The Hector Clause Read online

  The Hector Clause

  By Clare Revell

  Contents

  Copyright

  Praise for The Hector Clause

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Glossary

  Christmas Cake

  What’s Your Elf Name?

  Excerpt ~ Down In Yon Forest

  About Clare Revell

  Connect with Clare Revell

  Other Titles By Clare Revell

  Copyright

  The Hector Clause

  Where faith and romance meet

  By

  Clare Revell

  Copyright © 2016 By Clare Louise Revell

  This book is a work of fiction based in a real location. Any reference to historical or contemporary figures, places, or events, whether fictional or actual, is a fictional representation. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  eBook editions are licensed for your personal enjoyment only. eBooks may not be re-sold, copied or given away to other people. If you would like to share an eBook edition, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Scripture taken from THE HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION® NIV®

  Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by International Bible Society®. Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.

  Cover art by Clare Revell © Clare Revell 2016

  Praise for The Hector Clause

  The Hector Clause is an uplifting holiday story filled with a delightful toy store, festive elves galore, and second chances for our heroes, Brie and Hector. Christmas stories never fail to warm my heart, but I will read this one over and over. Not to be missed!

  ~ Jan Elder, author of Love, Lies, and Fireflies

  I really enjoyed reading The Hector Clause! The plot was interesting and you weren’t sure how the relationship was going to turn out until the last moment. I want to know what happens next!

  ~ Louise Watson

  Dedication

  For Mum and Dad who managed to mix Santa and the real meaning of Christmas so effectively.

  For being there tirelessly for the four of us, and now for our husbands / wives / kids.

  For showing us what a true marriage looks like and still going strong after 52 years.

  And for even now, dropping everything and coming the moment we call with a problem or emergency.

  Thank you.

  You are the most amazing parents a girl could ever ask for.

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to Louise and Jan for reading this book in its early stages and making loads of helpful comments.

  Thank you to Mum and Dad for also helping on the editing front.

  Huge thanks to my cover models. They know who they are. I am sworn to secrecy. I made them dress up on the hottest day of the year—32C with no air conditioning. If I mention them by name, I may live to regret it. So I won’t. Even though it’s extremely tempting to do so…

  The steps of a man are established by the LORD,

  and He delights in his way.

  When he falls, he will not be hurled headlong,

  because the LORD is the One who holds his hand…

  ~ Psalm 37:23-24 (NIV)

  Chapter One

  BRIE DALGLEISH STARED AT HER boss with a mixture of shock and amusement, her stomach churning. Had she heard him correctly? Did he just say elf?

  Admittedly, as his PA she was used to the elderly gentleman’s ways and sometimes obscure requests; such as his insistence on calling her by her full name of Briseis, rather than the nickname of Brie that she preferred. She’d worked for the owner of Jennings Toy Store in Reading, thirty miles west of London, since she graduated university and couldn’t have asked for a nicer or more understanding boss.

  This request, however, caught even her by surprise, coming as it did out of nowhere.

  “You want me to do what? Sir?” she added, hoping he wouldn’t take offence.

  Mr. Jennings didn’t alter his expression. Instead, his eyebrows rose further into his white hairline. Despite his age, he hadn’t lost any hair—the color had merely changed from grey to white over the intervening years. “Is there something wrong with your hearing, Miss Dalgleish?” His tone carried a measure of amusement despite his deadpan face.

  She shook her head. She’d crossed the line. In an instant, she’d gone from Briseis to Miss Dalgleish. “No, but I’m only a personal assistant. I work in an office. I won’t be any good at, well, dressing up and…” She waved her hands. “…this.”

  Lizzie Wallis, who worked the main reception desk, winked and patted her rather pronounced baby bump. “Well, I’d offer, but you can’t have a pregnant elf.”

  Brie rolled her eyes. “I don’t see why not, Lizzie. Baby elves have to come from somewhere, right?”

  “I’m nowhere near ready for this kind of a conversation.” Lizzie winked and put her hands over her stomach. “Little ears are listening. So I shall get back to work.” She picked up the empty cups, and headed to the door. “See you later.”

  The door shut. “There was one other task I’d like you to undertake.”

  Brie looked at him. What other bombshell was he about to drop on her?

  “Keep a general eye out for me. The store detectives will be out in force, but another pair of eyes won’t hurt. I can’t afford to lose more money to theft.”

  “Am I watching the staff or the customers?” she asked bluntly. If he wanted her to ‘spy’ for him, she needed to know who she was meant to be watching.

  “Staff, mainly, but obviously the customers as well.”

  “Seriously?” Shock resonated, an uncomfortable pitting in the bottom of her stomach. “Could someone who works here really be stealing?”

  The old man shrugged. “I don’t know, but I have to find out one way or the other.”

  “Okay, but an elf? There must be an easier way.”

