‘IT’S THANKSGIVING NEXT WEEK, but it’s never too early for this Christmas classic,’ the announcer said with her usual over-the-top enthusiasm. ‘So, turn up the dial and enjoy some festive spirit.’
Joshua Pearson tapped his fingers on the steering wheel as the well-known notes filled his car, humming a little during the verse before segueing into singing the chorus almost on autopilot. But there was no soprano and tenor joining in from the back seat—and it was a long time since a sweet alto had harmonised from the passenger seat. His voice died away. It wasn’t the same heading to the Vermont cabin alone. But at least he wouldn’t be spending Christmas alone this year, burying himself in work, ensuring other families enjoyed their Christmases while missing his. Because, after three years apart, the Pearson family would be spending Christmas together again.
He glanced at the empty passenger seat. Almost all the Pearsons. Joshua swallowed. It had been ten years since Gabriella had died but at times the grief was so raw it felt like yesterday. Christmas was one of those times. Gabriella had loved Christmas—and she would be so happy to know that the kids were coming home this year. Kids. Marco was thirty-two and Chiara twenty-seven, but they would always be kids to him. He smiled wryly. And now he sounded like his own father.
The light was beginning to fade, the late autumnal sky low and grey, the drizzle falling on his windscreen turning heavier. It had been too long since he’d driven this route from New York to the Vermont cabin and he had never driven it alone, but if the family were to gather there for Christmas he needed to check everything was in order. No, not just in order, perfect.
As Joshua pulled off the highway onto a tree-lined lane the world changed, farmland rolling off in one direction, mountains framing the distance. How he loved it here, the small picturesque town, the beautiful river, the terrain providing hikes in the spring and summer, skiing in the winter, the perfect contrast to the never-ending bustle of New York. Joshua breathed it all in. This weekend away was a good idea. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken a break, a trip that wasn’t to one of the hotels he ran or a check on his competition. Maybe he needed to make sure he got out into nature while he was here, not spend all his time tidying.
As he steered around a sharp bend, he saw a car pulled over by the side of the road up ahead, a woman standing next to it, hands on hips. Nobody else seemed to be around and Joshua braked, pulling in behind the sleek silver vehicle. The woman looked around, her expression mingling hope and wariness. Bundled in a big white coat, she looked to be in her early to mid-forties, blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail. Joshua rolled down his window and stuck his head out.
‘Need a hand?’
She half stepped back. ‘No, thanks. I’ve called someone; they should be here any moment.’
‘Tyre?’
‘No. A light came on and...anyway, someone is coming so please don’t let me detain you.’
With a jolt Joshua realised that she was afraid. Afraid of him. But of course, it was dusk, the road was empty and they were several miles from the nearest town.
‘Look,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but would it be okay if I just waited here until someone turns up? I won’t get out my car. But if it was my wife or daughter, I’d want to know they weren’t alone.’
The woman bit her lip, clearly indecisive.
‘I’m Joshua Pearson,’ he added. ‘I’m CEO of the Grand York Hotel Group. Our flagship hotel is in Greenwich Village; I don’t know if you know it.’
She huddled a little further into her coat. ‘I know it.’
‘I’m just heading to my cabin. To get ready for Christmas.’
The glimmer of a smile appeared. ‘It’s not even Thanksgiving.’
‘I know, but we haven’t been there for some time. It’s been three years since we all spent Christmas together so I wanted to make sure everything is okay. Clean and tidy, order food and wood. That kind of thing.’
‘I see.’ She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself.
‘You should get back in your car.’
‘The engine won’t start so it’s just as cold in there. At least out here I can move around.’
‘I have a blanket in the back. Do you want it?’
The glimmer of a smile was back. ‘A blanket?’
‘And a flask of hot coffee. My wife always insisted we prepare for all weather when we drove up here. Old habits die hard. I almost packed snacks for the kids.’
‘How old are they?’
‘Now? Thirty-two and twenty-seven, but if they were here I’d have apple slices and juice just in case.’
The smile widened. ‘Thirty-two and twenty-seven?’
‘I know, I don’t look old enough. I was pretty much a child groom.’
‘Right.’
‘The blanket? I could put it on the hood and get back in the car?’ he offered.
‘You must think I’m paranoid.’
‘No, I think you’re sensible.’ Joshua opened his door and jumped out of the car, opening the back door so he could grab the emergency bag that was always within reach. Gabriella had been the impulsive one of the two of them, but she had always been insistent that they never head out in winter without blankets and food, just in case they were caught out by bad weather. As Joshua extracted the blanket and flask, he sent a quick thanks up towards the sky.
