Page 112 of All I Want for Christmas

‘What?’ Darcy was stunned. ‘You didn’t go to the awards thing?’

‘I pretended I was sick and went back to my parents’ for the night. I needed to think.’

‘You couldn’t thinkhere?’

Freja rolled her eyes. ‘I didn’t want you to see me being so pathetic.’

‘But you were upset about Amsterdam. That’s not pathetic! You thought he was going to propose to you. It’s a big thing!’

‘I don’t know why I can’t just let it go?’ Freja said, throwing her hands out. ‘We’re obviously not as far down the road as I had thought. The stupid thing is, I didn’t even want to get married until hedidn’task!...I just got ahead of myself and now I feel like an idiot.’

‘You are not an idiot. You are just in love, and that makes you a fool. Different thing entirely.’

‘Ha.’

Darcy was quiet for a moment. ‘At least you’ve still got a lovely Valentino dress hanging in your wardrobe.’

‘So do you now,’ Freja said, giving her side-eye.

‘Not the same!’ Darcy laughed. ‘It looks like I went to war in it!’

Freja winced. ‘Can you get it dry cleaned?’

‘I’ll take it in and see what they can do but I don’t think it’ll ever look right. A dress like that has to be flawless and I’m sure some marks will remain.’

‘Even so – give it a go. Take it in tomorrow and see what they can do.’

‘I can’t tomorrow. I’m going to Hornbaek for the day. More research.’

‘On the weekend?’

‘I’m going to the Madsens’ old summer house, and I can only get in while the owner’s there.’

‘Oh.’

Darcy took a breath, not wanting to keep any more secrets. ‘...Max being the owner. Turns out his grandmother was a Madsen. He’s going up there for the weekend and he said I can pop in and have a look around.’

‘Oh!’ Freja said, a smile beginning to play on her lips. ‘Well, that’s very decent of him.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Reckon he’ll be spying on you?’

Darcy cracked a grin at her sarcasm. ‘Obviously.’

‘Yeah.’ Freja grinned back. ‘Well, I’m sure it’ll be as uneventful as my weekend in Amsterdam andnothing will happen.’

Darcy met her eyes. ‘We can but hope.’

Chapter Twenty-Four

The train pulled into the single-track station, coming to rest outside a red-roofed, white building.Hornbaekwas written on a plaque. Darcy disembarked, waiting for a couple with a toddler and a pram to go ahead as she got her bearings. The station sat immediately on the street and it took her only a few seconds to locate the direction of the sea, for the wind was blowing hard: salt in the air, a few gulls wheeling on the thermals high above. An hour further north than Copenhagen, it was bitterly cold and distinctly more exposed. The temperatures had to be several degrees colder than the capital and she was beginning to feel her padded running coat wasn’t quite sufficient. (She had picked it up, along with her bag, from the kayak bar this morning as she returned the wetsuit and lifejacket; she’d told the guy to charge the overnight extra day’s rental to the card Aksel had used to pay the deposit. If he dared to invoice her this time...)

She headed straight for the beach, wishing she had packed a hat. According to Google Maps, Solvtraeer was set along the coast road, just out of the village, and she figured she couldn’t go wrong if she made for the water and took a left. Max had sent through an address but no directions or cab numbers, and had made no offer to come and collect her.

Not that she needed him to. She was a big girl. Here to work and get straight back to the city again.

The town was smaller than she had expected and very quiet. She looked around nosily as she walked down the streets, peering into the low buildings, most of which were painted black on the outside and white on the inside. There were very few people about. It was a seasonal resort, like Cornwall in England or the Hamptons in the United States – heaving in the summer months, deserted for the rest of the year. But she caught glimpses of the high season, pressed on pause: plastic buckets and spades tucked into corners of small gardens, children’s trikes toppled onto their sides from high winds, dinghies and small boats sitting on axels on driveways, covered with tarps. She could tell the year-round properties from the holiday homes by the state of the pot plants on the sills and whether there were lights on in distant rooms. It wasn’t yet lunchtime but light was scant, thick grey clouds rolled out like cotton wool wadding over a wide sky.

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