‘He must be out of his mind. But then, he was never good enough for you. Someday you’ll be thankful you’re rid of him.’ He gave her a brisk shake. ‘Think about cheerful things. Christmas, for instance.’

  ‘I’d like to sleep and wake up and find Christmas all over with.’

  ‘You don’t mean that.’ He was visited by a brilliant idea. ‘I know, put the cover on your typewriter, put on your coat, and go out and buy lots of lovely presents. That’ll cheer you up.’

  ‘I’ve bought my presents. All of them, except my mother’s.’

  ‘Well, go buy something for her. Something marvellously expensive and impractical. What’s it going to be?’

  Despite everything, Julia found herself beginning to smile. ‘I had thought,’ she told him, ‘about bath towels.’

  * * *

  Minutes later she was on her way, heading towards the biggest department store in London. The afternoon was slipping into darkness. It was cold and wet, the streets choked with pre-Christmas traffic. Every shop window was a blaze of light, a marvel of arrangement, a seduction to one’s bank balance. All in all, a luscious display of materialism. What had happened to Christmas?

  She thought of Phillip, in New York, making his way down the crowded sidewalks, just as she was making her way through London. An ocean between them. But it was not only the ocean that separated them after more than two years together. It was Phillip’s ambitions; his fears of being caught, pinned down in domesticity. It was Julia’s need for permanence, for a home life as secure as her own had been. She needed this, and Phillip didn’t. It was as simple as that.

  These chilling reflections had brought her to her destination and she went through the revolving doors into a world of warmth and light and enchanted fantasy.

  Her purchase took no time at all. Her mother liked her towels to be plain and white, and Julia was determined they should be fluffy and large. While the package was being wrapped Julia took her wallet out of her handbag and stood at the counter, waiting to pay.

  She looked about her. Behind the shelves of stacked linen the walls were lined with mirrors. Her own reflection gazed back at her from between piles of rainbow-coloured towels, and beyond this – slightly out of focus – moved the shifting hordes of other shoppers. A woman in a fur coat, her hair red as a flame, stopped to admire a display of sheets. Then a man moved into view, tall, dark coated. He halted, hesitated, and then began to walk towards the counter where Julia stood. She saw the dark, glossy hair, the very dark eyes, the broad shoulders of a man accustomed to athletic activity. When he was only a couple of paces behind her, Julia turned to face him.

  He grinned. ‘Julia. I thought it was you.’

  She said, ‘Hello, Harry.’

  For some reason he was the last person she wanted to meet on this bleak afternoon. Harry Bradford. A man who, in some inexplicable way, had been lurking for some time at the end of her life. She was always running into him at unexpected places at unexpected times. She had met him soon after she’d started dating Phillip and had found herself sitting across the table from him at a supper party one evening. Phillip and Harry had gone to school together, but that seemed to be all they had in common. Phillip, for some reason, didn’t like Harry. He called Harry a cheerful bore.

  ‘What does he do?’ Julia asked as Phillip drove her home from the party.

  ‘He works for an uncle, I think. He’s a stockbroker.’

  That was the extent of Julia’s interest in the man but, like a persistent burr, Harry Bradford’s presence was not so easily shaken from her life. She went to a reception with Dennis – to welcome some French fashion promoters – and met Harry Bradford again. Another time, during a summer weekend with friends in Sussex, he turned up at a village fair. And more recently, when she and Phillip had gone to their favourite restaurant for dinner, Harry Bradford and a lovely brunette were seated at a nearby table.

  And now here he was again. ‘You shouldn’t be so tall,’ he was saying. ‘It makes it impossible for you to melt into a crowd. What are you doing?’

  ‘Christmas shopping.’

  ‘Ask an obvious question, get an obvious answer.’ He held up a small package. ‘I, too, have been Christmas shopping.’

  They both smiled, as though this were particularly amusing. Then he said, ‘How are you?’

  ‘Well. Very busy.’

  ‘Still working with Dennis Erdmann.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And how’s Phillip?’

