at the top of her lungs and turned away. A perfect Christmas—that was what he was here for. Not to reconcile with his wife, or even exact some sort of revenge on her for leaving him. This weekend was about his family, not his love life.
Clara was his employee now, not his wife. And once this Christmas was over, she wouldn’t be his anything at all.
He had to remember that.
* * *
Clara arrived at the castle bright and early on Christmas Eve, wrapped up warm and in full warpaint make-up, ready to be professional, aloof and totally unbothered by Jacob Foster. Today, he was her client, not her ex, and all they had to discuss were Christmas plans and decorations. Nothing to do with their marriage—and definitely nothing to do with Ivy.
She’d caught a taxi up to the castle, loaded full of the last few essentials that her friend had brought up herself, not trusting them to the courier company. Namely, the Foster family antique decorations and Jacob’s Christmas presents to his family. Everything else she figured she could replace or improvise if the courier company let them down.
But they hadn’t. All the boxes had arrived, just as they’d packed them. The tree was in place, the final food delivery was expected within the hour from the local butcher and deli. All she had to do now was ‘Christmasify’ the castle. And that was Clara’s favourite part.
Normally, she’d have Merry along to help her, but today her business partner had taken Ivy off into the local town to do some last-minute Christmas shopping in the hire car Merry had picked up at the station the day before. Hot chocolates had also been mentioned. Clara was trying very hard not to feel envious; she needed to work and Ivy understood that. Plus, spending time with Aunt Merry was always a special treat for her daughter.
At least they’d all managed to have a wonderful evening together last night at the Golden Thistle Hotel, when she’d finally got done at the castle. She hadn’t been completely sure when Merry had suggested the place, but it was the closest and easiest hotel on offer. As it turned out, though, it was wonderful. The staff had welcomed Ivy in particular with open arms, and they’d spent the evening eating chips and then mince pies in the bar while one of the locals played Christmas carols on the old piano there. It hadn’t been long before Ivy had been singing along too, much to everyone’s delight. All in all, the evening had been the ideal respite after the hideous few hours with Jacob at the castle.
Had he honestly believed that Clara would spend Christmas there, just to make his father a tiny smidgen happier? He couldn’t honestly believe that James would care all that much about his ex-daughter-in-law being there, could he? Clara was pretty sure that as long as Sheila, Jacob and Heather were there, everything would be perfect as far as James was concerned.
And as long as she had Ivy and Merry, Clara knew the Golden Thistle would be perfect for her too. In fact, she couldn’t wait to get back there this evening and spend Christmas Eve with her girl. The owners had already said that Ivy was welcome to hang her stocking by the main fire, to make it as easy as possible for Father Christmas to find her that night. Ivy had positively vibrated with excitement at the thought.
Yes, Christmas was here and it was wonderful. All Clara had to do was hope that Jacob had come to his senses, get through a few more hours of setting up the castle for the Fosters, and then she could start enjoying herself. This year, she’d decided, would be the one to make up for all those miserable childhood Christmases—not to mention the last lonely one with Jacob.
She shivered as she stepped out of the car onto the frosty castle driveway. There was no snow yet, but the forecast said there would be overnight. All the more reason for Clara to get the job done and get out. The air around her was bitterly cold, cutting into every centimetre of exposed skin, and Clara was thankful for her scarf and gloves, and even the woolly hat Ivy had pushed onto her head before she’d left.
‘You don’t want to catch a cold, Mummy,’ she’d said sternly, and Clara had given up worrying about what it might do to her hair.
Letting herself in to the castle, a box of decorations balanced on one hip, Clara wondered whether she should call out to Jacob. He could be sleeping, she supposed, or working. Either way, she probably shouldn’t interrupt him. Besides, she’d work quicker on her own.
By the time he appeared, dressed in jeans and a jumper and heavy boots, she’d already brought in all her boxes and waved the taxi off, unpacked the fresh food delivery, and twined freshly cut greenery all the way up the twisting banister. She was just adding the ribbons and baubles to the stair display when she heard his voice.
‘What are you doing?’ he asked from the top of the stairs. He sounded amused, which she hoped meant that he planned to ignore the way they’d parted the day before too. The only thing for it, as far as Clara was concerned, was to get back to being client and organiser as soon as possible.
Clara glanced up, one end of the ribbon she was tying still caught between her lips. ‘Decorating,’ she said through clenched teeth. It came out more like ‘Echoratin’ but he seemed to get the idea.
