So her boss used Skype while Meg helped Mickey’s mum scoop mincemeat into pastry shells. Jenny wasn’t much older than Meg, but while Meg had gone to university and then to a career, Jenny had married her childhood sweetheart at seventeen and had Mickey nine months later.

She could have done the same, Meg thought, feeling nostalgic and a bit jealous as she took in the cosy farm kitchen, the muddle of Christmas baking, the detritus of a farming family, with twin girls of nine as well as Mickey.

‘This place looks gorgeous,’ Meg said, sitting on an ancient kitchen chair and scooping mincemeat.

‘Nope,’ Jenny said and grinned. ‘Gorgeous is what’s up in Mickey’s room right now.’ Jenny had been introduced before Mickey had taken William off to link him with the other side of the world, and Meg could see her friend adding two and two and making seventeen.

‘You mean my boss.’

‘I mean the man you’ve brought home for Christmas. Yum. I’ve seen him in the gossip rags and he’s even more gorgeous in the flesh. He’s a squillionaire. He’s your boss. And you’ve got him for Christmas.’

‘You can have him if you want him,’ Meg said morosely. ‘He might be happier here. You have a computer.’

‘Yeah, and I have twins and Ian’s extended family arriving tomorrow to stay for a week. There’ll be eight kids in the house. Heaven help us.’ But she was smiling as she said it and Meg thought, even though she had never understood Jenny’s decision to marry and make a home so early, maybe… just maybe it made sense.

‘You’re not getting clucky,’ Jenny demanded, following her gaze, and Meg realised she was staring at a pile of paper chains at the far end of the table. She remembered making them as a kid.

‘I have spare paper,’ Jenny said happily. ‘You can help your boss make paper chains. Very bonding.’

‘Very funny.’

‘No, I think it’s lovely,’ Jenny said, getting serious. ‘To have him here for Christmas… Oooh, Meg. But does he have a girlfriend?’

‘I have no idea.’

‘No idea?’

‘Well, I’m his PA and I haven’t been told to send flowers to anyone lately. But he was desperate to use the phone.’

‘So who’s he ringing?’

‘I have no idea.’

‘I’ll ask Mickey.’

But Mickey, who wandered into the kitchen two minutes later, was no help at all.

‘Yeah, he’s talking but I put my headset on and left him to it. Nah, I didn’t hear who to. Mum, you reckon it’s too late to put another CD on my Christmas list? I’ve just found this sick new band…’

‘Forget it,’ his mother said. ‘Santa asked for a list a month ago and you couldn’t think of anything except a farm bike, which you know we can’t afford. So what are you giving William for Christmas, Meg, love?’

Uh-oh. Here was yet another problem she hadn’t thought through.

On Christmas morning she sat under the Christmas tree and opened presents. Lots of presents.

Meg’s mother had always believed in…excess. She’d loved Christmas with a passion and Meg had still been getting a Santa stocking at twenty-five.

The next year, with her parents dead, Meg had over-compensated, and so had Letty and, to their delight, so did Scott. He’d plundered his piggy bank and asked the nurses to help him.

They’d had a silly, over-the-top Christmas in Scotty’s hospital ward, and the tradition had thus continued.

So Meg’s last minute Christmas spree had filled her baggage with gifts but there wasn’t a lot she could recycle for William.

‘He has everything,’ she said, feeling hopeless.

‘He hasn’t got Skype,’ Mickey said.

‘He will next week when he goes back to New York.’

‘So buy him a satellite dish for the weekend,’ Mickey said cheerfully. ‘Then Scotty can use it after he leaves.’

Right. With what?

‘That’s just a bit more money than I had in mind to spend,’ she retorted and Mickey screwed up his nose and sloped off to watch television in the other room. Grown-up problems. Not his.

‘So how’s the debt reduction going?’ Jenny asked. Jenny had been one of the many who’d come to Meg’s aid after the crash. She knew of Meg’s debt. Scott’s medical expenses were colossal, and on top of that they’d had to keep the farm going when there was no one to run it.

‘It’s okay,’ she told her friend. As long as I’m not sacked, she added under her breath. But I’m probably sacked, so let’s not go there.

‘So it’s just a present for Mr Sexy-Eyes. Can you knit?’

‘No!’

‘So that’s home-made socks out of the question. Leaves only aftershave,’ Jenny said. ‘Ian gets some every year from his Aunty Merle, only Merle hasn’t noticed that Ian’s had a full beard for twenty years now. I’m happy to donate a gallon or six.’

‘I suspect he uses his own.’

‘I guess he would,’ Jenny said, sliding one batch of mince pies out of the oven and another in. ‘So there’s nothing in the world he needs.’

