Christmas at the Island Hotel - Jenny Colgan Page 0,96

at each other and hugged in the freezing dairy.

“I miss him,” said Fintan, starting to cry. “I can’t believe I still miss him so damn much.”

“Because you’re not an idiot,” said Flora. “Of course you do. Make the best cheese you can in his memory. That’s what made him fall for you in the first place.”

“Actually, I think it was my fabulous butt,” said Fintan.

“Yeah yeah, whatevs,” said Flora. And properly arm in arm this time, both beaming, they made their way back to the house.

Chapter 69

Well, Isla couldn’t say she was surprised to find him gone. Heartsore, sick, and tired. But not surprised. She didn’t even know where Bjårk was. So. He didn’t care. It was all true. He was probably in his room, back to his long lie-ins, planning his return to Norway, famous once again, and doing media interviews and talking about his terrible banishment. They’d probably sent for him.

On Christmas morning, Isla had scampered back to her mother’s, leaving Iona looking forward to a full day of her and her mother drinking prosecco, eating sausage sandwiches and Quality Street, and watching TV in their pajamas.

Isla had come down to a silent kitchen and her wounded-looking mother being passive aggressive, hoarding the teapot at her end of the table and making her disgruntlement very clear.

“Happy Christmas,” she’d tried, and her mother had harrumphed.

“For you maybe,” she’d said inaccurately. There were presents under the tree, but for once, neither of them was interested in looking at them. It was heartbreaking.

“Well,” said Isla finally. “I’ll see you at lunchtime? I think Flora’s put you next to Mrs. Laird and that nice Dr. Saif.”

“Will he eat the food? They eat weird stuff.”

“Uhm, he’s fine, Mum.”

Vera sniffed. Although the doctor might enjoy hearing about her rare symptoms. That might be something. Other people had common or garden-variety complaints, but she was a medical mystery.

“Mum,” said Isla. “I need to talk. I think I’m going to move out after the New Year. In with Iona.”

Her mother’s hand went to her throat. “You’re moving?”

“I don’t think . . . I don’t think we’re making each other very happy.”

“You’re getting a flat! You’re growing up! That’s wonderful!”

Isla was completely and utterly taken aback.

“I don’t need you here fussing round me!” said Vera. “That’s just . . . I’m so pleased for you, my darling. Your life needs to move on.”

Isla was slightly astounded as they hugged.

GASPARD CAME DOWN to the kitchen looking uncharacteristically happy for once and, even more surprisingly, kissed them and handed out large tins of mystery duck, which made no sense to anyone, and announced, “Today will be huge success. And those who hope it will be poor success will be so wrong they shall cry into their steam horse pudding thing you like.”

Gaspard had never gotten the point of mincemeat, and he wasn’t about to start now.

“Where is the young prince?”

“He’s not a prince,” said Isla automatically, then wondered why she was defending him. “I don’t know. He might be gone.”

“He is not gone. There are no planes, no boats, nothing. He is lazy. Go wake him up.”

Isla flushed. “I don’t think—”

“Allez! Allez! Now! We have much to do! Go!!”

Isla slinked out of the kitchen, despondent, and mounted the beautiful stairs. Everything looked even more spotless than usual. Gala on the desk was already busy, checking in the very first customers with a broad smile. It was actually happening! After three years, the doors of the Rock were finally open! Bertie the boatman was bringing people round from the village. There was a mix of people who were genuinely interested, people who were there for an ironic break, and, after all the fuss in the papers, some Norwegian star spotters, locals, and even, which would have surprised Joel, some of his old party friends, who were tiring themselves of the London lifestyle and wanted to see what the big draw was up here. The ferry had come in—a special service—but, to Candace’s pure annoyance, wasn’t going back again. The captain was staying for his Christmas lunch too. There was a small group of old friends of Colton’s: graying, fit-looking men who smiled ruefully at one another and traded sad anecdotes. And there was Candace, standing crossly in the middle of the foyer, her plans in ruins. The fact that she had had an unbelievably comfortable bed last night was just irritating.

The waitstaff was already fetching coffee and shortbread for the drawing room as people waited to get checked in to