The Unexpected Holiday Gift

Reunited for Christmas?

When Jacob Foster walks back into Clara’s world, her heart races. She won’t, can’t, allow herself to hope it could lead to something more. But when her soon-to-be ex-husband hires her to create a perfect Christmas for his family, she simply can’t afford to refuse.

Yet Clara has a secret...one she thought Jacob would never be ready to hear. Until she is snowbound with her husband, and their bond is rekindled... Dare she hope that Jacob could be there for her—and their daughter—not just for Christmas, but forever?

‘I remember.’

The heat in Jacob’s voice surprised her after all this time. Did he still feel that connection? The one that had drawn them together that night and seemed never to want to let them go.

She bit her lip. She had to know. ‘Do you? Do you remember how it was? How we were?’

‘I remember everything.’

Clara’s body tightened at his words.

‘I remember how I couldn’t look away from your eyes. They mesmerised me. I remember I was supposed to go home for Christmas the next day, but I couldn’t leave your bed. Couldn’t be apart from you no matter what day it was. I thought I might go insane if I couldn’t touch your skin…’

So he did remember. She’d thought she might have embellished the memory of that connection over the years, but he described it just the way she remembered it feeling. Like an addiction, a tie between them. Something she couldn’t escape and didn’t even want to.

The Unexpected Holiday Gift

Sophie Pembroke

www.millsandboon.co.uk

SOPHIE PEMBROKE has been reading and writing romance ever since she read her first Mills & Boon romance at university, so getting to write them for a living is a dream come true! Sophie lives in a little Hertfordshire market town in the UK with her scientist husband and her incredibly imaginative six-year-old daughter. She writes stories about friends, family and falling in love—usually while drinking too much tea and eating homemade cakes. She also keeps a blog at www.sophiepembroke.com.

For Auntie Barbara and Uncle Viv, for so many perfect Christmas days!

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

CLARA TUGGED THE candy-striped ribbon just a millimetre farther out, then leaned back to admire the neatly wrapped present with beautifully tied bow. Really, it was a shame to give it away.

‘Are we done?’ Her business partner, Merry, added one last gift to the pile and looked hopefully at Clara. ‘That was definitely the last one, right?’

‘For this client, yes.’ Clara grinned. ‘But I’m fairly sure we’ve got another three Christmas lists to work through before the big day. Not to mention the five decorating projects, three last-minute requests for tickets as presents and two Christmas dinners we need to arrange.’

‘And a partridge in a pear tree,’ Merry grumbled. ‘Whose stupid idea was this business anyway?’

‘Yours,’ Clara reminded her cheerfully. ‘And I know you love it, really.’

Clara hadn’t been sure there was a market for this sort of thing when Merry had first suggested it. Did Londoners really need another concierge and events service? Would people really pay them to organise their lives, buy their gifts, arrange special access and perks, plan their parties and family gatherings, their holidays and so on? Merry had been adamant that they would.

With your magic at making things perfect and my business knowledge, we can’t fail, she’d insisted over a bottle of wine at Clara’s tiny rented flat one evening.

So Perfect London had been born and, four years later, business was booming. Especially at Christmas.

‘I suppose it’s all right,’ Merry said, the smirk she threw Clara’s way showing her real feelings. ‘Pays the bills, anyway.’

And then some. Clara was still amazed at just how successful they’d been. Successful enough that she’d been able to move out of that tiny flat into her own house two years ago. Successful enough that she no longer lay awake at night, panicking about how she would provide for her daughter, Ivy, alone.

Clara stared at the mountain of presents again, then turned her attention to the Christmas tree standing in their shop front office window. Gazing at the star on top, she made a wish. The same wish she’d made every year since Perfect London had taken the city by storm that first Christmas, when media mentions and word of mouth had seen them triple their income in a month and the numbers had held at that level for the following year.

Please, let things stay this good for another year?

The fact that they had so far went a long way to wiping out some of the less than wonderful Christmas memories from her childhood. Clara would even go so far as to say that, these days, Christmas was a magical time of year for her—especially with Ivy around to share it with.

‘What have you and Ivy got planned for Christmas?’ Merry asked.

Clara shrugged. ‘Nothing much. She wants a bike, so I imagine we’ll be taking that out for a ride.’ She frowned just for a moment, remembering that a bike wasn’t the only thing her daughter had asked Father Christmas for that year. Ivy didn’t know that she’d overheard, but Clara couldn’t shake the memory of her whispering to the man in the red suit at the shopping centre that what she wanted most in the world was ‘to have a dad’.

At least the bike was more achievable, even if keeping it hidden was proving tricky. She could walk out and buy a bike at any number of shops in the city.

A father was rather more difficult to procure. Especially Ivy’s real dad.

