Christmas in Cornwall Read online

“Never mind. The cakes and sandwiches should more than make up for what we skipped earlier," he said. "What do you say?"

  I was about to tell him that tea was probably not the best idea for me, when I saw something—or rather someone—that caused me to lose all train of thought.

  Matt was here.

  Dressed in a suit and overcoat, his silk tie a deep shade of crimson. His dark hair was tamed against the winter breeze, revealing the finely chiseled features beneath it. Matt was here in London, emerging from the Underground entrance and standing not ten away from us on the crowded sidewalk.

  He saw me at the same moment, surprise lighting his dark eyes as they looked into mine.

  "Hi," I said, somewhat breathless with amazement. "You didn't say you were coming to London today." I would have to explain Dwight in a moment, I realized — and that was something that didn't thrill me, given the status of Matt and I.

  “There was a garden show at the university,” Matt explained. “A lecture on propagating orchids, given by an old professor of mine. A few friends from university were there, so we had lunch together.”

  “That sounds great.” I could feel Dwight watching us, no doubt observing the profound effect Matt’s appearance had on me — changing my voice, my expression, making me flush whenever I looked into his eyes too long. It would be pretty obvious to anybody that this was the 'someone special' I had mentioned before.

  I glanced to my right. “Matt, this is Dwight Bradshaw from Seattle,” I said, gesturing to him. "He's an old friend of mine. The one whose friends are having trouble planning their wedding."

  “A ghost from Julianne’s past,” Dwight told him, holding out his hand with a smile. "I think she's mentioned you a time or two."

  "It was strange to see another face from Seattle across from me on Cornish soil,” I supplied. To Dwight, I said, “Matt is a horticulturist and botanist and a friend of Lord Williams’ from university. Right now, he’s working at Cliffs House as a landscaping consultant.”

  “So the two of you are co-workers, then,” Dwight said.

  “Matt has been my saving grace since I moved overseas," I said. "He lived in the States for awhile, so he’s good at putting up with my American quirks. And he’s been the perfect guide, introducing me to the local customs and culture in Ceffylgwyn.” I smiled at Matt.

  “And all I had was an A-Z London guide for getting around my first few weeks," said Dwight.

  Matt smiled at this joke. I could tell he was unsure what to think of Dwight, which was making me nervous somehow. As if Dwight might turn into an obnoxious American suddenly, who poked fun at Matt's accent and told stories about the cutesy things we used to do while dating.

  Tucking my hands in my coat pockets, I searched my brain for something brilliant to say so I could escape any stories from the past. Instead, it was Dwight who spoke again.

  “Julianne and I were just about to go to afternoon tea. I booked a table at The Golden Swan, a hotel not far from here. It’s not exactly the Ritz, but it’s a favorite with most of our clients. You’re more than welcome to join us.”

  He had booked a table? Now it would be harder for me to turn him down. Nevertheless, I intended to, when, to my surprise, Matt turned to me and said, “Why not? I have the rest of the day free. If you’re certain it won’t interfere with your work—”

  “Not at all,” I said, quickly. There was no way I was going to tea alone with an old boyfriend while Matt went back to Cornwall on the next train.

  “Let’s split a cab then, shall we?” suggested Dwight.

  The Golden Swan was every bit as beautiful as its name suggested. Marble columns flanked the entrance to a dining hall with gorgeous golden-yellow walls and glittering chandeliers. Exotic palm trees had been placed throughout the room in decorative pots, and a harpist provided musical ambiance in the form of lilting classical tunes.

  My chair was across from Dwight’s, with Matthew seated at my right. The table before us had been spread with a silver tea service and delicate gold-rimmed chinaware. A selection of sandwiches, scones, and biscuits were arranged on the tiered cake stand in the center of the table.

  “This is amazing,” I said, unable to help the gushing remark as I sampled the scrumptious treat from my plate. A golden baked scone with raspberry preserve and clotted cream that melted in my mouth. Pure heaven.

  Matt looked slightly amused. "Better than Dinah's?" he asked, teasingly.

  “Sorry,” I murmured. "But I'm not being disloyal, I promise." I noticed cream was all over my fingers too. But I resisted the urge to lick them.