‘Here.’ He held them up. ‘Take these.’
As promised, he put the blanket and flask on the hood of his car and climbed back into the driver’s seat. Once he’d closed the door the woman stepped forward and retrieved them.
‘Thank you. I’m not used to driving alone, or even being out the city. I’ll remember this for next time.’ She looked towards her car and back at him. ‘I’m going to...’
‘Absolutely, get in the car and warm up.’
‘Thank you again. Tell your wife she is a wise woman.’
He just nodded. She turned and headed back to the car and as Joshua rolled his window back up he took in long, slim, jeans clad legs and the swish of silky blonde hair. He sat back and pulled out his phone, checking his emails, losing himself in work until, with a jolt of surprise, he saw headlights behind him and a van pulling in and remembered where he was. It was almost dark, but he could make out the name of the local garage and recognised the proprietor. Putting his phone away, he turned his own engine on and, with a wave, headed back out towards town and his cabin beyond.
Rebecca moved, trying to escape the slant of sunlight peeking through the curtains, only for the beep of her phone to pull her closer to consciousness as she tried to make out her surroundings. Of course. Despite being just five miles away from her destination, she had ended up staying in the local inn as the garage had been unable to fix her car that evening. Not that she’d seen that much of the inn; cold and tired, she’d asked for soup in her room and then tumbled into bed. She must have slept well because not only had she not woken in the night—unusual for her—but, despite the abrupt awakening, she felt more refreshed than she had for a long, long time. She fumbled for her phone, wincing at the brightness of the light, and answered it.
‘Hello?’ she half croaked.
‘Rebecca? Did I wake you?’ There was no doubting the surprise in Anita’s voice.
‘What time is it?’
‘After ten. I have never known you sleep so late.’
Truth be told, Rebecca couldn’t remember the last time she had slept so late either.
‘Must be the country air,’ she said, struggling to sit up.
Her mornings usually began at six. A yoga session followed by a smoothie then into the office at eight for an hour’s work before morning class. She still took part in the daily ballet class that had been an integral part of her life for as long as she could remember, but now she went from class back to the office, or to talk to donors or designers or conductors, to watch rehearsals or join planning meetings. But she welcomed that hour and a half when she and the dancers were still as one, muscle memory taking over, her mind focused only on the placement of her foot and arm.
‘All recovered from your adventures?’ Anita asked.
‘I don’t know, Anita. Maybe it was a sign.’ Rebecca pushed the covers back and clambered out of bed to pull open the curtains. The scene that greeted her was positively bucolic—and alien. The grounds of the inn led to a wide river, beyond which trees, all dark gold and orange as autumn faded to winter, stretched out to the distant mountains, already white topped. She was used to city streets, car horns blaring, constant chatter. The silence and beauty were disconcerting. ‘I don’t belong here. Maybe I should come back. I don’t want Ivan to think he’s won.’
There was a long silence at the end of the phone. ‘This isn’t about Ivan, or your divorce, Rebecca. It’s about you not taking a break for four years. What would you say to one of your dancers if they did that?’
Rebecca didn’t answer. She knew Anita was right. It wasn’t just the gruelling toll that her divorce had taken on her mentally, or the fact that the end of their high-profile marriage was all over the front pages that had made a few weeks away so imperative. It was the fact she had buried herself in work to escape the bitter reality of her failing marriage and hadn’t taken as much as a day off in years. But for someone who prided herself on her strength and resilience, for whom perfection was essential, not a goal, it was humiliating to be ordered to take a few weeks off, even if she knew her CEO had done so with the best of intentions.
Just as it was humiliating to have had to be rescued yesterday. She had never played the damsel in distress, not even on stage. She didn’t mean to start at the age of forty-eight.
‘Look, Rebecca. Let me handle any publicity; it’s what you pay me for.’ The briskness in Anita’s voice had been replaced by the coaxing tones which helped make her so successful as a publicist. ‘You just spend some time reading and hiking and sleeping and, before you know it, it will be late December and Trudie and I will join you for Christmas.’
‘I guess, but it still feels like running away.’
‘Just try it for a week. If the cabin feels too remote or rustic, then you can always head to Europe or the Caribbean for a few weeks...’
