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nodded.

      ‘You’ve got everything you need? Toothbrush? Toiletries?’

      ‘Yes, thanks. Everything for the guest who forgot to pack her toilet bag,’ she assured him. ‘Even a bathrobe. I’ll replace the toothbrush.’

      ‘No need.’

      ‘I’d have to buy one, anyway.’

      ‘You’ll need more than a toothbrush. You’ll need some clothes.’ And, before she could object, ‘A change of underwear, at least.’

      ‘You have a washing machine, I imagine?’

      ‘There was one included in the specification,’ he admitted. ‘Along with every other modern convenience known to man.’

      ‘Specified by your cousin. The man with the Gothic taste.’

      ‘Gothic?’

      ‘How else would you describe that room upstairs? It’s pure Addams family. All it needs is a belfry for the bats.’

      ‘It would spoil the lines. And let in the rain.’

      ‘Heaven forbid.’

      He saw the question in her eyes, then the uncharacteristic hesitation as she decided against it.

      ‘Actually, it’s all black and white, glass and brushed stainless steel in the store, too, isn’t it?’ she said, changing tack. ‘I hadn’t realised before, but of course down there it’s a frame for all that colour. It works.’

      ‘Thanks for that. I think,’ he said, but it gave him an opportunity to revisit the subject of clothes. ‘Actually, I was wondering, in the interests of aesthetics, if I could encourage you to change into something a little less…green.’

      ‘In the interests of aesthetics?’ Her exquisitely threaded eyebrows rose in a pair of questioning little arches. ‘Is that an architectural get-out-of-your-kit line, Nathaniel Hart?’

      ‘I wasn’t suggesting you stripped off here and now.’ Although the idea had considerable appeal.

      ‘Are you sure? It sounded rather like it.’

      He managed a shrug. ‘I was merely pointing out that they’re working clothes. If you’re planning to keep up the act, continue to hide out in the grotto, you’re going to need them fresh and clean in the morning. House rule,’ he said.

      ‘Is that right?’ For a moment he thought she was truly offended. Then she grinned. ‘Well, snap, Mr Pinstriped Suit. Off with your jacket. Off with your tie and cufflinks!’

      Grinning back, he said, ‘I’ll change if you will. Let’s go shopping.’

      She was still smiling, but she was shaking her head. ‘Until I get a proper job, I won’t have any money. And I can’t take anything from you, Nathaniel.’

      Why not? Presumably, she’d allowed Henshawe to dress her. Which answered that question. But didn’t help with the problem.

      ‘Be reasonable, Lucy. You can’t live in that.’

      ‘It will be a challenge,’ she admitted, but there was a steely glint in those green eyes now, and he battled down the frustration of having an entire store full of clothes he would happily give her, aware that this wasn’t about him. This was about her. Her need to re-establish her self-esteem. Recover what had been stolen from her.

      ‘You’ve got a proper job,’ he reminded her, ‘at least until Christmas. I’ll sub you until the end of the week.’

      ‘You’re really going to let me work here?’

      ‘Why not? You seem to have nothing better to do and an elf with a close personal relationship with Rudolph is a real find. Besides,’ he pointed out, ‘you owe Pam.’ It wasn’t playing fair, but he was prepared to use every trick in the book to keep her safe. Keep her close.

      ‘Pam might have other ideas if she knew the truth,’ she reminded him as she opened a carton of milk, poured a little into each mug. ‘What is the going rate for an elf?’

      He told her.

      ‘Sorry…’ she was going to turn him down? ‘…that’s actually not bad, but even so I wouldn’t be able to afford your prices.’

      ‘There’s a generous staff discount,’ he said.

      ‘For temps?’

      ‘I’m a temp, too.’ Long-term, until death us do part…

      ‘Are you?’ For a moment it was all there in her eyes. The questions that were piling up, but when he didn’t answer all she said was, ‘I bet you’re on a better hourly rate than me.’

      She handed him one of the mugs and turned to lean back against the counter to sip at her tea. He could feel the warmth of her body and he wished he’d taken her advice, taken off his jacket so that there was only his shirt sleeve between them.

      ‘I wonder what happened to the real elf?’ she said after a moment. ‘The one from Garlands.’

      ‘Maybe, given time to think about it, she didn’t want to spend December in a windowless basement,’ he said, sipping at his own tea and deciding there were more interesting ways of heating up his, her lips. How close had they been to a kiss on the stairs? An inch, two?

      ‘Maybe. Or maybe, when it started to snow, she decided she’d rather go home and make a snowman.’

      ‘Is that what you’d have done, Lucy?’

      ‘Me? Fat chance. Every minute of every day is fully booked. Or it was. This afternoon I had a meeting with a wedding designer to explore ideas for my fantasy wedding.’

      ‘It may still happen,’ he said, glancing down at her, the words like ashes in his mouth.

      ‘Nope. The word “fantasy” is the clue. It means illusory. A supposition resting on no solid ground.’

      He wanted to tell her that he was sorry. But it would be a lie and actually she didn’t look that upset. The brightness in her green eyes was not a tear but a flash of anger.

      ‘So what should you be doing this evening? If you weren’t here, tearing my life’s work to shreds.’

      ‘Now?’ She pulled a face. ‘I should be gussied up in full princess mode for a gala dinner at the Ritz, to celebrate the unveiling today of Lucy B.’

      ‘With you as the star? Well, obviously, that would have been no fun,’ he teased.

      ‘Not nearly as much as you’d think. Speeches, smug PR men and endless photographs,’ she said. ‘Being an elf beats it into a cocked hat.’

      ‘So you’re saying that your day hasn’t been a total write-off?’

      ‘No,’ she said, looking right at him. ‘Hand on my heart, I’d have to say that my day hasn’t been a total write-off.’

      Any other woman and he’d have said she was putting a brave face on it, but something in her expression suggested that she was in earnest.

      ‘Shame about the snowman, though,’ she said, turning away as if afraid she’d revealed more of herself than she’d intended. She abandoned her mug. ‘It doesn’t often snow in London, not like this. I hope the missing elf did seize the day and go out to play.’

      ‘It’s not too late.’

      ‘Too late for what?’

      ‘To go out to play.’ And where the hell had that come from? ‘Build a snowman of your own.’

      ‘Nathaniel!’ she protested, but she was laughing and her eyes, which he’d seen filled with fear, mistrust, uncertainty, were now looking out at the falling snow with a childlike yearning and, crazy as it was, he knew he’d said the right thing. And, as if to prove it, she put a hand behind her head, a

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