The Twelve Nights of Christmas. Sarah Morgan
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nice to know I’m supporting someone through the credit crunch—’ Feeling a vibrating in her pocket, Evie dug out her phone, her anxiety doubling when she saw the number. ‘Just wait there a moment and don’t go anywhere because I have to answer this or he’ll worry—he’s very old and—Grandpa? Why are you calling in the middle of the day? Are you OK?’ She prayed he hadn’t had another one of his turns. It was one thing after another. Her life was unravelling faster than a pulled thread in a sweater. She’d wanted so badly to make him proud. Instead, all she was going to do was worry him.
‘Just checking up on you because I saw the pictures of the snow on the news.’ Her grandfather sounded frail and Evie tightened her grip on the phone, hating the fact that he was getting older.
He was the person she loved most in the world. She owed him everything. ‘I’m fine, Grandpa.’ She shivered as more flakes of snow found their way inside her coat. ‘You know I love the snow.’
‘You always did. Built any snowmen yet? You always loved building snowmen.’
Evie swallowed. ‘I…I haven’t had the chance yet, Grandpa. Soon, I hope. There’s a huge park opposite the hotel where I’m working. It’s crying out for a snowman.’ She didn’t tell him that no one paused to build a snowman in London. Everyone was too busy rushing from one place to another.
‘Are you at work now? I don’t want to bother you if you’re at work, dealing with some high-powered celebrity.’
High-powered celebrity?
‘Well…er…’ Her face scarlet, Evie moved away from the man who had just tipped her life into a rubbish bag and wondered whether the lie she’d told about her job was about to come back to bite her. It was one thing trying to protect her grandfather, but she’d probably gone a little over the top. Or possibly more than a little. ‘Grandpa—’
‘I boast to everyone about you. I’m so proud of you, Evie. I told that stuffy Mrs Fitzwilliam in the room next door to mine, “My granddaughter has got herself a brilliant high-powered job. She may have been left standing at the altar—”’
Evie pressed her fingers to her aching forehead. ‘It wasn’t at the altar, Grandpa. No one got as far as the altar—’
‘“—but she picked herself up and now she’s a receptionist at the smartest hotel in London and she never would have had that opportunity if she’d married useless Jeff.” He was nothing but a dreamer. And he wasn’t good enough for you, you know that, don’t you? He was wet, and you don’t want a man who is wet. You need a real man.’
‘Any man would be a start,’ Evie muttered under her breath, ‘but fat chance of that.’
‘What was that?’
‘Nothing.’ For once grateful for her grandfather’s hearing aid, she changed the subject quickly. ‘Are you OK? Are they treating you all right there?’ Although he’d persuaded her he wanted to go into the same home as his closest friend, she still wasn’t comfortable with the idea.
‘My bones are aching in the damp weather and they make too much fuss here.’
Evie smiled. ‘It will be summer soon. And I’m glad they’re fussing.’
‘I wish I could see you at Christmas but I know it’s too far for you to come for just one day. I’m worrying about you on your own. I miss you, Evie.’
Flattened by homesickness, Evie felt a lump settle in her throat. ‘I miss you, too. And I’ll try and come up as soon as I can. And don’t worry. I’m fine.’ She pushed the words past her cold lips and then waved her hand frantically as the man loaded his tools into his van. Was he really just going to drive away and leave her here, standing on a snowy pavement in the dark? What had happened to chivalry? Her fiancé broke up with her by text and this man was about to leave a vulnerable woman alone in a big, scary city with nowhere to spend the night. Where were all the knights in shining armour when you needed them? Her grandfather was right—she needed a real man. Down with rats, wimps and cowards.
‘So how’s the job going?’ Her grandfather used his most bracing voice. ‘I told Mrs Fitzwilliam that you have Hollywood stars staying and that you’ll be meeting and greeting them personally. That shut her up. Nosy old madam.’
Evie didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She was going to be struck down for lying to her grandfather. On the other hand, the alternative option was disappointing and worrying him. And she did ‘meet and greet’ guests. Sort of. If she met someone, she greeted them, didn’t she? The fact that they usually ignored her didn’t count. ‘The job’s great, Grandpa. Brilliant.’ She’d been demoted and the slimy hotel manager had made a pass at her but, apart from that, it was all perfect.
The man started the engine and Evie sprinted across the pavement to stop him, her feet slithering on the ice. ‘Wait—’
Her grandfather was still chatting. ‘I’ve been watching the shares of Zaccarelli Leisure. They’re soaring. You picked a winner there, Evie. At least your job is safe.’
No. No, it wasn’t safe. Her entire existence was balancing on a knife edge.
Evie had a sudden urge to confess that the manager had tried it on with her, but stopped herself in time. She didn’t want to upset her grandfather. And she also had a sneaking worry that he might somehow get on a train, find his way to London and deal with Carlos Bellini personally. Despite his eighty-six years, her grandfather was a real man.
‘My job is…it’s…well, it’s great,’ she said firmly. ‘Really good.’
‘Going to any Christmas parties? I’m sure you’ll be able to have your pick of men if you do! And you won’t be able to make it through the Christmas season without singing The Twelve Days of Christmas at the top of your voice. You know you always love doing that.’
‘No parties planned. And I’m not quite ready to meet another man yet, Grandpa.’ Dragging the bag behind her, Evie slithered towards the van. As she let go of it, the top gaped open and her tiny silver Christmas tree tumbled into the snow and slush. ‘Don’t worry about me. I’m fine.’ A lump in her throat, she stared at her Christmas tree, which was now lying in a puddle. Her whole life felt as though it was sinking into a puddle.
‘Don’t hang around, Evie. I’m not getting any younger. Next year I want to be bouncing a great-grandchild on my knee.’
What? ‘I’ll do my best, Grandpa.’ Wondering how on earth she was going to fulfil that particular wish when she couldn’t find a man who wanted to talk to her, let alone sleep with her, Evie forced out a cheery goodbye and dropped the phone back in her pocket.
As she retrieved the dripping Christmas tree, the man drove off, showering her with slush.
It was snowing steadily and Evie was just wondering whether it was worth wading through the contents of the bag to find her umbrella when her phone rang again.
‘Why am I suddenly the most popular person in the world?’ Looking at the number flashing on her phone, she groaned. Oh, no. ‘Tina? I know I’m late, but I’ve—’ she flinched as her boss gave her a sharp lecture ‘—yes, I know Salvatorio Zaccarelli is arriving tomorrow and—yes, I know it’s important because he’s looking at the way the hotel is run and we’re all under scrutiny. Yes, I know I was lucky you gave me another chance with this job when you could have fired me—’ She gritted her teeth as she listened. ‘I—yes, the Penthouse will be perfect, I promise—I’m lucky that Carlos wants me to do the job personally—I do know Mr Zaccarelli is the most important guest we ever have—I know he doesn’t suffer fools and won’t tolerate anything less than perfection—’ the guy was obviously a cold, heartless pig ‘—I feel the same way,’ Evie lied, making a mental note not to be anywhere near the scary, ruthless tycoon when he arrived at the hotel. The way she was feeling at the moment, she’d probably punch him. That was one ‘meet and greet’ that was not going to happen. If she saw him coming she