‘Oh, funny,’ she said.

  Jacinta turned to Caprice. ‘Do you know what this amazing job is that your mother has been asked to do?’

  Caprice shook her head. ‘She said it’s confidential – so that’s usually code for she’s working for someone really important or super-rich. I hope it’s worth it.’

  Britt frowned. ‘Surely your mother does well out of her show.’

  Caprice shrugged. ‘I suppose so.’ But she knew that times were turbulent. Caprice was on an academic scholarship at Winchesterfield-Downsfordvale – something her parents were very pleased about – particularly as she’d applied for it herself.

  Since Sweet Things had taken off, her mother’s business had expanded considerably but she’d recently overheard her parents talking about their new restaurant chain being in trouble. Then, last time she’d been home, she’d seen something about the ratings for her mother’s show being much lower than expected. There was just so much competition out there – and most recently there was a woman who seemed to have modelled her entire persona on Venetia, though she was much younger and even prettier. It seems the life of a celebrity chef wasn’t always cupcakes and sprinkles, and Venetia Baldini had had more than her fair share of flops. Hopefully, whoever her mother was working for this time was paying very well – otherwise what was the point of Venetia messing up her family’s Christmas plans?

  ‘Well, that settles things. Mummy’s sending Mr Greening over tomorrow morning to collect us and the boys. We should probably get to bed,’ Alice-Miranda said. ‘Have a good night, everyone.’

  And with that the girls drifted to their rooms, excited about what the week would bring.

  Elliot Turner was feeling very pleased with himself. The woman had been a little difficult to convince at first, but Elliot had ways and means of ensuring that people did what he wanted. He was surprised at how quickly she capitulated when he mentioned the fee he was prepared to pay.

  He strode into the front sitting room. It was decorated in a pretty mint-green with overstuffed floral couches, antique side tables and huge landscapes in gilded frames.

  ‘Sorry to have kept you waiting, Mr Goodman,’ Elliot said as the fellow stood up and the pair shook hands.

  ‘Call me Lewis,’ the man said.

  Elliot couldn’t help thinking Lewis looked as though he had barely finished high school, let alone completed university. Dressed in a pair of skinny jeans, trendy multi-coloured trainers and a T-shirt bearing the name of some ghastly heavy metal band, he was hardly a picture of professionalism. Ray was right when he said that the guy was different – but different in a good way was yet to be proven.

  ‘Would you like some more tea?’ Elliot asked.

  A tray bearing a stout floral teapot and matching teacups and saucers with a milk jug and sugar bowl sat on the coffee table alongside some of Paloma’s homemade biscuits.

  Lewis Goodman shook his head. ‘No, thanks. Can’t really stand the stuff. I could go some kombucha if you’ve got any?’

  Elliot gritted his teeth and plastered a smile. ‘Sorry – no. Now, I’m afraid we’ll need to make this brief. One of my staff members has taken ill and I need to get to the hospital to see her.’

  Lewis sat down and pulled a phone from his pocket, which he fiddled with for a second. Elliot poured himself a cup of tea to which he added a splash of milk.

  ‘Do you mind if I record this?’ Lewis asked.

  Elliot did mind but in the interests of getting rid of him as quickly as possible, he agreed to the use of the device.

  ‘So, I presume you’re aware I’m doing a profile piece on you for the Financial Weekly,’ Lewis said. ‘But I’m keen to get beyond the stuff that everyone knows already. Your rags-to-riches background – that you worked in the back office of a merchant bank, then rose through the ranks as a trader before you bought the company the day after your thirtieth birthday. I mean, it’s admirable the way you managed to escape from council housing to all this.’ He waved his right arm and looked around the room. ‘But that’s old news.’

  Elliot narrowed his eyes. He had a bad feeling. ‘What exactly do you want to know then, Mr Goodman?’

  ‘The deaths of your wife and daughter – well, especially your wife – it was suspicious, wasn’t it – though no one was ever charged?’ he asked, staring straight into the man’s eyes.

  Elliot recoiled. ‘What?’

  But Lewis Goodman was a young man on a mission.