‘No, remote sounds good.’ Anywhere where people didn’t recognise her. And it was really kind of Anita and Trudie to offer her their beloved retreat for so long—besides, knowing her friends, their cabin was bound to be on the luxurious side of rustic. Anita was a well-known publicist and agent with plenty of A-list clients and Trudie a surgeon and both women enjoyed the finer things in life. ‘I’m looking forward to it.’
‘And it’s not that remote really,’ Anita reassured her. ‘You’re just five miles from Newington and although the cabin isn’t overlooked there are others all around the lake. It’s a pretty sociable place in summer and at weekends. The Cohens have the cabin on your right and they usually spend at least two weekends a month there. The Pearsons are on your left, but it’s been a long time since Joshua was up...’
Rebecca clutched the phone tighter. ‘Joshua Pearson? CEO of the Grand York Hotel Group?’
‘You know him?’
‘No, but he was the Good Samaritan who waited with me yesterday. In fact I still have his flask and blanket.’ It had been getting dark and she hadn’t really seen him, just the impression of broad shoulders and the memory of a warm, kind voice.
‘That means he is up. That’s interesting. First time in a long while.’
‘Maybe he’s just too busy to get away often.’
‘Maybe, but that won’t be the whole reason. Once they were up whenever they could manage and always at Christmas. But after his wife—Gabriella—died, they used the cabin less and less. He still made an effort to come up for Christmas with the kids but even that stopped eventually. But it sounds like they’re reviving the tradition. I’m pleased, they’re a nice family. Now, what are your plans for today, or what’s left of it?’
‘Get dressed, collect the car, do a food shop and settle into the cabin.’
‘Perfect. Stay away from your emails, do not Google your name. A proper digital detox, that’s what you need.’
‘I’ll try. Thanks, Anita.’
‘Any time. Anything for my best friend and first client. Take care, Bec.’
‘And you. Love to Trudie.’
Rebecca put her phone down and leaned against the pillow. So her rescuer of the night before lived just next door? That was good; she could return his items with a thank you gift. She didn’t really like being beholden to anyone. Even using Anita’s cabin for free made her uncomfortable and she had been friends with Anita since she was fourteen and the two of them had started at the prestigious New York City Ballet Academy. They had been rivals, friends and each other’s cheerleaders until Anita had realised at eighteen that her injury-prone knees would never survive a ballet career. Channelling her drive into the agency she started instead, she had represented Rebecca as her career soared. It had been a canny move for both women, Anita as focused and creative in business as she had been on stage. Thanks to her, Rebecca’s success on stage had been replicated off stage and that had always been a positive thing—until the headlines of the last few weeks. Now anonymity seemed blissful.
And that was what she was being granted. So no more prevaricating. It was time to get up and find her home for the next few weeks.
It didn’t take long for Rebecca to do the bits of shopping she needed to do and to drive the short distance to Anita’s cabin. Cabin! A humble word for the impressive architect-designed glass, stone and wood house positioned to make the most of the stunning views over the lake to the mountains beyond. Despite several invitations, Rebecca had never visited before and she explored the luxurious vacation home, feeling the tension melt away. She was going to be very comfortable here.
Downstairs was one huge space for living, dining and cooking, the space designed to showcase the gleaming designer kitchen, vast open fire and floor-to-ceiling windows. The stone floor was warmed by underfloor heating, the expensive leather sofas softened with accent cushions, the walls the same wood and stone as the exterior. Rebecca’s guest room had its own bathroom, balcony and reading nook. Exile couldn’t be more luxurious.
Once she’d unpacked, she picked up the blanket, washed flask and a box of cinnamon buns she’d bought from the local bakery and, slightly nervously, walked along the lakeside path that connected all the properties.
Joshua Pearson’s cabin shared the same spectacular views from its position thirty yards back from the lakeside but that was all the two cabins had in common. His was a much more modest affair, a painted wooden two-storey home with a deck at the back. As she neared, she saw that the paint was faded, the window frames blistering, and the roof looked like it was missing a shingle or two. A ladder was propped up to the roof and as she stepped onto the path leading up to the cabin Joshua Pearson climbed down the ladder, a tool belt around his waist. Rebecca stopped, unaccountably shy, all too aware of strong muscled legs, a very nice backside and the broad shoulders she had noted before. As he turned, she took in brown smiling eyes and slightly messy dark hair peppered with grey at the temples.
‘Hi,’ she said. ‘I hope I’m not disturbing you. I just wanted to return your things from last night.’
