The Unexpected Holiday Gift

It was just her.

Her shoulders straightened, just an inch, and he realised that was part of it. An air of confidence he hadn’t seen in her before. When they’d been married—properly married, living together and in love, not this strange limbo he’d been perpetuating—she’d been...what, exactly? Attentive, loving...undemanding, he supposed. She had just always been there, at home, happy to organise his business dinners or fly with him across the world at a moment’s notice. She’d been the perfect hostess, the perfect businessman’s wife, just like his mother had been for his father for so many years.

His father, he remembered, had been delighted in Jacob’s choice of wife. ‘She won’t let you down, that one,’ he’d said.

Until she’d walked out and left him, of course.

Perhaps he’d been underestimating Clara all along. So much for a five-minute job convincing her to help him. This was going to take work. This new Clara, he feared, would ask questions. Lots of them.

‘Jacob,’ she said again, impatiently. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘You need to leave soon, your friend said?’

Clara gave a sharp nod. ‘I do. So if we could make this quick...’

Unlikely. ‘Perhaps it would be better if we met up later. For dinner, perhaps?’ Somewhere he could ply her with wine, good food and charm and convince her that this was a good idea.

‘Sorry, I can’t do that.’ There was no debate, no maybe and no other offer. Even the apology at the start didn’t sound much like one. This Clara knew her own mind and she was sticking to it.

It was kind of hot, actually. Or it would have been if he didn’t sense it was going to make his life considerably more difficult.

Clara sighed and perched on the edge of the desk. ‘You might as well start talking, Jacob,’ she said, glancing down at her watch. ‘I’m leaving in...fifteen minutes, now. Whether you’ve said what you came here to say or not.’

What was so important, he wondered, that she still had to run out of here, even after the arrival of a husband she hadn’t seen in five years? Another man? Probably.

Not that he cared, of course. All that mattered to him was her professional availability. Not her personal life.

‘I want to hire you. Your firm, I mean. But specifically you.’ There, he’d said it. And, judging by the look on his wife’s face, he’d managed to surprise her in the process. The shock in her expression gave him a measure of control back, which he appreciated.

‘Whatever for?’ she asked eventually.

‘My father.’ The words came out tight, the way they always did when he spoke about it. The unfairness of it all. ‘He’s dying.’

And that was the only reason he was there. The only thing that could make him seek out his ex-in-all-but-paperwork-wife and ask for her help.

‘I’m so sorry, Jacob.’ Clara’s eyes softened instantly, but he didn’t want to see that. He looked down at his hands and kept talking instead.

‘Cancer,’ he said harshly, hating the very word. ‘The doctors haven’t given him more than a couple of months. If he’d gone to them sooner...’ He swallowed. ‘Anyway. This is going to be his last Christmas. I want to make it memorable.’

‘Of course you do,’ Clara said, and he felt something inside him relax, just a little. He’d known that she would understand. And what he needed would require more than the sort of competence he could buy. He needed someone who would give everything to his project. Who would do what he needed, just like she always had before.

And, for some reason, Clara had always been very fond of his father.

‘I’m planning a family Christmas up in the Highlands,’ Jacob explained. ‘Just like one we had one year when I was a boy.’

‘I remember you all talking about it once. It sounds perfect,’ Clara agreed. ‘And like you’ve got it all in hand, so I don’t really see why—’

‘That’s it,’ Jacob interrupted her. ‘That idea. That’s all I have.’

‘Oh.’ Clara winced. ‘So you want to hire Perfect London to...?’

‘Do everything else. Organise it. Make it perfect.’ That, she’d always been good at. She’d been the perfect businessman’s wife, the perfect housewife, the perfect beauty on his arm at functions, even the perfect daughter-in-law. Up until the day she wasn’t his perfect anything at all.

‘But...’ Clara started, and he jumped in to stop whatever objection she was conjuring up.

‘I’ll pay, of course. Double your normal rate.’ He’d pay triple to make this happen but he’d keep that information in reserve in case he needed it later.

‘Why?’ Bafflement covered Clara’s expression.

‘Who else?’ Jacob asked. ‘It’s what you do, isn’t it? It’s right there in the name of your company.’ The company she’d left him to build—and which, by the looks of things, seemed to be doing well enough. He’d never even imagined, when they were married, that she’d wanted this—her own business, her own life apart from him. How could he? She’d never told him.