  “It’s not up for debate, Briseis,” Mr. Jennings said firmly. “I’m an elf short and I want you there. You’re good with people.”

  “Yeah, that’s people in a business setting, not over excited children in a very busy shop floor setting.” She looked at him, sending up a silent prayer that he’d change his mind. “I don’t know the first thing about toys or grottos. Anyway, who’s going to answer your phones and type your letters while I’m down there? Not to mention organize this celebration party you want on Christmas Eve to mark the store’s centenary.”

  “Lizzie will do the mundane stuff for now. And I haven’t really given the party any thought. Kind of hoped to let it slide unnoticed this year. Here’s your costume.” He held out a plastic carrier bag. “There’s a staff briefing at eight fifteen in the morning. And don’t wear heels. It’ll break every elf and safety regulation in the book. There are cute boots with bells on in the bag.”

  “It’ll what?” She wasn’t in the mood for jokes, especially the really bad Christmas cracker variety.

  “Elf and safety regulations.” He shook his head in mock dismay. “Never mind. I’ll try my jokes on someone e
lse.”

  The phone in the empty outer office rang. “I’ll go get that.” Brie hurried from the room, leaving her boss chuckling. How could he simply let the date of the stores founding slide? It was a landmark and couldn’t be ignored, even if he wanted to do so.

  She silently fumed as she shut the door between his office and her makeshift office in the corner of the reception area. It’d been almost a year; nine months since she returned to work. She was fully fit once more and up for most things asked of her, but in all seriousness, dressing up as an elf was so not her.

  She had a desk. That’s where she worked. Where she liked it; which was far away from the crowds of shoppers and the over commercialization of the season, as she could possibly go without staying at home.

  Christmas was about Jesus, stables, stars, mangers and choirs of herald angels singing glory to God in the highest. Not about what she considered a myth—that of a bearded man in a red outfit. Although according to Lizzie, Brie’s faith was a myth and without Santa, Christmas was just a time for overeating and hoping you didn’t get socks again this year. However there was physical evidence Jesus existed, which was more than could be said for Santa.

  That super-being who could deliver toys to every single household in one night—well technically fifteen hours accounting for the time differences. Maybe the post office should take lessons from Santa. They couldn’t even get a letter from Reading to her parents’ house in Scotland in one week, never mind overnight.

  She dropped into the chair behind her desk and grabbed the phone. “Jennings Toy Store, Mr. Jennings secretary speaking. One moment, I’ll see if he’s available.” She hit the mute, then the intercom button. “I have Mr. Franklin on line two for you.”

  “Put him through.”

  “I can put you through now.” She hit a couple more buttons and put the phone down. Maybe it’d be nice to do something other than answer phones and make coffee for a couple of days, but then again, maybe not.

  Picking up her mug with one hand, she propped her chin on the other, sipping the lukewarm liquid as she checked the diary for the weeks ahead in the run up to Christmas. Nothing major planned. She noticed he’d crossed out the party on December 23rd after the store closed. She frowned.

  “Go home, Briseis.”

  She glanced up to find Mr. Jennings standing opposite her. “Sir?”

  “Get an early night. Trust me; you’re going to need it.” He closed the diary. “If something crops up that Lizzie can’t handle, I’ll know where to find you.” He perched a hip on her desk and held out a key. “Locker 247 is all yours.”

  “What about the anniversary party? All the staff are looking forward to it. You can’t just cancel it.”

  “It’s a postponement, not a cancellation. It isn’t fair to ask you to organize something this close to the anniversary of John’s death. We’ll celebrate in the New Year. Now go before I change my mind and make you work until six.”

  “Okay. G’night.” Brie retrieved her bag from the bottom drawer of the desk. She took the stairs down four stories to the ground floor, and headed out of the staff entrance into Gun Street. As always she’d parked in the Oracle, in one of the spaces on the top floor the toy store rented. Would she lose that perk now she wasn’t the boss’s PA? She wasn’t going to ask. This was temporary. Soon as Christmas was over, she’d be back to answering phones and making coffee.

  Refusing to use the lift, Brie hiked up the seven floors to the top level of the car park. She climbed into her small yellow vehicle and slammed the door, her mind replaying the conversation over and over. ‘It’s not fair to ask you to organize something this close to the anniversary of John’s death. We’ll celebrate in the New Year.’

  They were still pussyfooting around her and she hated it. She could protest until the cows came home that she wasn’t any different from every other employee in the store, but it would make no difference. They continued to treat her with kid gloves and probably always would.

  Maybe she should move, find a new job and start over someplace else. But she had a feeling that Reading was where God wanted her to be, despite everything that had happened. Where else would she have a church family as great as the one she had now? They had loved and supported her after the accident; even going as far as driving her to hospital appointments and going out with her until she felt confident driving again.