‘Need a hand?’ He jogged effortlessly down the stairs and Clara allowed herself just a moment to appreciate the way his lean form moved under his winter clothes; the clench of a thigh muscle visible through his jeans, the way his shoulders stretched the top of his sweater. Call it a Christmas present to herself.
Then she turned her attention back to her ribbon before he caught her ogling. The man’s ego did not need the boost, and she didn’t need him thinking he might be able to find a way out of their divorce agreement.
‘You could start on Bruce, I suppose,’ Clara said doubtfully. Then she realised that Jacob Foster probably had no idea about the right way to decorate a tree and changed her mind. ‘Or maybe the table decorations.’ They, at least, were already made up and just needed putting in place.
‘Or I could make you a coffee and fetch you a mince pie?’ he suggested. ‘As an apology for yesterday. And, well, our entire marriage.’
‘Tea,’ she reminded him. ‘But actually, that sounds great.’
He returned a few minutes later with a mug and plate in hand. Clara took them gratefully and sat down on the nearest step to eat her mince pie. The early start had meant forgoing breakfast at the hotel, and she realised now that might have been a mistake. Decorating was hungry work.
‘I am sorry,’ he said, standing over her. ‘About everything. Not just asking you to fake a relationship for the sake of my pride, but for not giving you what you needed when we were married.’
Clara shrugged, swallowing her mouthful of pastry. ‘Forget it. I guess it was inevitable that some old thoughts and habits would come up with us working together. But in a few hours I’ll be out of your hair and you can get on with your Christmas and forget all about me.’ Now she said it out loud, the thought wasn’t actually all that appealing.
‘I don’t want to forget about it,’ Jacob replied. ‘Not yet. I...I wasn’t made for marriage. I should have known that and not let myself give in to what I wanted when I’d only hurt you in the long run.’
Not made for marriage? Because he cared more about his work than people? Clara supposed he might have a point. Still, she couldn’t help but feel a little sad for him, if work was all he’d ever have.
‘I should have talked to you more,’ she admitted. ‘Explained how I felt. But it was all tied up in my family and I...’
‘Didn’t want to tell me about them,’ Jacob guessed. He sat down on the step below, those broad shoulders just a little too close for comfort. Clara could smell his aftershave, and the oh, so familiar scent sent her cascading back through the years in a moment. So much for forgetting. As if that was even possible. If she hadn’t forgotten him throughout those five long years apart, why would she begin now, just because he finally signed a piece of paper for her? ‘Why was that?’
Clara looked down at her plate. Suddenly
the remaining half of her mince pie seemed less appealing.
‘You don’t have to tell me,’ Jacob added. ‘I know it’s none of my business any more. I’d just like to understand, if I can.’
‘My mother... She fell pregnant with me when she was sixteen,’ Clara said after a moment. Was that the right place to start? I was born, I wasn’t wanted. Wasn’t that the six-word summary of her life? ‘I was an accident, obviously. Her parents demanded that she marry my dad, which was probably the worst idea ever.’
‘Worse than our marriage?’ Jacob joked.
‘Far worse. At least we had a few months of being happy together. I don’t think they even managed that.’ She sighed, remembering the fights, the yelling. Remembering the relief she’d felt, just for a moment, when her father had left and her mother met someone else. Until she’d realised what that meant for her place in the family. ‘My mother always said that I was the biggest mistake she’d ever made in her life.’
Jacob’s sharp intake of breath beside her reminded her exactly where she was, who she was talking to. A client, not her ex.
She flashed him a too bright fake smile. ‘Anyway. Needless to say, they don’t miss me. My father left when I was seven, my mum remarried a few years later and started a new family. One she really wanted. I became...surplus to requirements. That’s all.’
‘Clara...I’m so sorry. If I’d known...’ He trailed off, presumably because he knew as well as she did he wouldn’t have done anything differently. Except maybe not marry her in the first place.
She shrugged. ‘I’m a different person now. I don’t need them.’ Or you. ‘I have my own life. I’m not the girl I was when my dad left, or the teenager being left out by her new family. I’m not even the person I was when I married you. I don’t even drink coffee any more!’ She tried for a grin, hoping it didn’t look too desperate. Anything to signal that this part of the conversation was over. She didn’t need Jacob feeling sorry for her.