The Christmas Holiday Read online

  Fall in love this winter on a romantic trip around the world ending in a fairy-tale winter wedding!

  As winter comes to London, journalist Mia Walker is desperately hoping for her big break as a travel writer, dreaming of exotic locations and sun-soaked beaches. When she’s invited to write a romantic travel piece that ends in a huge winter wedding in Scotland, she jumps at the chance. The only trouble is, the photographer is renowned adventure-junkie Hunter Scott, who Mia last saw five years ago when she ended their engagement.

  It’s the opportunity of a lifetime, and Mia knows she’d be mad to say no – even if it does mean spending weeks traveling round the world with the one man she never wanted to see again! But as the wedding approaches, and the magic of Christmas begins to take hold, Mia can’t help looking out for mistletoe – and wishing she hadn’t cancelled her own engagement after all…

  The Christmas Holiday

  Maxine Morrey

  ONE PLACE. MANY STORIES

  MAXINE MORREY

  has wanted to be a writer for as long as she can remember and wrote her first (very short) book for school when she was ten. Coming in first, she won a handful of book tokens – best prize ever at the time!

  As time went by, she continued to write, but “normal” work often got in the way. Finally, she decided to go for it, and wrote. Really wrote. And after a while she had a bunch of articles, and a non-fiction book to her name.

  But her first love is novels, and, in August 2015, Maxine got the call to say she had won Carina UK’s “Write Christmas” competition, with her romantic comedy Winter’s Fairytale.

  Maxine lives on the south coast of England, and when not wrangling with words, can be found tackling her To Be Read pile, sewing, listening to podcasts, and walking.

  Her website is: www.scribblermaxi.co.uk

  Email: [email protected]

  You can also find her on Twitter @Scribbler_Maxi

  On Facebook www.facebook.com/MaxineMorreyAuthor

  On Instagram @Scribbler_Maxi

  On Pinterest @ScribblerMaxi

  [

  Thank you, as always, to James who continually believes in me and doesn’t mind a bit that the whole housework routine thing has now gone completely out of the window.

  Thanks to Victoria and the team at HQ for helping me bring another story into the world.

  Also, a massive thank you to the fantastic book bloggers out there who have given their time to read and review and helped bring my books to notice. I really can’t thank them enough. They do a brilliant job – all unpaid – and their beautiful, thoughtful reviews have made me cry more than once. I am fearful of listing all of those who I refer to here in case I miss anyone, but I hope that they know who they are. You are all superstars.

  Thanks to my friends who think my job is ‘cool’.

  And most of all, thank you to all the lovely readers. There is such a huge and wonderful choice of books out there and I am eternally grateful that you choose to spend precious time and money on one of mine. Hearing that I’ve brought a smile (and sometimes a tear) to someone is an amazing feeling and also incredibly humbling. Thank you so much. Your support and enthusiasm means more than you could ever know.

  For India

  Contents

  Cover

  Blurb

  Title Page

  Author Bio

  Acknowledgements

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty One

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Endpages

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  ‘Take a seat, Mia.’ My boss, Jeremy, waved at the chair opposite his desk. I took it, trying to read his face in order to assess whether this was going to be a good or bad experience. I got nothing so I smiled, sat down and hoped for the best.

  ‘As you know, Olivia, my daughter, is getting married this Christmas.’

  I nodded, still smiling. ‘I do, boss, and I can assure you I’ll write the best piece I’ve ever done for her special day.’ I tried to come across as genuine without sounding like a suck-up. To my ears, it didn’t seem to be working but he waved my comment away and didn’t throw out one of his verbal barbs like he normally did if he thought someone was trying to pull something – and I liked him for it. Jeremy was a good boss. He was tough and didn’t take crap from anyone. He’d tell you when you’d done a good job and didn’t hold back when he thought you could do better.

  ‘Yeah, yeah, I know that. You know you’d be out on your arse if you didn’t and you’re a bright girl, so…’ He did a palms-up kind of gesture to punctuate his statement. ‘This isn’t about that. That’s a given. This is a different assignment.’

  My heart sped along a couple of beats. I’d been working on the ‘Hatches, Matches and Despatches’ section of the national weekend paper for the last three years. Our publication was unusual in that we still produced an actual weddings section, and despite the popular cynicism about marriage, readership figures for it continued to be high so it certainly seemed we were doing something right. Although my own life hadn’t exactly taken the route of skipping down a rose petal-strewn path, I enjoyed my job and loved the heartfelt feedback we received, both from the couples featured, and from readers. But I was ready to move on, and my real goal was to write for the travel section. Unfortunately, I wasn’t the only one with that ambition. There were an awful lot of people after that particular glittering prize and the current resident writers and freelancers guarded their posts jealously. Understandably.

  ‘Olivia and Sandeep are planning this big trip in the run-up to the wedding and now they’ve decided they want it documented.’

  And like most young, rich and beautiful women, what Olivia wanted, she tended to get.

  ‘Bit last-minute, I know, but there we are.’