Well. If she was determined to go off and be happy and successful without him, the least she could do was help him out now, when he needed it.

‘Perfect London,’ Clara said, emphasising the second word. ‘We mostly work locally. Very locally.’

‘I imagine that most of the arrangements can be made from here,’ Jacob conceded. ‘Although I would need you in Scotland for the final set-up.’

‘No.’ Clara shook her head. ‘I can’t do that. I have...obligations here. I can’t just leave.’

Obligations. A whole new life, he imagined. A new man...but not her husband, though. That, at least, she couldn’t have. Not unless he let her.

Jacob took a breath and prepared to use his final bargaining chip.

The only thing he had left to give her.

* * *

This made no sense. None at all. Why on earth would Jacob come to her, of all people, to organise this? There must be a hundred other party planners or concierge services he could have gone to. Unless this was a punishment of some sort, Clara could not imagine why her ex-husband would want to hire her for this task.

Except...she knew his family. She knew his father, and could already picture exactly the sort of Christmas he’d want.

Maybe Jacob wasn’t so crazy after all. But that didn’t mean she had to say yes.

She had her own family to think about this Christmas—her and Ivy, celebrating together in gingerbread-man pyjamas and drinking hot chocolate with Merry on Christmas Eve. That was how it had been for the last four years, and the way it would be this Christmas too, thank you very much. She wasn’t going to abandon her daughter to go and arrange Christmas deep in the Highlands, however much Jacob was willing to pay. Especially not with the Harrisons’ gala coming up so soon afterwards.

‘No,’ she said again, just to make it doubly clear. ‘I’m sorry. It’s impossible.’

Except...a small whisper in the back of her mind told her that this could be her chance. Her one opportunity to see if he’d really changed. If Jacob Foster was ready to be a father at last. If she could risk telling him about Ivy, introduce them even, without the fear that Jacob would treat his daughter the way Clara’s own father had treated her.

Even twenty years later, the memory of her father walking out of the front door, without looking back to see Clara waving him goodbye, still made her heart contract. And Jacob had been a champion at forgetting all about his wife whenever work got too absorbing, walking out and forgetting to look back until a deal was signed or a project tied up.

She wouldn’t put Ivy through that, not for anything. She wanted so much more than that for her daughter. Clara might work hard but she always, always had time for her child and always put her first. Ivy would never be an afterthought, never slip through the cracks when something more interesting came up. Even if that meant she only ever had one parent.

But Jacob had come here to organise a family Christmas. The Jacob she’d been married to wouldn’t have even thought of that. Could he really have changed? And could she risk finding out?

‘This Christmas I’d like to have a dad, please.’ Ivy’s whispered words floated through her mind.

She shook her head again, uncertain.

‘What if I promise you a divorce?’ Jacob asked.

For a moment, it was as if the rain had stopped falling outside, as if the world had paused in its turning.

A divorce. She’d be completely free at last. No more imagining a life she no longer possessed. Her new life would truly be hers, clear and free.

It was tempting.

But then reality set in. That divorce would cut the final tie between them—the last link between Ivy and her father. How could she do that before she even told Jacob he had a daughter?

Clara bit the inside of her cheek as she acknowledged a truth she’d long held at bay. It hadn’t just been Jacob holding up their divorce for five long years. If she’d wanted to push for it she could have, at any time. But she’d always known that she’d have to come clean about Ivy first...and she was terrified.

The risk was always, always there. Jacob might reject them both instantly and walk away, but she could cope with that, she hoped, as long as Ivy didn’t know, didn’t hurt. But what if he wanted to be involved? What if he wanted to meet her, to be a part of her life—and then ignored Ivy the same way he’d kept himself apart from Clara after they were married? What if he hurt Ivy with his distracted, even unintentional, neglect? Nothing had ever meant more to Jacob than his work—not even her. Why would Ivy be any different?

So even if he thought he wanted to be a father...could she really risk Ivy’s heart that way?

No. She had to be sure. And the only way to be certain was to spend time with him, to learn who he was all over again. Then she could decide, either to divorce him freely, or to let him into Ivy’s life, whichever was best for her daughter. That was all that mattered.

