After the quickest shower of my life, I called Erin and brought her up to speed.

‘What the eff is wrong with him?’ she exploded, when I’d finished babbling. ‘He should have kept me in the loop. I’d organised a car for today.’

‘That’s your response?’ I said. ‘I think he drove up with his cameraman.’

She made a noise like a cow in distress. ‘And what do you mean, he’s better-looking than you thought? I said you’d fancy him.’

‘I don’t fancy him,’ I said. ‘I’m not a teenage girl.’ I put my phone on speaker while I towelled my hair dry. ‘I was just saying, he comes across better in real life.’

‘Oh god, you’ve been Ollied.’

‘I haven’t been Ollied,’ I said, lowering my voice, even though I could hear that he was downstairs. What was he doing? I bobbed in front of the mirror and winced. I looked pale, and my eyes were pink, but at least my skin felt softer, thanks to the mud-mask, and my hair smelt of fruits-of-the-forest shampoo. ‘He seems nicer, too,’ I added, retrieving my phone. ‘I thought he’d be a total nightmare.’

‘Oh, Lily.’ I pictured Erin with her palm pressed to her forehead. ‘You’ve only just met him,’ she said. ‘You’ve never even seen the show.’ She sounded annoyed.

‘First impressions count,’ I fired back. I’d been feeling quite chipper, despite my hangover and the stubbornly clinging face mask – not to mention the peculiarity of the circumstances – and her words were like a reprimand. I hadn’t done anything wrong. In fact, I was being extremely forgiving, considering I could have called the police and had Ollie Matheson arrested for breaking and entering. Well, entering without permission.

‘I warned you.’

‘Why do I need to be warned?’

‘Because this is what he does, Lily.’ I didn’t like the way she kept saying my name. It was a tactic teachers employed when taking a child to task. Harriet, you know that stamping on someone’s foot isn’t nice. ‘He’ll get under your skin, then he’ll move on. That’s how the show works.’

‘This isn’t a show,’ I said, with a disbelieving laugh. ‘And he’s not even on it any more.’

‘He’s been there long enough for that sort of behaviour to seem normal. And he wouldn’t have signed up in the first place, if there wasn’t something in his character that enjoyed acting up.’

‘Well, apart from all that, I’m not his type,’ I said. ‘I’m not thin enough, or the right shade of blonde.’

‘You know you’re bloody gorgeous, but that’s the point,’ she said. ‘I doubt he’s met anyone like you, which means you’ll be a challenge.’

‘He’s seen me at my absolute worst.’ I flashed back to myself, hunched over the toilet bowl, and cringed. ‘If that doesn’t put him off, nothing will.’

‘I still can’t believe you were topless when you answered the door.’ A trace of laughter came back to Erin’s voice. ‘And why did you send me that weird message about string?’

I told her about Marmite.

‘I wish I’d been there,’ she said, chuckling.

I paused in the act of wriggling my underwear on. ‘I’ve just remembered, they were filming.’

‘Don’t worry. It’ll get cut.’

‘But they can still play it back and watch it. It could end up on YouTube.’

‘They’re not twelve years old, Lily. It’s a job to them. And I’m sure they’ve seen plenty of hooters before.’

‘Not my hooters,’ I protested.

‘The cameraman’s probably deleted it already.’

‘He’s called Craig Daniels. Do you know him?’

‘Not really,’ she said. ‘They’re old friends. He left the show when Ollie did, which I imagine is why Ollie brought him.’

Going off on a tangent, I flipped through the clothes in my wardrobe. ‘I’ve no idea what to wear.’ I studied the array of dresses, skirts and cardigans I’d worn for teaching. There were some jeans and T-shirts, and baggy sweatshirts – my ‘casual-wear’ – and a couple of ‘best’ outfits, comprising a floral jumpsuit and a strappy low-cut dress, neither of which were suitable for eating breakfast with Ollie Matheson.

At the thought of breakfast, I felt suddenly ravenous.

‘Why are you looking for something special to wear?’ Erin’s voice dripped suspicion. ‘What’s wrong with your usual clothes?’

‘Nothing, I just… need some new ones.’ I’d never mastered the art of on-trend dressing like Erin had. She could carry off cuffed skinny jeans with lace-up shoes, or mid-calf culottes, which would have looked tragic on me. ‘It’s fine, I’ve found something.’ I settled on one of my nicer dresses; knee-length with long sleeves, and little blue flowers on a black background.

