It was Christmas Eve. Roxanna had spent a lot of time getting the decorations just right. The 300 year old cottage she now shared with Henrik had been theirs for just over six months, and their first Christmas in the new property promised to be very special.
They had spent the morning roaming the countryside, carefully choosing foliage for indoor decorations. Holly, ivy, several types of evergreen. Roxanna had always enjoyed floristry. It was a form of relaxation away from the hubbub of Holby. Thanks to her nimble surgeon's fingers, as well as a flair for design, she was rather good at it.
Henrik sat at the their large oak kitchen table, watching her spread out the leaves and gradually fashion them into a wreath for the front door and a display for the dining table. They had reached home just in time. Now the rain was drumming on the window. Henrik leaned down to sling another chunk of wood on the burner.
"Careful!" Roxanna's warning came too late. The low beam connected solidly with the top of Henrik's head.
"Not again. That beam's been there for 300 hundred years, you know." She helped him into a chair.
"Yes, but I haven't," he groaned, feeling the sore spot. She examined it, feeling the growing lump. Luckily his curls would hide the evidence. She kissed the spot, feeling him lean against her.
"I'll learn," he said, sighing happily. His long arms wound around her waist. He nuzzled her in a way that told her he wasn't interested in being in the kitchen any more.
"Hey, behave yourself." She made him look up at her. His gaze was gentle and adoring but his glasses had steamed up.
"I am." He sounded innocent, but she knew better. Since their relationship had become physical, he had surprised her with his passion and prowess. Now he was hungry for her again, burying his nose between her breasts, his hands squeezing her buttocks. She shifted to perch on his knee and they shared a kiss, one that grew in intensity the longer it continued.
As they were contemplating abandoning the kitchen, the back door burst open.
"Oh for God's sake, put her down, Henrik."
They looked towards the drenched figure, shaking a bedraggled umbrella.
Immediately, Henrik was on his feet. "Ms. Naylor, what a pleasant surprise." He didn't quite manage the sincerity he was striving for.
"No it isn't. My car's broken down. I've walked two miles to get here and my shoes are ruined. If my mood gets any worse, there will be fatalities."
Roxanna rushed to put the kettle on the Aga. "Get her a towel, Henrik. She's soaked."
"I'm fine." Jac left a trail of water as she plumped down at the kitchen table. She took the towel that Henrik passed to her, stopping first to look at the embroidered R & H in one corner. She rolled her eyes. "Really?"
"It's called domestic bliss, Ms. Naylor. I recommend it." Henrik said jovially.
"Ugh, no thanks. Can I borrow your phone? Mine's run out of charge."
"Not terribly efficient of you," Henrik grumbled.
"Thank you, Mr. Hanssen." Jac's voice was acid. "Believe it or not, I am human." She took the phone from Roxanna.
"Do you have to get back to Emma?" Roxanna put a mug of tea in front of her and looked concerned.
"She's with Johnny in Colorado. Ski-ing. Not back until the day after Boxing Day." Another eye-roll.
"Oh!" Roxanna's gaze slid to Henrik, and his heart sank. He knew what was coming next.
"Well, I'm sure you'll be grateful for the peace and quiet," he said, before Roxanna could speak. "I never minded it when I was on my own."
Roxanna's eyes widened. "She can't be alone all over Christmas! Jac can stay here with us. We'd love it, wouldn't we, Henrik?" The last three words were said pointedly, coupled with a stern look.
"It's just too bad we don't have enough food in. It's too late to get any now." Even as he said it, Henrik knew his excuse was lame and futile.
"Oh, there's plenty," Roxanna countered, scowling at him. "We'd love to have you here, Jac."
Henrik glowered back at her. "Perhaps Ms. Naylor has other plans."
Jac was smiling, enjoying their exchange. "Oh no, not this year. I'll gladly accept your offer, Roxanna. That's very kind of you." She grinned savagely at Henrik. "I can't wait."
"What on earth possessed you?" Henrik asked as soon as Jac had left with the breakdown truck to retrieve her car. "I was looking forward to a peaceful Christmas with just you and a roaring fire and now we're playing host to that hellcat."
Roxanna folded her arms and glared at him. "That's hardly charitable, Henrik. If you'd prefer to change your shifts and work tomorrow…"
"I am not going to change my shifts!" Henrik exploded. He headed towards the stairs, Roxanna winced as he hit his head on the beam again. "Bloody hell!" He stomped up the stairs. She heard the bedroom door slam.
Roxanna continued with her foliage decorations, but the joy had gone. She could not help shedding a tear as she teased the leaves into elegant Christmas displays and put them on the mantelpiece, the table and the windowsill. The wreath hung on the front door. It all looked and smelled welcoming and beautiful, but with the atmosphere between her and Henrik at an all-time low, her heart was heavy.