  It was gratifying to be able to reply, coolly, casually. ‘He’s fine. He’s in New York at the moment, so I haven’t seen him for a while. Excuse me …’

  She turned to receive her package and paid for it with her credit card. This took a few moments, but at the end of it all, Harry Bradford was still there.

  * * *

  They began to walk, slowly, down the thick red carpet of the centre aisle. She wondered if she could lose him by pleading other errands, but when he said, ‘I have my car. Can I give you a lift?’ the prospect of not having to find a taxi or wait for a bus overcame all reservations. She accepted instantly.

  Minutes later she sat beside him in his car with her package on her knees. Now it was dark, and pouring rain. The traffic out of the city was a solid stream, moving with agonising slowness. If it had been Phillip at the wheel there would have been curses and much horn honking, but Harry Bradford seemed totally unaffected by the situation.

  ‘Don’t you ever get impatient?’ Julia asked, breaking the silence.

  ‘Yes, often. But it doesn’t do any good. The traffic’s bound to be a nightmare this time of year.’ And then, ‘Will Phillip be back for Christmas?’

  ‘I don’t think so. He’ll probably be back after the New Year.’

  They moved another few yards and then stopped again.

  ‘What are you going to do for Christmas?’

  ‘Go home.’

  ‘Where’s home?’

  ‘Gloucestershire.’

  He said, ‘I’m going to Gloucestershire for Christmas too. I usually try to be with my parents, but they’ve gone to the West Indies this year. My aunt and uncle asked me to spend the holidays with them. They just bought a house in a village called Sudsbury.’

  Julia closed her eyes. It can’t be true, she told herself.

  ‘Do you know it?’

  She opened her eyes. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I live there.’

  ‘My aunt bought a house called the Grange.’

  ‘In that case, she’s Mrs Carrington.’

  ‘You know her?’ He looked pleased. ‘What a coincidence.’

  They were halted once more at the traffic lights. ‘Do you have any brothers and sisters?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, four. Two of each. Two married and with families, two not. And every year we all congregate at Sudsbury, and the old house bulges at the seams. We eat too much and everybody gives everybody else far too many presents.’

  ‘It sounds like fun.’

  She said, ‘I don’t know why one expects so much at Christmas. We aren’t children any more. It can’t go on being magic.’

  ‘Isn’t it magic for you?’

  ‘Not this year.’

  They fell silent. When he drew up at her front door, she asked him, out of politeness, to come in for a drink and was thankful when he declined.

  ‘Well … thank you for the ride.’

  ‘Maybe I’ll see you at Christmas.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  Her own front door, her own latch key. She let herself in and heard him start up his engine and drive away. She felt wrung out with every sort of exhaustion. Her mail held some Christmas cards, an invitation, but no letter from New York. Maybe tomorrow, she told herself, as she had been telling herself ever since Phillip left. Maybe tomorrow.

  * * *

  She went home the day before Christmas. The train was hot and crowded, but her brother Peter was on the platform waiting to meet her. They hugged tightly, and then he piled her luggage into the old station wagon and bundled her in out of the rain as well.

  Julia pulled off her hat. ‘Who’s home?’

  ‘Everybody. Minnie and I and the children got here yesterday. Rachel caught a bus from Oxford and John hitchhiked from Durham.’ That took care of the immediate family. Only Julia’s sister Marion and her Naval husband were missing, stationed in Hong Kong for two years.

  ‘And Alan?’

  Alan was Marion’s only child, a pale, shy little boy of eight, who had always secretly been a favourite of Julia’s.

  ‘He’s home. He was supposed to fly to Hong Kong, but he’s had the flu, and Ma decided it might be better if he didn’t make the trip.’ He glanced at his sister. ‘And how are you? You look pretty weary.’

  ‘I’m fine.’ She looked away from him, out into the dark countryside. ‘It’s good to be home,’ she said.

  Another fifteen minutes and they were there, Peter blowing a fanfare on the horn, so that by the time they stopped in front of the door all the family came flooding out to meet her.

