Hot Revenge Box Set 2

Bitter cold though it is, the outdoors are a joy. We’re high up a mountain of course, so the chances of perfect Christmas weather are good in any case, but the scene outside could have been scripted in from some Dickensian novel.

Snow lies, as they say, deep and crisp and even, well up to the knees. Over field and road and garden, it lies drifted up against walls and seats. Air catches in my throat, the chill inflating my sinuses, and my breath blows out in blue clouds, then hangs in the air, glinting.

The dogs race around, excited and enthusiastic, panting despite the cold. Poor Meg, low-slung and woolly as she is, collects snow on her underside. It balls up to dangle in blobs from her tummy and I keep having to pull them off her.

Wonder what it’s like down by the Mill?

White water rushing with white foam by even whiter snow…

Together we stroll; me, Michael and Ryan, with Charlotte’s father bringing up the rear; around the back of the house and across the courtyard towards the woods.

Lucid with cold; the day is blessed with that clear unsullied light you only get when the temperature is well below zero. The sky is a brilliant azure overhead, fading to opal at the horizon.

Michael leads us past white hummocks which I know, under the surface, are Charlotte’s vegetable garden. A few tattered greenish spikes stick up out from under the snow. “Remind me on the way back to take in some sprouts,” he says. “James was asking for them.”

The thick blanket of snow that fell overnight has frozen until the surface snaps like the iced top of a Christmas cake, and like the best such cakes, its brilliant white crust is highlighted by the dense green of a holly tree with its scarlet berries.

“I don’t remember seeing that tree there before,” I comment.

Michael huffs. “That’s because it was hidden by brambles until earlier this Summer. They’d scrambled up and all but swallowed it. I cleared the space around the tree and it’s paying dividends now.”

Klempner frowns. “So, why not pick your holly from there?”

Michael gives him a dry look. “Because I enjoy looking at it. So does Mitch. She can see it from her window and watch the birds eating the berries.”

Sure enough, when I look again, the tree dangles half-coconuts and fat-balls from its lower branches. A bird table close by homes a storm of small riotous birds.

feet between steps. “I’ll clear this later,” says Michael. “Give Mitch

help with that,” says

treeline, sweeping out towards the meadows which stretch down the mountain. “There’re several hollies in the hedgerow at the edge of the woodland and one really spectacular tree. It’s covered in berries… at least if we beat the birds

each step, the iced surface of the snow snaps, my feet sinking through. It’s like walking on a

of ice twinkle at the prickles and the branches are brilliant with berries. As we draw closer the sound of squabbling birds rattles

they’re very happy about us stealing

dogs spot them and tear across, barking loudly to chase

to get to the softer stuff underneath, then packing it into

shrapnel as it lands. The dogs charge

a ball, but as he swings back to throw, the dogs leap. Emma collides

arms windmill as he tips back and vanishes under

but wetting

all except for Mac, who runs under the snow with only a moving bulge on the surface and his waving tail

*****

return to the house. Klempner looks Michael up and down. “A

I’m fucking frozen.” But the big, handsome blond man is

vegetable garden again. “Sprouts?” I

the roots. Then another. This one resists, its feet rooted in the frozen ground. Michael tries again, but when it doesn’t

*****

sheets together, several copies of the same

of hot wine into my hands, steaming and spicy. Another into Ryan’s. I suck at it and a warm

to Ryan. “Here you are. All done. Your purchase contract for the Mill. Read it at your leisure. Take your time, both of you. To expedite matters, I’ve

from him. “We buy it from you? But I thought your friend was the

decide to do this, Kirstie, I will take up my option to buy the