Christmas Miracle at the Castle
Autore
Alison Roberts
Letto da
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Capitoli
11
CHAPTER ONE
THERE WAS NO doubt about it—this was going to be the best Christmas ever.
The sheer joy of seeing the first, fat flakes of snow drifting down onto the high street in Inverness, Scotland, stopped Dr Abby Hawkins in her tracks. With a level of excitement that was probably more appropriate for one of her small patients in a paediatric ward, she tilted her face to stare up at the slate-grey sky. She had the presence of mind to behave well enough not to poke out her tongue, but she did hold out her gloved hands, palm upwards, hoping to catch some flakes that way. She knew she was creating a bit of an obstacle on one side of a footpath crowded with Christmas shoppers, but it was simply irresistible to savour this moment of pure magic.
‘Never seen snow before, lassie?’
Abby’s head swerved fast enough for her to identify that the speaker was the driver of a taxi amongst traffic that had ground to a halt beside her.
‘Not for Christmas,’ she told the taxi driver. It felt as if she were smiling from ear to ear. ‘Not in New Zealand.’
‘You’re a long way from home, then.’ The traffic was lurching back into motion so he began sliding his window shut. ‘Aye, well...you’d best make the most of it. Might be pretty enough now but it’ll turn to slush. It always does...’
The window closed with an audible clunk and the wave over his shoulder as he departed looked more like a gesture of dismissal, but Abby wasn’t about to let that kind of attitude from a Christmas Grinch spoil the moment. Nothing could spoil this. The snow was falling more thickly and it was beginning to coat things, like the shiny red top of a mail box nearby and Abby couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt quite this excited.
She’d been spot on to choose to come to the north of Scotland, thinking that it would offer her the best chance to have a white Christmas for the first time in her life. No, that wasn’t quite true, was it? The choice had really been made well before she’d thought of that particular bonus. In fact, she’d been so captured by the unusual advertisement she’d seen in the professional careers opportunities section of The Lancet that she would have applied even if it had been a Christmas camp set in the middle of the Sahara Desert with zero chance of experiencing a decent snowfall.
Because Christmas was all about children and these were special kids that were being treated to a fantasy Christmas. Kids that had congenital heart problems, family circumstances that ranged from difficult to appalling and, as if that weren’t already a heart wrenching situation, they were also sick enough to need expert medical staff available twenty-four-seven. It was a marriage made in heaven. Abby not only adored being with children, she had just spent a year in London, completing a year of specialist paediatric cardiology training and she was taking a short break to think about exactly what she wanted in her next position. She also adored everything to do with Christmas and, as if that combination weren’t perfect enough, this unexpected five-day gig was happening in a castle that looked as if it had come straight out of a fairy tale with its stone walls and turrets, a lake and a forest in its extensive estate and a dramatic backdrop of rugged looking mountains.
Abby had forgotten all about the grumpy, Grinchy taxi driver as she ducked across the road, heading for a pharmacy. She couldn’t be happier. Except that she’d accidentally left her toilet bag behind in the B&B she’d stayed in last night to break the long journey and she couldn’t turn up at the castle and ask to be provided with shampoo and toothpaste and makeup and even a hairbrush, could she? There were other things she only realised she needed to add to her basket as she spotted them on the shelves and some things that had definitely not been left behind in her toilet bag—like the wearable decoration of a small elf, his legs forming part of the headband’s curve. His arms were outstretched, he had a huge grin on his face and there was a real bell on top of his hat that would jingle merrily when the wearer moved their head. The children she would be caring for would love that, wouldn’t they?
Never mind the kids... Abby loved it herself. She had long suspected that there was a part of her that had never quite grown up but that was often a good thing in her line of work, because she could explain things to older children in a way they could understand and she had a knack of finding ways to distract any child or baby from a frightening or unpleasant medical intervention, and even make them laugh sometimes. It was always more noticeable at this time of year, of course, because she could so easily tap into the magic of Christmas with all the joy of a child.
And it was going to be on a totally different level this time. So different, it felt...huge. As if being accepted for this position was an honour. That she was privileged to be part of something that would be creating a memory like no other for these children and the people who loved them. After reading up on the information she’d been provided with, Abby knew that for some of the children coming to this Christmas camp at the castle, it was a miracle that they were actually having another Christmas. Most would be coming with carers or parents and siblings—the people who were living with the fear that serious illness could bring so they deserved to share a very special celebration. It was enough to mean Abby needed to swallow a rather large lump in her throat. She couldn’t wait to meet Margaret McKendry, who must be a rather special woman having apparently been making this happen for twenty-five years now. She couldn’t wait to meet the children and the rest of the team who would be caring for them and she was hanging out for a first glimpse of the castle.
