A Country Village Christmas Page 9

  ‘Would you like some breakfast?’ She was starving and they’d both missed supper last night after all the drama.

  ‘Maybe later.’ Tom was pushing the blankets aside to sit up and she went to help. ‘I’m okay, thanks. I need to go upstairs.’

  ‘Don’t have a shower or a bath yet,’ she told him as he stood up carefully. ‘It might still be a bit soon.’

  He raised a hand as he limped slowly from the room, and Olivia remembered that he had apparently slipped and fallen last night. She hadn’t asked about other injuries. Shaking off the thought, she picked up her phone to reply to Annie, thanking her and Jon again and letting them know that Tom didn’t seem too bad.

  Porridge seemed like the perfect choice and Olivia had a pan on the go when he reappeared, still in the clothes from last night and looking a bit grim. He settled at the table, and she left the pan to bring a blanket from the sitting room that she tucked around him.

  ‘You must stay warm and I think we should check your temperature. If it goes up you’ll have to take a layer off. There should be a thermometer somewhere.’ She rummaged through a medicine box until she found one and he sat obediently whilst she checked.

  ‘A fraction below normal, so that’s okay.’ She was back stirring the porridge again. ‘It’s better in the sitting room, the fire’s still going. Go and get comfortable and I’ll bring breakfast through to you.’

  He went without a protest, which worried her slightly, and she ladled some maple syrup into the porridge and made another hot blackcurrant juice. That ought to be enough sugar for now; he didn’t need to be bouncing off the walls, he needed rest. She carried the tray through to find him on the sofa, staring blankly through the windows.

  ‘Is the paracetamol helping?’ Olivia didn’t want to sound too concerned but even in his quiet moments subdued wasn’t a word she would use to describe him.

  ‘I think so. I just feel so tired.’

  ‘You need to give yourself permission just to rest, Tom. Don’t fight it.’ She gathered the blankets, ready to cover him again as he swung his legs onto the sofa.

  ‘Like you do, you mean?’

  ‘We’re not talking about me. I didn’t spend a couple of hours in the snow in wet clothes.’

  ‘I owe you an apology. And Jon, having to call everyone out like that.’

  Olivia placed the tray on Tom’s lap, watched as he began to eat. ‘It’s what they do,’ she told him, glad to see him tucking in. ‘They’re used to it.’

  ‘Yeah, but I should’ve known better. They didn’t need to be out there, searching for me in that. I’m sorry.’ He hesitated, spoon halfway to his mouth. ‘No one’s ever taken care of me the way you did last night, Olivia. Wrapped themselves around me.’

  ‘I hardly did a thing.’ She was almost knocked sideways by the expression of pain on his face, felt her breath catch at the sight, the flash of vulnerability he’d revealed. ‘Anyone would’ve done the same.’

  ‘But without you I might’ve been out there all night. Might not have made it back.’ He put the spoon down and pushed the tray aside. ‘Sorry. Maybe later.’

  ‘That’s okay.’ She took the tray away, left it on a coffee table, and settled on an armchair.

  ‘Don’t you believe me?’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘No one taking care of me before.’

  ‘Of course I believe you. It was a surprise, that’s all, not what I expected.’ Olivia wasn’t sure how to proceed, whether he wanted reminding of his muttered words before sleep had claimed him for the night. ‘You don’t have to share anything with me, Tom, your life is private.’

  His attention on her was unwavering, incredulity in his voice. ‘Are you seriously saying you haven’t googled me to find out more?’

  ‘I haven’t, unbelievable as that sounds. Seeing as I’m sharing a house with the man himself, I thought I’d try the old-fashioned way to get to know you.’

  ‘I’m not used to that.’ Tom’s shrug was half-hearted. ‘Most people I meet have preconceived ideas if they’ve already heard of me. It can be harder to be yourself when others think they already know who you are.’

  ‘They see the characters and not you?’ Olivia had almost fallen into that trap herself when she’d learned who he was.

  ‘Sometimes.’