An hour after he had disappeared upstairs, he went out. She heard him go whilst she as in the bathroom, and just in time saw his Volvo disappearing up the driveway. Then she did cry, curled up on the bed, hugging a pillow. Furious with herself for being so weak, yet unable to shake the feeling that Henrik had only moved to the cottage to please her, all her insecurities over the past few months came to a head.
It was dark when she finally went downstairs to fix some supper. He still wasn't back and she wasn't hungry. She turned on the welcoming porch light and poured herself a glass of wine before running a warm bath. Even though she sat in it until the water was cold, he still didn't return. In the end, she went to bed, after having wrapped the present she had bought for him. She wasn't going to ring him. He had overreacted and needed to apologise. Storming out on her on Christmas Eve was simply unacceptable.
Henrik knew Roxanna was upset with him. He had behaved churlishly after all. He had gone to the shops to find something to make it up to her, but really he knew the only way he could do that was to be a charming host to Jac bloody Naylor, who would no doubt find fault with everything and walk away, having ruined their Christmas without so much as a thank you.
As he was walking, he saw the shoe shop. In the window were Doc Martins in several colours, including red ones. As he looked thoughtfully at them, he remembered the last time he tried to give Roxanna something meaningful. She had burst into tears and run away, not the reaction he had been expecting or longed for.
This time it would be different. He went into the shop. After some deliberation, he chose a patent red pair and had them wrapped. The shop assistant looked pleased as they obviously hadn't been expecting any more sales that night. Henrik carried them away, feeling pleased.
But he had one more present to get. He didn't suppose Jac would have any others to open that year, if she was even bothered about it.
She was bothered. He knew her well enough for that. And if she wasn't, then Roxanna would be. She was a lovely, warm, generous woman, his exact opposite. Why she wanted to be with him, he really didn't understand. He was just glad she did.
He roamed around the shops but nothing seemed obvious. In the end he called Essie, who gave him an excellent idea.
At the garden centre, he saw what he was looking for, a rose entitled Heart Of Gold. As he was walking to the checkout, a horrible thought struck him.
He was giving another woman a rose. How would that make Roxanna feel?
"Oh dear," he said out loud, hovering in the middle of the store.
It was too late, they were closing. He had run out of time.
On the way home he stopped at an off-licence and bought a bottle of Talisker to cheer himself up. He couldn't see this Christmas being anything other than an unmitigated disaster.
Before returning to the cottage, he went back to his old apartment to check everything was in order there. In reality, he was looking for an excuse not to go back and face Roxanna. He had made a mess of things yet again and he was ashamed of himself. Perhaps reminding himself of what his life used to be like would give him the courage to realise where his true home was.
The apartment was up for sale, so had been kept in the immaculate state he had left it in. Inside, he turned up the heating a notch and looked around. Had he really lived in such sterile circumstances? The dark oak floors, the wooden blinds, and navy blue walls, were all the choice of a man who wanted simplicity and darkness, a place to hid from pity and kindness and the judgement of others.
Now he had light and complication in the form of Roxanna, her expectations, wants and needs. He had warmth, intimacy and love. Truly, he was blessed, yet it had taken him all this time to see it.
The past few months had been difficult. At times he had been snappy and insular. Having another person there, with their clutter, their routines, their noise, had unnerved him. He had felt...
Discombobulated, like a lone Laborador having their home invaded by an endearing and occasionally irritating cat…
Yes, that was right, but then he remembered what it was like to come home to her, so feel her soft arms around him, hear her gentle voice, and sink into those velvet depths…
He heaved a sigh. The possibility of getting anywhere near Roxanna's velvet depths seemed rather remote right then. Perhaps he would be cracking open the Talisker sooner than he anticipated.
Or maybe not, if he went home – yes, home - to Jasmine Cottage, faced the music and apologised. Then on Christmas Day he would be a gracious host to Ms. Naylor, and maybe Roxanna would be amenable to his amorous advances later on that evening. Even if she wasn't, if she was tired and emotionally drained, just having her smiling at him with approval and promise was worth all of that.
The cottage was in darkness when he arrived home, but the porch light was on and Roxanna's car was still in its space. As he went inside the house, his mobile rang.
It was Jac.
"You'll be pleased to know I have to decline your offer of lunch tomorrow," she said.
"Oh, what a shame." He tried to keep the relief from his voice.
"Sacha's just told me we're going to a spa hotel to get drunk in a hot tub. It's an offer I can't refuse."
"Definitely not." Henrik allowed himself a little air punch and a silent "yes!"
"Henrik?"
"Yes, Ms. Naylor?"
"I can see you. I've been looking at the inside of your ear for the past two minutes. My present to you is some advice. Acquaint yourself with how your phone works, and keep off FaceTime."