She just couldn’t wait, full stop. Abby was itching to get back on the road that led to the village of Kirkwood and on to Ravenswood Castle as soon as possible so her heart sank a little as she saw the length of the queue to get to the check-out counter. She had no choice than to take her place at the back, however, and wait patiently behind a tall man in a black woollen beanie hat and puffer anorak, who was focused intently on the screen of the phone he was holding.
There was no doubt about it. This was shaping up to be the worst Christmas ever and that was saying something when Euan McKendry had learned to dread the festive season so many years ago he’d barely been in his teens.
The meteorological website he was scanning was forecasting heavy snow showers for the next twenty-four to thirty-six hours. It would clear by Christmas Eve but, by then, there would probably be snow drifts deep enough to bury cars and/or people. It would be bitterly cold and he would, as always, be sleeping in that turret that had drafts whistling through the gaps around those mullioned windows.
One of these days, Euan promised himself, he would go and spend Christmas on the beach. In Australia. Or New Zealand. Somewhere he could soak up the sun and have a barbecued Christmas dinner of steak or prawns, perhaps, instead of turkey and bread sauce. He could swim in the surf, feel the sand between his bare toes and not have a care in the world. One day, he wouldn’t have to steel his heart to cope with all the sad memories or having his heartstrings pulled as tightly as piano wire by the stories and personalities of not only sick but disadvantaged children.
But it wouldn’t be this year. Not when this could be the last Christmas camp that his grandmother, Maggie, would be well enough to host in the astonishing castle that was her home and she had told him how much she needed him to be there.
‘Just one more time, Euan. It’s the twenty-fifth anniversary of that first time. Please come...this is for Fiona, after all...it’s always been for Fiona and, if this is going to be the last time, I want it to be absolutely the best ever.’
No... Euan tried to stave off the inevitable pull back in time. He wasn’t going to start thinking about the younger sister he’d lost so long ago. He wasn’t even going to dwell on the fact that his beloved grandmother was awaiting results on a biopsy that probably wouldn’t come until after Christmas now but the surgeon had warned her the news might not be good. If it was an ovarian cancer, it was well advanced and the prognosis was poor.
‘If this is going to be the last time...’
Euan could actually hear the echo of his gran’s voice in his head from that phone call last night and, if he wasn’t careful, he might end up standing in this queue—waiting to pick up the prescription pain medication he’d decided to add to his medical kit at the last minute—with tears running down his face. And he wasn’t about to let that happen. He hadn’t let it happen in twenty-five years. He might not have inherited Maggie’s remarkable ability to face the hardest parts of life with a dogged determination to find something to be thankful for, that silver lining she insisted was there somewhere, even in the darkest of clouds, but he could do what he was very, very good at doing. He could keep that door in his heart firmly locked and avoid the kind of emotions he never wanted to grapple with again.
It might have been difficult to distract himself completely from the worry of what those biopsy results would show, or the fact that he was adding a powerful analgesic to his kit because his gran might be in a lot more pain than she was admitting to, if he hadn’t been actually jolted hard enough to prevent him thinking about anything other than what was happening in this moment.
Someone had pushed him from behind, hard enough to make him almost lose his balance. His phone flew from his hand to land with an ominous crash on the tiled floor of this old pharmacy. There was a much louder crash at the same time.
‘Oh... I’m so sorry...’
Euan ignored the woman directly behind him in the queue because he was scanning the whole scene, automatically assessing where his attention was needed first. Further back in the queue, a man was standing with his fists raised.
‘This is a queue. You don’t push in, mate,’ he was shouting. ‘Got it?’
Another man was on the floor, sitting amongst a pile of hair products that had fallen off the shelf he’d obviously been pushed into. No wonder other people had hastily tried to get out of the way of the falling containers and boxes so it was no fault of the woman with the unusual accent that she’d bumped into him so abruptly. It possibly wasn’t the fault of the man who was now picking himself up from the floor, either. Maybe he’d only wanted to get to the other side of the queue to buy some shampoo but fortunately he wasn’t about to engage with the angry customer protecting his place in the line. He got up and headed for the door as stressed looking pharmacy staff were rushing in to clear the mess.
