A Christmas Letter. Shirley Jump

need to go and pick up the keys by three,’ Faith said as she collected her bag and other belongings. ‘I’ll send you the results of my research in a couple of days.’

      Bertie raised his eyebrows. ‘You might be late picking up those keys,’ he said, focusing on the window behind Marcus.

      Marcus turned round just as Faith stood up and gasped.

      No dusty snow now. Thick feathery flakes were falling hard and fast, so thickly he could hardly see the gatehouse only a hundred feet away.

      ‘I don’t think you’ll be going anywhere for a while,’ his grandfather said, doing his best to look apologetic, but clearly invigorated by the surprise turn in the weather—and events. ‘It’s far too dangerous to drive in this.’

      ‘What kind of car have you got?’ Marcus asked hopefully.

      ‘A Mini.’ Faith sighed and took a step closer to the windows. She didn’t look as if she believed what she was seeing. ‘An old one.’

      Well, that was it, then. She’d be hard pressed to make it out of the castle grounds in a car like that, let alone brave the switchback country roads to the motorway.

      ‘It’ll probably stop soon,’ he said, leaning forward and pressing his nose against the pane. ‘Then you can be on your way.’

      ‘In the meantime,’ he heard his grandfather say, ‘can I interest you in another cup of tea and possibly a toasted crumpet? Shirley makes the most fabulous lemon curd.’

      While they drank yet more tea they listened to a weather forecast. Marcus’s prediction was soundly contradicted. Heavy snow for the next couple of days. Advice to drive nowhere, anywhere unless it was absolutely necessary.

      ‘Splendid!’ Bertie said, clapping his hands. ‘We haven’t had a good snow in years!’

      He was like a big kid again. But then his grandfather had fond memories of trekking in the Tibetan foothills, and he was going to be able to enjoy this round of snow from the comfort of his fireside chair. Marcus’s workload had suddenly doubled, and he was now going to have to tap dance fast to make sure all the Christmas events still went ahead as planned. When had this time of year stopped being fun and started being just another task to be ticked off the list?

      He turned away from the window and looked at the other occupant of the yellow drawing room. Faith was back on the sofa again, but this time she wasn’t smiling or looking quite so relaxed.

      ‘I can’t possibly put you out like this,’ she said, looking nervously between grandfather and grandson. ‘And I’m used to snow—’

      His grandfather straightened in his chair, looking every inch the Duke for once. ‘Nonsense! Your grandmother would have my hide if I sent you out in this weather—and, believe me, even after all these years, she is one lady I would not like to get on the wrong side of.’

      At the mention of her grandmother Faith’s expression changed to one of defeat. ‘You have a point there,’ she said quietly.

      ‘You can stay here the night and we’ll see how the forecast is in the morning.’ His grandfather rang the bell at his side again and a few moments later Shirley appeared. ‘Miss McKinnon will be staying. Could you make up the turret bedroom?’

      ‘Of course, Your Grace.’ Shirley nodded and scurried away.

      ‘But I haven’t got any overnight stuff,’ Faith said quietly. ‘It’s all in the back seat of my car.’

      Bertie waved a hand. ‘Oh, that can be easily sorted. Marcus? Call Parsons on that mobile telephone thing of yours and have someone bring Miss McKinnon’s bags in.’

      Marcus’s eyes narrowed. ‘I’ll do it,’ he almost growled. His staff had better things to do than to trudge through half a mile of snow with someone’s luggage.

      ‘I’ll help,’ Faith said, standing up.

      He shook his head. She’d only complicate matters, and he needed a bit of fresh air and distance from Miss Faith McKinnon.

      She frowned, and her body language screamed discomfort. He guessed this didn’t sit well with that independent streak of hers. Too bad. At a place like Hadsborough everyone had to work together, like a large extended family. There was no room for loners.

      She exhaled. ‘In that case the overnight bag in the back will be enough. I don’t need the rest.’

      ‘I’ll be back shortly,’ he said, and exited the room swiftly.

      A couple of minutes later he was trudging towards the visitor car park with a scarf knotted round his neck and his collar pulled up. With any luck he’d be repeating this journey in the morning—overnight bag in hand and Faith McKinnon hurrying along behind him.

      Faith stood at the turret window that stared out over the lake. A real turret. Like in Rapunzel, her favourite fairy story.

      The almost invisible sun was setting behind a wall of soft grey cloud and snowflakes continued to whirl past the mullioned windows, brightening further when they danced close to the panes and caught the glow from the rooms inside. Beyond, the lake was a regal slate-blue, flat as glass, not consenting to be rippled and distorted by the weather. The lawn she’d walked across that morning was now covered in snow—at least a couple of inches already—and bare trees punched through the whiteness as black filigree silhouettes.

      How could real people live somewhere so beautiful? It must be a dream.

      But the walls seemed solid enough, as did the furniture. Unlike the part of the castle that was open to the public, which was decorated mostly in a medieval style, the rooms in the private wing were more comfortable and modern. They were also filled with antiques and fine furniture, but there was wallpaper on the walls instead of bare stone or tapestries, and there were fitted carpets and central heating. All very elegant.

      A smart rap on the door tore her away from the living picture postcard outside her window. She padded across the room in her thick socks and eased the heavy chunk of oak open.

      Marcus stood there, fresh flakes of snow half-melted in his hair. Her heart made a painful little bang against her ribcage. Quit it, she told it. It had done that all afternoon—every time she caught sight of him.

      He was holding her little blue overnight bag. She always packed an emergency bag when she travelled, and it had come in handy more times than she could count when flights had been delayed or travel plans changed. She just hadn’t expected to need it in a setting like this.

      Or to have a man like this deliver it to her.

      He held it out to her and she gripped the padded handles without taking her eyes from his face. He didn’t let go. Not straight away. Faith was aware how close their fingers were. It would only take a little twitch and she’d be touching him.

      Don’t be dumb, Faith. Just because you’re staying in a castle for one night it doesn’t mean you can live the fairytale. No one’s going to climb up to your turret and rescue you. Especially not this man. He’d probably prefer to shove you from it.

      She tugged the handles towards her and he let go. A slight expression of surprise lifted his features, as if he’d only just realised he’d hadn’t let go when he should have.

      ‘Thank you,’ she said, finding her voice hoarse.

      ‘You’re welcome,’ he replied, but his eyes said she was anything but. ‘Dinner is at eight,’ he added, glancing at the holdall clenched in her hands. ‘We usually change for dinner, but we understand you’re at a disadvantage.’

      She nodded, not quite sure what to say to that, and Marcus turned and walked down the long corridor that led to the main staircase. Faith watched him go. Only when he was out of sight did she close the door and dump her bag on the end of the bed.

      She unzipped the side pocket, where she always stored her emergency underwear, and then opened the top drawer in