Mistletoe and the Lost Stiletto

CHAPTER THREE

‘DIDN’T Garlands explain?’ Pam asked.

‘It was a bad connection…’ so bad it was non-existent ‘…I must have missed that bit. But I have been CRB checked,’ she said. ‘I worked in a day-care nursery before… Well, until recently.’

Oh, boy, Lucy Bright. The ability to look someone in the eye and tell a big fat lie had to be catching. His Frogginess would be proud of her.

Not that she’d lied about having a CRB Certificate. It wasn’t under the name Louise Braithwaite, of course, but it was the real deal. She’d had to have one for the day job at the nursery while she’d been studying at night school. She’d worked as a waitress in the local pizza parlour on her free evenings and at the weekends to earn the money to pay for her course.

Much good it had done her.

She’d applied for hundreds of jobs before she’d got an interview for a clerical assistant post at the Henshawe Corporation. The fact that there had been an interview panel for such a junior position had thrown her, but it had been very informal. They’d been incredibly impressed at how hard she’d worked and encouraged her to talk about her ambitions.

She still remembered the stunned silence when she’d finished telling them passionately that she wanted to prove herself. Make something of herself, be someone. And then they’d applauded her.

When, the following day, they had called her to offer her a job, she’d thought herself the luckiest woman in the world.

‘I realise that Garlands know what they’re doing, but I still have to ask,’ Pam muttered. ‘It’s been so difficult since the new laws about working with children were introduced. We normally get in drama students at Christmas but not too many of them have had the foresight to get a CRBC. I don’t suppose they see themselves doing a Christmas gig as one of Santa’s Little Helpers when they get a place at RADA. That’s why I called Garlands.’

‘They supply elves?’ she asked, which got her an odd look.

‘They place temporary nannies.’

‘Just kidding.’ Whew…

Pam stared down at her feet. ‘What happened to your shoes?’

‘I broke a heel in a grating.’ The truth, the whole truth and almost nothing but the truth…

‘Oh, bad luck.’ They shared a moment of silent mourning, then, pressing on, ‘You’re a bit buxom for an elf,’ she said, looking at her doubtfully, ‘but beggars can’t be choosers. There should be something that fits.’ She held one of the tunics up against her, then thrust it at her, piling the rest of the costume on top. ‘You’ve got small feet. These should do.’ She put a pair of soft felt bootees on top of the pile and then took a small plastic pouch out of a box and added that to the pile. ‘The elf make-up pack. Rouge for your cheeks, a pencil for freckles-you’ll find a picture of what’s required inside. And there’s a pad to remove your nail polish. You can change down here,’ she said, leading the way down a short flight of steps. ‘Find a spare locker for your clothes and be as quick as you can.’

She opened a door and Lucy found herself confronted on one side by a vast locker room that seemed to stretch to infinity and on the other by a room providing not only loos and basins, but showers, too.

She quickly crammed her coat and bag into an empty locker, stripped off her dress, tossed the shredded tights in a bin. There was no time for a shower so she dunked her feet, one at a time, in a basin of warm water to wash off the street dirt, half expecting Pam to burst in with the real elf at any minute.

She didn’t but, until she did, she was grateful for being in the warm and, more importantly, in a very neat disguise.

She dabbed circles of rouge on her cheeks, scattered a few freckles across her nose, then a few more, before removing the nail polish that had been applied at great expense just hours ago. A shame, but clearly elves didn’t have bright red nails.

Finally, she donned the costume, tucking her hair out of sight under the pointy felt hat and regarded herself in a handily placed mirror.

It wasn’t a good look.

The green and white striped tights made her legs look fat and the tunic was doing her bum no favours. Right now, she didn’t care.

Diary update: The day has gone from bad to surreal. I’ve been mistaken for an elf. Not an entirely bad thing since I’m off the streets and I’ve been supplied, free of charge, with a neat disguise. It’s just temporary, of course, like the new name. What I’m going to do when Hastings & Hart closes at eight o’clock is my next problem. But with luck I’ve got three hours breathing space to work on a plan, always assuming the real elf doesn’t turn up in the meantime.

Three hours to get my breath back after a very close encounter with Mr Tall, Dark and Dangerous.

Lucy ran her tongue over her lips to cool them, then shook her head and stuffed her phone and her locker key into the little leather pouch on her belt before presenting herself for inspection.