  ‘I read all the reports. It must have been harrowing – and then your little girl died so soon afterwards,’ the man said. ‘Is it true she was poorly from birth? You’ve never really said anything publicly about that.’

  Elliot felt the thrum of blood in his left temple. He stood up. If he didn’t know that it would end up in the papers the next day, he would have taken a swing at the guy. ‘Do not mention my wife or daughter again, Mr Goodman. If you wish to profile me for a business piece then I’m happy for that to take place, but as per the conditions of the interview, my family is not up for discussion.’

  ‘But I know the public would be keen to hear from you about what happened,’ Lewis said.

  Elliot walked to the door and rang the buzzer on the wall. Moments later, Delia Wickham appeared.

  ‘Sir?’ she said.

  ‘Show Mr Goodman out and get me Ray Agnew’s direct line,’ he said quietly.

  The woman nodded.

  ‘Why do you want to speak to Ray?’ Lewis asked. He had good hearing. ‘You know this was his idea. If you think he’s going to sack me, you’re wrong. He loves my work – says I’m amazing. I’m, like, the youngest person ever to have interviewed the Prime Minister – and you know what a tricky git he can be.’

  Elliot turned around. ‘I wasn’t going to ask for your employment to be terminated – that would be far too easy.’

  Lewis looked at the man. ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘I was just going to ask that Ray gives you some new challenges,’ Elliot said.

  Lewis Goodman frowned. ‘How do you mean?’

  Elliot was stunned that he had the gall to still be sitting on the couch.

  ‘Have you ever considered what it would be like to work as a foreign correspondent – perhaps in Africa or the Middle East?’ Elliot asked.

  ‘No way – not my thing at all. I can’t stand hot weather. They’d be the last places on earth I’d want to go,’ Lewis replied.

  ‘Oh, that’s a pity,’ Elliot said. The boy was even wetter around the ears than he’d first thought.

  Raymond Agnew should have known better. His wife and daughter were off limits then, now and forever. Elliot had always liked Ray – thought he did a good job running the Financial Weekly for the most part. But before the start of business tomorrow, he’d ensure that Ray’s career was over and Lewis was on the first plane to his new posting – preferably one of the hottest, most godforsaken places on earth.

  ‘Hello, Mr Greening!’ Alice-Miranda called. She rushed towards the man as he hopped out of the black minivan.

  ‘Look at you, darling girl!’ he exclaimed as she hugged him tightly around the middle. He stepped back. ‘I think you’ve grown at least half an inch.’

  ‘Have I really?’ Alice-Miranda’s eyebrows jumped up.

  ‘Definitely,’ he replied with a grin.

  ‘Well, it’s about time – though I think you might be overstating the fact. How’s Mrs Greening and gorgeous Betsy? I can’t wait to see them.’

  ‘They’re very well,’ he said. ‘Morning, girls,’ he called to the rest of the group who were milling about nearby with their luggage.

  Everyone said hello, and Alice-Miranda introduced Caprice and Britt who had both never been to Highton Hall before. The children then took turns helping to load their bags into the back of the van.

  ‘Mrs Greening’s been baking for days – all your favourites and some new recipes she’s been dying for you and your friends to try,’ Harold Greening said.

  Alice-Miranda smiled. ‘I can’t wait – as long as there’s Heaven cake, you know I’ll be happy.’

  The man struggled to pick up the last suitcase, which was twice as big as all the others.

  ‘Good heavens – are you hiding a body in here, Caprice?’ he joked.

  ‘Sorry, I can take that,’ Caprice offered. ‘I’m a late inclusion and I wasn’t sure what to pack. I’m going straight to Italy after this.’

  ‘Well, you’re a lucky one,’ the man said.

  ‘Yes, I am, aren’t I?’ Caprice replied.

  Millie was standing beside her. She stared at the girl. ‘Seriously – again, who are you and what have you done with the real Caprice Radford?’

  Caprice shrugged. ‘I know I deserve that, Millie, but I meant what I said last night. I promise.’

  Millie still wasn’t entirely convinced but she was prepared to give the girl the benefit of the doubt – for now.

  ‘What did your mother say about you coming to Alice-Miranda’s place?’ Jacinta asked as the girls piled on board.

