‘And we’ve done it for my son, which has meant not being able to use all your lovely decorations and smothering the bottom of it in all sorts of weird home-made bits and pieces, which I’m perfectly sure wasn’t your intention, so—yes, thank you.’

The frown deepened for a moment, then cleared as he shook his head and looked back at the tree.

‘Actually, I rather like all the home-made things,’ he said after a moment, and she had to swallow the lump in her throat.

‘Especially the gingerbread trees and stars,’ she said, trying to lighten the moment. ‘And don’t think I haven’t noticed that every time you “accidentally” bump into the tree another one breaks so you get to eat it. Between you and Josh there are hardly any left.’

He grinned. ‘I don’t know what you mean. And if we’re running out, it’s your fault. I told you to make plenty.’

She rolled her eyes and rested her head back against the sofa cushions with a lazy groan. ‘This is really comfortable,’ she mumbled.

‘It is. I love this room. I think it’s probably my favourite room in the whole house.’

Because they’d never made any plans for it? Maybe, she thought, considering it. Or had they? Hadn’t there been some mention of it being a playroom for all the hordes of children? But they hadn’t spent any significant time in it. Not like the bedroom. Maybe that made the difference.

Or maybe he just liked it.

She rolled her head towards him and changed the subject.

‘So, what’s the programme for tomorrow? Since you have such strong opinions on how it should be done...’

Another grin flashed across his face. ‘Cheeky.’ He hitched his leg up, resting his arm on the back of the sofa and propping his head on his hand so he was facing her, thoughtful now.

‘I think that probably depends on you and Josh. What are you going to do about presents for him? Are you going to wait until you’re with your parents?’

‘I don’t know. I don’t think so. He was really excited about the tree and he knows there will be presents under it because they had them at nursery, so I think there probably should be something for him to find tomorrow, otherwise it might be a bit of an anti-climax.’

‘You don’t think it will anyway, with just us and a few presents instead of a big family affair? Wouldn’t you rather wait?’

‘Do you think I should?’

He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. It’s up to you, but it makes me feel a bit awkward because there isn’t one from me, and it’ll look as if I don’t care and I’d hate him to think that, but obviously I haven’t got anything to give him. Either of you.’

She stared at him, unbearably touched that he should feel so strongly about it—and so wrongly. She reached out a hand to him, grasping his and squeezing it.

‘Oh, Sebastian. You’re giving us Christmas! How much more could we possibly ask? You’ve opened your home to us, let us create absolute havoc in it, we’ve taken it over completely so you haven’t even been able to work, and—well, frankly, without you we might not even be alive for it, so I really don’t think you need to worry about some gaudy plastic toy wrapped up and stuck under the tree! In the grand scheme of things, what you’ve given him—given us—is immeasurable, and whatever else is going on between us, I’ll never forget that.’

Sebastian frowned again—he was doing that a lot—and turned away, his jaw working.

‘He’s just a kid, George,’ he said gruffly.

‘I know,’ she said softly. ‘And for some reason that really seems to get to you.’

He shrugged and eased his hand away, as if the contact made him uncomfortable. ‘I don’t like to think of kids being unhappy at Christmas. Or ever. Any time. And as I’ve said, I’ve got nothing else to do and nowhere else to be. So—presents, or not presents?’

She thought about it for a moment. Her parents had spoiled him on his birthday just four weeks ago, and he’d had so many presents he hadn’t really known what to play with first. And there was nothing here in the house, really, that he could play with safely.

And then she had an idea that would solve it all. ‘I think—presents? Or some of them, at least. I’ve got him a wooden train set, and it comes in two boxes. There’s the main set, and there are some little people and a bench and trees and things in another box. You could give him that, if you’re really worried about him having something from you under the tree.’

‘Don’t you mind?’

She laughed. ‘Why should I mind? He’s still getting the toy, and it would give him something constructive to play with while we’re stuck here. And I’ve got a little stocking for him from Father Christmas. That ought to go up tonight because he’s bound to get up early.’

‘Does he even know who Father Christmas is?’

She smiled ruefully. ‘I don’t know. We went to see him, but I’m not sure he was that impressed. He looked a bit worried, to be honest, but it might make him like the old guy a bit better if he brings him chocolate.’