  ‘I must be one of the few, then. I listen to more podcasts and music than I watch television.’

  ‘Lucky for me.’ The suggestion of a smile was already gone, his hands clasped together and the seconds slid away until he spoke again. ‘It was just my dad and me, growing up, never really knew my mum. She’d disappeared by the time I was six and I’ve hardly seen her since.’

  Olivia felt her stomach dive at Tom’s matter of fact comment and the automatic reminders it brought of Ellie’s father and the similarity to her own situation. His family circumstances seemed hard to match to a man who looked as though every opportunity in life had been made available to him.

  It hadn’t been difficult to imagine or expect an ordinary family like hers, with parents who’d cared for him and had provided a home. Not the broken one he’d revealed. She was beginning to understand how his strength, intelligence and even his appearance had played their own part to bring him to this point, to present the man he was supposed to be to the world. She wanted to hold him again now, but where might that take them? She made herself sit still.

  ‘My dad was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease when I was twelve. It was just us and he wasn’t the most loving or tactile of dads, even though he tried. Not easy for him either. We were okay for a while, I learned to take care of him as best as I could. Neighbours helped when I wasn’t around.’ Tom’s head dropped. ‘When I was older.’

  ‘Oh Tom, I’m so very sorry. How awful for you both.’

  ‘I was used to it and I didn’t know any other life. I had to look after him: he needed me. Drama was the thing that got me through and gave me other worlds to think about.’ Tom’s breath came out in a sigh, as though he had been holding himself in for a long time. ‘Took me years to learn to live with the guilt for leaving him to go to drama school when I had the chance. He developed pneumonia and died when I was nineteen. I wasn’t there.’

  ‘Tom, you can’t blame…’

  ‘Myself for his being sick?’ Tom’s head was against the back of the sofa as he stared at her. ‘Not for that, I don’t. But it’s still painful to remember how much I wanted to get away from home, to be an ordinary student having fun. Learning my craft. Not fretting about how he was or what I needed to do for him. Then he was gone and I couldn’t do any more. I felt guilty then about being free of it, the constant worry.’

  Olivia crossed to the sofa to sit next to Tom. She hadn’t even realised she’d covered his hands with hers until she saw him watching the way her fingers were stroking his.

  ‘Sometimes I feel like I’ve been playing a character half my life, pretending to be a version of myself. The one who hadn’t left a sick parent behind to go off and live his life. I learned to be what people expected, to hide myself in plain sight behind a part when it suited me.’

  He looked around the sitting room as though he were seeing it for the first time. ‘It wasn’t like that here, with your dad. We got on from the start and he knew my story, made me feel at home. I could be more like myself here. Just a writer, not the actor and everything that comes with it, or the characters. Just me. Sometimes I think I’m still finding out who that man really is now I haven’t got a career to fall back on.’

  ‘What about your marriage? Wasn’t that like home too?’

  ‘For a time. We were both busy chasing work that kept us apart. My ex-wife is a make-up artist and she was often on a different production.’

  ‘Why are you telling me all this?’ Olivia’s pulse was hurrying. ‘Don’t you think it’s going to make everything so much more complicated?’

  ‘We’ve been complicated since the moment I found you on the landing on Friday night, wouldn’t you say
?’ Tom’s voice was gentle, matching his expression.

  She nodded slowly. She hadn’t let herself think of how he’d looked when she’d warmed him last night and taken care of him, had wanted to. Sometimes she would sense an ease between them and then it would flee in the glances they exchanged, politeness and the reserve covering what lay beneath.

  ‘I still don’t think we should do anything about it, Tom.’ She inched away from him, wondering why it felt as though something she couldn’t even name was already passing her by. Not trusting another stranger with her life was the resolve she needed to cling to, not the story or the plea in his eyes, the way she knew he wanted them to be more.

  ‘Our lives are too different and we’ll have to move on. We’ve both been through marriage and the mayhem of divorce and I like my independence. My dad needs me and I don’t see enough of him as it is. It wouldn’t be fair to expect someone else to settle for what’s left.’

