Chapter Three

18 December, 4 p.m.

The Christmas lunch for Cardiff Bespoke Home Office Installations – we promise you the best service in the Principality – had gone really well.

Damn right it did, as you were the one who organised it.

Lori France grinned. Self-satisfied, much?

But wasn’t she entitled to a little self-congratulation for a job well done? The last before the firm knocked off for the Christmas and New Year break. And everyone else had said how much they’d enjoyed themselves. As always, it had been fun. Good food, good company and good wine, although, as she was driving herself home, she’d stuck to one glass.

And also good that you will not be seeing any of the people around the table again for two whole weeks.

Lori surveyed the pile of Secret Santa gifts heaped precariously on her desk. The company’s way of doing Secret Santa, where everyone bought an anonymous gift for everyone else, worked really well too. Expensive – Lori grimaced at the thought of the dent in her credit card – but a big part of that Christmas fun. Lots of laughter, a few surprises, and no one got stuck just with the really difficult person to buy for, like Mike the accountant – which was so frustrating, when you’d found the perfect gift for someone else. Even Mike had got a lot easier though, since someone had discovered his passion for obscure brands of beer. His desk now held a proud row of exotically named products from local micro brewers.

There were always a few unusual choices too. Samantha, the receptionist, was going to be trying to find out who gave her the huge stuffed squirrel, and why, for months to come. Lori snickered. It had been a complete nightmare to wrap, and Sam was never going to figure out why, because I don’t know myself. Just that as soon as she’d seen it sitting cosily on the shelf in the gift shop, she’d known exactly who it was meant for.

Lori’s own pile was fairly predictable, but very welcome. It had been nice to have so many presents to unwrap. She’d followed her mother’s instructions – over a crackling phone line from Greece – to open the parcel from John Lewis as soon as it arrived, ‘to make sure that it fits’. And her sister Lark … Well, she might get a card from L.A., or Mauritius, or the Seychelles or the Bahamas.

Lori picked up one of her two new notebooks – this one had a gorgeous sparkly, multicoloured cover. The other was a posh leather affair that she suspected might have come from Thom, the boss. There was an assortment of pens, one with a fluffy pink bird perched on the top, a dictionary of baby names, which had left a lot of people around the table puzzled, but which was quite an inspired choice and one that was going to be really useful when it came to naming new characters. A large china mug threatened dire things to anyone who interrupted her while she was writing and a slim paperback offered advice on how to write erotic fiction. That one had to be from Dean, one of the fitters, who was convinced she was writing the next red, hot, sexy bonk-buster. Or ought to be.

She began to gather the gifts into a carrier bag. Around her other people were packing up, exchanging handshakes and kisses and wishing each other ‘Merry Christmas’. The office would be closed until the sixth of January. No one needed an emergency home office at this time of the year, and if they did, Thom would have his phone on and would deal with it. They’d completed their ‘in time for Christmas’ orders yesterday.

Stowing the last parcel, a pamper pack with ‘For that big date’ optimistically printed on the label, Lori looked up, to see Sam weaving, slightly unsteadily, through the desks towards her. Lori was pretty sure that the pamper pack had come from her. Happily married, with nine-year-old twin boys, she was tenacious about everyone else having their own slice of domestic bliss.

Yeah, well. One day. Maybe.

‘And how are you going to be spending the holiday?’ Sam made a scribbling gesture, of someone writing in the air. ‘As if I couldn’t guess.’

‘That,’ Lori agreed. ‘And this.’ She mimed painting a wall, laughing when Sam’s brow crinkled in puzzlement. ‘I have the builders in – once they’ve finished, I’ll be decorating,’ she explained.

‘Builders.’ Sam shook her head. ‘But Lori, it’s Christmas!’

‘And that’s totally why I have the builders in – Paulie’s done me a special deal because no one else wants them at this time of the year.’

‘Mmm.’ Sam pouted, before her face lightened. ‘Paulie – big shoulders, washboard abs, dimples?’ Sam’s husband had big shoulders, washboard abs and dimples.

‘All of the above,’ Lori agreed. ‘And a fiancée, and I don’t think she’s into sharing.’

‘Oh well.’ Sam shrugged, then another thought occurred to her. ‘Builders – are they doing the stuff for the insurance? Lori, are they taking off the roof?’

‘Yep.’ Lori nodded. ‘But it’s okay. I’m staying at the B&B in the village until the worst is over. They’ve agreed to take me and Griff.’ After a bit of persuasion.

‘Griff?’ Sam looked puzzled again. ‘Oh, your cat.’ A frown replaced the puzzlement. ‘Will there be other people at the B&B – celebrations and stuff?’

‘No, only me. They don’t usually open in the winter. But I will be fine, honestly and it will be a relief to get the work done.’

‘I suppose.’ Sam still wasn’t happy. ‘You could have come to ours for Christmas Day, at least, but we’re going to the in-laws in Northampton.’

‘I know, and you will have a great time.’ Lori picked up her bags, leaning over to kiss Sam’s cheek, and preparing to distribute goodbyes and good wishes at the other desks between her and the door.

Then, after a weekend of clearing the house and getting the last of her stuff into storage, she was free. Free to forget about being an office manager and instead to be a would-be author, with nothing to do but write.

Bliss.

‘Happy Christmas.’