Page 127 of The Twelve Dates of Christmas
Kate filled three shopping bags with groceries and managed to tick everything off her list and then some. There was no escapingthe grilling from Evelyn about Richard, but Kate had been prepared for it.
“He’ll get his!” said Evelyn eventually. “Dirty rat. They always come unstuck in the end.”
Kate wasn’t so sure about that. She suspected Richard was a professional philanderer. He probably had multiple phones, one for each woman.
“Matt’s got quite a bruise across his knuckles,” said Evelyn.
“Yeah, well, Richard took a swing at him,” said Kate.
“I should think Matt would have wanted to punch him on the nose even if he hadn’t swung first,” said Evelyn.
Mac returned with three coffees.
“Leave those,” he said to Kate as she hauled her shopping bags up and tried to balance her coffee. “I’ll drop them round later,” he said. “I want to check on the sprout trees.”
“Are you sure?” asked Kate.
“Yes, love,” said Mac. “Leave them with me.”
Kate thanked him and left. Her dad showed no signs of leaving the shop anytime soon. Evelyn had pulled him up a chair next to hers by the counter. Kate looked back in through the window and saw her dad pull this morning’s crossword out of his pocket and lay it out in front of them. Evelyn put her glasses on and the two of them leaned over the paper, sipping their coffees. Kate smiled to herself.
She looked over toward the Pear Tree and for a second, she could have sworn she saw Matt at the window looking back. But in another second he was gone; it must have been a trick of the light.
She walked home slowly, sipping her coffee and trying to soak in as much of this place as she could. She wished she could store it up in her soul, like charging a battery, so she could use it to sustain herself when she left.
•••••
The vineyard was set on thirty-five acres of undulating slopes nestled in a deep valley; in the summer it caught the best of the sun all day long and you could easily be fooled into thinking you were in southern France.
Today the view was row upon row of snow-capped wooden stakes stretching far into the distance, like some great wooden army waiting for orders. The empty vines, like frozen hair, curled over and around the stakes in white, knotty tresses.
Forest-covered hills grew up on every side, with leaves of ice and pearl, like waves with white horses rising to the sky. The sky brooded, mirroring the metaphorical cloud that hung just above Kate’s head.
The car park was at the top of the valley. Kate arrived on foot, puffed and red-cheeked, in time to jump into one of the Land Rovers that ferried the guests to the winery. It was a bumpy ride, but Kate was grateful for it; it was a darn sight better than walking.
The Lightning Strikes reps stood outside the shop with their clipboards, the daters by now well versed with the drill. Kate recognized her date immediately from his picture.
Thomas—a thirty-five-year-old, twice-divorced carpenter from Surrey—was a well-built chap, with a receding hairline and a strong jaw. He didn’t look like the sort of man who was comfortable in casual attire and kept worrying at his suede desert boots, which were soaking up the snow like blotting paper.
Kate ticked them both off in the register—since the rep was having trouble holding the pen in her mittens—and went over to introduce herself. Thomas had the confident shrug of a car salesman and the accent of a man who’d tried very hard to lose his geezer roots.
“I’m not familiar with this neck of the woods,” said Thomas. “Normally don’t venture so far south of the big smoke.”
“Well then, you’re in for a treat,” said Kate. “This is a very pretty part of the world.”
Thomas looked unconvinced.
He kissed Kate on both cheeks, and Kate noticed he wore a tweed waistcoat and jacket under his Barbour coat. He was handsomeandstylish. Kate found the flecks of gray at his temples and above his ears rather attractive. And his eyes were a striking shade of blue.
There must be something wrong with him,Kate thought, and then berated herself for being so cynical; Richard had left his mark on her.
“Do youknowwine?” Thomas asked. “Or do you just drink it?”
“I like wine,” said Kate. “And I know what wine I like to drink.”
“I’ll take that as a no,” said Thomas.
“You may take it any way you wish,” said Kate.
