Sneak Preview Of A Christmas Celebration by Heidi Swain!

By fiction editor Susan Watson

Sarah Proctor ©

Old friends, new flames and a season to remember… here’s your chance to experience the sparkling new Christmas novel from Sunday Times bestselling author Heidi Swain.

When Paige turns up unannounced at Wynthorpe Hall, she discovers the place she knew when she was growing up has changed beyond all recognition. She’s only planning to stay for a short time, but finds herself pulled into local life.

One night while driving home after delivering library books and shopping to residents she stumbles across an isolated cottage. There she meets Albert, its elderly and rather grumpy owner. She quickly realises there’s more to Albert than meets the eye.

The same can be said for the other man she can’t seem to help running into – the handsome but brooding Brodie.

All three of them have a secret, and a desire to hide away from the world. But with Christmas on the horizon, is that really the best way to celebrate the season?

About the Author

Heidi lives in beautiful south Norfolk with her family and a mischievous cat called Storm. She is passionate about gardening, the countryside, collecting vintage paraphernalia and reading. Her TBR pile is always out of control!

Heidi Swain Pic: Laura Aziz

**Now read on for an extract from A Christmas Celebration by Heidi Swain!**

Publishing 13^th October 2022, £8.99, Simon & Schuster UK

Chapter 1

It had taken me a while to come to terms with it, but deep down I had known my time working in Jordan was coming to an end. I knew even before the loss of corporate funding made the number of aid workers unsustainable.

I had worked for the charity since graduation almost a decade ago, and there was only so long anyone could cope with working in refugee camps across the world. I had overstretched myself by at least eighteen months. My managers had already expressed concern that I was bowling towards burnout but I had doggedly ploughed on, determined to complete my contract before bowing out for a long overdue break.

However, with just weeks to go and under immense pressure as more and more people arrived at the camp, I had made a mistake. A stupid one, a huge one, a potentially life ending one and it had been decided that I would be doing everyone a favour if I stood down early. I was lucky my boss was willing to cite the withdrawal of the sponsorship we relied on as the reason for my premature departure, but I still felt like I had failed.

Six hours after boarding a plane in Jordan, I stepped out of Heathrow Airport and was welcomed by a blast of freezing November air that my inadequate cotton outfit had no chance of rebuffing and to the sound of my mobile ringing somewhere in the depths of my backpack. I hastily stepped back inside, out of the way of the wave of travellers also exiting the building, and rummaged until I found it.

‘Paige?’

‘Mum.’ I smiled, surprisingly choked to hear her voice.

‘Paige,’ she said again, this time her tone full of relief. ‘You’ve landed?’

‘Yes,’ I told her, swallowing away the lump in my throat. ‘Just. I’m now about to leave the airport.’

My parents had already set sail on their annual winter cruise when I had announced that I was coming back to the UK earlier than planned. It had been a ruse on my part. I had known I was heading home before they departed, but I hadn’t wanted to be subjected to either their well-intentioned fuss or the inevitable questions, so hadn’t said anything until they were long out of the dock. Hearing Mum’s voice then though, I did wonder if that had been the right thing to do.

‘Thank goodness,’ she said, sounding further relieved.

Her tone confirmed that she, as well as Dad, had worked out that there was more behind my premature return than I had let on.

‘Is Dad there?’ I asked before she had a chance to start firing questions. ‘Where exactly are you?’

‘He is,’ she said, her voice drifting away a little. ‘We’re in the Cayman Islands and it’s as hot as hell. We’re going to swim with stingrays later . . .’

‘Never mind about our schedule,’ I heard Dad bluster in the background. ‘Ask her if she’s all right.’

‘You said not to,’ Mum tutted.

The line went quiet and I laughed as I imagined the pair of them tussling with the phone.

‘Paige,’ came Dad’s voice. He had obviously won the scrimmage. ‘How are you?’

With a lengthy army career behind him, Dad knew that my work in war-ravaged countries had never been easy. He had been of the same opinion as my manager, that I was pushing my luck and needed a break.

‘Good.’ I swallowed, the laughter dying on my lips and the words sticking in my throat as he came straight to the point. ‘Great. Looking forward to some time on my own.’

I was still looking forward to that, wasn’t I?

‘Well, that’s a shame,’ Dad then surprised me by saying. ‘About the time on your own, I mean.’

I had assumed he was all for me taking the opportunity to step away and regroup.

‘Is it?’ I frowned, sticking my finger in my ear to block out the noise of the busy concourse. ‘Why?’