‘Hi there.’ He stepped off the ladder and came towards her. ‘Glad to see you safe and sound. Good detective work tracking me down.’
‘It wasn’t too hard. You gave me your name and, as it turns out, we’re neighbours. I’m staying in Anita’s house. I’m Rebecca, Rebecca Nelson.’
‘Nice to meet you again, Rebecca.’ His forehead crinkled. ‘Have we met? You look familiar.’
‘I’ve been to your hotel a few times.’
‘That might be it.’ He didn’t look convinced.
‘And you may have seen me dance,’ she added reluctantly. So much for anonymity. ‘I’m the Artistic Director of the New York City Ballet and I used to be the Principal Ballerina there.’
‘Of course, Anita has a photo of you in her hallway. And yes, I have seen you dance. A few times. My wife loved the ballet. She went all the time. To be honest, the first time I went with her I was dreading it, but I really enjoyed it. But it was her thing; I only went when invited. She was a huge fan of yours.’
Rebecca swallowed. I only went when invited. Such a simple statement but it spoke volumes. Of respect. If only Ivan had been so accommodating of personal space and preference. ‘Well, anyway, I wanted to return your blanket and flask, and I bought you some cinnamon buns from the bakery in town. Anita said they were the best she’s ever tasted.’
‘There was no need,’ he protested. ‘I was happy to help, but Anita is right, those buns are spectacular. And perfectly timed. I’ve got some coffee brewing on the stove. Have you got time for a cup?’
For the first time she could remember Rebecca had nothing but time. ‘That would be lovely.’
‘Come on in. The cabin is clean at least,’ he said ruefully. ‘I pay a company to clean the inside and do some yard work, but as you can see the rest of it is in a sorry state. My fault for neglecting it for so long.’
He nodded at an open patio door and after a moment’s hesitation Rebecca stepped inside.
Like Anita’s cabin, the ground floor was all one room, but that was where the resemblance ended. The simple kitchen with scuffed wooden cabinets took up one end, flanked by a large dining table, bench and chairs. In the middle of the room three battered leather sofas were grouped around the windows to take advantage of the view, and a wall of books covered the other end. The wooden floor looked original, complete with dents and scratches, but the colourful rugs, throws and cushions added warmth and colour, as did the pictures and photos on the walls, mantel and bookshelves.
The room felt homely and cosy. Much loved, despite—or maybe because of—the scuffs and dents and marks.
She put the box of buns and Joshua’s things on the table and took a closer look at the walls. The pictures were a mixture of local scenes and framed children’s artwork, but they were vastly outnumbered by the photographs of a laughing, affectionate family, Joshua often at the centre of the group. She recalled Joshua joking that he had been a child groom. It didn’t look like he’d been that far from the truth. The fresh-faced bride and groom in the wedding photos barely looked old enough to have graduated high school, let alone got married. She could see twenty years of marriage captured on the wall: the young couple with a tiny baby, then a toddler, then a small child and a second baby. An active family hiking, kayaking, swimming, playing ball, around a Christmas tree, identical smiles on every face—until suddenly there were just three, the smiles forced, shadows in their eyes. Gabriella Pearson had clearly left a huge hole in the heart of her family.
Rebecca had so few photos of her and Ivan: posed wedding photos, the two of them at events, but nothing so carefree or un-staged, and there were few photos from her childhood where she and her sisters looked relaxed. It would have been nice to have been part of a family like this. She bit her lip and turned away; there was no point mourning might-have-beens. She had an amazing career, had been at the top of her profession, was more than solvent. She was luckier than most.
Joshua picked up the blanket and opened a cupboard near the front door and as he did so several items fell out, including ski sticks and an oar, a coat and boots. ‘As you can see, it’s not just renovating I need to do,’ he said. ‘Truth is, the place was due a renovation and clear-out a long time ago but after Gabi... Anyway, I thought I could get it ready for Christmas in a weekend, but I vastly underestimated the work needed. I think I’m going to end up staying here from now to Christmas if I want it fit for the holidays.’
Rebecca was aware of a jolt of warmth shooting through her at the realisation Joshua might be next door throughout her stay here. It would certainly make the next few weeks less daunting having someone so capable close by. ‘Christmas is a busy time for hotels, isn’t it? And the Grand York has always had a reputation for being a real Christmas destination.’ A pang of guilt hit her. Christmas was equally important for the ballet world, and she wasn’t at the helm of her company where she belonged.