‘It’s for him, isn’t it?’

‘Erin, give me some credit.’ I was starting to wish I hadn’t called her. ‘Even if I was looking, I’d never fall for someone based on their appearance.’

‘You’re vulnerable,’ she persisted. ‘I’d love you to meet someone new, but he’s not the one.’

‘What do you mean, I’m vulnerable?’ I put the phone back on speaker while I shimmied into my dress. I needed some thick black tights to hide my hairy shins, and pulled a pair out of the chest of drawers and tugged them on. ‘Erin?’

‘Oh, nothing,’ she said, rather huffily.

‘It was clearly something.’ I plucked out a cornflower-blue cardigan that matched the flowers on my dress. ‘Erin?’

‘Just that since your dad died—’

‘Erin, don’t.’ I snatched up the phone again. ‘This has nothing to do with Dad.’ I couldn’t believe she was still pursuing her ridiculous theory that Dad’s death had been the reason I’d fallen for Max in the first place; something about my judgement being off, and me rushing into it because I wanted to feel happy again. ‘And, anyway, Ollie’s in love with someone else.’

To my relief, she let it drop. ‘Tattie Granger?’ She snorted. ‘I doubt it, after how she’s treated him.’

‘Well, he seemed to think coming here and doing this one-off show might win her back.’

‘He said that?’

‘Well, not exactly—’

‘You seem to have had a good chat, considering he’s been there less than twenty-four hours, and you were asleep for most of it.’

Before I could work out her tone, Ollie’s voice drifted up the stairs. ‘Miss Ambrose, do you have any goose fat?’

Goose fat? ‘Erin, I’ve got to go, he’s calling me.’

‘Lily, wait, I—’

‘I’ll call you later.’ Pulling on my cardigan, I left the bedroom and jogged downstairs, reminding myself I had no need to feel bad or apologise to my guest for the mess. If Ollie had turned up when he was supposed to, the Christmas tree would have been properly decorated, and my baking wouldn’t have been ruined.

‘I’m in the kitchen,’ he called.

Obviously. I wouldn’t keep goose fat in the hall. Not that I had any. Goose fat didn’t feature in my life, any more than partridges normally did. ‘On my way,’ I called back, wondering where the cameraman had got to.

I peered round the living-room door, expecting to see him snoring on the sofa, a blush rising as I imagined explaining my behaviour the night before… but the room was empty.

Too empty.

Where were the baubles and decorations I’d left scattered about? My eyes travelled round. They were on the tree, that’s where. It was in the corner, and no longer looked like something I’d pulled out of a canal. In fact, it looked rather magnificent, even if the top was squashed against the ceiling, leaving no room for an angel.

My mind raced back. Had I done this in the night? A creative sleepwalking session? Impossible. Even sober, I’d never have managed such a coherent scheme of red, gold and green, or managed to evenly entwine the softly glowing lights around the branches. As my eyes surfed the rest of the room, I noticed my snow globe positioned next to my favourite family photo on the mantelpiece, and a garland decorated with holly leaves and red poinsettia flowers draped around the fireplace. The few Christmas cards I’d brought from home were hanging on the wall on a strip of ribbon, and there was a wooden candle bridge on the windowsill, with battery-powered bulbs for flames.

‘Hey, you look scrumptious, that colour really suits you.’ Ollie eased past me into the room, which immediately shrank in size, and gave me an appraising look that made my blood rise. ‘What do you think?’

In the nick of time I realised he was referring to the room and not my choice of cardigan. ‘Where did all this stuff come from?’

‘Well, most of it was in bags so you must have bought it, and I found some drawing pins in a really handy drawer in your kitchen.’ His eyes heated up. ‘I did bring some mistletoe with me, but I left it in the car. You never know when you might need it.’

‘I carry paracetamol for the same reason,’ I said, trying not to look at his lips.

‘Super,’ he said with a slightly puzzled smile.

‘The tree looks amazing.’

‘Ah, yes, you’d missed out the middle section.’ He lifted a brow, as if that had been the only thing wrong with the scene that must have greeted him.

‘You did all this by yourself?’ I stared, unable to get over how pretty and perfect the room looked.