  * * *

  Later, leaving Minnie and Rachel to get supper, Mrs Prescott went upstairs to Julia’s room, ostensibly to help her unpack, but really to have a private little talk.

  ‘Not that there’s much to talk about, but with this crowd I don’t know when I’ll have another chance to get you alone.’

  ‘You mustn’t do too much,’ Julia told her. She took a dress from her suitcase and Mrs Prescott was instantly diverted.

  ‘What a lovely dress. Is it a Dennis Erdmann?’

  ‘Yes. Worn by a model so I got it at a discount.’

  ‘You can wear it Christmas evening. I haven’t had a chance to tell you, but we’re having guests. You remember the Carringtons, don’t you? They bought the Grange. They’ve got some nephew staying with them this year, and I invited them all for cocktails Christmas night.’

  ‘I know the nephew,’ Julia said, sounding fatalistic. ‘Harry Bradford.’

  Mrs Prescott’s face took on an expression of alert interest. Julia hastily explained. ‘I don’t know him very well. I just meet him now and then.’ She steered the conversation into a different direction. ‘I haven’t seen Alan yet. Where is he?’

  ‘Probably in his room.’ She got off the bed, tiredly, as though she had been on her feet all day. ‘I’ll tell him to come and see you. Have a bath if you want. There’s a tankful of hot water.’

  Julia was brushing her hair when she heard the creak of the opening door. Through the mirror she watched its progress. A pale head appeared around the edge of the door.

  ‘Alan.’ She turned to greet him. ‘I’ve been waiting to see you.’

  He shut the door carefully behind him. ‘I was going to Hong Kong, but I got the flu.’ He moved to sit on the edge of the bed. ‘I really wanted to go.’

  ‘I know.’ She was sympathetic. ‘Anyway it’s fun for us to have you here. Have you got your presents for everybody?’

  ‘Yes. Daddy sent me some money, and I spent it all.’ He hesitated. ‘I got you something. I hope you like it.’

  ‘I’m sure I’ll love it.’

  From downstairs Minnie called his name. ‘I have to go and eat supper now.’ He grinned. ‘I’m glad you’re here.

  * * *

  Christmas Eve, Julia and her mother let themselves out of the house and walked the short distance to church. It was a perfect night, starlit and frosty. Her mother took Julia’s arm. ‘I’m glad it’s only us,’ she said. The rest of the family planned to go to morning service the following day.

  Julia did not reply. In companionable silence, they made their way down the street. Inside the old church was a scattering of people. They found two seats in an empty pew. It was very cold. At the foot of the nave stood a Christmas tree, twinkling with coloured lights. Julia looked at it and remembered other Christmases. The long-ago ones before her father had died, and the Christmases since. Each one a celebration, created by her mother, who had put grief and loneliness aside in order to ensure both magic and memory for her children and grandchildren.

  Perhaps that was what it was all about. Like being given a present of time. A breathing space to stop brooding on one’s own personal woes – to stand away from them.

  From the open door behind them came whispered voices, and then the Carringtons appeared, making their way to a forward pew. Harry Bradford was behind them.

  Julia realised, with some surprise, that she wasn’t put out by his sudden appearance. He was, whether she liked it or not, part of this particular Christmas.

  * * *

  And then Christmas Day. The usual muddled six-o’clock-in-the-morning mayhem; breakfast in the kitchen, the air rent with cries of excited children. The fire blazed, and beneath the tree presents were piled high.

  Julia sat on the floor. Paper and more paper. A book she wanted, a new sweater, a garlic press.

  There came a small pause in the happy turmoil. Julia realised that Alan stood beside her.

  ‘Thank you so much,’ he said, ‘for the shirt and for my action man.’

  She gave him a kiss. ‘I’m glad you like it.’

  ‘This …’ It was almost a whisper. ‘This is your present. From me.’

  ‘Oh Alan.’ It was small, shaped like a Christmas card, and it rattled. ‘What can it be?’ He watched her open it, eyes glittering. The paper fell away. There was a card and cellophane, and between the two a long string of very small, artificial pearls.