‘It is.’ He crossed over to the kitchen and opened a cupboard, taking out two plates and mugs. ‘But Marco, my son, took over as Managing Director a couple of years ago and every hotel has a very talented manager and team. I’m still CEO but, to be honest, there are times when it feels like a courtesy title.’ His smile dimmed. ‘It’s natural, I guess. The same happened to my father when I took over, and he replaced his father in turn. After thirty years of seven-day weeks and sixteen-hour days they were both happy to spend more time on the golf course, but it turns out I need more than a few board meetings to satisfy me. I know I should be glad Marco is so driven. I am glad, although it would be nice if he found time to play sometimes. Anyway, renovating this place is the kind of project I need, something physical and all mine. Come and sit down. Coffee? We may have some herbal tea, but it will be a few years old.’
Rebecca pulled out one of the old Shaker chairs. ‘Coffee will be lovely, thanks. What are you thinking of doing?’
‘At the very least new window frames, fix the roof, a lick of paint inside and out. Once we had grander plans, before Gabriella...’ There it was. The same pause. Even after so many years he clearly missed her very much. ‘I don’t need fancy windows and a hot tub. But the kitchen is falling apart and the bathrooms could do with replacing. Poor cabin, it doesn’t quite compare to Anita’s five-star luxury, does it?’
Rebecca accepted the mug filled with strong, aromatic coffee and added some milk from the jug he set in front of her. ‘Thank you. Anita’s cabin is quite something, true. But this is a home, the kind of place kids can run in straight from the lake dripping water without causing damage. That has a charm of its own that’s not to be underestimated. You wouldn’t want to lose that.’
His gaze was appraising and she felt it warm her through as he nodded in approval. ‘You’re right. I don’t want to lose the heart of this place, even if the kids are grown up. But there’s room to make it a little more sophisticated now we’re all adults, even if my skills fall short of recreating Anita’s palace.’
‘This has got lovely bones,’ Rebecca said, looking around and appraising, seeing the room as a stage and imagining the choreography of people moving within it. ‘I don’t think you need to do very much inside. You could probably refresh the kitchen by sanding and revarnishing the cabinets and adding new worktops and appliances. Same in here. New sofas and rugs and fresh paint would make a world of difference. Roofs and windows are beyond my expertise though!’
‘The actual DIY doesn’t bother me.’ He took a seat opposite, long legs sprawled out, strong forearms leaning on the table. He pushed the box of buns towards her. ‘Here, help me out. Gabriella and I did this place up from scratch. My uncle left it to me. I thought we should sell it, goodness knows we needed the money with a baby, me in college and Gabi at night school, but she wanted to keep it, to do it up, to have a place where we could let the kids be wild and free in a way city kids can’t be.’ His laugh was low and reminiscent. ‘Neither of us knew what we were doing; it was very trial and error. The first few months we had to camp outside while we gutted it, then we camped inside for longer than I care to remember. Marco was five and Chiara a baby by the time we made it habitable. The sofas, this table, all second-hand, the bathrooms from end of line sales. But along the way I became a decent plumber, joiner and electrician. One thing I don’t have though is an eye. We painted it white because that was the cheapest option, but Gabriella loved to bring in swatches and imagine how she might redecorate when she had the time. I have to admit, the thought of that gives me nightmares. I may need to just give it a fresh coat of white.’
Rebecca took another sip of her coffee, her mind racing. She didn’t want to intrude, but he clearly needed help—and she had the time. ‘Look, I’m no expert but I think I have a decent eye, a lifetime of costumes and backdrops has seen to that, and I am a pretty dab hand with a paintbrush. I’m here until Christmas myself with no plans, so if you need a hand—or someone to consult on colour—just ask.’
‘You’re here till Christmas?’
‘Long story,’ she said briefly, looking down to escape his keen gaze. To her surprise, her plate was empty, with just a few crumbs left on it. She barely remembered taking the bun, let alone eating it. ‘I better go and get settled in. But it’s a genuine offer. If you want any help, just ask.’
‘I will. Thanks for the treats. See you around, neighbour.’
Rebecca said her own goodbyes and as she left the cabin was aware of a spring in her step. It was good to know she had a friendly face so close, and even better to have the possibility of something to do rather than sit and dwell on the failure of her marriage. Her pleasure in the realisation had nothing to do with a pair of twinkling brown eyes and fine shoulders. After the failure of her marriage, the last thing she wanted to do was dip back into the dating pool. But friendly neighbours? Well, that sounded about perfect.
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