  “Julianne makes your village sound nice and cozy,” said Dwight, turning to Matthew. “She was telling me all about trivia night at the local pub. It sounds rather ... casual ... I have to admit."

  “It is,” said Matt. “The village doesn’t have a lot of excitement, as I’m sure you must have guessed. It's a quiet place, but that's its charm.”

  “I got the idea,” said Dwight, chuckling slightly. “Mind you, all I saw of it was a glimpse from the cab window. Though, it’s starting to sound as if a glimpse is all it would take to see the highlights,” he joked. "Maybe Julianne will show me around sometime."

  “Dwight's more of a city dweller,” I explained, feeling myself wince inwardly at his critique of the village. "He really loved Seattle." I remembered Dwight repressing a shudder whenever his hometown — one with a respectable population of a hundred thousand or so — was mentioned in his presence, as if it conjured horrible memories for him.

  “You must prefer being in London, then,” said Matt.

  “London’s fantastic,” Dwight agreed, taking a scone from the tiered cake stand. “Though, I have to admit that I did find Cliffs House a promising little spot for a conference, perhaps. I’m going to recommend it to my boss for the next company retreat. A little R-and-R in the Cornish wilderness, and a stroll through those primitive gardens." He glanced at me. "Does its garden have those big mud sculptures that are so famous around here? I think I saw them once on National Geographic or something?"

  "I'm afraid not at Cliffs House," said Matt. Whose tone was decidedly polite and cool.

  When the conversation shifted to sailing, I was almost relieved. At least Dwight sounded friendly when he asked Matt for some recommendations on local sailing spots.

  “Helford River in Falmouth is a popular choice,” Matt said. “So is Fal River. If you’re more experienced on the water, The Isles of Scilly have anchorages well worth visiting.”

  “Is that the place I’ve heard referred to as the English Caribbean?” I asked. Picturing glistening golden sand and crystal clear waters surrounding an atmosphere akin to the Bahamas.

  Matt nodded. “It is. A very different side of England from what you’ve seen, but quite beautiful in its own way.”

  “You’ve sailed it before?” Dwight asked him.

  “I’ve followed the route to Tresco once. It can be a fair bit more challenging than the rivers in Falmouth, though.”

  I pictured Matt on a boat. The breeze playing through his hair as he hoisted the sail, and steered the rudder through choppy waters. Maybe in an open shirt ruffled by the wind, a little manly afternoon stubble on his face, and a smile on his lips when he looked at me. Well, maybe it wouldn't be so bad to be sailing out on the Channel, even in winter. Myself snuggled in my parka, feeling a refreshing sea breeze against my face...and just like with the kilt scenario, I caught myself wandering into this fantasy and stopped it in time.

  “Julianne here can vouch for my skills with a sail boat,” said Dwight, calling me back to reality. “She helped me celebrate at least one of my victories with the SYC. Seattle Yacht Club, in case you've never heard of it. Remember that night?” he asked, turning to me again. “Champagne and a catered gourmet dinner beneath the stars on Teddy's long liner. There’s nothing like eating on the water, I always say. Especially after a big victory."

  "Sounds charming," said Matt. Blandly.

  I was very glad whe
n tea was over.

  ***

  It hadn’t been a disaster, but it could have gone better. That was how I thought of our tea, the three of us making conversation that seemed awkward and disconnected. Afterward, Matt had taken a train back to Truro while Dwight and I called on Daphne to review the winnowed to-do list before the ceremony.

  “I’m sure I can handle the rest of this by phone,” I said, glancing over my itinerary one more time. “After the caterers and the harpist, that just leaves the horse-drawn carriage. Are you sure about that one?" I asked Daphne. I felt worried about the pricey cost of that escort. I imagined the headache of bills for a young student-age couple when this was over and wished that they would rethink it before I booked anything. Already the harpist had demanded an extravagant rate, and the flower bill was tremendous.

  "Oh, yes," said Daphne. "It's essential. I've always dreamed of one and Benjamin promised me. I really couldn't imagine my special day without it."

  "All right," I said. "I'll call and arrange one." After all, it wasn't my business to argue, was it? Not after I'd made my professional point regarding their budget.