But to spend time with him she’d have to organise his perfect family Christmas. Could she really do that? With all her other clients, the Harrisons’ Charity Gala—and her own Christmas with Ivy? It was too much. And she was still too scared.

‘I’m sorry, Jacob. Really I am.’ She was; part of her heart hurt at the thought of James Foster suffering and her not being there to ease it. An even larger part, although she hated to admit it, stung at the idea of Jacob going through this without her too.

That’s not my place any more. It’s not my life.

She had to focus on the life she had, the one she’d built. Her new life for her and Ivy.

‘I can’t help you,’ she said, the words final and heavy.

Jacob gave her a slow, stiff nod. ‘Right. Of course.’ He turned away but as he reached the door he looked back, his eyes so full of sorrow and pain that Clara could have wept. ‘Please. Just think about it.’

I can’t. I can’t. I won’t. I... She nodded. ‘I’ll think about it,’ she promised and instantly hated herself.

This was why she’d had to leave. She could never say no to him.

* * *

I’ll think about it.

One year of marriage, five years of estrangement and now she was thinking. He supposed that was something.

Jacob paused briefly on the corner of the street, rain dripping down his collar, and watched from a distance as Clara locked up the offices of Perfect London and hurried off in the opposite direction. She was a woman on a mission; she clearly had somewhere far more important to be. Things that mattered much more in her life than her ex-husband.

Well. So did he, of course.

The office was deserted by the time he’d walked back across the river to it, but the security guard on duty didn’t look surprised to see him. Given how rarely Jacob made it to the London office, he wondered what that said about the legend of his work ethic.

But once he had sat at his desk he found he couldn’t settle. His eyes slid away from emails, and spreadsheets seemed to merge into one on the screen. Eventually, he closed the lid of his laptop, sat back in his chair and swung it around to take in the London skyline outside the window.

Was it just seeing Clara again that was distracting him? No. She didn’t have that kind of power over him any more. It was everything else in his life right now, most likely. His father’s illness more than anything.

His mobile phone vibrated on the glass desk, buzzing its way across the smooth surface. Jacob grabbed it and, seeing his younger sister’s name on the screen, smiled.

‘Heather. Why aren’t you out at some all-night rave or something? Isn’t that what you students do?’

He could practically hear her rolling her eyes on the other end of the phone.

‘We’re having a Christmas movie night at the flat,’ Heather said. ‘Mulled wine, mince pies, soppy movies and lots of wrapping paper. I was halfway through wrapping my stack of presents when it occurred to me that there was still one person who hadn’t got back to me about what they wanted...’

‘You don’t have to buy me anything,’ Jacob said automatically. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t buy whatever he wanted when he wanted it, anyway. And, besides, Heather, more than anyone, never owed him a gift. Her continued existence was plenty for him.

‘It’s Christmas, Jacob.’ She spoke slowly, as if to a slightly stupid dog. ‘Everyone gets a present. You know the rules. So tell me what you want or I’ll buy you a surprise.’

Only his sister could make a surprise gift sound like a threat. Although, given the tie she’d bought him last year, maybe it was.

‘A surprise will be lovely,’ he said, anyway. ‘Anything you think I’d like.’

‘You’re impossible.’ Heather sighed. ‘While I have you, when are you heading home for Christmas?’

‘Actually...’

‘Oh, no! Don’t say you’re not coming!’ She groaned dramatically. ‘Come on, Jacob! The office can cope for one day without you, you know. Especially since no one else will be working!’

Jacob blinked as an almost exact echo of Heather’s words flooded his memory—except this time it was Clara speaking them, over and over. He shook his head to disperse the memory.

‘That’s not what I was going to say,’ he said. ‘In fact... I went to see Clara today.’

‘Clara?’ Heather asked, the surprise clear in her voice. ‘Why? What on earth for?’

‘I wanted to ask for her help.’ He took a breath. Time to share the plan, he supposed. If Clara wouldn’t help, it would all fall on him and Heather anyway. ‘I was thinking about Dad. This is going to be his last Christmas, Heather, and I want it to be special.’

His sister went quiet. Jacob waited. He knew Heather was still struggling to come to terms with their father’s diagnosis. He wouldn’t rush her.