‘Yah, is that OK?’ His brow contracted. ‘It’s just that I got a bit bored around dawn, plus it was pretty damn cold up there and I couldn’t find any spare blankets, so I thought I’d nip down and I saw all the stuff you’d left out...’ He brandished an arm. ‘Prissy and I used to decorate the tree in the drawing room when we were tiddlers.’ He sounded nostalgic. ‘It’s like riding a bike, I suppose. Haven’t done anything like it for yonks, but it all came flooding back. Rather relaxing, actually.’

‘Well… thank you,’ I said, trying to imagine him as a child with his sister, in their stately home, fixing gold-plated trinkets to a gigantic tree. ‘I’m sorry it’s not real, I sort of had to buy it.’

I imagined Erin asking why I was apologising. I’d do the same with any guest, I argued in my head. Everyone knows a real tree is better than a fake one.

‘Oh, I love a fake tree.’ Ollie tilted his head to admire his efforts. ‘I’m actually allergic to the scent of pine, so a real one would have been a no-no.’

‘Oh, yes, of course.’ My voice was dangerously close to effusive. ‘Me too!’ What? ‘Well, it’s not an allergy as such, more that I’m allergic to hoovering up pine needles.’ What was I talking about? ‘So, goose fat?’

‘Ah, yes.’ Ollie perched his nicely moulded bottom on the arm of the sofa and folded his arms across his chest. Our faces were almost level, and I couldn’t help noticing tiny dark flecks around his irises. ‘I found some rashers in the fridge, and thought it would be totally retro to have bacon sarnies.’

‘Right.’ Looking at him felt dangerous – like staring into the sun – so I ripped my gaze away and fixed it through the window, where the sky had forgotten it was winter and had turned a vivid blue. ‘I don’t cook bacon in goose fat, I tend to grill it.’

Ollie let out a guffaw. ‘Oh, the way you said that, with your eyebrows scrunched, it was like you were talking in code.’ He adopted a stern expression and flicked his eyes from side to side. ‘Listen very carefully, I shall say this only once.’ His French accent was impeccable. ‘I used to love ’Allo, ’Allo.’

My breath caught for the second time that morning.

‘What is it?’

‘My dad loved that show, too,’ I said.

His expression changed, as he picked up on the past tense. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you.’

‘You didn’t.’ Plastering on an answering smile, I clapped my hands as though assembling a class. ‘Now, where’s this cameraman of yours?’ I scoured the room, pretending to look under the coffee table. ‘Unless he’s very tiny, I can’t see him anywhere.’

‘He’s very tiny indeed,’ Ollie said, catching on. ‘Practically Lego-sized.’ Swinging round to look at the window, he lightly touched my arm. ‘Look, I think he’s behind the curtain.’

I snorted inelegantly, feeling my nerve-endings tingle where his fingers had rested. ‘Seriously, where is he?’

‘You read a lot,’ Ollie said, crossing to the bookshelf and pulling out my favourite Bill Bryson and flipping through it. ‘I must send you a copy of my autobiography, though there’s quite a lot in there about my, ah, sex life.’ He arched an eyebrow. ‘I’ve been told it’s pretty hot stuff.’

I squashed an image of him, naked on my bed. ‘Your cameraman?’ I said.

‘Oh, he hasn’t read it. Not his cup of tea. Prefers to read a camera manual.’

‘I meant, where is he?’

‘Ah, yes.’ Ollie slid the book back on the shelf, and picked several satsumas from a bowl I’d placed on the coffee table. ‘He insisted on sleeping in the car,’ he said, juggling with the fruit.

‘What?’ My head snapped up. ‘He must have been freezing out there.’

‘It’s a very nice car.’ Ollie expertly peeled one of the satsumas and popped half in his mouth, then gently pressed a segment to my lips so I had no choice but to eat it. ‘He’s slept in it before, in worse conditions.’

So, I’d been alone with Ollie. Was that better or worse than there being two strange men in my house? I swallowed. ‘But why not just sleep on the sofa?’

‘Because he’s funny like that.’ Ollie made a ‘what can you do?’ face. ‘After you slammed the door in our faces, he said we should find a hotel to stay in, but I told him that was silly because there wouldn’t be anywhere suitable, and even if there were, we wouldn’t get a room at short notice.’

So, he’d stayed for convenience, not out of concern for me?

‘And I was worried about you,’ he added quickly, running warm eyes over my face.

