WARM WINTER KISSES a feel good Christmas romance novel (4 page)

I sat down on the bed, sinking into the deep yielding mattress and picked up the books from the cabinet. A biography of the painter, David Hockney, a book on nineteenth-century Italian poets and one on freshwater fishing. I knew Rocco enjoyed his country pursuits, but art and poetry? Obviously he was a man of hidden depths.

I’d slipped off my pumps and tucked my feet beneath me on the bed, nestling into the pillows. I don’t know how long I sat there, idly flicking through the books, enjoying the last of the daylight filtering through the shutters, but it must have been some time. It only occurred to me when I was startled by a movement in the doorway.

I looked up and gasped, dropping the book that had been resting on my lap. Standing on the threshold, his legs wide, hands on hips, was Rocco. His picture on the wall was the epitome of serenity, compared to the terrifying image of him in the flesh, confronting me now.

‘What the hell are you doing?’

‘Oh God, sorry . . . ’ I began, attempting to get up, and then I was knocked back on to the pillows by the force of a wild, brown creature that came tearing through the door and launched itself at me full pelt. ‘Aaargh! Help!’ I cried, trying to see past the brown ball of fur on top of me.

The animal, wagging its tail furiously, placed its fat paws on each of my shoulders and whimpered pathetically as its tongue did a good job of wiping my face clean. The dog’s chocolate brown eyes were a good deal more welcoming than those of its owner.

‘Did you find what you were looking for?’ Rocco’s gruff voice challenged me.

‘Look can you just get this thing off me?’ I was struggling to breathe under the furry mass. ‘Please.’

‘MILLIE!’ bellowed Rocco, and both the dog and I jumped out of our skins. Immediately the dog slunk down onto the floor, although the ferocious wagging of its tail continued unabated.

This wasn’t good. I was beginning to make a habit of finding myself in undignified positions in front of my new boss. I’d have to work a little harder on perfecting my professional persona.

‘I’m extremely sorry, Rocco, I shouldn’t have come in here. It was just . . . ’

‘Too damn right, you shouldn’t. Let’s get one thing straight. You’re here to do a job. Nowhere can I remember saying that the job entitled you to go snooping around in my bedroom.’ His eyes glowered. ‘Do not abuse my trust in you. Do you understand?’

I lowered my eyes, nodding sheepishly.

‘I’m sorry. I wasn’t snooping. I . . . ’

‘Forget it.’ He held up his hand to stop me. ‘Now just get out, will you. I need to shower and we’ve got an early start in the morning.’

I tiptoed past him, my shoes in my hand, trying desperately not to trip over that damn dog who was dancing around my feet.

‘Beth!’ I stopped in my tracks. ‘Next time you come into my bedroom, make sure it’s by invitation only.’

I swung round to look at him and my breath caught in my throat. He wasn’t smiling, at least not with his mouth, but in his eyes there was a definite flicker of mischief.

I nodded, smiling, and went back to my room, feeling strangely elated.

Later, with my head on my pillow, I replayed Rocco’s words, “
Beth . . . invitation . . . my bedroom . . .
”
and willed myself to fall into a deep, delicious dream.

Chapter 5

As a city girl, I made two surprising discoveries about the country that night. The first was the absolute quiet. And I mean absolute. I strained my ears to hear any signs of life inside the house or out, but the only sound was the throbbing of my heartbeat, turned on to loudspeaker. It seemed that not only had Rocco and Millie retired for the evening, but the wildlife outside had snuggled deep within their duvets too.

In London I’d been used to the continual drone of cars and lorries rumbling past the window, car doors slamming, kids chattering on their way to and from school, late night revellers laughing on their way home from the pub. There was none of that here, only a stillness that I’d never encountered before.

Along with the unfamiliar stillness was the complete darkness of the night. Had some heavenly being turned off all the lights, switched off the stars and dimmed the moon? Peeking over the top of the duvet I couldn’t see a thing, not a single chink of light seeping its way through the thick damask curtains. Best not to look, I reckoned, and so I pulled the duvet further over my head where I fell asleep for what seemed the best part of five minutes, before something, a very definite noise, roused me.

The one good thing about living in a fuel-choked, people-congested suburb of the city, in a cramped and dingy flat, is that if you are visited in the middle of the night by a burglar or an axe-wielding murderer, then you have a number of options open to you. You can fling open the windows and scream for help, you can dash along to Bob Williams who lives in the flat upstairs, and who I’ve always thought looks as though he can handle himself, or you can phone the police who, as they are literally a hundred metres down the road, would respond very quickly in their patrol car. Or I like to think they would.

In the depths of the countryside you have to be a little more resourceful.

The noises now reverberating through the house had startled me. More than a little. In the pitch dark, for a moment I thought I was back at home and I reached out for Martin’s familiar shape, knowing what an absolute boon he was in an emergency. With a jolt I quickly realised I wasn’t at home and Martin was now consigned to history. My heart sank; I still hadn’t got used to that idea. My mind went into overdrive, replaying in vivid detail the events of the last few days and, in particular, those last few hours before I’d fallen asleep. Meeting Sylvia, exploring the lovely house, the wild creature attacking me, and Rocco, looking vitriolic, observing me from the doorway. Oh, the embarrassment!