‘So, what have you got planned?’ she asked eventually.

‘Do you remember that year we hired that cottage in Scotland? You can only have been about five at the time, but we had a roaring log fire, stockings hung next to it, the biggest Christmas tree you’ve ever seen... It was everything Christmas is meant to be.’ It had also been the last Christmas before the accident. Before everything had changed in his relationship with his family.

‘You mean a movie-set Christmas,’ Heather joked. ‘But, yeah, I remember, I think. Bits of it, anyway. You want to do that again?’

‘That’s the plan.’

‘And what? You’re going to rope Clara into coming along to pretend that you’ve made up and everything is just rosy, just to keep Dad happy? Because, Jacob, that’s exactly the sort of stupid plan that will backfire when Dad defies all the doctors’ expectations.’

‘That’s not... No.’ That wasn’t the plan. He had no intention of pretending anything. Except, now that Heather had said it, he was already imagining what it would be like. Clara beside him on Christmas morning, opening presents together, his dad happy and smiling, seeing his family back together again...

But no. That was not the plan. The last thing he needed was to get embroiled with his almost-ex-wife again. And, once Christmas was out of the way, he’d give her the divorce she wanted so desperately and make a clean break altogether.

‘She runs a concierge and events company here in London now,’ he explained. ‘They can source anything you need, put together any party, any plan. I wanted to hire her to organise our Christmas.’

Heather sounded pitying as she said, ‘Jacob. Don’t you think that’s just a little bit desperate? If you wanted to see your ex-wife, you could have just called her up.’

‘Wife,’ he corrected automatically, then wished he hadn’t. ‘We’re still married. Technically.’

His sister sighed. ‘It’s been five years, Jacob. When are you going to get over her?’

‘I’m over her,’ he assured her. ‘Very over her. Trust me. But she knows Dad and she knows the family. She could make this Christmas everything it needs to be, far better than I ever could. You probably don’t remember the parties she used to throw...’

‘I remember them,’ Heather said. ‘They were spectacular.’

‘Look, she hasn’t even said yes yet. And if she doesn’t I’ll find someone else to do it. It won’t be the end of the world.’ But it wouldn’t be the perfect Christmas he wanted either. Somehow, he knew in his bones that only Clara could give them that. She had a talent for seeing right to the heart of people, knowing exactly what made them light up inside—and what didn’t.

He wondered sometimes, late at night, what she’d seen inside him that had made her leave. And then he realised he probably already knew.

‘Okay,’ Heather said, still sounding dubious. ‘I guess I’m in, in principle. But Jacob...be careful, yeah?’

‘I’m always careful,’ he joked, even though it wasn’t funny. Just true.

‘I’m serious. I don’t want to spend my Christmas holiday watching you nurse a broken heart. Again.’

Jacob shook his head. ‘It’s not like that. Trust me.’

Not this time. Even if he was harbouring any residual feelings for Clara, he would bury them deep, far deeper than even she could dig out.

He wasn’t going to risk his heart that way a second time. Marriage might be the one thing he’d failed at—but he would only ever fail once.

CHAPTER THREE

‘WHAT DID HE WANT?’ Merry asked the moment Clara picked up the phone.

Clara sighed. ‘Hang on.’

Peeking around Ivy’s door one last time, she assured herself that her daughter was firmly asleep and pulled the door to. Then, phone in hand, she padded down the stairs to the kitchen, poured herself a glass of wine and headed for the sofa.

‘Right,’ she said, once she was settled. ‘Let’s start with your thing at the art gallery. How was it?’

Merry laughed. ‘Not a chance. Come on, your ex-husband walks into our offices right before Christmas, after five years of nothing except letters from his lawyers finding reasons to put off the divorce, and you think I’m not going to want details? Talk, woman.’

So much for diversion tactics. ‘He wanted to hire Perfect London.’

There was a brief moment of shocked silence on the other end of the phone. Clara took the opportunity to snag a chocolate off the potted Christmas tree in her front window and pop it in her mouth.

‘Seriously?’ Merry said at last. ‘Why?’

‘God only knows,’ Clara replied, then sighed again. ‘No, I know, I suppose. He wants us to arrange a perfect last Christmas for his dad. He’s sick. Very sick.’