They shared a smiled, and he nodded.

‘You could hang it from the beam over the fire.’

‘I could. We might need to let the fire go out first, though, so the chocolate buttons don’t melt.’

‘Ah. Yes, of course. Good plan. Well, if we let it die down now, it should be all right by the end of the evening. It can go at the side, out of the direct heat. And, yes, please, if I can put my name on the other box of train stuff, that would be good. But you must let me pay you for it.’

She just laughed at that, it was so outrageous. ‘You have to be kidding! The amount you’re spending on us already? I’ll have you know I eat a lot on Christmas Day.’

‘Good. Have you seen the size of the goose?’

‘We have goose?’ she said, her jaw dropping open in delight. ‘Oh, wow, I love goose! What stuffing?’

‘Prune and apple and Armagnac,’ he told her, and she sighed with contentment and slumped back onto the sofa cushions, grinning.

‘Oh, joy. Deep, deep joy. Bring it on...’

He laughed and stood up, slapping her leg lightly in passing. ‘That’s your job. I have no idea how to cook a goose, especially not in an Aga, so I was hoping you’d do it. Shall I get the presents?’

‘I’ll come. I only want a few. Where did you put them?’

‘In my room.’

Ah.

Was her face so transparent? Because he took one look at her and smiled and shook his head.

‘You’re perfectly safe, George. I’m not going to do anything crazy.’

No. And wishing she wouldn’t be quite so perfectly safe was crazy. Utterly crazy. Good job one of them was thinking clearly.

She nodded slowly and stood up. ‘OK. We’ll just get the train set boxes and the stocking and leave the rest for when I’m with my parents. Then I can just put the whole bag in the car when I leave.’

* * *

He didn’t want her to leave.

It dawned on him suddenly, with a dip in his stomach, as they went upstairs to the bedroom, walking up side by side as if they were going to bed.

And he needed to stop thinking about that right there before he embarrassed them both.

He pushed the door open and flicked on the light. ‘They’re in here,’ he said, and let her through the communicating door into his dressing room. It had been cut in half, the half with the window becoming the bathroom, this half now lined out with wardrobes fitted with racks and shelves and hanging space.

He’d dumped the bag of presents inside one of the practically empty cupboards, and he pulled it out and turned to find her looking around, studying the wardrobes minutely.

‘Useful. Really useful. What sensible storage. They’re great.’

‘They are. How anybody managed with that little cupboard in the bedroom I have no idea.’

‘Maybe they didn’t have as many clothes. Or maybe they just used it to play hide and seek?’ she said lightly.

She was bending over the presents as he held them, and he stared down at the top of her head and tried to work out what was going on in there. Why had she said that? Why chuck something so contentious into the mix?

Although it was him that had raised the subject of the cupboard in the first place...

He had to get out of there. Now.

‘Right, why don’t I leave you to sort out what you want to bring down, and I’ll go and get on. I’ve got a few loose ends to tie up before tomorrow. Just stick them back in the cupboard when you’re done.’

And he handed her the bag and left. Swiftly, before he gave in to the temptation to grab her by the shoulders, haul her up straight and kiss her senseless.

* * *

‘Here. This is the train set stuff. Did you want to wrap yours in different paper?’

She put the boxes down on the kitchen table and he studied them thoughtfully. ‘Does it matter if they’re the same?’

‘Not necessarily.’

He gave a slight smile. ‘I’ll do whatever, but I have to say my wrapping paper doesn’t really compete with little trains being driven by Santas.’

She smiled back. ‘Probably not. And he won’t think about the fact that they’re the same. He’ll just want to unwrap them. He knows what presents are now, having just had a birthday.’

‘When was his birthday?’

‘Three days after yours.’

His eyebrows crunched briefly together again in another little frown, and she wondered what she’d said this time. Was it because she remembered his birthday? Unlikely. She’d always remembered everyone’s birthdays. That was what she did. Remembered stuff. It was her forte, just as his was making money.

She gave up trying to work him out.

‘So, lunch tomorrow or whenever we’re having it. Are we going for lunchtime, or mid-afternoon, or evening, or what?’