Still, I couldn’t worry about that now. Something was going on downstairs. From the racket they were making, cupboard doors being flung open and shut, I thought they must have been ransacking the place. Where was Rocco, I wondered, and Millie? Why wasn’t she barking?

Although I felt like disappearing back down under the duvet, I knew I had to do something. I mean, if I did manage to single-handedly apprehend the gang downstairs, then Rocco would have no choice but to reassess his opinion of me. I might have wanted to ignore the whole thing, but you’d have needed a tin helmet and earmuffs to miss that kind of commotion. I did what any other self-respecting girl would do. I pulled on my dressing gown and went down to introduce myself.

Tiptoeing down the stairs, a sense of ridiculousness overcame me. What on earth was I going to do? Me, in my towelling robe and ballet pumps, was hardly the best deterrent to anyone intent on robbing the place or, worse still, savagely attacking the house’s occupants.

I gulped, as fear ran down my backbone. And where was that stupid bloody dog when you needed it? Edging my way to the bottom of the stairs, my heart pounding in my chest, I peered round the corner into the corridor that led to the kitchen.

Nothing.

Only a lot of huffing, puffing and sighing coming from the kitchen. Curiously, I made my way to the door, eager now to find out exactly what was going on.

‘Oh, thank goodness,’ I sighed, relief flooding through my veins, at the sight of Rocco, fully dressed, and holding a large basket in his hands. ‘I thought we had burglars.’

‘Burglars?’ He looked at me as though I’d just walked off a spaceship.

‘Never mind.’ I gestured towards the wicker basket. ‘What are you doing exactly?’

‘I’m off mushroom picking. Best time of day for it. You coming?’

He pulled on a wax jacket and eased his feet into a pair of Hunter boots. He looked all earthy and wholesome, like a Greek God. Mmm, I sighed inwardly, as Apollo the Greek God of Hunting, Farming, Mushroom Picking and Wellie-wearing made for the door with Millie skipping happily around his feet.

It was clear I was working for a madman. It was the middle of the night, for goodness sake. Through the windows I could see it was still dark out there. What was the time, anyway? In the pitch black I hadn’t been able to make it out upstairs. Now, glancing at the pine wall clock I saw it was 5.30 a.m. My God, had I really slept that long? It felt like one o’clock in the morning. Still, at least I’d be able to get another couple of hours in before breakfast. The thought of that big comfy bed and the lovely fluffy goose down duvet waiting upstairs for me was heavenly.

Rocco coughed and raised his eyebrows. He was clearly waiting for an answer. From the look on his face, I had a feeling there was probably only one correct answer.

‘Great,’ I said cheerily, as if I loved nothing more than being up and out at the crack of dawn. ‘I’ll have a quick shower and then I’ll be with you.’

‘There’s no time for that. Throw this on,’ he said, chucking a coat into my arms. ‘There’s loads of wellies down here. You should find a pair to fit.’

So that’s how I came to be tramping out into the countryside at some unearthly hour with a mad dog and a top chef and a wicker basket, and me in my jimjams with a coat, three sizes too big, thrown over the top.

Had I known, I would have planned my wardrobe a little better. To say I wasn’t looking my best was probably an understatement. Some hip-hugging jeans, a cashmere sweater and some sexy riding boots would have gone a lot further towards creating the image I was hoping to project, rather than the sleep-deprived bag lady meets farmer Giles look I’d managed. Anyway, it was perfectly clear that there was no one to impress, as Rocco’s mind was clearly on more earthy matters.

‘So, what do you know about mushrooms, Beth?’ he asked as he strode off down the path of his back garden to reach a stile that led into the field behind. He had long legs and covered a great distance in a short time. I had to make little galloping movements to keep up with him.

Surprisingly, it felt good to be outside. There was a fine mist hovering over the ground and the promise of a bright, clear autumn day hung in the air. The sharpness stung my cheeks causing my skin to go all tingly, but that may have had something to do with being in such close proximity to Rocco.

Now, back to the matter in hand. What did I know about mushrooms? That they came in little blue plastic trays and you could pick them up at the supermarket.

‘Well, I know they come in different varieties like flat and button,’ I ventured.

Good answer, I thought with only a touch of smugness, but Rocco’s withering sidelong glance and shake of the head told me that perhaps it wasn’t.

‘Right. I can see I’ve got my work cut out with you. We’re going over there,’ he said, pointing to a wooded area at the end of the field. ‘Come on; let’s see what we can find.’

Millie knew the way. She’d obviously done this jaunt a hundred times before. Her inquisitive nose tracked the ground and her tail swayed happily in the air.