  ‘Nothing,’ Caprice replied, taking a seat in the second-last row.

  Alice-Miranda and Millie were in front of her.

  ‘Well, I’m glad that she was happy about it,’ the tiny girl said.

  Caprice nodded. The reason her mother hadn’t said anything was because Caprice hadn’t actually called her. Mrs Clarkson had been thrilled to find out that she wasn’t going to be looking after Caprice for the next few days, so what did it matter if her mother knew or not. Caprice would send Venetia a message sometime – but for now she was just going to enjoy the festivities with the girls. And if her mother had to drive a little bit out of her way to collect her, then that was a small price for yet again choosing work over her family.

  Venetia Baldini pulled into a parking space at the rear of the mansion as per the instructions she’d received on her phone. That had also included the access codes, which allowed her to get through the gate – though she had a feeling she was being watched the entire way. She peered through the windscreen marvelling at the sheer size of the place.

  It was enormous – not to her taste, but she didn’t have to live there. At least not past Sunday, when her contract would be over and she’d pocket enough money to ensure that the restaurants would be solvent for at least another year. There hadn’t been time to find out much about her employer – but now that she was here, she’d have a poke around.

  When Venetia had taken the call about the job, she’d initially refused. But the man was persuasive and, ultimately, she couldn’t say no. There was too much at stake. Her husband and sons were at their villa in Italy, preparing it for sale. Not that Caprice knew anything about that. Venetia rather hoped that would give them a last-minute reprieve because, with the restaurants on the brink of collapse, they had to get a capital injection from somewhere.

  Venetia straightened her jacket and checked her hair in the mirror before reapplying her signature cherry lipstick. Then she hopped out of the car and grabbed her suitcase and knife bag from the boot.

  It was a short walk to the back door where she rang the bell. A cool breeze sent a shiver down the woman’s spine and she wondered whether she should try to call Caprice again. The girl was angry – and rightly so – but they needed the money and that was that. Hopefully she wasn’t giving poor Mrs Clarkson as bad a time as Venetia knew her daughter was more than capable of.

  The door swung open.

  A smiling woman with stylish cropped silver hair greeted her.

  ‘Hello Miss Baldini, please come in,’ she said. ‘We’re terribly excited that you’re here.’

  Venetia smiled. ‘Thank you for the opportunity.’

  Ellie Higgins wrenched open the cupboard doors, giving the contents nothing more than a cursory glance before slamming them shut again.

  ‘Did you find him?’ her mother called from the next room where she was searching too.

  ‘No,’ Ellie shouted. The girl caught a glance of her reflection in the mirror and rubbed at a smudge of black kohl that had escaped the perfect line on top of her left eyelid.

  ‘Have you looked under the bed?’ her mother, Juliette, yelled.

  ‘No,’ Ellie mumbled.

  ‘What was that?’

  Ellie spun around. Her mother – all five foot nothing and thin as a rail – was standing in the doorway with her hands on her hips. ‘Did you look under the bed?’ she asked again.

  ‘Yes,’ Ellie hissed, rolling her eyes while simultaneously flicking a long dark braid over her shoulder. It was a skill. Though not one her teachers or mother generally appreciated.

  ‘Are you sure about that?’ Juliette said, frowning.

  Ellie glared at the woman – her lips pressed into a tight line. ‘Do you think I’m lying?’

  The woman shook her head. ‘Of course not.’ She paused. ‘I just wonder why everything has to be a fight these days.’

  ‘Because I’m a teenager and that’s what we do,’ the girl replied with a smirk. ‘Tell me why we have to do that stupid elf on the shelf thing anyway.’

  ‘Your brother loves it,’ Juliette replied, tucking a tendril of light brown hair behind her ear.

  ‘No, he doesn’t,’ Ellie said. ‘You love it, Mum. Myles loves shiny Christmas ornaments – that’s his thing.’

  From a young age, Myles had been different to other children. He talked a lot – and he remembered everything – all the small details. If someone gave him a present, he could tell you when (including the time of day) and where it happened. He never said whether he liked something or not. He had a laser focus – which was impressive but totally annoying sometimes when Ellie wanted to watch something different on the television or read him a different book. Myles loved a cuddle, but only on his terms.

