Page 1 of A Christmas Celebration
Chapter 1
It had taken me a while to come to terms with it, but deep down I had known my time working in Jordan was coming to an end. I knew even before the loss of corporate funding made the number of aid workers unsustainable.
I had worked for the charity since graduation almost a decade ago, and there was only so long anyone could cope with working in refugee camps across the world. I had overstretched myself by at least eighteen months. My managers had already expressed concern that I was bowling towards burnout but I had doggedly ploughed on, determined to complete my contract before bowing out for a long overdue break.
However, with just weeks to go and under immense pressure as more and more people arrived at the camp, I had made a mistake. A stupid one, a huge one, a potentially life ending one and it had been decided that I would be doing everyone a favour if I stood down early. I was lucky my boss was willing to cite the withdrawal of the sponsorship werelied on as the reason for my premature departure, but I still felt like I had failed.
Six hours after boarding a plane in Jordan I stepped out of Heathrow Airport and was welcomed by a blast of freezing November air that my inadequate cotton outfit had no chance of rebuffing and to the sound of my mobile ringing somewhere in the depths of my backpack. I hastily stepped back inside, out of the way of the wave of travellers also exiting the building, and rummaged until I found it.
‘Paige?’
‘Mum.’ I smiled, surprisingly choked to hear her voice.
‘Paige,’ she said again, this time her tone full of relief. ‘You’ve landed?’
‘Yes,’ I told her, swallowing away the lump in my throat. ‘Just. I’m now about to leave the airport.’
My parents had already set sail on their annual winter cruise when I had announced that I was coming back to the UK earlier than planned. It had been a ruse on my part. I had known I was heading home before they departed, but I hadn’t wanted to be subjected to either their well-intentioned fuss or the inevitable questions so hadn’t said anything until they were long out of the dock. Hearing Mum’s voice then though, I did wonder if that had been the right thing to do.
‘Thank goodness,’ she said, sounding further relieved.
Her tone confirmed that she, as well as Dad, had worked out that there was more behind my premature return than I had let on.
‘Is Dad there?’ I asked before she had a chance to start firing questions. ‘Where exactly are you?’
‘He is,’ she said, her voice drifting away a little. ‘We’re in the Cayman Islands and it’s as hot as hell. We’re going to swim with stingrays later…’
‘Never mind about our schedule,’ I heard Dad bluster in the background. ‘Ask her if she’s all right.’
‘You said not to,’ Mum tutted.
The line went quiet and I laughed as I imagined the pair of them tussling with the phone.
‘Paige,’ came Dad’s voice. He had obviously won the scrimmage. ‘How are you?’
With a lengthy army career behind him, Dad knew that my work in war ravaged countries had never been easy and he had been of the same opinion as my manager, that I was pushing my luck and needed a break.
‘Good.’ I swallowed, the laughter dying on my lips and the words sticking in my throat as he came straight to the point. ‘Great. Looking forward to some time on my own.’
I was still looking forward to that, wasn’t I?
‘Well, that’s a shame,’ Dad then surprised me by saying. ‘About the time on your own, I mean.’
I had assumed he was all for me taking the opportunity to step away and regroup.
‘Is it?’ I frowned, sticking my finger in my ear to block out the noise of the busy concourse. ‘Why?’
The line crackled for a moment and I heard him say something to Mum.
‘Because,’ he then said, his voice louder again, ‘I was going to suggest you headed to somewhere other than the house. Somewhere that you’d find a bit of company, but if you’d really rather be alone…’
‘Where?’ I butted in.
‘Wynthorpe.’
‘Wynthorpe Hall?’ I frowned. ‘Why would you suggest I should go there?’
Wynthorpe Hall was nestled in the heart of the Fens and was the family home of my godparents, Catherine and Angus Connelly. It was a wonderful place, but I knew it was far from the silent sanctuary I had been craving in which to hide out and lick my metaphorical wounds in private. As well as two of the three Connelly sons, Jamie and Archie, their partners lived at the hall too, along with a whole host of staff who were so close to the family they were also considered kin.