He looked at the screen in horror. She flipped him a playful finger, then disappeared.
But the fact she wouldn't be joining them after all outweighed any embarrassment. All Henrik had to do was apologise to Roxanna. He just hoped she would forgive him.
She felt the bed dip as he climbed in, and the coolness of his body as he slipped his arm around her waist, gently moving her closer towards him. His lips pressed to her ear.
"I'm so sorry, Roxanna." The way he whispered her name made her melt every time. She sleepily turned and pulled him into her arms, warming him up.
"Jac is going away with Sacha," he said.
"You're delighted with that, I'm sure."
"Yes, but my behaviour was inexcusable. I'm sorry I left you on our first Christmas Eve. I shouldn't have done that."
"No, you shouldn't." She couldn't bring herself to totally forgive him yet. He had put her through hell that evening.
He turned on the light and saw the redness around her eyes.
"You've been crying. I did that to you!" He gathered her up in his arms and rocked her. "I'm so sorry. I've been a complete fool."
She felt the beating of his heart in time with her own, and knew he had been through hell as well. The past few months had been difficult for both of them, coming to terms with grief, putting the past behind them, and not feeling guilty about declaring their love for each other. It would take a lot more than a foolish argument to tear them apart.
She kissed his cheek. "We can all be fools at times. I love you, Henrik."
"I love you, Roxanna Macmillan."
She turned out the light and held him close, falling asleep in his arms.
Christmas Day, and they finally rose after making love in the early morning light. They had all day to fix a leisurely lunch and enjoy their first Christmas in Jasmine Cottage. While Henrik lit the wood burner, Roxanna prepared a champagne breakfast. It was rather lovely knowing they didn't have to bother to dress just yet, cosy in long dressing gowns and sheepskin slippers to protect their feet from the cold flagstone floor. Henrik still managed to look elegant in striped cotton pyjama bottoms and a long fleece dressing gown. Roxanna was cosied up in her gown, but underneath she wore the black silk chemise and panties he had given her on Valentine's Day.
Over breakfast, they exchanged gifts. When she saw the boots, she began to cry. The alarm on his face was almost comical, and she remembered with a she had done the same thing the last time he tried to give her a gift.
"They're perfect!" She flung her arms around him, and he knew it was the best present he could have given to her. As she hugged them to her chest and danced around the kitchen he could see vividly the young woman he had first fallen for, with her verve and spirit and joy.
"And there is one more," he said, pushing the bag with the rose inside it towards her.
She laughed. "That's odd, because I bought this for you." She gave him a bag from the same store. Together, they opened their gifts and began to laugh again.
They had each given the other roses. Where Henrik had chosen Heart Of Gold (okay, so it had been originally for Jac, but Roxanna would never know that) Roxanna had chosen a rose called Cariad.
"It means darling or sweetheart, but I expect you already know that," she said playfully. "We'll plant them together so they can intertwine up the cottage wall. Then this place will really feel like our home."
He pulled her onto his lap and whispered "Roxanna, cariad," in her ear. She shivered with delight at the soft caress of words against her skin. She pressed her lips to his, feeling him respond. He had such a kissable mouth. Sometimes she caught herself watching him when they were at work, relishing the thought of when they'd next be alone.
But now they were alone, and the day was young. She kissed him again, gently tugging at his lower lip, moving so she straddled his lap. For a moment they just enjoyed the close contact, his arms wrapped around her body.
"Wait a moment." He moved her away and carefully placed the roses on the floor in the utility area where it was cool, and came back. Without a word he guided her to the kitchen table and sat her on it.
"I believe we were rudely disturbed yesterday," he said calmly. She shuddered at the coolness of his tone, because she knew what was coming next.
He placed his hands on her knees and pushed her legs apart, standing between them. As he gently pushed her back on the table, she moved the remains of their breakfast out of the way. His kisses became hungry as he spread her out on the table. Her dressing gown fell apart as her legs wrapped around his waist. She could feel the heat and hardness of his need for her.
"Are we really going to do this right here, right now?" She said against his lips. "I was going to prep some vegetables for lunch."
"Oh yes, I think we are." His determined words ended in a gasp as he entered her. She heard something fall off the table and smash on the floor but it didn't matter, because her man was worshiping her with his body, his lips tracing a scalding trail down her throat, down until she felt the pull of his lips on her breast. She buried her fingers in his hair and hugged him tightly with her inner muscles as he pinned her to the table, moving within her with maddening slowness, until she was urging him to give her what she was desperate for.
"That isn't very ladylike, Miss Macmillan." He smiled down at her. "I thought you were eager to start peeling vegetables?"
She dug her fingers into his buttocks and pulled him hard against her, smiling back at him as she felt an answering throb.
"Lunch is going to be late."