She shook the thought away. There were only a couple of weeks until the big day, and Clara was going to focus on the wonderful Christmas she could give her daughter.

‘Other than that,’ she went on, ‘pancakes for breakfast, the usual turkey for lunch and a good Christmas movie in the afternoon.’ Quiet, cosy and just the way Clara liked it.

Worlds away from the Christmases she had once expected to have, before Ivy had come along, before Perfect London. Before she had walked out on her marriage.

It was strange to think about it now. Most of the time, she could barely imagine herself still married to Jacob. But every now and then, something would happen to remind her and she’d find herself picturing the way her life might have gone. Like a parallel universe she kept getting glimpses of, all the might-have-beens she’d walked away from.

They would probably be spending Christmas in one of his many modern, bright white, soulless properties. They were barely houses, let alone homes, and they were certainly not cosy. Maybe his family would be with them this year, maybe not. There’d be expensive, generic presents, designer decorations. Maybe she’d have thrown a party, the sort she loved organising for clients these days—but it would have felt just as much like business, when all the guests would have been Jacob’s business associates rather than friends.

But there was the other side of it too. They’d only managed two Christmases together, but they had both been packed with happy moments—as well as the awful ones. She had memories of waking up in Jacob’s arms, the times when it had been just the two of them and a bunch of mistletoe. A walk in the snow with his arm around her waist. The heat in his eyes as he watched her get ready for another party. The way he smiled, just sometimes, as if she was everything he’d ever imagined having in the world and so much more.

Except she wasn’t, and she knew that now. More than that, she knew that she was worth more than he was willing to give her—only bestowing his attention on her when it suited him, or when he could drag himself away from work. When you truly loved someone, it wasn’t a chore to spend time with them and they should never have to beg you for scraps of attention. Ivy had taught her that—and so much more. She had taught her things Clara couldn’t imagine she’d spent twenty-seven years not understanding but that Ivy had been born knowing.

So Clara seldom thought twice about her decision to leave—she knew it had been the right one. But still, from time to time those parallel universes would sneak up and catch her unguarded, reminding her of the good things about her marriage as well as the bad.

‘What are you thinking about?’ Merry asked. ‘You’ve been staring at that tree for five solid minutes and you haven’t even asked me to start on the next job. I’m beginning to worry.’

Clara shook her head and turned away from the tree. It didn’t matter, anyway. Because in all those visions of that other life, there was always one person missing.

Ivy.

And Clara refused to imagine her life without her daughter.

‘Nothing,’ she lied. ‘Just Christmas Past, I suppose.’

‘I prefer Christmas Presents,’ Merry joked. ‘Or even Christmas Future if it means we’re done working for the year.’

‘Done for the year?’ Clara asked incredulously. ‘Have you forgotten the Harrisons’ New Year’s Eve Charity Gala?’

Merry rolled her eyes. ‘As if I could. Who really needs that much caviar anyway?’

‘Two hundred of London’s richest, most famous and most influential people.’ Twenty tables of ten, at ten thousand pounds a plate, with all proceeds going to the children’s charity the Harrison family had set up in memory of their youngest child, who’d died ten years ago from a rare type of blood cancer.

No one else would have dared to hold such an important—and expensive—fundraiser on New Year’s Eve. The one night of the year when everyone had plans and people they wanted to be with. But the Harrisons had the money, the influence, the charm and the celebrity to pull it off. Especially with Perfect London organising everything for them.

Clara had been nervous when Melody Harrison—activist, author and all-round beautiful woman—had approached her. The Harrisons were possibly the most recognisable family in London: the epitome of a perfect family. And Melody wanted Clara to organise the most important charity event in their calendar.

‘You did such a beautiful job with the True Blue launch event,’ she’d said. ‘I just know Perfect London is the right fit for our little charity gala.’

‘Little’, Clara had found out soon enough, had been the biggest understatement of the year. Possibly of the last decade.

But they’d managed it—with plenty of outsourcing, hiring in extra staff for the event and more than a few late nights. Everything was in place as much as it could be while they finished dealing with their more usual Christmas bookings. Clara planned to take Christmas Eve, Christmas Day and Boxing Day off entirely to spend the time with Ivy. Her own perfect little family.

It was natural for Ivy to be curious about her dad, Clara knew. But she also knew, deep in her heart, that they were better off with just the two of them. They were a team. A duo. They didn’t need anyone else, people who could walk out at any moment or decide they’d found something better or more important to focus on.

Right now, Ivy knew she was the most important thing in her mother’s world, and Clara would never do a thing to risk ruining that.

‘You’re staring at the tree again,’ Merry said. ‘It’s getting creepy. What’s got you all pensive? Christmas Past... Are you thinking about your ex?’

