her to buy the eighteenth-century manor in the sixties. She had loved company and was legendary for her parties, held in the lush gardens or on the beach at the bottom of Seaholly Cove. It was Joan who’d left the house to Scarlett’s mother, Anna.
Scarlett, her parents, Marcus and his family all lived within ten miles of each other in Birmingham, although their busy lives meant they didn’t get together as often as they probably ought to. As a rule, their father wasn’t a great one for parties but he’d always been happy to make the journey to Cornwall to spend the holidays with his family.
Scarlett was also particularly looking forward to enjoying some time with her sister, who at thirty-eight was six years her senior. After spending most of her life travelling all over the world while working in bars and cafés, Ellie had moved into the manor in the early autumn as ‘caretaker’. Scarlett was amazed how quickly she’d settled into Porthmellow life after her globetrotting lifestyle. Since returning to the UK, Ellie had found work as ship’s cook with Porthmellow Sailing Trust and helped out at the Harbour Café.
The previous year had brought big changes for Scarlett too, and not in a happy way. She’d broken up with her ex, Rafa, which had knocked her confidence where dating was concerned, and she hadn’t dated anyone since. The split was followed by the loss of a major client from the freelance copywriting business she’d built up over the past few years. Scarlett had written the copy for a large engineering company who made all kinds of screws and fasteners, and while it was hardly glamorous, they gave her a lot of work, from their website to press releases. However the company had been taken over by a giant American corporation who’d made lots of people redundant and slashed their budget, meaning she was having to fight hard to find new business in very uncertain times.
So she was trying hard to stay positive that New Year and a happy Christmas, surrounded by the family she loved, would kick off the fresh start.
Ellie walked in from the kitchen, a grin on her freckled face. ‘Woo hoo! I’ve got a surprise for you.’
She handed Scarlett a glass of something that looked like a Minion who had been put through the blender. ‘Here you go. Have a sniff of this.’
Scarlett wrinkled her nose. ‘What is it?’
‘Heidi’s homemade eggnog,’ said Ellie.
‘Heidi made eggnog?’ Scarlett exclaimed.
‘Shh, she might hear you,’ Ellie said, smirking all the same.
‘I’m just amazed that Healthy Heidi would even think of touching anything alcoholic, especially when mixed with eggs.’
‘She says it’s healthier than the commercial variety, packed with protein, and she’s added some secret ingredients.’
Scarlett pulled a face. ‘Like what?’ She put the glass to her lips.
‘Powdered kelp.’
Scarlett swallowed a gulp of the yellow liquid and gagged. ‘Yeugh.’
Ellie sipped hers and pulled a face. ‘It’s awful, isn’t it?’
‘Truly horrible, but I don’t want to hurt Heidi’s feelings. Can we chuck it in a plant pot?’ Scarlett headed for a large aspidistra in the corner of the room.
‘I don’t think so. It might not soak into the soil and the plant will probably wilt on the spot. Quick, open the French doors.’
Scarlett took both glasses and stepped into the garden. The contrast in temperature with the cosy house made her chest tighten. Overnight, a cold front had blown in, coating the flagstones with a film of sleet. Her bunny slippers weren’t ideal for venturing too far so she quickly threw the eggnog into a flowerbed and hurried back inside.
‘Brrr. So much for this being the Cornish Riviera. Look at my bunny slippers.’ She held up a foot to Ellie.
Ellie laughed. ‘They are a bit soggy. Let me put them in front of the fire, while you get the laptop ready.’
‘Thanks. You know … I’m starting to have cold feet in other ways. I’m a bit nervous now it’s come to the crunch.’
‘It’ll be fine,’ Ellie said, placing the damp slippers on the hearth tiles.
Even though all three of the Latham children were the wrong side of thirty, their parents still gave them stockings, although the ‘fillers’ had long since ceased to fit inside the actual stockings. They always contained small bottles of posh ‘smellies’, the latest book by their favourite author, chocolates and a ‘silly’ gift. This year everyone had received a pair of novelty slippers – even Marcus, who had groaned when he’d opened a pair of size eleven badger slippers.
Ellie was wearing fleecy alpacas, while Scarlett’s feet were cocooned in the fluffy rabbits. They were ridiculously impractical and probably lethal on the polished boards of Seaholly Manor, but wasn’t that the point of a stocking present? It had to be fun and, above all, silly. It was a stark contrast to Marcus and Heidi’s gift – a subscription to a health and fitness magazine and app.
‘I know you both want to turn over a new leaf,’ Heidi had said, with a dazzling smile. ‘But perhaps not today.’ She patted her stomach. ‘Even I’ll be relaxing my regime. Might even treat myself to a smidge of Christmas pud. After all, we can work off all the fat and sugar with some hill training on our run along the coastal path tomorrow, can’t we, Marcus?’
Marcus had almost snorted his Bailey’s onto the rug. ‘Um … Maybe