Pam sighed, adjusted the hat so that a little more of her hair showed. ‘You’ve been a little heavy-handed with the freckles.’ Then, frowning, ‘Is that a bruise?’

‘It’s nothing,’ she said. ‘Someone caught me with a bag,’ she said.

‘The Underground just gets worse… Never mind.’ She took a small camera from her pocket. ‘I’ll just take a picture for your ID. Say cheese…’

‘Cheese.’

‘Great. I’ll log you into the system later. Sort you out a swipe card.’

‘Swipe card?’

‘It’s how we keep track of staff. How we know who is working, how long they’ve worked and that they’ve left the premises at the end of the day. You’ll need it to get out and, hopefully, get in again tomorrow.’

‘Oh, right. Absolutely.’

‘Come on. I’ll take you to meet Frank Alyson, Deputy Manager of the toy department and Chief Elf, and then you can get started.’

She passed her over to a tall lugubrious man wearing a long green tunic. She sort of sympathised with him. It couldn’t be much fun being a middle-aged man with his dignity in shreds, but walking around Santa’s grotto in a suit and tie would undoubtedly compromise the illusion.

‘Louise Braithwaite,’ Pam said, her voice fading to nothing as she introduced her. She cleared her throat, gathered herself. ‘Be nice to this one. Elves don’t grow on trees, you know.’

‘Don’t they? You surprise me. Most of them appear to have sawdust for brains.’ He gave her a look that suggested he had no hopes that she had anything but wood pulp between the ears before turning back to Pam. ‘You look ghastly. Go home. You’ll be no use to anyone if you’re ill.’

‘And ho, ho, ho to you, too,’ she said as she walked away.

‘You could have handled that better,’ Lucy said without thinking. She was good at that. Saying the first thing that came into her head. According to her file-the one she wasn’t supposed to ever see-it had been her most usable asset. That and her passion. People would, apparently, “…instantly warm to her enthusiasm, her natural openness and lack of guile…”

They’d nailed that one.

It was saying the first thing that came into her head without thinking that had got her into this mess in the first place and now Frank was staring at her, clearly unused to criticism. Or maybe he was wondering where he’d seen her before.

‘So, what happened to the last elf?’ she said to distract him.

‘She asked too many questions and I fed her to a troll,’ he replied.

Sheesh…

‘Anything else you’d like to know?’

She pressed her lips together and shook her head.

‘Fast learner,’ he replied with satisfaction. ‘Keep it up and we’ll get on.’

‘Great.’ She couldn’t wait.

‘So, Louise Braithwaite, what can you do?’ Do?

Wasn’t standing about in a pointy hat and stripy tights enough?

Obviously not. Through a small window in his office, she could see an army of elves busily ‘constructing’ toys in Santa’s workshop. They were dressing teddies and dolls, test-driving remote-controlled cars and encouraging children to join in and help them while they waited their turn to see Santa.

Otherwise known, if you happened to have a cynical turn of mind-and she’d just had a crash course in cynicism from a world master-as try-before-you-buy.

‘Have you any experience?’

‘Of being an elf?’ Was he kidding? ‘No,’ she admitted quickly, ‘but I am used to working with children. They tend to throw up when they get over-excited. Just tell me where the bucket and mop are kept and I’ll cope.’

That earned her something that might have been a smile. ‘Well, I have to admit that you’re less of a fool than the last girl Pam brought me. She couldn’t see past her mascara.’

Lucy resisted the urge to bat her expensively dyed eyelashes at him, but it was harder to keep the smile from breaking out. And why not? She was safe.

Without a pre-booked ticket, no one, not even Rupert’s bodyguards, would be able to get beyond the entrance. More to the point, they’d realise that she couldn’t either and wouldn’t even bother. For the moment, at least, she could relax.

And what about grey eyes?

The thought popped, unbidden, into her head. The thought of those eyes, a mouth that gave her goosebumps just thinking about it.

For heaven’s sake, Lu…Louise Braithwaite, get a grip!

What would a man on his own be doing in Santa’s grotto? And why would she care? He was the last person on earth she wanted to see.

Not that he’d recognize her dressed like this.

Even if, beneath the rouge and abundant freckles, someone spotted a passing resemblance to the face that had been on the front cover of Celebrity magazine a dozen or more times in the last few months, they would dismiss it. Why, after all, would Lucy B, aka Cinderella, be working as an elf in a department store?

