Reawakened By His Christmas Kiss - Jessica Gilmore

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owner is opening up the whole estate as an outdoor activity and nature destination. You know the kind of thing: adventure playgrounds and forest trails, all in line with the whole Hawk brand. They’re running the business out of converted barns, or stables, or something suitably rustic. They’re officially opening at the end of the week, with a ton of Christmas-themed events. Apparently the house and grounds were all neglected and it’s the kind of area where jobs are sparse, house prices sky-high and lots of incomers are buying second homes, so there’s a whole rejuvenating-the-village and local-jobs-for-local-people thing going on as well.’

      ‘Very worthy,’ Alex said drily. ‘But any Communications and PR plan for all that will have been agreed months ago. What do they need me for?’

      ‘To look after things while the PR manager is on bed-rest.’

      Alex shifted, staring out of the window at the pinkening sky. ‘Amber, that’s not a difficult job. Any of our temps could take a plan and implement it. They don’t need me for anything so simple. It’s not like I’m cheap.’

      ‘They were adamant they wanted you. It’s a big deal, Alex. Opening up the house after all this time is a huge undertaking, and it’s very different to anything they’ve done before. They see the estate as the embodiment of their brand. They’re really big on sustainability and corporate responsibility, which fits in with the job creation and community stuff. They need a safe pair of hands to make sure it’s properly publicised. Besides, they hinted that there might be bigger work coming our way if they were happy. Maybe this is some kind of test.’

      ‘Maybe...’ But Alex had entered PR for a reason. She knew when someone was spinning a story and this situation just didn’t ring true. ‘Send me the brief, will you?’

      ‘I don’t have it. They wanted to talk you through it all in person. But, honestly, they are opening with a whole Christmassy bang. You’ll be kept suitably busy, I promise.’

      All Alex’s senses tingled. As soon as she finished the call she planned to find out every last bit of knowledge she could about Hawk and its owner. If it was in the public domain—or semi-public—then she would find it. Maybe she was wrong, and this situation was all absolutely legitimate, but she needed to be prepared for any and every eventuality.

      ‘Alex, before you go... Dalstone sent over their press release for you to work your magic on and they want it back before nine this morning. Can you take a look now?’

      ‘Of course. I’ll send it right back. Is everything else okay?’

      ‘All’s good. Harriet’s working from home today. Deangelo just got back from an oversea trip so she wants to see him. Emilia’s event went really well, but she didn’t get in until after two so I think she’ll be sleeping in.’

      Amber sounded wistful. She thrived on the company of others and was happiest when they were all together. It didn’t help that Christmas was so close. For the last few years the four of them had spent Christmas together, but this year Deangelo was taking Harriet back to his native Rio De Janeiro for the holiday, and Emilia would be spending two weeks in Armaria. All three of them expected their friend to come back sporting an engagement ring.

      ‘I was thinking,’ Alex said with an impulsiveness that surprised her. ‘You and I should do something this Christmas. Skiing, maybe? Or we could have a city break somewhere wintry, like Vienna?’

      ‘Really?’

      ‘Absolutely. Why don’t you look into it? After all the hard work we’ve had over the last few months we deserve a short break.’

      ‘It will have to be short,’ Amber reminded her. ‘Your contract with Hawk lasts until Christmas Eve, and we have the Van Daemon New Year’s Eve charity ball, but we could do three days in between without any problems.’

      ‘Three days sounds perfect. Okay, I’ll get the press release straight back. Speak later.’

      ‘Give me a call when you’re fully briefed and settled in. I’m sorry you had to head out on another job without coming home first.’

      ‘It’s fine. It’s what we’re here to do. It’s a good sign, Amber. A sign we’re where we want to be.’

      Alex finished the call and opened her laptop, connecting it to her phone’s data so she could access the press release Amber had mentioned. And then, she reminded herself, it would be time to investigate her new employers and check just why her every hackle was up and sensing danger.

      But the press release needed far more work than she had anticipated, and between the pull of her work and the lull induced by the car’s steady process she soon got lost in it, any thought of research flying out of her head.

      She didn’t notice the car turn off the motorway long before Swindon, and nor was she aware as they drove through a succession of idyllic villages, more like a film set than real places, with a succession of village greens, quirky pubs and thatched cottages.

      It wasn’t until the car slowed and turned in at a pair of elaborate gates that she realised she’d arrived at her destination.

      ‘Already?’ she muttered, glancing at the time on her laptop.

      Only an hour had passed. There was no way they had made it to Swindon in that time. Which meant they were somewhere else entirely; somewhere an hour west of London. Inhaling slowly, Alex looked up. There was no need to worry. She was in control; she was always in control.

      Repeating the mantra, she looked straight ahead at the gates, taking in every detail of the ornate gilt-covered iron, the curlicues and symbols, time stilling as she noted every familiar detail. Her breath caught painfully in her throat, and her mouth was dry as the old, unwelcome panic, banished for a decade, thundered through her.

      She hadn’t just arrived. She’d returned. She was at Blakeley. Ten years after swearing never to set foot here again. Ten years after renouncing her way of life and starting anew.

      Calm deserted her. She couldn’t do this. Wouldn’t. The car would have to turn around and take her straight back to London.

      Hands shaking, she began to bundle her phone back into her bag, snapping her laptop shut. But she couldn’t find the words to tell the driver to stop. Her chest was too tight, her throat swollen with fear and long-buried memories.

      And still the car purred inexorably on. Every curve of the drive, every tree and view was familiar. More. It was part of her soul. Alex sat transfixed, fear giving way to nostalgic wonder, and for a moment she saw the ghost of a fearless long-limbed girl flitting through the trees.

      But that girl was long gone. Lady Lola Beaumont had disappeared the day the Beaumonts’ fortunes had crashed and in her place Alexandra Davenport had appeared. Any resemblance was purely superficial.

      Besides, who would recognise flamboyant Lola in demure Alex? Alexandra didn’t party or flirt, she didn’t dance through life expecting favours to be bestowed upon her, and she didn’t try to shock or crave publicity. She worked hard; she lived a quiet existence. Her clothes were fashionable and stylish, yes, but on the sensible side. Her hair was coiled neatly, her jewellery discreet. And it was Alexandra Davenport who had been employed to do a job. The fact that the job was at her old family home must be one awful coincidence.

      It had to be. After all, no one knew who she once had been. Not even her best friends.

      Alex sat frozen, still undecided. Turning tail and running wasn’t her style, but she had stayed clear of this entire region for a reason. She might not feel like Lola any longer, might not act like her, but what if someone recognised her?

      Her hands folded into fists. She managed the story; she was no longer the story herself. She’d left her tabloid headline existence in the past, where it belonged, but she knew her reappearance at her childhood home would create nothing but speculation and the kind of publicity she’d spent a decade avoiding.

      If she turned around now she wouldn’t be running away, she’d be making a prudent retreat.

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