Euan shook his head in bemusement, swore under his breath and bent to retrieve his phone, which had been stopped from sliding further away by a basket someone had put down on the floor. He wasn’t surprised to see the deep, jagged crack on the screen of his phone after how loud the impact had been but his heart sank a little further. There was no chance he could get that fixed before heading out of Inverness so it would be a pain to use the device for at least a week. At the same moment he was noting what was going to be a serious nuisance, something in his peripheral vision caught his attention and it instantly added insult to injury. On the top of that almost full basket was one of those ridiculous bits of Christmas nonsense that people made a point of putting on their heads, like reindeer horns, or miniature Santa hats. This had to be the worst example he’d ever seen—a stupidly grinning elf who had his arms outstretched as if he was ready to hug anyone and everyone.
It was so horrible that, as Euan straightened again, he couldn’t help looking behind him at the person who was about to purchase it. The same person who’d just apologised for shoving him in the back. He knew that he might not be disguising how he felt about someone who would choose to buy such an idiotic stuffed toy to wear on their head but he didn’t care. Maybe he would be doing her a favour and she’d decide to leave it behind. His look, which was admittedly probably more like a glare, clearly surprised the woman but it was backfiring badly for Euan because he was even more surprised.
Gobsmacked, in fact.
He was staring at what had to be the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen in his life.
Huge, blue eyes framed by a tangle of dark lashes. A generous mouth that had clearly been designed with laughter and smiling in mind and her lips were clearly on the brink of curling right now, because she was not only gorgeous but she appeared to be quite possibly the happiest woman Euan had ever seen and that glow was only enhanced by her long, long blonde hair that fell in soft waves from beneath her red woollen hat. The hat didn’t look quite right, did it? A shining halo might have been more appropriate because, whoever this was, she looked like a Christmas angel that had suddenly come to life.
Good grief...
She was definitely smiling at him now.
And, dammit, but it was making her look even more beautiful. Even happier.
‘Is your phone okay?’
‘No.’ The word came out as a growl. ‘The screen’s broken.’
‘Oh, no... I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to land on you like that, honestly. I got shoved as well.’
Euan was finding it impossible to look away and he could feel his forehead creasing into a frown. ‘What are you?’ he asked. ‘American?’
‘No.’ The smile widened. ‘You’re way off. Wrong side of the world, even. I’m a Kiwi.’ She tilted her head to look past him and then raised an eyebrow. ‘Queue’s moving. If you leave a gap, someone else might try and push in and I think there are a few people around here who might be grumpy enough already.’ She was shaking her head sadly. ‘I really don’t understand it.’
Having to take a step closer to the cashier meant that Euan had to look away and he had no intention of looking back. Or of continuing this conversation with a complete stranger. He could still hear her voice behind him, however, and he knew perfectly well that she wasn’t speaking to anyone else.
‘I mean, it’s Christmas... How can anyone be so grumpy when it’s the most exciting time of the year? I love Christmas. And it’s snowing...’
Okay, the sheer joy in her voice was threatening to tip him over the brink. Euan turned his head. ‘And you think that’s a good thing?’
Those blue, blue eyes widened. ‘It’s going to be a white Christmas. I’ve dreamed of having one ever since I was a little kid. We might have Christmas in summer in New Zealand, but we all know a real Christmas has snow. And holly with red berries and robins and mistletoe and—’
‘And people who are freezing because they can’t afford to heat their houses and roads that become inaccessible because of the snow, which can mean that people who get sick or have an accident might actually die before help can arrive.’
The woman’s jaw dropped. ‘Wow...and I thought the taxi driver was enough of a Grinch. Phew...’ She gave her head a tiny shake, which made that tumble of golden curls shimmer under the bright, overhead lighting. ‘Is it a Scottish thing to hate Christmas in general or just a white one in particular?’
For a crazy moment, Euan was almost tempted to tell this stranger exactly why Christmas was overwhelmingly difficult for him, on a purely personal basis that had nothing to do with his nationality or the weather. But, even if she wanted to listen, which was highly unlikely given how it might tarnish that glow of happiness, these were things he never said aloud. To anyone. He did his best not to even think about them. That he’d been pushed too close to that locked place he managed to avoid for the vast majority of the year created a knee jerk defensive reaction.
‘Christmas is nothing more than a charade,’ he snapped. ‘It’s fake. As far as I’m concerned it’s a promise that life is full of good things when, in reality, that promise gets broken far more often than not. The expectation that kids are going to get everything their hearts desire, that families are going to have a wonderful time cooped up together, that there’ll be a feast on every table or maybe even that there’s going to be some damned miracle that will suddenly make life perfect, well...’
Well...life’s not like that, is it? And, making the most of every Christmas because it might well be the last for someone you love more than anyone else on earth is nothing but a recipe for heartbreak that will haunt you for the rest of your life and be at its worst every single time that one day of the year is approaching...