‘You can start by tidying up, straightening shelves while you find your way around. When you’ve done that you can take the empty space on the bench, dressing dolls and teddies. You’ll have to fit in a break with the rest of the staff.’

‘Right. Thanks.’

She stood in the doorway for a moment, taking a look around, familiarising herself with the layout before launching herself into the mix of elves, children and parents.

This was all new to her. Shunted around the care system all her life, she’d never been taken to see ‘Santa’ when she was a child. Even if she had got lucky, it would never have been like this.

The grotto had been designed to give children the illusion that they were in Santa’s North Pole workshop and there was a touch of magic about it that only a high-end designer-and a great deal of money-could have achieved. She didn’t know about the kids, but it certainly worked for her.

She was still taking it all in when there was a tug on the hem of her tunic and she turned to find herself looking at the child from the lift.

‘You’re not an elf,’ she declared loudly. ‘I saw you out there-’ she pointed dramatically ‘-in the real world.’

Oh…fairy lights!

Having done her best to restore a little girl’s faith in Santa, she’d immediately shattered it.

Maybe that was the message. There are no such things as fairy tales. On the other hand, if she’d had a moment or two of fantasy as a child, she might not have grabbed so desperately for it as an adult.

But this was not about her and, putting her finger to her lips in a quick, ‘Shh!’ she folded herself up so that she was on the same level as the child. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Dido.’

‘Can you keep a secret, Dido?’

The child, thumb stuck firmly back in her mouth, nodded once.

‘Well, that’s great because this is a really huge secret,’ she said. ‘You’re absolutely right. You did see me in the lift, but the reason I was up there in the real world was because I was on a special mission from Santa.’

She hadn’t worked as an assistant in a day-care nursery for years without learning how to spin a story. The pity of it was that she hadn’t learned to spot one when it was being spun at her.

‘What’s a mishun?’

‘A very special task. The toughest. I shouldn’t be telling you this, but the thing is that Rudolph-’

‘Rudolph?’ Eyes wide, Dido abandoned the comfort of the thumb.

‘Rudolph,’ she repeated, ‘had run out of his favourite snack. I had to disguise myself as a human, go up to the food hall-’

‘Is he here?’

Lucy raised her finger to her lips again and then pointed it towards the ceiling. ‘He’s up there, on the roof with all the other reindeer,’ she whispered. ‘As soon as the store closes on Christmas Eve, we’re going to load up the sleigh and off they’ll go.’

‘Really?’ she whispered back, eyes like saucers.

‘Elf’s honour,’ she said, crossing her heart.

‘Can I see him?’

Oh, good grief… ‘He’s resting, Dido. Building up his strength. It’s a big job delivering presents to all the children in the world.’

‘I ’spose…’ For a moment her little face sagged with disappointment, then she said, ‘Was it a carrot? His favourite snack? We always leave a carrot for Rudolph.’

‘Well, carrots are good, obviously,’ she said, wondering what the rest of the poor reindeer had to sustain them. ‘Great for his eyesight as he flies through the night. Good for children, too.’ Good for you was so boring, though. Christmas was about excitement, magic. ‘But what Rudolph really loves when it’s cold is a handful of chilli-flavoured cashew nuts to warm him up.’ She paused. ‘They’re what make his nose glow.’

‘Wow! Really? That is so cool…’

‘That’s a very special secret,’ Lucy warned. ‘Between you, me, Rudolph and Santa.’

‘So I can’t tell Cleo? She’s my big sister.’

‘The sister who tried to tell you that Santa doesn’t exist? I doooon’t think so.’

The child giggled.

‘Only a very small handful, though. If Rudolph has too many his nose will overheat…’

Stop! Stop it right there, Lucy Bright!

‘Dido… It’s time to go,’ her mother said, rescuing her. Mouthing a silent thank you over her daughter’s head. ‘Say bye-bye.’

‘Bye-bye.’ Then she whispered, ‘Say hi to Rudolph.’

‘I will.’ Lucy put her finger to her lip, then said, ‘Merry Christmas.’

‘Merry Christmas.’

Whew. The magic restored to one little innocent. Clap if you believe in fairies… Not her.

Not fairies. Not fairy tales.

Lesson learned.

She looked up, saw the Chief Elf watching her from his little window and, as ordered, began picking up toys that had been picked up and dropped, restoring them to the shelves. Holding the hands of children who’d momentarily lost sight of their mothers.

