Juliet still hadn't told her family about her redundancy despite having been home for more than three hours. She had meant to do so once all the exuberant greetings were over but her mum insisted she should take a lovely, long bath before supper and the prospect of soaking in scented bubbles far outweighed her need to break her news.

'You must be frozen to the core,' her mum had said, the minute Juliet struggled in via the back door with the bags of shopping in her hands and her holdall slung across her shoulder, accompanied by a rather large flurry of snow and a gust of wind that sent the curtains flapping. 'I can hardly see you under the layers of snow. I hadn't realised how bad it was out there.'

'Good heavens, sweetheart,' her dad had added, swooping forward and slamming the back door shut. 'Let me take those bags. Was the journey dreadful? Of course it was. What with the delays you called and told us about, and this dreadful weather. Sometimes I forget a conversation I've just had.' He took the shopping bags and chuckled as he placed them on the kitchen table.

'Chuck me your coat,' Zoe said, rolling her eyes as Juliet removed the holdall and dropped it at her feet. 'You'll be thawing out all over the kitchen floor and I've already mopped the thing three times today. Good to have you home though. Want a glass of mulled wine?'

Juliet laughed as she regained her breath after battling her way up the garden path. She shrugged off her coat, handed it to Zoe and then hugged each member of her family in turn, even Cinnamon, who had woken up and come to greet her.

'Yes please to the wine, Zoe. And I'd love a hot bath, Mum, if you don't mind. I'm absolutely shattered.'

'Mind? Why would I mind? We can chat when you're warm and dry. We don't want you getting hypothermia. Zoe and I will make supper. You go and relax, sweetheart.'

Juliet didn't need telling twice. She had more things in the car but they could stay there until morning. Everything she needed was in her holdall and her family wouldn't mind if she ate supper dressed in her PJs, dressing gown and slippers. The kitchen smelt divine, the cottage was cosy and she was more than a little relieved to be home. The bad news could wait.

She had fully intended to bring the subject up over supper, but the truth was, since leaving Mrs D's she had thought of little else but Harrison Bow. Why would he return after all these years? What could Luke have said to bring him home? Did her family know? They hadn't mentioned it to her and surely they knew it was something she should be told? Or perhaps that was precisely why they hadn't done so? Perhaps they thought she might not come home for Christmas if she discovered there was a chance she would bump into him.

No one had mentioned him as they consumed the cauliflower cheese and baked beans, either. Or the blackberry and apple crumble with homemade custard. All her family talked about was the weather, how good it was to have her home and whether she felt up to getting the Christmas tree in the morning now that the blizzard had subsided. That led into a long conversation about when, exactly, her dad planned to go into the roof space and bring down the decorations because apparently he had been promising to do so all week, and hadn't. Which in turn led into a discussion about the possibility of buying some new decorations this year. As usual, a question relating to the family finances sent her dad scurrying off to his study like a scared rabbit.

'I'll leave that up to you, dear hearts,' he said. 'There are a few things I need to do this evening. You don't mind if I leave you for an hour or two, do you?' He didn't wait for a reply, before disappearing with his coffee for the remainder of the evening.

It was as if a cloud descended. No sooner had her dad scampered than her mum said she had some presents to wrap for the Women's Institute meeting the following evening and if Juliet didn't mind, she would go and do that now so that tomorrow would be completely free.

A second or two later, Zoe told Juliet she was shattered.

'It's been a really long day, sis and I fell over this afternoon when I was walking Cinnamon. I'm fine,' she said, gesturing stop with her hand before Juliet asked the question. 'Every bone in my body is aching now though. I think a long, hot bath is actually what I need. Would you mind if we caught up in the morning? You could probably do with an early night after your journey anyway.' She simply smiled as she rose to leave and gave Juliet another quick hug before dashing into the hall.

Juliet let out a little sigh. 'Well, Cinnamon. It looks like it's just you and me.'

Cinnamon raised her head a fraction, one long, red furry ear flopping across one eye before letting out a louder sigh than Juliet's and dropping her head back to the floor as if it was all too much effort. That was followed by a brief trumpeting sound and a smell like rotten eggs permeated the scent of spices lingering in the air.