Not that he said that out loud, of course. Good grief...where was this all coming from, anyway? Euan had never bothered analysing exactly why he still dreaded Christmas so much because that was nothing more than a key to open that locked place where disturbing emotional stuff got relegated. Maybe his cracked phone had been the last straw. Or, more likely, that stupid elf headband. Whatever the cause, he was appalled by the fact that he was dumping it all on a happy tourist who had every right to enjoy her Christmas as much as she wanted to.
‘Sorry,’ he muttered, turning back to find he had a space in front of him again. That he could actually get close enough to ask to speak to the pharmacist who would have his prescription for controlled drugs ready for him to sign out. He flicked a glance over his shoulder and even managed an apologetic half smile.
‘Have a great Christmas,’ he added. ‘Take no notice of me.’
Take no notice?
As if...
Abby might have been getting a totally unexpected lecture about the dark side of Christmas, but that accent was gorgeous.
This man might win the prize for being the biggest Grinch she’d ever met in her life, but he was also...undeniably gorgeous.
Tall. Not traditionally handsome, perhaps, but he had an astonishingly compelling face. His eyes were as grey as storm clouds about to break and his features were certainly not soft. He was craggy, that was the word. Interesting. It was impossible not to notice those deep lines from his nose to the corners of his mouth and around his eyes when he frowned. And he looked as if he might frown rather a lot, in fact, but even this man’s grumpiness was kind of sexy. Imagine if someone could make him smile? That reluctant tilt of his lips as he’d wished her a happy Christmas, just before he’d walked off gave Abby the feeling that a real smile would melt her on the spot.
Not that she’d ever find out. She was watching the Grinch as he got to the counter, only realising now that he didn’t appear to have anything in his hands to pay for. He spoke to the cashier, who nodded and pointed him towards a hatch that opened to the prescription part of the pharmacy. A nod then summoned Abby to the counter. She began emptying the numerous items from her basket, starting with the elf headband that was on top.
Okay, it was a ridiculous accessory, especially for an adult to wear. For someone who hated Christmas as much as the intriguing man she’d just encountered, it was probably symbolic of everything that was wrong about Christmas, like hyped-up expectations and promises that got broken. Outrageous enough to be like a red rag to a bull, even. As she was a naturally empathetic person, it took some effort to push aside a curious voice in the back of her mind that was asking why he might feel so strongly about the season. What could have happened that was so awful?
Abby managed to silence the voice by the counter argument that no reason could be enough to justify spoiling the happiness of other people. Especially children. Most especially the kind of sick children that needed every extra bit of joy that came their way. The kind of children that Abby was lucky enough to be about to spend her Christmas with. And...and it was going to be a white Christmas. Abby beamed at the cashier as she handed over the headband. As soon as it was rung up, she took the price sticker off it and put it on her head, over her hat.
She looked sideways as she continued unloading her basket, rather hoping that that Grinch would notice what felt rather like an act of defiance. A public affirmation that, even if it made her look silly, she was going to spread as much joy as she could in the next few days. But the man wasn’t at the hatch any longer. She could only see his back, as he walked out of the pharmacy with a paper carrier bag in his hand.
It was still early afternoon by the time Abby drove out of Inverness and headed north to the village of Kirkwood. Her sat nav had estimated the journey time at forty minutes but it was clearly going to take longer because daylight seemed to be fading already and it was gloomy enough to make the whirling snowflakes look like glitter in her headlights, which was distracting enough to make unfamiliar, winding roads quite a challenge.
Abby was more than up for the challenge. Growing up on a high-country New Zealand farm and learning to drive through rocky rivers and steep gullies, she had the skills to cope with anything so she was actually enjoying this. Having to focus was a bonus, because she could forget about the fact that the only two people she’d spoken to since she arrived in Scotland had been determined to rain on her Christmas parade. At least she could be sure that nobody like that would be a part of where she was heading.
This Margaret McKendry, the woman who owned the amazing castle, had to be as much of a fan of Christmas as Abby was, to go to what had to be an enormous effort to create something so special for sick children. A Christmas fairy, in fact, who was waving her wand to make a dream come true and provide joyous moments to people who deserved them more than most.
A large Christmas tree was lit up in the central square of Kirkwood village, there were decorations hanging over the streets and the shops looked busy. The snow was falling much more slowly by the time Abby was through the village and, while surfaces like hedges and footpaths were smudged and white, the roads were still clear enough to be safe. A helpful sign told her she was taking the correct turn off to get to Ravenswood Castle and, only minutes later, Abby found her breath completely stolen away as she got her first glimpse of the castle’s turrets at the end of a long, treelined driveway. It was dark enough for it to be no more than a silhouette, but as she drove closer lights from many windows twinkled through softly drifting snowflakes and, when she got close enough for the stone walls to be towering above her, Abby could see fairy lights around the arch shaped windows and framing the rather intimidatingly grand main entrance.