When all was calm and ordered, she hitched herself onto the vacant stool and began buttoning teddies into jackets and trousers. While her fingers moved on automatic, she found herself wondering not about her future, or where she was going to spend the night, but about the man on the stairs. The way he’d caught her, held her for what seemed like minutes rather than seconds.

The broad support on his hand at her back. Dangerously mesmerising grey eyes that had locked into hers, turning her on, lighting her up like the national grid. She could still feel the fizz of it. She’d never understood why men talked about taking a ‘cold shower’ until now.

‘Any trouble evicting the bodyguards?’ Nat asked, dropping in at the security office in the basement. It was hopeless hunting through the store, but he might catch a glimpse of her on the bank of screens being fed images from CCTV cameras around the store.

‘No, although they were on the phone calling up reinforcements before they were through the door. Whoever replaces them won’t be as easy to spot.’

Women. He’d use women, he thought, scanning the screens but she’d gone to earth. Found a hiding place. Or perhaps she really had slipped back out into the dark streets. That should have been his hope; instead, the idea of her out there, alone in the cold and dark, filled him with dread.

‘Have you seen them before?’ he pressed. ‘Any idea who they work for?’

Bryan Matthews, his security chief, frowned, clearly puzzled by his interest, but shook his head, keeping whatever he was thinking to himself.

‘They didn’t say anything? Offer any explanation?’

‘No, they were clam-mouthed professionals. They must have been in a flat panic to have drawn attention to themselves like that. Any idea who they’ve lost?’

‘Maybe. It’s possible that she’s about this high,’ he said, his hand level with his chin. ‘Short pale blonde hair, green eyes, wearing a black knitted dress with a big collar.’ He looked at the shoe he was still carrying. ‘And no shoes.’

‘You saw her?’

He’d done more than that. He’d not just seen her, but caught her, held her and she’d filled up his senses like a well after a drought. There had been a connection between them so physical that when she’d run it had felt as if she’d torn away a chunk of his flesh and taken it with her.

‘I saw someone who seemed to be in a bit of a state,’ he said. ‘Pass the word to keep alert for anything out of the ordinary, especially at the store exits. When she does leave I want to be sure it’s her decision. Any problem, call me.’

‘I’ll pass the word.’

He nodded. ‘I’ll be in my office.’

He glanced once more at the screens, not knowing whether to be relieved or disappointed when he came up empty.

The common sense response would be relief, he reminded himself as he strode through the electrical department, heading for the lift. But this was about more than the smooth running of the store. It was rare for a woman to catch his attention with such immediacy.

Her fear had only sharpened his reaction, taking it beyond simple interest in an attractive woman. A snatched moment that had raised his heart rate, leaving him not just breathless, but exposed, naked, defenceless. The kind of feelings he hated, did everything possible to avoid. But still he wanted to know who she was. What, who, she was running from. Wanted to taste lips that had been close enough to tantalise his memory, send heat spiralling down through his body…

He came to an abrupt halt as he realised that she was there. Right there in front of him. Not just once, but over and over, her face looking out from dozens of silent television screens banked up against the wall. Her hair was longer, her face fuller and she was smiling so that those green eyes sparkled. The heat intensified as he focused on her lips. How close had he come to kissing her?

Close enough to imagine how it would feel, the softness of her lips, how she tasted as her body softened beneath him…

Whoever she was, it seemed that her disappearance was important enough to make the national news.

Or maybe just dramatic enough.

He reached the nearest set and as he brought up the sound the picture switched to a ruckus at a press conference.

‘…scenes of total confusion as she very publicly ended her engagement to financier, Rupert Henshawe, accusing him of being a liar and a cheat…’

The camera caught Henshawe’s startled face, moving in for a close-up of a trickle of blood that appeared on his cheek, before swinging wildly to catch the green-eyed girl clutching a file against her breast with one hand, while swinging her bag, connecting with the jaw of a man who was trying to hang on to her with the other.

The picture faded to the familiar figure of business tycoon, Rupert Henshawe, making a statement to camera.

‘I blame myself. I should have realised that such a change in lifestyle would lead to stress in someone unused to the difficulty of being always in the public eye-’

His phone rang. He ignored it.

‘Meeting Lucy was a life-changing moment for me. She’s encouraged me to see the world in a new light…’

Lucy. Her name was Lucy.