‘Sort of, I suppose.’ Clara busied herself, tidying up the wrapping paper and ribbons. As much as she loved Merry, she really didn’t want to talk about Jacob.

Merry, apparently, didn’t get that memo. ‘Do you ever regret leaving him?’

‘No,’ Clara said firmly. Did she feel guilty about it? Yes. Did she wonder what might have happened if she’d stayed? Sure. But regret... How could she regret the life she had now, with her daughter? ‘But... I guess I’m still missing some closure, you know?’

‘You know what would help with that?’ Merry said. ‘An actual divorce. Honestly, it’s been, what, five years?’

‘It’s not like I haven’t asked for one. Repeatedly.’ But Jacob had money and, more important, better lawyers. If he wanted to stall, they knew all the possible ways to make it happen. And, for some reason, he didn’t seem to want their divorce to go through.

‘Yeah, but it’s not like you’re even asking for anything from him. Not that it wouldn’t have been a help at the start.’ Merry still hadn’t quite got over the fact that Clara had walked out with nothing but the clothes on her back and a small bag of personal belongings. But she had wanted to leave that whole part of her life behind, and taking money from Jacob would have tied her to him.

Although, as it turned out, she’d walked away with something much more binding than money. Even if she hadn’t known it then.

That was where the closure came in. It wasn’t just about them—it was about Ivy too. Had she done the right thing, not going back when she’d discovered she was pregnant? At the time, she’d been so sure. Jacob had made it very, very clear that they would not be having a family together. And she’d wanted her baby so desperately, in a way she’d never realised she would until the moment she’d seen the word pregnant appear on the test.

But, every now and then, she couldn’t help but wonder what might have happened if she’d told him.

‘I don’t know what goes on in my ex-husband’s brain,’ Clara said. ‘I never did. If I had known, maybe we’d still be married.’

‘And then you wouldn’t be here with me,’ Merry replied. ‘And that would suck. So, let’s just forget all about him.’

‘Good plan,’ Clara agreed, relieved. ‘Besides, I need to talk to you about the decorations for the Colemans’ house...’

* * *

The Christmas lights twinkled along the length of the trendy London street, illuminating coffee shops and gift boutiques with flashes of glittering brightness. Jacob Foster moved slowly through the crowds of shoppers, feeling conspicuous in his lack of shopping bags, lists and most of all haste, even in the cold winter drizzle.

It wasn’t that his errand wasn’t urgent. He just wasn’t all that keen to jump into it. Especially since he had no idea how it was likely to go. He’d been trying to think his way through it for the whole journey there; which approach had the best chance of success, what he could say to get her to say yes. He’d still not come to a final decision.

He still wasn’t completely sure he should be there at all. This might be the worst idea he’d had since he was sixteen. He’d spent five years putting distance between them, moving on and forgetting her. The last thing he needed was to let Clara in again.

But he was doing it anyway. For family. Because, despite everything that had happened between them, Clara was still family—and this job couldn’t be given to anybody but family.

He turned down a small side street lined with offices and within moments he found himself standing outside a neat apple-green office with the words ‘Perfect London’ emblazoned above the door, and knew his thinking time was up.

He paused, his hand on the door ready to push it open, and stared for a moment through the large window. There she was. Clara.

Her dark hair hung down over her face as she leant across a colleague’s desk to point at something on a computer screen. It obscured her eyes but, since that meant she couldn’t see him, Jacob supposed that was for the best.

She looked well, he supposed. The cranberry-coloured wrap dress she wore clung to curves he remembered too well, and his gaze followed the length of her left arm from the shoulder down to where her hand rested on the desk. He looked closer. No ring.

Jacob took a breath, trying to quieten the large part of his brain that was screaming at him that this was a stupid idea and that he should just turn and leave now. It had been five long years; what was five more? Or ten? Or forever? He’d already been stung by failure with Clara before. Why risk that again?

But no. His plan mattered, far more than any history he and Clara shared, no matter how miserable. He’d decided he would make this thing happen, and he would. Jacob Foster kept his word and he didn’t let people down. Especially not his family.

And they were all counting on him. Even if they didn’t actually know about his plan just yet.

But he needed help. Clara’s help, to be specific. So he couldn’t turn and walk away.

He just had to make it clear that this was business, not pleasure. He wasn’t there to win her back, or remind her how good they’d been together. He was there to ask for her professional help, that was all.

He took another deep breath and steeled himself to open the door.

She’d listen, at least, he hoped. Hear him out. She had to.

She was still his wife, after all.

* * *

Clara brushed the hair back from her face and peered at the screen again. ‘I’m still not sure it’s going to be big enough.’

Sitting at the desk beside her, Merry sighed. ‘It’s the biggest I’ve been able to find, so it might just have to do.’

