Once Upon A Christmas. Jennifer JoyceЧитать онлайн книгу.
grinned. ‘It’s rather nice, actually. It’s a Pinot Grigio; they’re always very pale. Anyway, thanks for the offer, but I’ve had a long drive and a pretty stressful day today, so I think I’ll go onto water when I finish this or I’ll fall over. And, besides, I’ve got a guest back at the house waiting for me and I’d better stay sober in case he causes trouble.’ Seeing the expression on Justin’s face, she explained about Stirling the dog. He, too, was a well-known local character.
‘You should have brought him. It’s funny; your dad always used to sit at this table, too, and Stirling would sprawl out in front of the fire. Next time, do bring him. Well, if you’re sure, I’ll just get you a glass of mineral water.’
‘Tap water’s fine. I imagine it’s rather good out here, not like the stuff that comes out of the taps where I live.’
While he went off to get her water, a girl arrived with her mussels in a big enamel pot. She lifted off the lid and placed it, upside down, on the table top alongside the pot to take the discarded shells. It was all steaming like a geyser. ‘Be careful. It’s all very hot.’ To Holly’s surprise, she also set down a bowl of chips. The mussels smelt wonderful and Holly realised she was feeling very hungry. The last food she had eaten had been an apple in the car on the way down the A303.
‘That smells terrific.’ Justin put a glass of water down beside her and commented. ‘I must buy you a drink more often. You’re very cheap to run.’
Holly shook her head. ‘You’d be wrong there. I have a very expensive habit when it comes to wine normally. Sancerre, Menetou Salon, Chablis; I love them all, and if they’re a premier cru or, even better, a grand cru, then I’m in heaven.’
Justin looked impressed. ‘That settles it then. You’ll have to come over to my place some time soon. I’ve got some excellent whites for you to taste. Mind you, your dad was the expert on wines. He and my father used to vie with each other to see who could come up with the best one every Christmas. He would have appreciated your shared interest.’
Holly nodded. There was so much she had to learn about her dad and it felt rather good to discover something they had in common. She wondered whether he had shared her interest in classic cars and found herself smiling; finding he had stashed an old Bentley in a garage somewhere would be nice.
Justin smiled back at her and then glanced at his watch. ‘Well, don’t let your mussels get cold. I must dash. I look forward to seeing you again, Holly.’
‘Me, too.’ He gave her a little wave, turned and left the bar.
Holly reached into the pot and pulled out the first mussel. It was excellent. As she ate, she found herself mulling over the events of the last week, from the unbelievable news that she was now a millionaire, to the unexpected discovery that she was responsible for a dog, and a particularly large one. She took another mouthful of wine and remembered what the solicitor had said the previous week. She had inherited her father’s house and the contents of his cellar. Her dad had been in the wine business and Justin had said that her father was a wine expert, so she really would have to seek out the cellar. Maybe there might be a few bottles of good Sancerre in there.
And what about Justin? Was he married or was he available? And, if he was available, was she interested? And, if so, would he last the test of time? Julia had been right about the way all Holly’s men tended to disappear after only a few dates. And she knew that this was down to her. Was it just because her standards were too high, or was there more to it than that? In a moment of honest self-analysis, she had to accept that the one thing lacking in all of the brief relationships she had had up till now had been love. With one or two, she had believed she had found it, but it hadn’t lasted. She found herself smiling weakly as she considered that the way she had hugged the Labrador on her father’s bedroom floor had been the closest she had come to a spontaneous expression of love for years. She found herself wondering, if Justin was available and if he became another of her men, how long would he last?
Having resisted the temptation to have a pudding, Holly returned home soon after finishing her meal, vaguely worried about what the dog might be doing in her absence. There were stars in the sky and it felt like the temperature had already dropped below freezing. She was grateful she didn’t need to drive anywhere for a few days. The Porsche was a lovely car, but on icy roads, she had long since discovered, it was lethal; slipping and sliding about at the lightest touch of the throttle.
She got a surprise as she reached Brook Cottage. It was in complete darkness. She had left the light on in the kitchen for Stirling and now it was off. For one irrational moment she wondered if the dog had found the light switch, but then common sense kicked in and she dismissed the idea. That left the possibility of a power cut or, more scarily, the notion that somebody had got into the house and had deliberately turned off the light. That was not a comfortable thought. She looked around and was disturbed to see lights in the windows of most of the houses, including her next door neighbour. This destroyed the power cut hypothesis and she was left with the notion of a break in or, more probably, some sort of failure of the aged electrics in Brook Cottage itself.
She went up to the door and put the key in the lock. No sooner had she done so, than she heard a volley of barking from inside. This, more than anything else, set her mind at rest. If the dog was barking, it meant he was guarding the house, and so it was fairly safe to say that there wasn’t an intruder in there with him. She turned the key and pushed the door open a crack. ‘Stirling, it’s me. Shut up.’ It probably wasn’t the sort of command that a dog training instructor would have recommended, but it did the job. The barking stopped immediately, to be replaced by little whining sounds. She pushed the door open and stepped inside, pulling off her jacket as she did so. The dog stood up on his hind legs and welcomed her home, his nails no doubt inflicting further damage to her expensive belt. She closed the door behind her and stood there, taking stock, one hand ruffling the big dog’s ears as he continued to produce a series of joyful canine greetings.
‘So what’s happened to the electricity, Stirling?’ She pushed the dog gently to one side and felt her way across to the fireplace. She had a vague feeling that she had seen a box of matches on the mantelpiece. She reached up and ran her hand across the stone shelf, and it was with considerable relief that she located a matchbox. She brought it down, reached inside and felt a handful of matches. She pulled one out and struck it. In the light of the match she checked the contents of the box and her heart sank. Almost all the remaining matches had already been used. There was only one other good one in there. At that moment, the match in her hand burnt down to her fingers and she had to drop it. She and the dog were returned to pitch darkness.
‘Bugger.’
She sat down at the table, the last remaining match in one hand, the box of duds in the other. She racked her brains as to what to do next. She seemed to remember having seen a candle somewhere in the house, but she couldn’t be sure. If she used this last match and still couldn’t find one, then she would be in trouble. At least, she thought with a start, she did know where the main fuse box was. She had had to turn the electricity on and off a few times earlier on when she was persuading the central heating boiler to start working. She got up and felt her way across to the broom cupboard by the back door. Inside, the cover to the fuse box was still hanging open. Muttering a little prayer, she struck the last match and saw that the main power switch had tripped. She grabbed it and pushed it back up again. The lights came on for a split second and then there was a loud bang and the switch flicked off again. Another second later, she felt the match burning her fingers and she had to stamp it out.
‘Bugger, bugger, bugger.’
She felt her way back into the kitchen. There was no alternative; she had to ask for help. She opened the front door, feeling Stirling slip out past her, and she followed him out of the garden gate. She turned left and walked the few paces to her neighbour’s gate. As she opened it, so the dog pushed past her once again. The moon had not yet risen, but the starlight allowed her to make out the dog’s silhouette in the dark, standing by the door. She followed him over and groped with her fingers until she felt a bell. She pressed it and was rewarded by a ringing sound. A few seconds later, there was the sound of footsteps