  "See what I mean? She's brilliant, isn't she?" said Dwight to Daphne. "You're in the best hands possible for this wedding." Despite myself, I blushed as the two of them beamed at me.

  Dwight's compliments kept coming as the two of us left Daphne's flat.

  “You really are something, Julianne," he said, shaking his head. "No wonder Cliffs House stole you away.”

  I gave a modest shrug. “I was only too happy to be stolen, in that case.” Anyone who had seen my resume before my role at the Cornish manor house would marvel at my ability to handle this level of responsibility. But I was doing it, and somehow, it was working. I just hadn't flexed those muscles at Design a Dream.

  “You’ve been to London but didn’t visit the shops?”

  Pippa was scandalized when I returned later that afternoon without any kind of shopping bags from the boutiques. I was tempted to tell her it was work, not pleasure that took me there, but I hadn’t really made the others privy to my favor for Dwight — mostly because it would mean explaining who Dwight was.

  “I always have a peek inside Topshop at least,” she continued, polishing the platter Dinah had laid out for serving the chocolate mousse on at dinner. “You must’ve done your holiday shopping already."

  “I’ve done most of it,” I said.

  "Any hints at what might be under the tree for a certain girl who works here?"

  "No way," I answered. "You'll have to wait until Christmas morning, like everyone else."

  I had packages of gifts ready to mail to family members, and I had the staff's gifts wrapped and waiting for the big Christmas Day party. All except for Matthew. I had found nothing special, nothing personal enough for someone who mattered to me as much as he did.

  But what would do? A rare plant? I would never know what one to choose. A gardening tool? I had no idea what kind of tools he might find useful in his gardening work. It needed to be something special, and I had yet to decide.

  It came to me when I turned the corner in the main hall the next morning, lugging a box of brochures on having an 'Active Senior Christmas' to the sitting room for the ladies' luncheon. The Christmas tree with ornaments of red and white caught my eye. It was one of several green firs that Lord William had either felled or dug up this season for decorating Cliffs House and other parts of the community.

  Matt's tree. That was the answer. Not only would I take it to his cottage, I would decorate it completely. I would make it as beautiful and personal as I could, so it would remind him of the family Christmases he'd been forced to do without for so long.

  I felt my enthusiasm for the idea began to grow, my steps turning in the direction of the kitchen, the heavy box of brochures left behind in the hall.

  “Do you know if Geoff is here yet?" I asked Dinah. "I might need his help picking up another fir tree.”

  “Good heavens, another one?” Dinah sounded incredulous. “Wherever will you put it? We’ll be drowning in fir needles soon if you keep on."

  “This one isn’t for Cliffs House,” I promised her. “It’s a gift for a friend.”

  ***

  "Merry Christmas!" My voice was muffled behind the bushy branches of the tree in my arms.

  "Merry — what? Julianne, what are you doing?"

  "Giving you a Christmas present," I answered, shoving it forward, and emerging from behind the branches. "My gift to you. One Christmas tree, delivered and decorated by yours truly, as proof of my undying affection. For you and for Christmas."

  Matt gazed at me in pure astonishment as I stood on his doorstep bearing a small, scrubby fir tree, its roots wrapped in burlap. “Did you uproot it yourself?” he asked, a moment later, ushering me inside with a laugh. He took the weight of it from my arms, his laugh becoming a grunt of exclamation. "Julianne, you could have hurt yourself, carrying something this heavy!"

  “Geoff helped me bring it through the gate, actually. He drove me over," I said. "And I thought you might appreciate the kind with its roots still intact. This way, it’ll go back to being part of the tree line for the estate once its stint as a Christmas tree is over. Or in your garden, if you want.”

  Matt paused, the tree now upright before the windows. He was gazing at me with a look that could mean any number of things, but the warmth I detected in his dark eyes was all that mattered to me right now. "You're quite amazing," he said, softly.

  "Thank you," I said. I shrugged the heavy bag on my shoulder to the floor. "Ornaments in here, by the way."