He turned his hands palm up and shrugged. ‘Look, this is all for Josh. I don’t care what time we eat, so long as we eat. I’m sure we’ll manage whenever it is. Just do whatever you think will suit him best.’

‘Lunch, probably, if that’s OK? What veg do you have? And actually, where is the goose? It’s not in the fridge so I hope it’s not still frozen.’

‘It’s in the larder.’

‘Larder?’ The kitchen had been so derelict she hadn’t even realised it’d had a larder. Or maybe he’d created one?

He walked across to what she’d assumed was a broom cupboard or something, and opened the door. A light came on automatically, illuminating the small room, and she saw stone shelves laden with food. So much food.

‘Wow. And this was just for you and your family?’

He gave a wry smile. ‘I told you my PA had gone mad.’

Not that mad, she thought, studying the shelves. Yes, there was a lot of food, but much of it would keep and it was only the goose and the fresh vegetables that might struggle.

She shivered. ‘It’s chilly in here. Ideal storage. I didn’t even know it existed. Was it here?’

‘Yes. It had one slate shelf and I had the others put in, and it’s got a vent to the outside and faces north, which keeps it cool.’

‘Which is why it feels like a fridge.’

He smiled. ‘Indeed. Perfect for the days when fridges didn’t exist. So—there you are. Feel free to indulge us with anything you can find.’

‘Oh, I will.’

She ran her eye over it all again, mentally planning the menu, then shut the door behind them and sat back down at the table to write a list.

‘Do you really want Brussels sprouts?’

‘Definitely. Christmas isn’t Christmas without sprouts.’

‘And burnt holly.’

‘And burnt holly,’ he said with a grin.

She bit down on the smile and added sprouts to the list, then looked up as he set a glass of wine down on the table in front of her.

‘Here, Cookie. To get you into the festive spirit.’

‘Thank you. And talking of Cookie, are you about to cook, by any chance, or was that a hint for me?’

‘I’ve done it. There’s a pizza in the oven and some salad, and we could have fruit or icecream to follow. I thought I’d let you off the hook, seeing as you’ll be doing quite enough tomorrow.’

‘How noble of you.’ She sipped her wine and glanced at her list. ‘Is the goose stuffed already?’

‘So I was told. Ready to go straight in the oven. It says four hours.’

‘I thought you didn’t know how to cook it?’ she asked drily, and he smiled, his eyes dancing with mischief.

‘I didn’t want to do you out of the pleasure—and this way you get all the glory.’

‘What glory?’

‘The glory of basking in my adoration,’ he murmured, and she wasn’t sure but there seemed to be a mildly flirtatious tone in his voice.

She held his eyes for a startled moment, then gave a slightly strained little laugh and looked away. ‘Always assuming I don’t burn it.’

‘You won’t. I’ll make sure of that. Right, let’s label that present with a new tag, and you go and stick them under the tree and I’ll dish up.’

But what to write? His pen hovered for a moment over the tag he’d found. Did it matter? The child couldn’t read.

‘To Josh from Sebastian’ would do.

But he put love in there, just because it seemed right. Weirdly right.

‘OK, that’s done, we need to eat or the pizza will be ruined.’

He slid the box across the table to her, pushed back his chair and made himself busy. So busy he didn’t have time to think about what he’d written.

Or why.

She put the presents under the tree while he dished up, and then after they’d eaten and cleared away they peeled sprouts and potatoes and parsnips and carrots, until finally he called a halt.

‘Enough,’ he said firmly, took the knife out of her hand, replaced it with her wine glass and ushered her through to the sitting room.

The fire was low, the embers glowing, and they sat there with just the faint glow of the fairy lights and the occasional spark from the fire, his arm stretched out along the back of the sofa, his head turned towards her as they talked about the timetable for tomorrow.

If he moved his fingers just a millimetre—

‘Tell me about the renovations,’ she said then, and shifted, settling further into the corner, and he reached for his glass and pulled his arm back a little, out of temptation, and as he told her about the house and what he’d had done to it, he watched her and wondered just how much he was going to miss her when she left...

* * *

Josh woke early.

He always did, but she’d sat up with Sebastian talking about the house and the building work and what his plans were for the gardens until the fire had died away to ash and her eyes were drooping.