  Although, she hadn’t been driving the night they’d crashed. John had been.

  Not like that made it any easier on her, however. They’d been arguing a lot over a job he’d taken in the States and on the afternoon of her birthday, she discovered he’d been seeing someone else. She called off the engagement. Ironically, he’d still insisted on taking her to the store Christmas party that evening—a last goodbye before he left town and started a new life in the United States with this other woman. For some reason she still couldn’t fathom, she’d agreed. They’d crashed on the way to town in the midst of another argument.

  She was home before she realized it and swung the car into her designated parking space. Glancing up at the flats, a wave of sadness swept over her, tightening her throat and blurring her vision. She shook her head, trying to push past it. Like the song said, Christmas would be forever blue.

  She let herself indoors and turned on lights as she walked into the lounge. The tree stood silent and unloved in the corner of the room. It didn’t feel like Christmas, not even once she’d flicked on the multicolored fairy lights. She simply didn’t have the heart to decorate properly this year.

  Brie kicked off her shoes, tossed her bag and coat to the couch and unfastened her hair, letting the dark locks fall over her shoulders. Tonight she wasn’t going to let herself get maudlin. She padded into the kitchen and pulled the tub of leftovers from the fridge. Her nose wrinkled in disgust. She could smell the unpleasant odor from here without even removing the plastic cover. Tossing it into the bin, she sighed.

  Pub food it was. Brie put her coat and shoes back on and headed out into the drizzle.

  The pub was a five minute walk away. The air inside the building was thick and heavy after the chill, damp December evening. More rowdy than usual, the pub had a darts tournament going on at one end of the room, with the Reading v Portsmouth match on the large screen TV at the other. Loud music from the jukebox competed with the two sports.

  This was a mistake. She shouldn’t have come out. Head ringing, Brie turned to leave. She collided with a tall, firm, warm body.

  He spun around, his beer spilling from the glass onto her coat.

  “Sorry…” They both apologized at the same time.

  Brie took a step back, shaking her coat. Great, now I have to put this into the cleaners. Serves me right for buying a ‘dry clean only’ winter coat. She glanced up.

  Blue eyes twinkled beneath the shock of untidy light brown hair. Long fingers with short bitten nails curved around the now half full glass of warm beer. “You okay?”

  She inclined her head, trying her level best to be polite and not allow her temper to bite his head off for not being careful. “I’m fine. Can I get you a new drink?”

  “No. Thanks for the offer though.”

  Brie headed out into the fresh air. As she crossed the car park, she was aware of someone following her. She moved to one side and pulled out her phone. Rather than call the cops and make a fool of herself if it turned out to be nothing, she did the next best thing. This was a failsafe back up she and Lizzie had anytime either of them went out alone. They had a code word to use if either of them got into trouble for any reason. The other then knew instantly to dial 9-9-9 and get back up.

  She dialed quickly. “Hey, Lizzie.” The bloke from the pub raised a hand in greeting as he passed her. Brie watched him climb into his car and drive off. “No, I’m fine. I just wanted to say hope it goes okay with Mr. J tomorrow. If you need me, you know where I am.”

  “Thanks. Have fun in the grotto.”

  “I’ll try. G’night.” Brie hung up and walke
d briskly along the wet pavement to the chip shop on the corner of the road. She pushed open the door to be greeted by the tantalizing aroma of fried potatoes and vinegar. She breathed deep. The scent always reminded her of her childhood, living next door to her grandparents chip shop.

  The bloke in front turned around. Of course it was the man from the pub. Who else would it be? “Are you following me?” he asked with a smile.

  “Perish the thought. I really don’t want vinegar or ketchup over my coat as well,” she replied, keeping her tone light. It really was quite funny if you thought about it.

  He held out a hand. “Hector.”

  She shook his hand briefly, admiring the firm grip. “Brie.”

  “Brie as in cheese?” His eyes widened and he sounded more than a little surprised.

  She stifled a chuckle. “No, although being named after a cheese would have been preferable and more than a little more delicious. It’s short for Briseis and way easier to pronounce. Mum had a thing for the story of Troy. It could be worse. I could have been called Andromache or Helen.”

  “What’s wrong with Helen?”

  “I’m not pretty enough to launch a thousand ships, much less fight a war over.”

  Hector tilted his head. “Hmm, the jury’s out on that one.” He moved forward with the queue. “But at least you weren’t named after a cardboard cutout TV dog. Or have an older brother called Nicholas.” He turned to the counter and placed his order.

  “I can see why a cardboard TV dog is a problem, but Nicholas?”

  He glanced over his shoulder. “It is when your surname is Clause. Nick never lived it down.” He handed over a ten pound note and slid his wallet back into his pocket. He picked up his packet of food. “This may be a little forward, but do you want to share a table and eat in?”