  ‘I understand, Olivia. It makes sense and I have little to recommend me, as the saying goes.’ Tom was wry as he freed his hand from hers. ‘I hope we’re still friends at least.’

  Olivia’s heart plummeted. ‘Of course we are.’ However much she liked him and was attracted to him, they were every bit as complicated as he had said. There simply wasn’t room for each other in their lives and it was a truth she suddenly disliked intensely. Chasing off to Cumbria for work tomorrow had never seemed less appealing.

  Chapter Eight

  When Olivia walked into the kitchen early on Wednesday she was surprised to see Tom at the table, cradling a coffee and giving her that smile she still found so disarming. She sternly reminded herself that it was only yesterday they had both agreed to remain friends.

  ‘You look much better.’ She heard her relief as she found some granola, added yogurt, poured a coffee and held the cafetière up questioningly. The online shop had arrived yesterday, and she had been thankful to fill the shelves, especially if they had snow again and couldn’t leave the village.

  ‘Please.’ Tom passed his cup across. ‘I feel it. I slept better.’ His eyes were telling her he’d missed having her beside him again and she felt her resolve wavering with a look like that. ‘I’m thankful to have escaped without anything worse. Might give running a miss for a few days though, my ankle’s a bit sore.’

  ‘That sounds wise.’ She noticed him taking in her navy dress, the heels she hadn’t worn since she’d arrived in Thorndale. She liked the appreciation on his face even as he looked away, presumably remembering their discussion, that decision.

  ‘You were right, yesterday, about resting and not writing. It helped.’

  ‘Good, I’m so glad. How’s the book going? Are you writing today?’ Olivia settled at the table opposite him, trying not to shiver. The old range did its best, but she’d been wearing more layers these past few days.

  ‘Don’t think so. It’s going fine but I’m at the stage when I need to regroup, make sure I’m heading in the right direction. I like to step back every now and again and take a look.’

  ‘And how do you do that?’

  ‘A long walk or a run. Time to think, clear my head. Different view.’

  ‘Come with me.’ She’d spoken the words before she even realised she’d thought of them. For a skilled negotiator she was certainly finding it difficult not to play her hand when she was around Tom. ‘Today. Why not?’

  ‘To Cumbria?’ He sounded surprised as he lifted his cup.

  ‘Sorry, probably not the best idea.’ Olivia tried to find an excuse for him to back out. ‘I’ll be in the car half the day and I don’t suppose not being alone is conducive to thinking about your plot.’

  ‘Actually, spending the day with you is exactly what I’d like.’ He drained the last of his coffee and reached for his phone nearby. ‘When are you leaving?’

  ‘Seriously?’ It was too late to pretend she wasn’t quite so pleased that he was coming with her.

  ‘Were you joking?’ Tom was on his feet and looked worried for a second.

  ‘I hadn’t planned to say it, but it wasn’t a joke. I’d love you to come.’ But she couldn’t ignore the thought running through her mind, one she’d been pondering ever since she’d found out that he’d been an actor. ‘What if you get recognised? Does it happen a lot?’

  ‘Not as much as you’d think. Sometimes I can see people wondering but they don’t always get it. Being noticed out of context with different hair and clothes can be helpful. And I haven’t worn breeches for years.’

  Olivia thought that was a shame but managed not to voice it.

  Tom was at the door now, a suggestion of laughter following. ‘Seeing as we’ve apparently had the wedding I can always pretend we’re on our honeymoon and don’t want to be disturbed.’

  ‘In the wilds of Cumbria in December? Do you think your public would buy that?’ she quipped. Her pulse was already quickening at the thought of a day with him, the house she was planning to view moving a little further back in her mind.

  ‘I’m an actor, I reckon I can fake it. What about you?’ He and his grin were gone before she replied, her words muttered to the empty kitchen.

  ‘I’m not sure I’d have to.’