  He collected things too. For the past few years, it was Christmas ornaments – the shinier and prettier, the better. He’d spend hours arranging them on his bed, running his fingers over them and staring, completely mesmerised. Then he would pack them away into their tin box – but they had to go in a particular order and no one was allowed to help. It was tricky when they went out – especially during the festive season as Myles was always on the lookout to add to his collection, and sometimes that meant he would take things that didn’t belong to him. That was a worry – the last thing they needed was for someone to report him for shoplifting.

  Juliette rubbed her arms and shivered.

  ‘And yes, Mum, why is it so cold in here? Oh, that’s right. Because there’s no money for firewood, because we’re broke – as usual,’ Ellie said. Her accusatory tone stung like a bee.

  ‘Just put another jumper on, darling,’ Juliette said. ‘Your father will be back soon and then everything will be better. I promise.’

  ‘He’s not my father,’ Ellie snapped, her eyes going to the ceiling. Bronson was Myles’s dad. Ellie had never met her own father. He’d disappeared years ago. ‘And you know he’s not coming back, right?’

  ‘No, Ellie, we don’t know that for sure – there has to be a good reason Bronson hasn’t been in touch, but I’m not giving up on him,’ Juliette said. ‘The extra money that appears in my account each month must come from somewhere. I know Bronson loves his family. He’s probably working somewhere remote and communications are tricky.’

  ‘Well, you’re a bigger fool than I ever took you for, Mum,’ Ellie retorted.

  Bronson Byers had always been away more than he was ever at home. From what Ellie knew, he’d had a whole lot of different jobs over the years – from working on oil rigs in the North Sea to mining in the outback of Australia to captaining tour buses on the continent. And then just over a year ago, he’d left and they hadn’t heard from him since.

  Her mother said that he sent money – but did he?

  Juliette pushed her shoulders back and stood up taller – perhaps she was trying to rise above it all. ‘Anyway, then it’s Christmas,’ the woman added cheerfully.

  It was exactly like her mother to change the subject. As if that would suddenly make everything better.

  Ellie hated the holidays. They were just another reminder of what they didn’t have and that elf on the shelf had only made things worse as far as she was concerned. Her little brother would be disappointed all over again.

  But what could Ellie do? She was a fourteen-year-old schoolgirl – and unless her mother suddenly won the lottery, nothing was going to change anytime soon.

  Though one day it would. Ellie was determined and smart – and despite having moved schools more times than she could count on two hands, she’d always been a good student. Ellie could read before she started prep. The one constant in her life had always been a library card. She glanced at the book lying open on the end of her bed. It wasn’t a life changer, but the story was entertaining, nonetheless. Though not enough to make her want to stay home right now.

  ‘I’m going out,’ Ellie said.

  Her mother looked at her. ‘Really? What happened to asking?’

  ‘I’m not a kid anymore, Mum. I have friends. We’re just hanging out.’

  ‘And I’m still your mother,’ Juliette said. ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Hazel’s place. Don’t worry, Mum. Hazel has a perfect family – and a beautiful warm house, which is huge by the way – two parents who actually like each other and turn up each night, and she gets on well with her brothers,’ Ellie said. ‘Would you like me to go on?’

  Juliette picked up a stray sock from the floor and exhaled loudly. ‘I don’t like you going over there all the time – it’s not fair to her parents and I’d really like to meet Hazel. Why don’t you ask her to come here?’

  Ellie scoffed. ‘Are you kidding?’

  ‘I’m sorry that our home embarrasses you so much. At least meet me for a milkshake after work one day with her,’ Juliette said.

  There was no way that was going to happen either. Juliette worked shifts in the local supermarket. Hazel’s mother spent a lot of time at the gym and going out for lunch with her friends. Her clothes were all high-end designer – even her active wear looked as if it cost a small fortune. Hazel’s father was the manager of a national freight company and she had two brothers – her twin, Jake, and Kane who was older and worked for a local courier service delivering parcels. Hazel said that was only until he saved up enough to take a gap year to America. The girls had only been friends for a few months since Ellie and her mother and brother had moved to the village.