He’d hung the little stocking up on the beam, off to one side so the chocolate didn’t melt, and then he’d taken himself off to his study while she’d come up to bed.

She’d heard him come up later, but not much later, and she’d turned on her side then and fallen sound asleep until Josh’s cheerful chatter had woken her.

Bless his darling heart, she loved him so much but she could have done with another half hour. She prised open her eyes and he beamed at her and stood up in the travel cot, holding up his arms.

‘Happy Christmas, Josh,’ she said softly, gathering him up and hugging him tight. He gave her a big, sloppy kiss, and she laughed and kissed him back and tickled him, then she changed his nappy and took him down to the kitchen.

To her amazement the lights were blazing, the kettle was on and there was a wonderful smell of baking.

And it was after seven! How did that happen?

‘Biscuit, Mummy,’ Josh said, just as Sebastian came back into the kitchen.

He was wearing checked pyjama trousers and a jumper, his hair was rumpled and he definitely hadn’t shaved, but he’d never looked so good, and her heart squeezed.

No! Don’t fall in love with him again!

But then Josh ran over to him and he scooped him up and hugged him, tolerated the sloppy kiss with amazing grace and even kissed him back. ‘Happy Christmas, Tiger,’ he said, ruffling his hair, and Josh growled at him and made him laugh.

He growled back, and Josh giggled and squirmed down and ran back to her. ‘Biscuit, Mummy! Bastian want biscuit too.’

‘Ah. Sebastian’s actually cooking croissants and pain au chocolat,’ he confessed, his eyes flicking to hers in apology.

She smiled. ‘It’s Christmas. And they smell amazing.’

‘They are. And they’ll be burnt if I don’t take them out. Coffee or tea?’

‘Both. Tea first. I’ll make it. What do you want?’

‘Same. Tea, then coffee. I’ll put a jug on for later.’

How domesticated, she thought, getting out the mugs and making the tea while he rescued the pastries and found plates and butter and jam, and she poured the tea and he sat Josh down and pulled up his pyjama sleeves so he didn’t get plastered in butter.

We’re like an old married couple, she thought, just getting breakfast together on Christmas morning, and in a minute we’ll go through to the sitting room and open Josh’s presents and play with him, and the goose will cook and...

She cut herself off.

This was a one-off. They weren’t married. They were never getting married. And she needed to stop dreaming.

* * *

The train set was a hit.

They moved a table out of the way, and Sebastian got down on the floor with Josh and helped him set up the track, and she sat with her feet tucked up under her bottom, still in her pyjamas, cradling a cup of coffee and watching them.

Josh had opened his stocking, with the little cars and a packet of chocolate buttons and a satsuma she’d taken from the fruit bowl, and Sebastian had lit the fire and thrown the peel on it and it smelled Christmassy and wonderful.

So wonderful.

Her eyes filled. What had happened to him to make him change so much, to become so driven, so remote, so focused on something she couldn’t understand that their love had withered and died?

He wasn’t like that now. Or not today, at least. He’d been pretty crabby out in the lane in the snow, but since then he’d made a real effort.

Or maybe it was just because of Josh, to make him happy. That seemed really important to him, but was there more to it than that?

He’d written ‘love from Sebastian’ on the gift tag.

Just a figure of speech, the thing everyone always writes? Or because he meant it?

She had no idea, she just knew, watching him, listening to the two of them talking, that he’d really taken her little boy to his heart, and she found it unbearably touching.

‘Right. Time to put the goose in,’ he said, and she yanked herself out of her thoughts and put the cup down.

‘I’ll do it.’

‘No. It’s heavy. I’ll put it in. You can do the tricky stuff later.’

He went out, taking their mugs, and came back a few minutes later with a refill and a handful of satsumas.

‘Is that an attempt to compensate for the croissants?’ she said drily, and he chuckled and lobbed one over to her, dropping down onto the other sofa and turning so he could watch Josh over the back.

‘He chatters away, doesn’t he?’

‘Oh, yes. He didn’t talk very early, but boys don’t, I don’t think. And they stop talking again in their teens, of course, and just start grunting.’