  The roads were mostly clear as she drove them across the Dales and into Cumbria. It would be weeks, months even, before the hills gave up their snow topping, the whiteness reaching up to the greying skies. They chatted until eventually Tom fell asleep and she left him in peace, thinking of his brush with hypothermia only two days ago.

  The house she was viewing was close to Penrith and within two hours they had arrived at the edge of the village beyond the town. Olivia had been here before and knew the amenities on offer. She drove to the house and pulled up at the end of a long drive. First impressions were everything and this one was magnificent.

  She could see the large Victorian property set at the head of a sweeping lawn, lined with mature trees, far enough away from the house to allow light still to reach it. Tom woke up as she got out to take the first few images for her client, wanting to convey how it had felt to arrive at this property, what the long, tree-lined drive was suggesting lay at the end.

  They had already agreed that he would go for a walk whilst she viewed the house and its gardens. Detailed measurements and a brochure for her waiting client would be put together by one of her colleagues, who would return this week if all went to plan and the sale was put in motion.

  She could have invited Tom in, passed him off as a colleague, but she felt that it would be unprofessional and there was always the chance he might be recognised. Unlikely, but she wasn’t going to take the risk. They’d talked about it on the way, and he’d told her that he always just said he was doing research if anyone ever spotted him, and people accepted it. She and Tom hadn’t discussed what they would do after the viewing and Olivia was planning to drive back to Thorndale once the appointment was over.

  She always carried a case in her car with practical boots, a winter coat, a change of clothes and some food. She’d been caught out a few times in the early days of finding properties, trapped somewhere remote on a winter’s day with not much more than her suit and a smart coat to sustain her.

  Looking at the snow lingering on the fells behind the house and the wet ground, she would need all her layers to explore this place once she’d been in the house. Tom joined her outside, already wrapped in a practical waterproof and walking boots. He pulled a beanie over his hair as he came to stand beside her. An evergreen magnolia tree was draped in Christmas lights on the lawn, glittering brightly against the winter’s day.

  ‘Beautiful.’

  ‘Yes. I wouldn’t fancy all those bathrooms to clean, though.’

  ‘Me neither.’ Tom checked the time, pulled on gloves. ‘Ninety minutes? Sure that’s enough?’

  ‘Plenty. I just need to get a feel for it, see if it matches what my client’s after and how they might upgrade it. They’re looking for a project and this could be a really nice one. I’ll text
you when I’m done but take as long as you like. There’s a cafe in the village, I’ll head back there and…’

  ‘Work? Relax with a coffee? Read a book?’

  ‘Very funny. Work.’ They’d already swapped numbers on the way here, Tom adding hers to his phone and texting her back. ‘I’ll have to write up some notes, although I record most of them whilst I’m walking round the property.’

  Olivia was done in eighty minutes, calming the anxious vendors and promising to speak to her client later today about a potential purchase. She knew the house was perfect and the vendors were relieved that they weren’t likely to be faced with weeks of viewings and uncertainty as they prepared to swap their period vicarage for an apartment in a country house development.

  She’d texted Tom to let him know and had been in the cafe for about fifteen minutes when he arrived. She had a coffee beside her, had written up some of her notes and emailed the client to schedule an early evening call. Not for the first time she wondered what Tom made of her job, finding properties such as these when he had no permanent home of his own.

  ‘You done?’

  She looked up. Tom’s skin was glowing from the walk, and he seemed re-energised from a couple of hours in the cold, the dark shadows under his eyes gone. ‘Pretty much. Would you like a coffee before we go?’

  ‘No thanks. How’s the rest of your day looking?’

  ‘Emails to respond to and I’ve scheduled a call for this evening about this house. I need to speak with Julian and a couple of colleagues but I can do that from the car. Why?’ Olivia sounded suspicious.

  ‘So other than that, you can more or less take the day off?’

  ‘More or less. Why?’

  Tom grinned. It was one of the things she was coming to appreciate most about his company: the laughter they shared. She was also realising how little she laughed normally, being mostly on her own. That was an unwelcome jolt, a different view of her life she hadn’t really considered before.