‘And he thought his ex-wife would be the best person to organise it because...?’

It wasn’t as if Clara hadn’t had the same thought. ‘I guess because I know him. All of them, really. I know what he means when he says “a perfect Christmas for Dad”. With anyone else he’d have to spell it out.’

‘So nothing to do with wanting to win you back, then,’ Merry said, the scepticism clear in her voice.

‘No. Definitely not.’ That, at least, was one thing Clara was very sure of. ‘He offered me a divorce if I do it.’

‘Finally!’ Merry gave a little whoop of joy, which made Clara smile. Sometimes, having a good friend on side made everything so much easier. Even seeing Jacob Foster again for the first time in five years. ‘Well, in that case, we have to do it.’

‘You haven’t heard the fine print.’ Clara filled her in on the details, including the whole ‘have to travel to Scotland on Christmas Eve’ part. ‘It’s just not doable. Especially not with the Charity Gala at New Year to finalise.’ Which was a shame, in a way. A project like this would be a great selling point for future clients. And a good testimonial from Foster Medical—especially alongside delivering a great event for the Harrisons—could go a long way to convincing people that Perfect London was a big-time player. It could make the next year of their business.

Merry was obviously thinking the same thing. ‘There’s got to be some way we can pull it off.’

‘Not without disrupting Ivy’s Christmas,’ Clara said. ‘And I won’t do that. She’s four, Merry. This might be the first proper Christmas she’s able to remember in years to come. I want it to be perfect for her too.’ Of course, it could also be an ideal opportunity to discover if Jacob was ready to hear about the existence of his daughter. The guilt had been eating her up ever since he’d left her office that evening. Watching Ivy splash about in her bath, tucking her in after her story... She couldn’t help but think how Jacob had already missed four years of those things. And even if he didn’t want to be part of them, she knew she owed him the chance to choose for himself.

Except that he’d already made his decision painfully clear five years ago. She had no reason to imagine that decision had changed—apart from him wanting to organise Christmas for his family. Was that enough proof? How could she be sure? Only by spending time with him. And there was the rub.

‘You always want everything to be perfect,’ Merry moaned. ‘But I take your point. Does...does he know? About Ivy?’

A chill slithered down Clara’s spine. ‘I don’t think so. Not that it would be any of his business, anyway. I didn’t fall pregnant with her until after I left.’ She hated lying. But she’d been telling this one for so long she didn’t know how to stop.

If she told Jacob the truth, she’d have to tell Merry too. And Ivy, of course. And Jacob’s family. She’d be turning everybody’s lives upside down. Did she have the right to do that? But then, how could she not? Didn’t Jacob’s father deserve the chance to know his granddaughter before he died? Or would that only make it worse, having so little time with her?

What on earth was she supposed to do? When she’d left, it had all seemed so clear. But now...

‘I know, I know. Your one and only one-night stand,’ Merry said, still blissfully ignorant of the truth, and Clara’s internal battle. ‘Still, it might make a difference if you explained why you can’t go to Scotland for Christmas. Maybe he’d be satisfied with me going instead, once you’ve done the set-up.’

‘Maybe,’ Clara allowed, but even as she said it she knew it wasn’t true. Jacob wouldn’t take second best. Not that Merry was, of course—she was every bit as brilliant at her job as Clara was at hers. That was why Perfect London worked so well. But Jacob’s plan involved Clara being there, and she suspected he wouldn’t give that up for anything. Even if it meant letting down a little girl at Christmas. ‘I’d rather not tell him,’ she said finally. ‘The dates are close, I’ll admit, and I don’t want him using Ivy as an excuse to hold up the divorce while we get paternity tests done and so on. Not when I’m finally on the verge of getting my freedom back.’ And not when the results wouldn’t be in her favour.

‘Only if you take on the project,’ Merry pointed out. ‘That was the deal, right? Organise Christmas, get divorce. Turn him down...’

‘And he’ll drag this out with the lawyers for another five years,’ Clara finished. ‘You’re right. Damn him.’

She tried to sound upset at the prospect, for Merry’s sake. But another five years of limbo meant another five years of not having to pluck up the courage to tell Jacob the truth. And part of her, the weakest part, couldn’t deny that the idea had its appeal.