‘Except a plane out of here.’

‘Out of your control, love,’ Jenny said. ‘It’ll have to be aftershave.’ She glanced up at the ceiling. ‘I’d so love to be a fly on the wall, wouldn’t you? I wonder who he’s talking to?’

‘It’s not my business,’ Meg said, a bit too primly, and Jenny laughed.

‘You mean the walls are too thick and there’s no way we can find out. Let’s face it, you’re interested, and why not? He’s the most eligible man on the planet, as well as the most gorgeous. As well as that, he’s your house guest for three days. You have him trapped. Meg darling, if you don’t try and get him interested-seriously interested-you have rocks in your head.’

‘Finished,’ William’s voice growled from the door and they both jumped and Meg did her blushing thing again. That was twice now. All I want for Christmas is my dignity, she thought desperately, as Jenny stifled laughter.

‘Did…did you get onto who you wanted?’ she managed, wondering how pink her face was.

‘Yes, thank you.’ How much had he heard? she thought. The most eligible man on the planet… And… You have him trapped… If he thought…

‘Who did you need to talk to?’ Jenny asked innocently and offered him a plate of mince pies.

‘Friends,’ he said shortly, his face expressionless. Meg knew that expression. It meant the McMaster displeasure was about to wreak consequences. There wasn’t a lot of wreaking he could do right now, though, except wave away the mince pie plate as if it was poison.

‘Eat my mince pies or I’ll be offended for ever,’ Jenny said. ‘The price of my Internet café is a compliment for the cook.’

And he really was trapped, Meg thought. He was forced not to snap; he was forced even to be pleasant.

So he ate and he somehow managed to tell Jenny her mince pies were excellent, while Meg tried to get her face in order, and she almost managed it but then Jenny, dog at a bone, refusing to be deflected, said, ‘So are you going to tell us who this friend is who’s awake at six o’clock in the morning in New York?’ and Meg blushed all over again.

‘Jenny, he doesn’t have to answer.’

‘No, but I’m interested.’

‘Thank you very much for your Internet use,’ William said, clipped, tight and angry. He tugged his wallet out and laid a note on the kitchen table. A note so large it made Jenny gasp.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’

‘Paying,’ he said.

‘Put it away,’ Jenny said, angry to match now. ‘There’s no need for that.’

‘Jenny’s my friend,’ Meg said. ‘She’d never charge.’

‘She’s not my friend.’

Whoa. Line overstepped. She was home for Christmas and there were some things which she would not put up with. Hurting Jenny was one of them.

‘She is because she let you use the Internet when she didn’t have to. Without thought of payment. You won’t have to walk back to the station. I’ll drive you,’ she snapped. ‘Jenny, do you have a sleeping bag I can borrow? And a water bottle? Give him a couple more of those mince pies so he won’t starve.’

‘Hey, I wasn’t that offended,’ Jenny said, her flash of hurt disappearing and being replaced by her customary laughter. She took William’s money and tucked it back into his suit pocket. ‘It was very nice of him to offer.’

‘It was not nice,’ Meg said, glowering. ‘He was being snarky.’

‘Snarky?’ William said.

‘Don’t look at me like I’m speaking some other language,’ Meg retorted. ‘You know what snarky is. Jenny. Sleeping bag.’

‘You’re not serious,’ Jenny said. ‘If you are, he can sleep here.’

‘He’s not your friend. He just said so.’

‘He wasn’t serious.’

‘I was,’ William said. ‘But I’m having second thoughts.’

‘You know, I think that’s wise,’ Jenny said, and grinned again and waggled her finger at the pair of them. ‘Birds in their little nest agree…’

‘Jenny!’

‘Go on, get out of here, the two of you,’ Jenny said cheerfully. ‘Take him home, Meg, and don’t even think of going via the station. Can you just see the headlines? Tomorrow’s express train thundering through Tandaroit Station, with William McMaster sleeping off the effect of too many mince pies on a deserted platform? So be nice to her, William, and if you can possibly manage it, tell her who it is that you contacted tonight. She’s dying to know, even if it isn’t her business.’

She raised floury hands and shooed them out into the hall, out of the front door. She banged it shut after them, and then tugged it open again. An afterthought had just occurred.

‘It’s the season for peace on earth and goodwill to all men,’ she called after them. ‘So don’t leave him on the railway station.’


They drove home in silence. Meg was too embarrassed to say anything. William simply…didn’t.

She pulled up outside the house and made to get out, but William’s hand came down onto her arm, making her pause.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘But I don’t take kindly to questions.’