He frowned again, looking thoughtful for a moment. ‘I’m sure I didn’t grunt. Nor did my brothers, as far as I’m aware.’

‘My brother did. He was monosyllabic for years. It made a refreshing change from all the arguments.’

‘How is he? We lost touch when—well, then.’

She ignored his hesitation. ‘Fine. He’s working in Norwich. He’s a surveyor. He’s stopped grunting now and he’s quite civilised. He’s married with two children and a dog.’

He looked away. ‘Lucky Jack.’

‘He is. He’s very happy.’

‘I’m glad. Give him my regards.’

‘I will. How are your brothers?’

‘Better now they’ve grown up. They both work for me. Andy’s an accountant, and Matt’s a sales director.’

‘Don’t they mind answering to you?’

He laughed softly. ‘It makes for interesting board meetings sometimes,’ he confessed, and she laughed too.

‘I’m sure. Talking of families, I ought to ring my parents. They’ll want to say Happy Christmas to Josh.’

‘How about doing it from my computer with the webcam, so they can see you?’

‘Can we? That would be brilliant!’

‘Well, since they know you’re here, you might as well. Do it in my study.’

She looked down at herself, suddenly aware of what she was wearing. ‘I might get dressed first. Just so they don’t think we’re hanging out all day in PJs.’

And then she looked up, and his eyes were on her, filled with a dark emotion she didn’t want to try to understand, and she took Josh upstairs, protesting all the way, and washed and dressed him.

She needed a shower, really, and her hair washed, but she didn’t like to let Josh run riot and she could hear water running in Sebastian’s room, so she told him to stay there and look at a book, shot into the bathroom and showered and came out to find the door open and no sign of him.

‘Josh? Josh, where are you?’

She ran out onto the landing, clutching the towel together, and slammed straight into Sebastian’s chest. His bare, wet chest. His hands came up and steadied her, and she stared, mesmerised, as a dribble of water ran down through the light scatter of hair across his pecs and disappeared into the towel at his hips.

‘If you’re looking for Josh, he’s in my room.’

His voice, low and gravelly, cut through her thoughts and she sucked in a breath. What was she doing?

He let go of her shoulders and stepped back, and she hitched her towel up and blushed. ‘He is?’

‘Yes. Don’t worry. He came to find me. You take your time, we’re fine.’

‘Are you sure? Because I really need to—’ She waved a hand vaguely at her towel, and his eyes tracked over it and he smiled slightly.

‘Yes. You do.’

She glanced down, and saw it was gaping. Dear God, could it get any worse?

Blushing furiously and clutching it together, she went back into her room and closed the door, leant back against it and shut her eyes, humiliation washing over her. How could she have gone out there with her towel flapping open and revealing—well, everything, pretty much!

Not that he’d been exactly covered. Had he always looked that good naked?

Yes. Always. He was more solid now, but he’d always looked good. Tall, broad, muscular, without an ounce of spare flesh on him.

And she really, really didn’t need to be thinking about that now! She pushed away from the door, dried herself quickly and wrestled her still-damp body into jeans and a jumper.

Her hair needed careful combing and drying, but it wasn’t going to get it.

Or was it? There was a knock on the door and it opened a crack.

‘There’s a hairdryer in the top drawer of the bedside table. I’m taking Josh downstairs. There’s no rush. We’re going to play with the train set.’

She sat down on the edge of the bed and sighed. Well, it would give her time to dry her hair properly and put on some make-up. And gather herself together a little. Her composure was scattered in all directions, and she was ready to die of humiliation.

Too right she’d take her time. She was in no hurry to face him again!

* * *

Her towel had slipped.

Not far enough. Just enough to taunt him, not enough to see anything. He’d gone back into his room, found Josh under the bed giggling and got dressed before Georgie had time to come looking for him again and caused another incident.

And Josh was more than happy to come downstairs and play with his trains. So was Sebastian. Only too happy, because it reminded him of all the reasons why getting involved with Georgie again would be such a mistake.

She’d walked out on him once, but they’d been the only ones who could get hurt in that situation, and he knew he’d been at least partly responsible. OK, maybe largely responsible, but not solely. He wasn’t taking all the blame for her lack of sticking power.

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