  ‘Right,’ I replied, slightly confused. If this was a travel piece, there were plenty of other journos he could use. With the exception of a couple of pieces on rural getaways in Norfolk earlier in the year, my portfolio of travel cuttings was pretty thin. Jeremy knew my goals – the original position I’d applied for had been travel writer. But I knew I’d only got that other assignment because the regular contributor had had “a prior commitment”. Privately, I knew that “commitment” was merely a commitment never to go to Norfolk if he could help it, accustomed as he was to such destinations as the Seychelles and Martinique. Luckily, I had no such prejudices. I’d had a brilliant time and absolutely loved writing the pieces. Jeremy had been pleased but nothing more had come my way – excepting a few dagger looks from the writer who’d supposedly been unavailable and who would have preferred me to have fallen flat on my literary face.

  Jeremy leaned back in his expensive, custom-made leather chair and looked at me.

  ‘I want you to do it. More precisely, Olivia wants you to do it.’

  ‘You do? She does?’ Having never actually met Olivia, I was a little surprised to discover she even knew I existed.

  ‘She reads the wedding section religiously every Saturday. Absolutely loves it.’

&n
bsp; ‘Oh! Right. Wow. That’s…very flattering.’

  ‘It’s not flattering, it’s the truth. You’re a good writer and Liv knows good writing when she sees it.’

  ‘But this would be more of a travel piece?’

  ‘I suppose you could call it that, to an extent.’

  I caught sight of one of the resident travel writers wandering past the glass walls of Jeremy’s office looking tanned and relaxed. As he should be, having spent most of the morning regaling us all with tales of his latest assignment at a luxury resort in Mauritius. Smug didn’t even begin to cover it. Jeremy followed my gaze.

  ‘He’s not still banging on about Mauritius, is he?’

  I set my expression to non-committal.

  Jeremy smirked. ‘Right. Very diplomatic, Mia.’ He shrugged. ‘He’s a pain in the arse, but he writes really good copy.’

  ‘That’s what it’s all about.’ I acknowledged the bare truth of it all before looking back at my boss. ‘But you don’t want him on this assignment because…’

  ‘This isn’t for the paper. It’s a private job and I want people on it who I trust. You’re going to have a level of access to my daughter that others might find tempting to use as a means of furthering their own career. People in this business can be pretty cutthroat. You know that. If someone thinks they can get something on the daughter of an internationally prominent media tycoon… Isn’t that what they call me?’ He pulled a face. ‘Anyway, getting to me via Liv? They know it’ll sell papers and magazines. It doesn’t matter that I might have given them their first break, or took them out for a ridiculously overpriced dinner the last time they were in town. They know what opportunities and financial reward this sort of access might offer them. And I won’t lie – it’s a hell of a lot more than I’ll be paying you for the job. But I’m asking you not only because Olivia – and I – love your writing, but because I know that, out of all the people I work with, you’re one of the few I’d trust with a secret. And about the only one I’d trust with my daughter’s privacy.’

  I looked up, suddenly and very unexpectedly, feeling a little emotional.

  Jeremy screwed up his face. ‘Oh shit. You’re not going to cry, are you?’

  ‘No! Of course I’m not! I was just… well, thank you. For what you said.’

  He nodded gruffly, and continued. ‘So. I’ll get Liv to email you the plans. All the flights and hotels and whatnot are booked. I took the liberty of already telling her you’d take the job. There’s a table booked for the four of you tonight at seven-thirty at The Ivy, I understand. Liv and Sandy will fill you in on everything about what they want then.’

  ‘The Ivy? The four of us?’

  ‘Yep. Been there?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘You’ll like it. Food’s good. And yes, the four of you – obviously there’s a photographer joining you.’

  ‘Oh! Of course.’ I wondered which of the photographers we used would be coming and crossed my fingers it wasn’t Roaming Hands Richard.

  Jeremy seemed to read my mind. ‘Don’t worry, it’s not Dick.’

  I tried to stifle the smile but my boss saw and his mouth twitched. We all knew it drove Richard up the wall being called “Dick” which was exactly why Jeremy did it. That, and because he knew his reputation. He only ever used him when he was desperate and when the journalist he’d be working with was male. I didn’t think Jeremy would have any inclination to let Dick within several miles of his daughter, let alone on a trip like this, but still.

  ‘I didn’t actually have anything to do with choosing the photographer – which is probably just as well as I don’t think even I would have been able to get this guy. He’s one of the best. Always in demand. I’m surprised he agreed to do it, to be honest. Bit of a change from National Geographic and war reporting.’

  I smiled. ‘Sounds amazing. So how come he agreed then?’

  My boss shook his head. ‘Doing it as a favour apparently. Used to go out with Liv’s friend a while back. Totally broke her heart. She knew Liv loved his work and that his shots would be head and shoulders above what most would make of this assignment. Asked him to do it to make up for all the heartache, or some such bollocks. He agreed. Not sure if that makes him a nice guy or a mug but I’d like to think it’s because he’s got a decent side, even if he is a heart breaker.’ He gave a shrug. ‘I checked him out. I knew his work, obviously, but didn’t know much about the man, apart from what Liv had told me. Good guy. Professional, likeable. Everyone he’s worked with, and for, wouldn’t hesitate to use him again.’ Jeremy paused, ‘Are you all right? Do you want a glass of water? You look a bit of a funny colour.’