  He dragged a heavy ceramic planter from the garden into the corner of the room, and the two of us managed to maneuver the tree's burlap-wrapped root ball into it, and watered it thoroughly. I could see the smile on Matt's lips as he watched me decorate it, using a series of ornaments I purchased at a shop, brightly-colored balls, and silvery tinsel, and a few old-fashioned paper ornaments that had taken me all of yesterday afternoon to fold properly.

  "You have a decorator's eye," he teased me, as I switched two ornaments' positions after studying the effect on the tree.

  "Call me a perfectionist. Even as a kid, I was a meticulous tree decorator. It took me hours to hang mine, while the rest of the family was already settling in with cocoa, cookies, and Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer," I answered.

  "'Your' ornaments?" said Matt.

  "In my family, everybody had their own," I said. "Special ones, favorite ones, handmade ones, ones that people gave you as gifts." I hung a silver star on a branch, then a red pinecone close by. "My favorite was this little snowman snow globe my grandmother bought me at a souvenir shop in Toronto. I used to hang it on the tree and dream about foreign travel." I glanced over my shoulder. "Not that I ever imagined being lucky enough to be in England for Christmas."

  "Mine was a reindeer," said Matt.

  I glanced at him again. "It was?" I said. "What did it look like? Besides, obviously, a reindeer."

  "It was nothing special. It was only plastic with brown felt glued over it, some painted white spots and very large blue eyes. Glitter on its little horns, which were made out of some kind of pipe cleaner."

  I smiled. "It sounds adorable," I answered.

  "It sounds very old, and like a very poor depiction of a reindeer," said Matt, who was smiling, too, despite these words. "My mother got it secondhand from a resale shop. I wore a little patch of its fur off from petting it." He looked slightly sheepish with this admission.

  "Awww, that part is even more adorable." I melted a little in response to this story. "How old were you?"

  "Oh, I don't remember, really. Three, four — possibly even seven. Maybe closer to seven, since I don't remember my father being around."

  Matt's father had died when he was only a boy. I imagined his Christmases as a child, his mother working long hours to support herself and two children, and a little boy playing under a Christmas tree with a velvety toy deer. Maybe petting it b
ecause he was alone except for his little sister and the neighbor who would watch them until his mother's shift ended late in the evening.

  I bit my lip and turned towards the tree again, so Matt wouldn't see that his story had made me a little sad, too.

  “Can I make you some tea?” Matt asked. “Hot chocolate would be more appropriate, I know, but I doubt there’s any in the cupboard.”

  “Tea sounds great,” I replied. The little catch in my voice disappeared as I mastered my emotions again.

  Maybe Matt hadn't experienced the cozy Christmases of my childhood, but things would be different this year. I was determined to make sure of it. I hadn't told him yet, but I was planning to bring him to the Christmas charity ball as my guest. I had already reserved a tuxedo for him, and couldn't wait to surprise him.

  The two of us dancing beneath Christmas lights twinkling like stars, me in my emerald satin gown pressed close to Matt looking splendidly handsome in a tuxedo. Toasting Christmas Eve's midnight bells with glasses of champagne. It couldn't possibly be more perfect, could it?

  I smiled to myself as I hung a paper star on a branch near Matt's bookshelves, brushing against his collection of hardbacks on the shelves. The fire was smoldering in the hearth of the chimney, the one curiously painted red atop the cottage’s slate roof. I realized how much I loved Matt's cottage, the ramshackle feel of the sardine box size rooms and the wild beauty of the plants in the flower beds and window boxes. And I loved him, which was the real explanation for the previous statement.

  It was so true. As I watched him in the kitchen, a red ornament dangling between my fingers, I let this feeling steal completely over me. It was the first time I had let it happen, myself feeling how completely I cared about him, and I didn't know if it was because I was afraid he was leaving, or just because I was ready to tell him.

  “Do you have any ornaments from your childhood?” I asked. "Anything special we should hang on the tree?"

  Matt was putting the kettle on, the wallpaper behind him a faded buttery gold that still seemed cheerful in the small surroundings. The cabinets were a distressed white, with glass window panes that showed off the dishes stacked inside. I knew the chipped-edged plates well, and the blue ceramic bowl beside them that I planned to use for serving pasta when I finally cooked dinner for him.