‘…her passionate belief in the fair trade movement has given a new ethical dimension to our fashion chain, which today I’m relaunching under the new name, Lucy B, in her honour…’

That was why she’d looked familiar, he realised as Henshawe paused, apparently struggling to keep back the tears.

He’d seen something in the papers about a romance with some girl who worked in his office-about as likely as Henshawe becoming a planet-hugger, he’d have thought…

‘Yes?’ he snapped, finally responding to the phone’s insistent ring, never taking his eyes from the screen.

‘It’s Pam Wootton, Nat-’

‘…I realise that I have been too wrapped up in all these new initiatives, visiting overseas suppliers, to give her the support she so desperately needed. To notice how tired she has become, her lack of appetite, her growing dependence on the tranquillisers that were prescribed after the press drove her to move out of the flat she shared with friends-’ Tranquillisers?

Nat felt a cold chill run through him. History repeating itself…

‘She needs rest, time to recover, all my best care and, as soon as I have found her, I will ensure-’ ‘Nat?’

The voice in his ear was so insistent that he realised it wasn’t the first time his PA had said his name.

‘Sorry, Meg, I was distracted,’ he said, still staring at the screen. Then, as the news moved on to another story and he forced himself to concentrate, ‘Pam Wootton? What’s the matter with her?’

‘She’s collapsed. She was down in the grotto when it happened and Frank Alyson has called an ambulance, but I thought you’d want to know.’

‘I’ll be right there.’

‘What are you doing?’

Lucy, teddy-dressing on automatic while her brain frantically free-wheeled-desperately trying to forget the man with the grey eyes and concentrate on thinking about where she could go when the store closed-looked up to find a small boy watching her.

‘I’m wrapping this teddy up in a warm coat. It’s snowing,’ she said, glad of a distraction. Short of a park bench, she was out of ideas. ‘It will be very cold on Santa’s sleigh.’

‘Can I help?’

‘James, don’t be a nuisance,’ his mother warned. She had two smaller girls clutching at her skirts, half scared, half bewitched. Lucy smiled reassuringly.

‘He’s fine,’ she said. ‘Do you all want to give me a hand?’

Within minutes she was surrounded by small children dressing teddies, grinning happily as she helped with sleeves and buttons.

How long had it been since she’d done that? Not a posed for the camera smile, the kind that made your face ache, but an honest-to-goodness grin?

She’d been so busy shopping, being interviewed by the gossip magazines, having her photograph taken, that there hadn’t been any time to catch her breath, let alone enjoy the crazy roller coaster ride she was on. Or maybe that was the point.

She hadn’t wanted time to stop and think because if she had, she would have had to listen to the still small voice whispering away in the back of her mind telling her that it couldn’t possibly be real.

Mental note for diary: always listen to still small voice. It knows what it’s talking about.

Being here reminded her of how much she’d missed working in the day-care nursery. Missed the children.

‘Your turn for a break,’ one of the elves said, as it was time for the children to get back on the sleigh, and she began to gather up the bears. ‘Through the office, turn left. Coffee, tea, biscuits are on the house. There’s a machine with snacks if you need anything else.’

The tea was welcome and although Lucy wasn’t hungry she took a biscuit. Who knew when she’d get the chance to eat again? With that thought in mind, she stocked up on chocolate and crisps from the machine.

Rather than get involved in conversation with the other staff, she took a moment to check her phone, although what she was expecting to find, she didn’t know. Or rather she did. Dozens of missed calls, all of which she ignored. Texts, too. And hundreds of tweets, all demanding to know the whereabouts of Cinderella.

They couldn’t all have been from Rupert’s stooges. But how could she tell the real from the phoney? If someone was hoping to entice her into trusting them, they wouldn’t be leaping to his defence, would they?

She was considering whether to send a tweet to reassure the good guys that she was safe-at least for now-when something made her look up. The same prickle of awareness that had made her look around on the stairs.

And for the same reason.

There, not ten feet away, talking to Frank Alyson, was the man with grey eyes. The man who’d caught her, held her in one hand as easily as if she were a child and who had, for one brief moment, made her forget everything. Where she was, why she was running…

She could still feel the imprint of his hand on her back, the warmth of his breath against her cheek and, as she sucked her lower lip into her mouth to cool it, she almost believed that she could taste him on her tongue.