  I heard him moving about his office and took the glass he shoved in front of my face. ‘Try not to throw up in here, though, eh? They’ve just cleaned the carpets.’

  I nodded gingerly and tried to stop the clanging in my head that had started the moment my boss had told me the photographer I’d be working with had dated his daughter’s friend.

  I’d seen the headlines in the social pages: Russian Socialite Dating Adventurer Photographer. I wasn’t particularly into celebrity gossip but that time my hand had stilled on the page as I had looked at the beautiful woman gazing up adoringly at the man whose arm was around her waist. My ex. Hunter Scott.

  ‘Better?’ My boss looked concerned. I wasn’t entirely sure if that concern was for me or the carpet.

  I nodded.

  ‘You’re not ill, are you?’

  I closed my eyes momentarily. ‘Nope.’

  ‘Good. I think this is going to be a great opportunity for you, Mia. Once you’ve seen Liv and Sandy tonight, come and see me tomorrow and we can go over the extra bits I want from you.’

  ‘Extra bits?’

  ‘You want to write travel, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes! Yes, I do. Definitely!’

  ‘Well, this is going to give me a chance to see what you can do when you’re not in the deepest, darkest depths of Norfolk.’

  ‘Really?’ I couldn’t help the smile that spread across my face.

  He nodded. ‘Really. Scott will get great shots and he’s up for me using some in articles.’

  My smile faded. For just a moment I’d forgotten… There was no way Hunter was going to agree to work with me on this. My stomach churned as the realisation dawned that my big chance was quite possibly over before I’d even had a taste of it.

  ‘Have you seen any of his work?’

  I nodded. ‘Umm… yes. Yes, I think I have.’ I’d actually had firsthand experience of some of his very best work and could categorically say he was extremely talented – but I didn’t think my boss needed to know that.

  ‘Great. Like I say, I couldn’t believe he agreed to this. Seems a bit tame for his portfolio.’

  ‘Perhaps he just fancied a change.’

  ‘Yep, maybe.’ My boss checked his watch.

  ‘I’d better get back to work,’ I said, taking the hint.

  ‘No, hold up. Ah, here he is now. I thought you might want to meet each other before tonight.’ I caught a glimpse of broad shoulders and dark, cropped hair moving through the office as I sank back down slowly on my chair. Hunter walked in, his face breaking into a smile at my boss as they shook hands.

  ‘Scott! So pleased to finally meet you in person. Your reputation precedes you, of course.’ He closed the door again behind Hunter. ‘Liv is beside herself that you agreed to do it.’

  Hunter gave that easy smile again. ‘I kind of owed her friend a favour.’ The deep voice with its faded South African accent immediately brought up memories that would do me no good right now. I shoved them back into the deepest, darkest, dustiest corner of my mind.

  My boss gave him a conspiratorial look. ‘Yeah, I heard something about that.’ Hunter had the grace – or wherewithal – to look a little sheepish. Jeremy waved his hand. ‘Oh, don’t worry about it. Ilana’s happy as Larry with her new bloke. Richer than Croesus to boot so I wouldn’t feel too bad. Lovely girl, b
ut she always did have a flair for the dramatic.’ Hunter smiled but remained silent, ever the gentleman.

  ‘Right. Introductions. Scott, this is Mia Walker, the journo I told you about. Mia, meet Hunter Scott.’

  He told him about me?

  Clearly Hunter had kept our previous connection to himself as Jeremy wouldn’t have hesitated to have brought that up in our earlier chat. Taking my cue from Hunter, we shook hands like the strangers we were apparently pretending to be.

  ‘I feel I ought to let you know that I did actually request another journo to do this with me. No offence. I’ve worked with her before. We know each other’s ways.’

  ‘I see,’ I said, doing my best to keep my verbal footing, ‘Well, I guess that’s understandable. But I’m perfectly capable of handling this assignment just as well, if not better, so you don’t need to worry on that front.’

  Hunter gave me a look, his brow furrowing momentarily. From the corner of my eye, I saw my boss rub his hand across his face, hiding his grin.

  I stepped back and retook my seat, at the same time realising my nails were digging so hard into my palms they were about to draw blood. I concentrated on relaxing them. Good to know my ex had already tried to get me bumped from a job for my own boss. It would appear that time didn’t heal all wounds after all. Although it certainly looked like Hunter Scott was doing pretty well on every other front. His career was stellar, he looked broader, a little more tanned and, if the celebrity media was to be believed, had clearly been getting a lot more action than I had in the past five years. His comment to me, and his general manner, indicated he was also tougher, a little harsher than I remembered. Perhaps we really were strangers. The Hunter I knew would never have tried to tank someone’s career out of spite. I guess people change. And yes, I knew I’d probably had a certain amount to do with that change, but Hunter had always had his own mind. Our break-up certainly hadn’t been pretty but I found it hard to believe it was the sole cause for such a distinctive change in him. Or was it just that, somewhere deep inside, I didn’t want to shoulder that blame alone?