She was holding her breath as she climbed the steps and lifted the lion’s head knocker to tap on the massive, wooden door. She had a smile on her face, ready to greet the person who opened the door. A butler, perhaps? Or a housekeeper? Maybe it would be Mrs McKendry herself? Abby’s smile widened as the door slowly swung open. She couldn’t wait to tell anyone she met how excited she was to be here.
A heartbeat later, however, that smile was fading from her face so fast it was gone by the time Abby could take a new breath.
‘I don’t believe this,’ she said. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’
‘I could ask you the same thing,’ the Grinch said. ‘Except I might do it a tad more politely.’
‘Who is it, Euan?’ The voice from further behind the door was coming closer. ‘Oh, I do hope it’s our other doctor. She’s due to arrive about now and I can’t wait to meet her.’ The door was pulled from the man’s hand. ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, don’t leave the poor girl standing out in the snow.’
The woman was tiny. No more than five feet tall and she had a pixie cut of pure, white hair over a well-wrinkled face, but the first impression was not one of frailty—quite the opposite.
‘I’m Margaret McKendry,’ the woman said. ‘But please call me Maggie.’ Her smile was so welcoming Abby felt as if she were turning up at her own grandmother’s house. ‘You must be Abby. You’re just how I imagined you’d look after we spoke on the phone.’
‘Abby Hawkins.’ She nodded. ‘And I’m so happy to meet you, Maggie.’
‘Come in, come in.’ Maggie kept talking as Abby stepped inside, coming uncomfortably close to the man she knew was glaring at her. ‘We’ve got a fire going in the drawing room and we’ll get you something to eat. Are your keys still in your car?’
‘Yes. I’ve got some bags to get out of the back.’
‘Euan can park your car,’ Maggie said. ‘He’ll get your bags and take them up to your bedroom.’ She turned to the Grinch. ‘I’m putting Abby in the blue room, next to you.’
He actually closed his eyes, Abby noticed, and let out a slow breath, as though he was trying to keep his temper? Or maybe preparing himself to face something unimaginably unpleasant. It was only then that she remembered she was still wearing the silly elf headband. Embarrassed, she snatched it off, but it was clearly too late to appease him in any way. For the second time in little more than an hour, he was turning to walk away from her.
Except he wasn’t going to disappear this time, was he? Abby turned back to Maggie and the question in her eyes must have been obvious.
‘Oh, I’m sorry, pet.’ Maggie stepped forward to push the enormous door shut. ‘I didn’t introduce you properly. That’s Euan, my grandson. He’s also the other doctor who’s here to care for the children.’
Was it her imagination or was there a gleam of mischief in the older woman’s glance as she led Abby across the elaborately tiled floor of an enormous foyer? Her eyes widened as she walked past a trio of what looked like genuine suits of medieval armour. Maggie led her through open double doors into a long, wide room that was filled with light and warmth. A tall Christmas tree stood to one side of an open fireplace wreathed in twinkling lights and covered in a bright rainbow of decorations but Abby wasn’t distracted this time. Maggie didn’t catch her gaze as she kept walking towards several couches arranged in front of the roaring fire.
She smiled as she sat down, her hand gesture an invitation for Abby to follow suit. ‘Don’t be fooled by that grumpiness,’ she said. ‘My Euan’s got a heart of gold and I’m sure the two of you will get along like a house on fire.’ The tone of her voice was perfectly serene but Abby was suddenly quite sure that Maggie was aware of a lot more than she was letting on.
Like a house on fire might be an apt simile, Abby thought, her heart sinking along with her body as she sat down on the squashy, feather-filled cushions of the couch opposite Maggie. A catastrophic house fire, perhaps, where there was the very real possibility that someone might not survive?
Abby had the horrible feeling that what might not survive was going to be the magical Christmas experience she had been so excited to be a part of. She might have to work very hard—for everybody, including herself—to make sure it was not going to be ruined by a real life Grinch.
At least Maggie was adorable and Abby had no doubt that she’d be on her side of the creating Christmas joy equation. She smiled back at the Grinch’s grandmother.
‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘I’ve had experience with grumpy men before so I know not to take it personally. You never know, he might find himself enjoying Christmas whether he likes it or not.’
