Page 59 of Christmas All the Way

They walked in silence for a few steps before Keeley suddenly stopped walking. ‘It’s no good. I can’t keep this to myself any longer,’ she burst out, causing Grace to stop in her tracks too.

‘What’s the matter?’ she asked in alarm. ‘Has something bad happened? Do you need help?’

Keeley pressed her lips together. ‘It’s nothing bad. It’s just – well, can you keep a secret?’

‘You know I can,’ Grace said, wondering what her friend was about to tell her this time. ‘I didn’t tell anyone about Eliza’s manuscript, did I?’

Keeley blew out a long breath. It plumed like smoke on the frosty air. ‘That’s true,’ she said, and began to walk again. ‘But this is bigger than that, and it’s strictly unofficial for the time being.’

Grace caught her up. What on earth did she mean by unofficial? Perhaps this time she was talking about her relationship with Xander, although it seemed unlikely. ‘I have no idea what this is about but, official or unofficial, you know I won’t breathe a word.’

‘Good,’ Keeley said fretfully. ‘Because if I don’t confide in someone, I think I might spontaneously combust.’

At that, she lapsed into a silence that felt even more dramatic than her sudden outburst moments before. Grace coughed meaningfully. ‘Speaking of spontaneously combusting…’

The words seemed to jolt Keeley from her thoughts. ‘Sorry.’ She took a few more steps then gave Grace a sidelong look. ‘You know how I’ve never been able to understand why Eliza’s work has never been adapted for film or TV?’

The breath caught in Grace’s throat. ‘Yes.’

‘Well, it turns out all I needed to do was discover a secret, unpublished manuscript and make a big splash when announcing it,’ Keeley said, shaking her head. ‘The trustees have been approached by the BBC. They want to turn The Merriest Month into a six-part series, to air next Christmas as the jewel in the crown of their festive programming.’

‘That’s amazing!’

‘I know,’ Keeley said, beaming. ‘I must have read the email a hundred times now and I still can’t believe it’s real. They’re talking about casting Nick Borrowdale as Jonas Laidlaw. Nick bloody Borrowdale, Grace. Can you imagine it?’

Nick Borrowdale was an immensely popular, universally fancied Irish actor in his late thirties who had set temperatures rising across the country with his rough and raunchy portrayal of a Cornish squire in the BBC drama Smuggler’s Cove some years earlier. He’d since become box office gold, taking Hollywood by storm, and Grace knew it was a given that anything he put his name to would be a roaring success. ‘Wow,’ she said, suddenly warmer than she wanted to be inside her winter coat and scarf. ‘Hang on, does that mean you get to meet him?’

‘I have no idea,’ Keeley admitted. ‘It’s still early days. But there has been talk about me being a script consultant. Me!’

‘Of course they’d want you to help translate Eliza’s brilliance to the screen,’ Grace said, trying to ignore a faint prickle of jealousy that Keeley might actually get to be in the same room – or at least on the same set – as Nick Borrowdale. ‘When will it all become official?’

‘I don’t know that either,’ her friend admitted. ‘Maybe at the start of the new year. They’ll want to get this Christmas out of the way first.’

Grace nodded. ‘If they’ve got any sense, they’ll tie it into the publication of the novel.’ She eyed Keeley curiously. ‘What does Xander think?’

Keeley seemed suddenly concerned with rummaging through her pockets for her keys. ‘I don’t know. I haven’t asked.’

‘Don’t you think you should?’ Grace asked gently. ‘Finding the manuscript was as much down to him as you.’

‘If we’re being totally honest, he was the one who actually found it,’ Keeley admitted, finding her key and thrusting it into the door of the cottage. ‘It might still be hidden in that secret drawer if he hadn’t noticed something was off. But as I said, nothing has been confirmed yet. Once it’s all official, I’ll tell him. I’m sure he’ll have some ideas about it.’

She still sounded hurt and Grace supposed she had a right to be. Xander had made a colossal misjudgement when he’d revealed the discovery of the manuscript to the trustees without her agreement. It would take a lot longer than a few months for Keeley to forgive him, and there was a strong possibility she might never fully trust him again. ‘It’s such amazing news,’ she said, following Keeley into the house. ‘Just think – one of Eliza’s books on the television at last!’

‘I know,’ Keeley said, beaming at her. ‘It’s the stuff of dreams.’

‘It really is,’ Grace said, thrilled all over again. ‘So you know your possible role as a script consultant?’

‘Yes,’ her friend said, frowning a little. ‘Not confirmed yet, either.’

‘Do you think, if it is confirmed, that you might be able to do me a teensy-weensy favour?’

Keeley’s eyebrows rose. ‘Depends what it is.’

Grace adopted her most innocent expression. ‘Do you think you could add in a scene where Nick Borrowdale strides out of a lake in a dripping wet shirt?’

The second week of December was even busier than the first; it seemed to Grace as if the entire population of Essex had descended on Santa’s Secret for lights and decorations. Grace spent most of her time on the shop floor, or in the stockroom, and she rarely saw Ivy for more than a few brief moments during the day, usually as they passed each other on errands for customers. But apart from the ache in her feet once she got home each evening, Grace had few complaints. She loved helping people to find the ingredients for their perfect Christmas and was happy to give her opinion when asked whether two styles would clash or complement each other, or recommend a decorative theme that would stand out. But at the same time, she was aware that her time at Santa’s Secret was due to end on Christmas Eve. Raff had told her that although Ivy was happy that the rent wasn’t going up, she was still making noises about retirement and Grace hadn’t judged it the right time to ask her about staying on.

Her mother was her usual blunt self when Grace told her what had happened over lunch on the last Sunday before Christmas.