  ‘It’s beautiful.’ She slit the cellophane with her thumbnail and drew the necklace out. String showed between the beads and there was a fastening of tin set with a dubious chip of blue glass.

  She put it on. ‘How does it look?’

  He beamed. ‘Will you wear it all day?’

  ‘Yes, all day. And thank you.’

  Julia bathed and dressed for the evening. Her dress was coral-coloured with beaded embroidery at the simple neckline and around the cuffs. She fastened Alan’s pearls around her neck and tried to imagine Dennis Erdmann’s reaction to such sacrilege and found herself laughing. What did it matter? It was Christmas. She only prayed that the flimsy cotton on which the beads were threaded would last the evening, and that Alan would continue to believe he’d given her the best present of the day.

  When she went downstairs Peter was arranging a tray of glasses. Someone else brought a bucket of ice, and one by one they all gathered. The doorbell rang at exactly seven o’clock.

  After the greetings Harry Bradford made his way straight to Julia’s side.

  ‘So we meet after all,’ he said, giving her a kiss on the cheek. ‘Have you had a good Christmas?’

  ‘Yes marvellous.’

  ‘Are all these children your nieces and nephews?’

  ‘Yes. And this is Alan.’

  ‘Hello Alan.’

  They shook hands. Alan was overcome with shyness and Julia helped him out. ‘Alan’s parents are in Hong Kong, so he’s spending Christmas with us. He gave me this.’

  She touched the necklace and looked into Harry’s face. She expected amusement, the twitch of an eyebrow, a hastily suppressed smile. But he only said, ‘Did he? What a splendid present.’

  The words were scarcely out of his mouth when the very thing that Julia had dreaded, happened. The flimsy strand of cotton silently parted and dozens of tiny beads poured from the string, down the front of her dress, across the carpet, under chairs, everywhere. There was an appalled silence, and then Alan burst into tears.

  Julia went down on her knees and gathered him into her arms. ‘Darling, don’t cry.’

  ‘I wanted them to last forever,’ he wailed into her neck. ‘And they didn’t even last for a day.’

  ‘It’s all right … look …’ That was Harry, also on his knees, already picking up the beads. ‘If everybody helps, we can collect them all. They can be restrung.’

  They all joined in, treating it as a sort of game. A paper bag was produced to hold the beads, and when no more could be found. Harry folded the bag and carefully placed it on the mantel.

  Alan smiled at last. Julia turned to Harry to thank him, but before she could speak, he said, ‘I think your phone’s ringing.’

  It was too. Julia excused herself and went to answer it in the study.

  ‘Julia, what on earth are you doing there?’

  It was Phillip.

  ‘Where else would I be? It’s Christmas.’ Her voice was cool.

  ‘But I came back to be with you. I had no idea you’d light out on me like this.’

  ‘Phillip, I didn’t light out on you.’ Indignation began to warm to anger.

  ‘Well, come back. Now. Tomorrow.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Julia, for heaven’s sake.’

  ‘Phillip, I’m sorry. There’s a party on. We have guests. I have to go.’

  She hung up, filled with a smouldering rage and a sort of triumph.

  I’m finished with you, she said out loud to the telephone. You’ve made me miserable, but not any more. You’re not worth any girl’s heart.

  After a little while, calmer, but still high with colour, she returned to the others. Mr Carrington was showing the children a card trick, and everyone was watching. Only Harry turned his head her way. For a long moment she met and held his gaze. Then she smiled, found herself another glass of wine, and went to join the others.

  In the light of all that had happened, Julia didn’t think about the pearls again until the following morning. When she went to look for the little paper bag, it was not there. After some searching she and her mother decided it had been inadvertently thrown away. Alan, playing with his action man, did not mention them, and with one thing and another they were forgotten by everybody.

  * * *

  Julia neither saw nor heard anything of Harry Bradford after Christmas night, and she didn’t expect to. She returned to London, telling herself that somewhere, sometime, she would bump into him again. But several weeks later, just as she returned home from work late one evening, her doorbell rang and there he was.