His slow smile was like the sun coming out and the glint in his eyes warmed Hollie’s heart. And when he caught hold of her she felt as if she’d been reborn. As if he were breathing new life in her, to join the life which grew beneath her heart. Blindly, her lips sought his and as they kissed, the salt water of their mingled tears slowly began to dry.
EPILOGUE
‘SLEEP IN HEAVENLY PEACE...’
The poignant last notes of the carol seemed to hover on the still night air as, fortified by a pitcher of mulled wine and a platter of home-made mince pies, the group of singers began to make their way down the hill towards the town. Hollie glanced up at the sky as several large, feathery icicles drifted against her cheek. The bright moon of last night was obscured by cloud as the first fat flakes of snow started falling. There should be a thick covering tomorrow, she thought with a glow of satisfaction, as she closed the door of her castle home.
In the wood-panelled hallway stood a tall fir tree, decked with plain white lights and tartan ribbons and topped with an organza-robed angel. There was another tree in the library, where tomorrow they would eat a late lunch, illuminated by as many candles as she could lay her hands on, as had now become a yearly festive tradition. Mistletoe dangled in the hallway and there were bunches of holly and fragrant green garlands strewn everywhere. In the kitchen, a large pot of Cantabrian mountain stew was quietly bubbling away—also a tradition. It was Christmas Eve and it was perfect.
‘Will Father Christmas come tonight, Papi?’ asked a little voice from behind her and Hollie turned around to see her sleepy son nestled snugly in his father’s arms.
‘Sí, he will come to visit every child in the world tonight,’ murmured Maximo, meeting her gaze over Mateo’s tousled black head. The smile he slanted her was full of promise and Hollie felt a delicious shiver of anticipation. ‘But only when you’re asleep. So I’m going to take you up to bed right now, which means morning will come faster.’
‘Oh!’
‘Would you like Mamá to come, as well?’
‘Yes, please.’
‘Come on, then. Vamos!’
Mateo giggled as, going past stone walls now covered with artwork, they mounted the beautiful curving stone staircase to his room, which was just along the corridor from their own. Silk rugs lay scattered over the floors, the draughty windows had been fixed and hung with sumptuous drapes and the building was gloriously warm. In fact, Hollie never stopped marvelling how cosy the place felt after its costly refurbishment, which had started just over three years ago.
Work had begun on the neglected castle soon after she and Maximo had vowed their love and commitment to each other, when they’d married in Trescombe’s small church, with its sweeping views of the sea. It had been a small and simple ceremony. Hollie had worn a long dress of fine white wool, with a hooded and feather-trimmed cape, to keep out the bitter winter winds. And although they had been well into January, and it hadn’t been Christmastime, her bouquet had nonetheless contained sprays of mistletoe, holly and ivy. Maximo’s friend Javier had been best man and the ancient church had been filled with the competing sounds of Spanish and English chatter—though the Spanish had undoubtedly been the louder of the two. It had been, everyone said, the most beautiful wedding.
And they had made their life here, in Devon. Maximo continued to run his empire from this rural base—though they kept apartments in New York and Madrid. But he hadn’t forgotten his vow to serve the community of his newly adopted home. He had completely refurbished the rather tatty hotel where first they’d met and the resulting five-star establishment now came under the umbrella of the Diaz group and brought many tourists flocking to the small town which nestled between moorland and sea. It had put Trescombe firmly on the map, although the narrow and winding access roads ensured that it was never going to be too much on the map, as Maximo drily commented.
Once their son had reached a year, Hollie had opened her tea shop—though someone else ran it for her. She’d fished out her best recipes and helped with batch cooking whenever she got the opportunity. She’d had the jaunty café painted in ice-cream colours of pink and lemon and spearmint, there was mismatched bone china on the tables, the waitresses wore old-fashioned frilly aprons and people came from miles around to taste her featherlight scones.
Her thoughts dissolving, Hollie sighed with pleasure as she watched her husband tuck his lookalike son into bed before going through the various night-time rituals they had evolved, including a very special one tonight, which involved the reading of Clement Clarke Moore’s famous Christmas Eve poem. And when the story had finished, and Mateo had fallen sound asleep, Hollie and Maximo crept from the room and into the corridor outside.
There she turned to him, looping her arms around his neck—unable to resist the temptation to plant a kiss on his lips and then to linger there. A feeling of excitement was bubbling up inside her and it was making her heart beat fast. There was something she needed to tell him and she wanted to find the right time, but for now she just kissed him.
‘Everything’s almost ready, I think,’ she whispered, drawing her mouth away from his. ‘The stockings have been hung—and Javier’s room is prepared. I’m sure he’s going to cause something of a stir when he arrives in Trescombe tomorrow morning.’
‘Like I did, you mean?’ he teased.
‘I doubt it. Javier’s not quite as arrogant as you,’ she advised primly.
He laughed as he curved the palm of his hand over her buttock. ‘And don’t you just hate that arrogance, mia belleza?’
‘Maximo.’ Her throat dried as his fingers continued on their inexorable journey. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’
‘What does it look like I’m doing?’ His voice was careless, his arms strong. ‘I am picking up my beautiful wife to carry her into the bedroom, because I know that kind of macho thing turns her on, and once we get there I am taking her to bed, where I intend to ravish her.’
‘But it’s Christmas Eve! And we haven’t—’
‘Haven’t what?’ he questioned as he kicked open their bedroom door.
‘Finished wrapping all the presents, or—’
‘Shut up,’ he said gently, laying her down on the luxurious red velvet cover she’d bought in homage to their first night there. ‘And come here.’
He undressed her, slowly and reverently, and just before he entered her Hollie almost told him. But passion was a strange and beautiful thing. It stopped you having coherent thoughts. It blotted out the world so that all you could see and feel was that person in your arms, and all you could hear were soft moans which gradually became more frantic. And then it was happening, just as it always happened, and she was pulsing around him and his powerful body tensed for one exquisite moment before, finally, he collapsed into her arms.