The line crackled for a moment and I heard him say something to Mum.

‘Because,’ he then said, his voice louder again, ‘I was going to suggest you headed to somewhere other than the house. Somewhere that you’d find a bit of company, but if you’d really rather be alone . . .’

‘Where?’ I butted in.

‘Wynthorpe.’

‘Wynthorpe Hall?’ I frowned. ‘Why would you suggest I should go there?’

Wynthorpe Hall was nestled in the heart of the Fens and was the family home of my godparents, Catherine and Angus Connelly. It was a wonderful place, but I knew it was far from the silent sanctuary I had been craving in which to hide out and lick my metaphorical wounds in private.

As well as two of the three Connelly sons, Jamie and Archie, their partners lived at the hall too, along with a whole host of staff who were so close to the family they were also considered kin.

‘Because your exasperating godfather has . . . well, how can I put it?’ Dad struggled to explain. ‘Rather overstretched himself, I suppose you could say.’

I heard Mum muttering in the background and couldn’t help but smile again. My darling godfather, Angus, was always overstretching himself with one madcap scheme or another. His antics were entertaining to hear about, but that was when there were thousands of miles between us and I was in no danger of getting roped into helping with them.

‘What’s he done now?’ I couldn’t resist asking while simultaneously feeling a pang of sympathy for my godmother, Catherine. ‘Surely there’s enough people around and about at the hall to keep him on the straight and narrow?’

‘Well, that’s the thing,’ said Dad. ‘Most of them aren’t there at the moment. The charity Jamie and Anna run has closed for a couple of months, so they’ve taken the opportunity to fly out to Africa to visit the project Jamie worked on before he took over management of the hall.’

‘But why does that matter if the charity is closed?’ I asked, unable to fathom why their absence would be a problem.

‘It matters because Anna does a lot of volunteering locally,’ Dad explained. ‘She’s in charge of delivering groceries, library books and prescriptions to people who live out of town and she does a fair bit of ferrying to appointments and things too.’

‘In that case, why did she and Jamie leave without having sorted some cover first?’ I asked, feeling further confused.

‘Because Angus insisted he would be able to sort it.’ Dad filled me in. ‘He was worried they wouldn’t go at all if they were stressing about finding cover so he said he’d arrange it all and sent them on their way.’

‘I see,’ I said. ‘And there really is no one else who can help?’

‘Apparently not,’ said Dad, ‘and Hayley the housekeeper and her partner, Gabe, who maintains the grounds, are also away now too. There wasn’t supposed to be much of an overlap with Jamie and Anna’s trip but Gabe’s sister had a change to her schedule and the run up to Christmas suddenly became the only time they’d be able to get together.’

‘Crikey,’ I said. ‘So who have they got cleaning the hall?’

I knew that there was more to that particular role than flinging a vacuum cleaner about once a week.

‘No one at the moment,’ Dad explained. ‘And you know what a big deal Christmas at Wynthorpe is now, so there’s all of that to contend with too.’

I’d momentarily forgotten about the more recent festive changes, but the Wynthorpe Hall Winter Wonderland really was a big deal and, according to the plethora of photos I’d seen posted online, a huge seasonal spectacle. It doubtless took endless organising and, with fewer people to help set it up, would soon become more of a pain than a pleasure.

‘I do know, yes,’ I said. ‘So, this really is rotten timing for the four of them to be off, isn’t it? Whatever was Angus thinking?’

‘Since when does Angus think?’ Dad laughed. ‘You know what he’s like. He just wants everyone to be happy.’

That did sound very much like my godfather. Generous to a fault, but often without a thought for the consequences and repercussions. As this current situation proved.

‘So, what do you think?’ Dad asked.

‘About what?’

‘About going to the hall. Why don’t you go and save the day? You could do the deliveries and flick a duster about the place, couldn’t you? You could have a proper Christmas there too. It’s been years since you’ve been in the country at the right time to celebrate that.’

‘I suppose . . .’ I said, biting my lip.

‘I know they’d be thrilled to see you.’ I heard Mum chip in. ‘Poor Archie has been pulling his hair out. He’s at his wits’ end with it all.’

I daresay, as the only Connelly brother in residence it was down to him to pick up the pieces and try to find a way to tidy up the mess his well-meaning father had made.

‘It might be just the distraction you find you need,’ Dad then craftily added.

And that was how, just an hour after arriving in the UK on November the fourteenth, I found myself boarding a bus for Peterborough and then another for the Fenland town of Wynbridge.