Hmmm. ‘You might have got in somewhere, at this time of year. Out of season, I mean.’ Why was I discussing hotel bookings? ‘You should go and get him,’ I said, reluctantly. Having barely adjusted to Ollie’s presence, the idea of someone new turning up wasn’t very appealing. Especially when I felt delicate. ‘I’ll put some bacon on.’

‘Actually, I popped out while you were in the shower, and he wasn’t there,’ Ollie said. He put down the remaining satsumas and stretched, arching his spine so his shirt rode up, revealing a strip of taut stomach. ‘I expect he’s gone for a run.’

‘A run?’ I said, staring. Thankfully, he tucked his shirt back in.

‘On the beach, probably; he was oddly keen on taking a trip to the seaside. Plus, he loves running. Lord knows why. I tried to get him to join my gym, but he’s not into pumping iron.’ He flexed a bicep, twinkling his eyes at me, and while I wasn’t normally impressed by gym-honed muscles, it had clearly paid off for Ollie. ‘Do you want to give it a squeeze?’

‘I’m fine, thank you.’ I laced my hands primly in front of me.

Ollie suddenly released a yawn. ‘I might scrub up after breakfast, if you don’t mind?’ he said. ‘I feel a bit grimy and probably smell dreadful.’

‘You smell nice.’ The words popped out unbidden and his mouth curved into a smile. ‘I mean, yes, of course you can. You can do it now if you like, while I make breakfast. There’s plenty of hot water.’

‘Super, if you’re sure you don’t mind.’ He was proving to be as polite as he was good-looking. ‘I’ll fetch my bag from the car and get changed.’

As I reversed from the room, I sucked in my stomach, wishing I hadn’t when it let out a noisy gurgle. He touched my elbow on his way past, and I jolted against the door frame.

‘Sorry,’ I said, feeling foolish. I drew myself up to my full five feet four, which only brought my gaze level with his shoulders. Wide, strong shoulders.

‘You’ve a hole in your tights.’

‘Oh.’ Looking down, I saw that one of my toenails was poking through, the pink varnish chipped and worn. ‘Sorry,’ I said again. I felt somehow exposed, which was ridiculous when he’d already seen me naked from the waist up.

‘Please don’t keep apologising,’ he said, so close I could feel his warm breath on my cheek. He seemed fixated by my attempt to wiggle my toe back inside my tights, and we both jerked when the doorbell chimed a series of tinkling notes through the cottage.

‘Jumping Jesus!’ Ollie clutched his chest. ‘That scared the sh… life out of me.’

‘I was wondering what the doorbell sounded like.’ Giving up on my holey tights, I slipped my feet into my sheepskin slippers at the bottom of the stairs. ‘It’s probably your cameraman.’

‘Our cameraman,’ Ollie said, right behind me. ‘I want some slippers like that.’

Flustered, I couldn’t quite understand what was happening when I opened the door.

‘It looks like your mother was right to be worried.’ It was Doris Day, in a red woollen coat and a matching knitted scarf tucked around her neck. Her mouth was set, and her eyes stretched as she glanced over my shoulder at Ollie. ‘Not one man in the house, but two, and you’ve been here less than a week.’

‘Wha…?’

‘She was going to call the police, you know. Your mother.’

‘I don’t understand.’

A man was letting himself through the gate, carrying a holdall and a rucksack, and he threw a small smile at Doris as he drew level. ‘I said you’d explain everything,’ he said to me. He had bright eyes and a faint scruff of beard, the same sandy shade as his tangled hair.

‘What’s my mum got to do with anything?’ I said, switching my gaze back to Doris and cuddling my cardigan around me. Despite the brightness of the day it was arctic, with a thick coating of frost on the ground.

‘She called me last night.’ Doris’s red-gloved fingers clutched the handle of her scarlet handbag, and I was reminded of Little Red Riding Hood without the hood. ‘She was very worried about you.’

I pulled my chin back. ‘My mum called you?’ I frowned. ‘How? Why?’

‘Oh, yah, I forgot to say your phone rang a couple of times last night,’ Ollie said. ‘I popped it by your bed.’ So that’s how it had got there. ‘Craig, my man, come in,’ he went on, to the man hovering with the bags. ‘Thought you’d got swept out to sea.’

‘There was a café on the seafront, so I stopped and had a coffee,’ the man – Craig – said, stamping his black trainers on the doorstep.

‘I was just coming to get my bag.’ Ollie pulled the door wider, like the man of the house, seeming oblivious to Doris’s outraged bewilderment.