‘Have to do doesn’t sound very Perfect London,’ Clara admonished. ‘If it’s not right—’

‘We keep looking,’ Merry finished for her. ‘I know. But can I keep looking tomorrow? Only I’ve got that thing tonight.’

‘Thing?’ Clara searched her memory for the details. Best friends and business partners were supposed to know this stuff, she was sure. ‘Oh! The thing at the art gallery! Yes! Get out of here now!’

Merry pushed her chair back from the desk, obviously wasting no time. ‘Thanks. Don’t you need to pick Ivy up?’

Clara checked her watch. ‘I’ve got another twenty minutes or so. She’s having dinner round at Francesca’s tonight, so I might as well use the time to finish things up here.’

‘Okay.’ Grabbing her bag and coat, Merry started layering up to face the winter chill outside. ‘But don’t work too late tonight, right?’

‘I told you; I’ve got to leave in twenty minutes. I’ll be out of here in no time.’

‘I meant once you get home, and Ivy’s in bed.’ Merry leant over and gave Clara a swift kiss on the cheek. ‘I mean it. Take a night off for once.’

Clara blushed, just a little. She hadn’t thought her friend knew about all the extra hours she put in during the long, dark evenings. It was just that, once Ivy was asleep, what else was there to do, really, but work? She didn’t have dates or any real desire to go out and meet people, even if her childminder was available to babysit for Ivy. It made more sense to get on top of the work, so that when she did have time with her daughter at weekends she didn’t have to be tied to her computer. That was all.

‘I was just going to finish up the accounts,’ she admitted.

‘Leave it,’ Merry instructed. ‘I’ll do it tomorrow. You can take over finding the biggest Christmas tree in existence!’

‘Somehow, I think I’ve been played,’ Clara said drily. ‘Go on, get gone. You don’t want to be late.’

Merry flashed her a grin and reached for the door but before she could grab the handle it opened, revealing a dark shadow of a man in the doorway. Clara stared at the shape. It was too dark to make out any particulars, certainly not a face or any recognisable features. And yet, somehow, that shadow was very, very familiar...

‘I’m very sorry,’ Merry said politely. ‘We’re just closing up, actually.’

‘I only need to talk to Clara,’ the man in the doorway said, and Clara’s heart dropped like a stone through her body.

‘Jacob.’ The word was barely a whisper but Merry’s head swung round to look at her anyway, her eyes wide.

‘Maybe you could come back—’ Merry began, already pushing the door closed, but Clara stopped her.

‘No. No, it’s okay.’ She swallowed, wishing the lump that had taken up residence in her throat would lessen. ‘Come in, Jacob. What can I do for you?’

Maybe he’d met somebody else at last and was here to finalise the divorce. That would make sense. For a brief moment, relief lapped against the edges of her panic—until a far worse idea filled her mind.

Maybe he’s found out about Ivy.

But no. That was impossible. She’d covered her tracks too well for that; even Merry believed that Ivy was the result of a one-night stand shortly after her marriage broke down. There was no one in the world except Clara herself who knew the truth about Ivy’s conception.

And she had no plans to share that information.

‘Want me to stay?’ Merry asked as Jacob brushed past her. When he stepped into the light, it was hard to imagine that she hadn’t known who he was, even for a second. He was exactly the same man she’d walked out on five Christmases ago. Same dark hair, with maybe just a hint of grey now at the temples. Same broad shoulders and even the same style of classic dark wool coat stretched across them. Same suit underneath, she was sure. Still all business, all the time.

Which made her wonder again what he was doing there, wasting time on her. Clara had no illusions about how her still-not-officially-ex-husband felt about her. He’d made it crystal-clear every single time he’d refused to sign the divorce papers, purely out of spite it seemed, sending his decision via his lawyers rather than talking to her in person. He’d made it clear how unimportant she, and what she wanted, was to him long before she’d ever left. He had never needed her before. What on earth could have made him start now?

Merry was still waiting for an answer, she realised. ‘I’ll be fine,’ she said, shaking her head. Her friend looked unconvinced but resigned.

‘I’ll call you later,’ she promised, and Clara nodded. ‘And don’t forget—you need to leave in twenty minutes.’

The seconds stretched out as the door swung slowly shut behind Merry. And then, with the noise of the street blocked out, it was just them again. Just Clara, Jacob and the sense of impending dread that filled Clara’s veins.

CHAPTER TWO

SHE DID LOOK DIFFERENT.

Jacob hadn’t been able to clock all the changes through the window, it dawned on him now. He’d thought she looked the same, but she didn’t, not really. And it wasn’t just that her hair was longer, or that slight extra curve to her body, or even that her wedding ring was missing.

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.