By the time we’d reached the woods daylight had broken through. Crunching our way through the leaves, it felt strangely exhilarating to be the only people creeping about among the trees, searching for what seemed to be hidden treasures. The colours on the forest floor were breathtaking: burnt amber, deep chestnut, honey gold. The only time I’d seen anything similar had been on a hair dye colour chart, but even those couldn’t match the vibrancy of the hues in front of us today. The smell of leaf mould rising from the warm, damp floor added to the delicious autumnal feel.

‘Look at this.’ Rocco was crouched down on the floor, cupping some mushrooms as if they were delicate orchids. ‘Aren’t they beautiful? Penny Buns.’

Good grief, what was he going on about now? Buns? I hadn’t even realised he’d noticed mine.

‘Uh?’ I bent down to join him.

‘Penny Buns. That’s what they’re called.’ He smiled for the first time that morning. ‘Charming name, though more commonly known a
s
Porcin
i
.’

Ah, at least I’d heard of those.

‘They’re this lovely reddish-brown colour and have a classic toadstool shape. You have to be careful, some of the larger ones can have maggots in them, but these smaller ones,’ he said, holding up a perfect specimen, ‘these are what we’re looking for.’

‘But aren’t some mushrooms poisonous, fatal even?’

‘Well, you have to know what you’re doing. I’m not suggesting Joe Bloggs goes out and starts picking the first mushrooms he comes across, but if you’re experienced and are able to identify a poisonous mushroom, then you’ll know what to avoid. I learnt from my grandfather. He used to take me out when I was a small lad. Taught me everything he knew.’ There was a wistful look in his eye as he pulled himself up to his full towering height. ‘Just the yeasty smell of one of these beauties is enough to remind me of those days.’

‘Is that where you got your love of food, from your grandfather?’

‘Well, my love of the outdoors certainly came from him. He used to take me fishing, shooting, picking mushrooms and so I suppose the food was a natural follow-on to that. It’s the only thing I’ve ever been good at. I wasn’t academic, but I always felt at home in a kitchen.’

He paused for a moment, looking into my eyes as if contemplating whether to say more.

‘My mum wasn’t around much. She left when I was six. I suppose I’ve been trying to recreate that sense of family ever since, and the only way I’ve known how to do that is through food.’

I nodded, thinking how awful it must have been to grow up without a mum. My mum and dad had abandoned me for some fanciful foreign adventure at the age of twenty-eight and that felt bad enough. To be abandoned as a child must be awful. Was that why Rocco was so driven and ambitious? To prove something to the mother who had left him?

‘Why did she leave?’ I immediately regretted the question as I recognised the flicker of pain in his eyes.

He shrugged, his feet kicking aimlessly at the mat of leaves at his feet.

‘She found someone else. Fell in love and within weeks she’d walked out on me and Dad.’

‘No! And left you behind? I can maybe understand someone walking out on their partner, but not a child.’

‘Exactly. She kept in touch at first. Came and saw me when she could. Even wanted me to go and live with her and her new bloke a little while after, but Dad would never have allowed that and besides, by then my loyalty was to him.’

‘Of course.’ I crouched down beside him, my hands sifting through the foliage, but my attention was completely focused on what Rocco was telling me.

It felt weird being alone with him like this, seeing an honesty and vulnerability I hadn’t expected, one that was so at odds with the hard veneer of his public image.

‘Do you see your mum now?’

‘No. I haven’t seen her in years. Why would I want to? The visits stopped soon after she left. It was too painful for Dad.’ Rocco stood up, holding out his hand to help me up. From his expression, I guessed it had been pretty painful for him too. ‘She didn’t really want to know me as a kid, so why would I want her in my life now?’

It sounded harsh, but I could understand where he was coming from. I’d read somewhere that he’d lived with his father until he died when Rocco was only fourteen, so it sounded as though he didn’t have a huge family network to fall back on.

‘Come on, this isn’t getting the mushrooms picked,’ he said, killing that particular line of conversation dead. ‘We need to get this basket filled and back to the house.’

I followed in Rocco’s footsteps, watching with interest as he picked up the mushrooms, inspected them and then either placed them in the basket or discarded them, totally absorbed in what he was doing.

‘I grew up on a council estate,’ I volunteered. ‘I don’t think I even tried a mushroom until I was about fourteen and picking my own, well, I wouldn’t have known where to start.’

I thought back to my own childhood, so different to that of Rocco’s. There hadn’t been much money around and quite frankly, Mum wasn’t exactly domestic goddess material. Lexi and I had survived on a diet of ready meals from an early age, becoming intimate with the contents of the huge chest freezer that lived in the shed, along with the workings of the microwave. Mushrooms were exotic but unappetising items that came in tins swimming in brine.

Rocco smiled, giving me a sidelong glance.

‘Well, at least if I can get you to appreciate these lovely wild mushrooms and you promise never to buy a packet of those awful button mushrooms from the supermarket again, then I’ll feel as though I’ve succeeded in a small way.’

I caught him looking at me again, something indefinable upon his face, a look that made my legs go all wobbly inside my wellies.