‘I’m sorry about this,’ Craig said to me, a salt-scented tang of the sea coming off him. His voice was pitched deeper than Ollie’s, and he had a polite London accent. ‘I’m Craig Daniels, by the way.’

‘I know,’ I said, aware of Doris attempting to assess the situation with her eyes, trying to stem a blush as I remembered my doorstep encounter with Ollie and Craig the night before. ‘Lily Ambrose.’

He nodded. He was shorter and leaner than Ollie, with a slightly crooked nose, but his eyes were a clear, greyish-green beneath strong brows, and he had a steady gaze. His layered running gear seemed inadequate for the cold. ‘I’ll’ – he nodded towards the hall – ‘see you in there?’

‘Right.’

‘Thanks.’ He slipped through the door, and there was the sound of some friendly back-slapping behind me.

‘Why don’t we all go inside?’ Ollie suggested, and I turned to see him blowing on his hands. ‘It’s brass monkeys out there.’

‘No, thank you very much.’ Unmoved by his winning smile, Doris glared at him.

‘As you wish.’ He widened his eyes at me as he retreated. ‘I’ll go and clean up.’

When he’d gone, Doris sharpened her gaze. ‘Your mother received a rather alarming picture of you yesterday evening, with hardly any clothes on and white powder around your nose.’

‘What?’ Then I remembered. ‘It was icing sugar,’ I said, feeling slightly hysterical. ‘I’d been baking. I was eating a homemade mince pie.’

Doris drew back. ‘In the nude, dear?’ She looked behind her, as if checking no one was listening. ‘Are you one of those naturists?’

‘Of course not, I was just… hot.’

She pulled a bag of sweets from her coat pocket and held it out. ‘Pineapple cube?’

‘No. Thanks,’ I said. ‘How did my mum know your number?’

‘She remembered my name from the note I left with your muffins, and looked me up.’ Doris sounded approving of Mum’s detective skills. ‘She mentioned you’d had a break-up with a married man a while ago and a nasty encounter with his wife, and might be having regrets about moving away—’

‘He was separated,’ I said, surprised that Mum had been so open. ‘And I’m absolutely fine, it was months ago.’

‘Well, I told her I’d keep an eye on things.’ Doris popped a sweet into her mouth. ‘Anyway, I thought I’d call in, and I saw a man getting out of that car.’ She turned to point at a black saloon, like a witness for the prosecution. ‘When I asked what his business was, he said they were FBI and you were under arrest, but it appears he was joking.’

‘I’m sure he was just being friendly,’ I said, trying not to be annoyed by her interfering. The point of living somewhere like Shipley was that everyone knew everyone’s business, and that’s what I’d chosen – for better or worse. ‘Thank you for your concern.’

‘So, who are they?’ Doris craned a neck for a glimpse inside. ‘Is one of them your lover?’

‘Of course not,’ I spluttered, and she looked momentarily crushed. ‘Did Sheelagh call to tell you I’ve found a celebrity to switch on the tree lights?’

Her gaze shifted back to me. ‘The chap from reality television?’ Her mouth turned down at the corners. ‘Not my cup of tea, but Sheelagh could barely contain herself.’

‘Well, that was him.’ I figured it would come out soon enough, or else Doris would work it out, once she’d stopped concocting dubious set-ups in her overactive mind.

‘Him?’ She sounded stunned. ‘The chap in the funny shorts? I thought he was supposed to be handsome, according to Sheelagh.’

‘No, the other one,’ I said, feeling a bit sorry for Craig. Imagine living in the shadow of Ollie Matheson.

‘Oh, him.’ Doris sniffed and patted her hair. ‘Looked a bit full of himself, if you ask me.’

‘He’s nice actually. The other one’s his… friend.’

‘But it’s not happening until the thirteenth,’ she stated. ‘Why are they in your house?’

‘They, er, want to get a feel for the place first, and as I was the one who invited Ollie I’m… welcoming him to Shipley.’ I decided the whole truth could wait. If she knew Ollie Matheson was my house guest, she might take it upon herself to pass the news around, and then everyone would be turning up at my door. ‘I’d better get back.’

‘Of course.’ Doris tweaked her collar. ‘I’ve got to get on anyway, I’ve got a Zumba class at ten.’ She swivelled at the gate, just as I was closing the door. ‘Oh, and your mother said to expect her around four o’clock.’