'Cinnamon!' Juliet screwed up her face and waved her hand in front of her nose to try to bat away the awful smell.

Cinnamon smacked her jaws together a few times, stretched out one paw and made a self-satisfied, rumbling whine of contentment from deep within her throat.

'Thanks. What a great homecoming this is turning out to be.'

Juliet glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall, festooned with sprigs of holly and mistletoe. At half past eight on a Sunday night in Bristol, she would be curled up in front of the TV watching some drama or other on the BBC, a bowl of Marks and Spencer winter berries and prosecco crisps on the side table together with a bottle of prosecco to wash them down. If she searched the cupboards, she would probably find both, and if she kept the volume low on the TV in the sitting room, she wouldn't disturb her family. But somehow the thought of it made her feel even more melancholy than she had earlier. To be alone in her flat watching TV was one thing. To be in a warm and cosy cottage surrounded by her family, and to do that, was a different thing entirely.

She got up and wandered into the dining room. The antique mahogany table still looked incongruous in here; and that was without its extension leaves. In the dining room of The Grange, it had looked perfect and had room to spare even with the three extensions added and surrounded by thirty matching chairs. Here, if they had guests, everyone had to breathe in to squeeze between the walls and the backs of the eight chairs they'd brought with them.

Now, with the chairs pushed in she could walk to the window – but she soon wished she hadn't. From here she had a clear view of Mistletoe Park, across the road from the cottage. It had once belonged to The Grange but was sold off over one hundred years ago and was now common land, managed by the local council. The massive Christmas tree with its myriad coloured lights stood at one end, opposite the church, and she could see the glow in the dark, though not the tree itself.

If she turned her head to the left, she could see Mistletoe Mount at the other end of the park. At the top stood The Grange and although she told herself not to, she couldn't stop from looking up at the house she and her family had once called home. And possibly still would, if it hadn't been for Harrison Bow and his grandad.

The house reflected her mood as she stared at it. Not one light could be seen. It looked cold, forbidding and depressing. She could only make out the shape of it in the darkness but she still knew every inch of it – unless the Bows had changed it, of course. She had been told they hadn't, but who knew with that lot? Every word they spoke was a lie. Perhaps they'd ripped out its ancient heart of oak, plus the later Georgian additions and painted everything white, modernising it all.

In the days the Bells lived there, the place shone out like a beacon. The wood floors were polished until you could almost see your own reflection, the fires in every room were lit, the lights burned bright from dusk till dawn and the windows glowed with a warm welcome. This time of year, every tree within fifty feet of the house would have been dressed in fairy lights, together with a massive Christmas tree, or two. Candle lanterns were lit in the drive. A large wreath hung on the doors which were surrounded by boughs of pine entwined with holly and mistletoe. Cars would queue to park outside as guests of the family piled into the cosy interior, looking forward to all the forthcoming festivities. Food and drink would flow as easily as the conversations; games would be played, carols sung; long walks taken on frosty mornings in the woods behind the house; ice skating on the lake in the grounds; and on Boxing Day, they would ride their horses and the antique carriages through the park.

Even after twenty years, Juliet missed it all so much it hurt. She had been able to keep her own horse, Morning Star, for a while, though he was long since dead. The rest, together with the carriages and virtually everything else apart from a few items of furniture and personal family possessions, had been sold with The Grange and what remained of the estate after centuries of dwindling funds in the Bell family's coffers.

The tail lights of a car were approaching The Grange and she peered at them in the distance as the vehicle came to a halt. The hall light went on and a shaft of yellow beamed onto the drive as the front door burst open. The Grange was little more than the size of a doll's house from where she stood but she could see someone running towards the car in the beam of light and two more people getting out of it. Just black stick figures silhouetted in the darkness and the light.

Her heartbeat quickened as she watched them and when she brushed a lock of hair from her face, a river of ice ran through her.

Was one of those people Harrison Bow?