A Villain for Christmas (The Holyoake Christmas Series, Book 2)

I Got You a Drawer

A double final chapter coming up! Don't miss Part 2!

Cheers!

K. xx

***

The film crew were having lunch in the Oak and Shield, seemingly fully acclimated and integrated into the Fleckney ways now. Voices rang jollily; a few locals stopped by their tables to chat. Billie distractedly moved her fork on the plate, having hardly touched her pollo a la pancha.

"Billie?"

A low male voice made her jerk her face up sharply. She sent Alexander Fergusson a forced smile.

"Good afternoon."

Several of the crew members including Laura enthusiastically greeted him. He nodded back, as stone-faced as always. Apparently, when their tour had been cancelled, most of the company had gone for an ice cream in Alexander's parlour. Clearly, connections had been forged.

"I need your help," he said to Billie. "After work, yeah? There are papers to review. For Monte Cristo."

"What's that?" Bondarenko asked, looking up from some rubbish softcover she was reading. "You should go with him, if you need to." She waved her book at them. "We aren't doing anything after this."

Billie threw the director an unsure glance, but Bondarenko was already back in the world of trashy literature.

"Does it mean that you don't need me and Archie either?" Laura asked cheekily.

"Yeah, the two of you can scram too," the Russian grumbled. "Go enjoy your umpteenth honeymoon stage."

So, that's how it is, Billie thought apathetically.

"Shush, Julia!" the publicist exclaimed in a fake terrified voice. "It's supposed to be a secret!"

"Then you shouldn't bang so loudly. Even the walls in that castle aren't that thick," Bondarenko deadpanned; and people around them burst into rowdy laughter. "Also, maybe avoid the couch downstairs too," the director added.

That was Billie's cue. She had zero interest in the actor's and the publicist's fornication, on the couch or elsewhere. Or anyone's fornication besides her own, and that wasn't happening. She picked up her tote and rose.

"Let me know when we should meet," she said to Fergusson flatly.

He intently studied her. Even this level of scrutiny didn't seem to bother Billie these days.

"We can head to the Duck Pond right now," he finally said.

Billie stared at him. Her heart boomed in her chest painfully.

"Federico's cottage?" he reminded her - and all she could do was to nod.

Fergusson said his goodbyes, and Billie followed him out of the pub.

***

The Duck Pond cottage was located in Fleckney's oldest village, Lower Woulds. Billie remembered it well. When she'd sneaked in, ostensibly trying to see the Holyoakes' family library - and not looking for some boy who didn't even bother to say goodbye after the five weeks that had been the most fun in Billie's life up until that point, thank you very much! - she'd spent two hours in the hedge nearby, surveying the grey limestone cottage. Unlike many other houses in Lower Woulds, the Duck Pond didn't have its back facing the river. It was boxed between two quiet lanes, well-hidden in its overgrown garden, opulent lilac bushes forming a wall around it. The image of its thatched roof and the charming square windows had been etched into her memory.