A Villain for Christmas (The Holyoake Christmas Series, Book 2)

Diegetic Audio Dissolve

"Yes, please," she mumbled.

"Oh I forgot to mention, Nana said that your Aunts know you're here and safe," Clem said and mannerly placed a forkful of eggs in her mouth.

Billie suddenly didn't feel at all hungry.

"Apparently she'd rang them up last night," the writer added, "and said you'd be staying over, just like all those years ago when you'd sneaked into the house looking for Federico."

Billie's fork slipped out of her weakened fingers and landed on the table, splashing her with whatever delicious sauce Dair had dressed the bangers in. Her ears were burning so much that she considered asking for a bag of some frozen vegetables, some of those blueberries that Dair had added in the pancakes, perhaps. Billie swallowed a bite of said scrumptious pancake so hard as if it was a whole avocado stone.

"Wh-what's that?" the man asked; and Billie felt his gaze on the side of her face. "W-was it after I–"

"I wasn't looking for you!" Billie hollered, addressing the juicy slice of tomato on her plate. "I sneaked in because I wanted to see the books! Because they were writers, Pat and Teddy Holyoakes; and May Holyoake was a famous translator from Japanese! And I'd heard rumours about their library! It was months after you'd been to Fleckney - and I was not looking for you!"

She peeked and saw him study her intently. The girls were turning left and right as if at Wimbledon.

"They're in the Duck Pond now," Clem deadpanned, and Billie whipped her face towards the writer.

"Who they?"

"The books. They are in the Duck Pond, the Holyoakes' cottage. It used to belong to Will, but now that Eric–"

"Th-that's unimportant," Dair interrupted his cousin-in-law, and she gave him a surprised look. "M-more tea?" he offered nonchalantly and got up to start the kettle.

Everyone grew quiet, which served Billie just fine. The last thing she wanted was for that old story to be dragged out for Dair to misinterpret.

After they finished the meal, Clem volunteered to do the washing up.

"Will you play with us, please?" one of the dark-haired girls asked Billie.

"I'm sure Uncle Eric and Ms. Harewicke have got work to do," Clem said hurriedly and turned to Billie. "Don't feel obliged, please. They've got books, paints and crayons, and plenty of games."

Billie would rather read said books; she was sure they were of the highest standard considering that the girls' Mother was one of the best modern mystery writers, and their father owned one of the largest publishing houses in the country. Talk of family envy! Billie would even agree on painting and colouring, if she were honest.

"I've g-got the script and the m-materials in my car," Dair said.

Billie accepted her fate and dragged herself into the sitting room.

***

An hour later, Billie was absorbed in reading the script, curled in one of Nana Holyoake's enormous wingbacks. She had to borrow some paper and several coloured pencils from the girls and was taking notes - when she remembered, that was; which wasn't easy. It was after all Margo Adley! The author was a master of suspense!

Billie had heard of The Green Glove, one of Adley's early unfinished novels that the script was based on; but Billie was utterly unprepared for the plot twists, for the depravity of the characters, and the crass yet succinct language. She could also see why Bondarenko wanted Billingsley and Dair for the two protagonists. The pair of them were definitely giving out the whole Sherlock and Moriarty, or Deschain and Flagg, or even McMurphy and Ratched vibe. Billingley's Inspector Munt - intellectual, cocaine-addicted, disillusioned, and cynical, emaciated due to a blood disorder - was an excellent opponent for Dair's Clayton Milton, a nouveau riche, cunning and ruthless former boxer, prone to berserker rage fits, accused and later acquitted of beating his unfaithful upper-class wife to death. The characters clash a year after Mrs. Milton's murder when Munt receives an anonymous letter informing him that Milton is having a party in his newly purchased stately home, where he's planning to announce his engagement to his late wife's sister. The 'happy couple,' the Inspector, a dozen guests, and about the same number of servants end up stranded in the house, trapped by a snowstorm; and things quickly get out of hand. Bondarenko was surely getting more out of her location research that she could ask for.

Billie closed the last page, dropped her head back, and closed her eyes. After a literary adventure of such potency, she required a moment to return to her tedious reality. And then her eyes flew open, and she stared at Dair, who was lying on the sofa, stretched in all his impressive height, one arm behind his back, earphones on. Suddenly, her real life didn't seem so humdrum! She'd just finished reading a riveting piece of literature - and she didn't have to say goodbye to the characters! A version of a protagonist was lounging in front of her, the fingers of his other hand lazily playing with the tassels on the afghan thrown over his middle. And said version wasn't complete yet; the film hadn't come out yet; they hadn't botched it up yet - like they did with every Rochester, Hester Prynne, Wentworth, Oak, and Mary Poppins.

Dair's thick feathery lashes fluttered, and he met Billie's eyes.

"This–" Billie lifted the stack of print-outs in the air. "–is magnificent."

Dair pulled the earphones out.

"P-pardon?"

"I finished the script, and I think–"

His eyebrows jumped up. "You f-finished it already?!"

"I'm a certified speed reader," Billie dismissed. She rocked forward in the armchair and shook the script in her hand. "I can see why Bondarenko wants to do it. And I think I know exactly how to convince her to film it in the Hall. Also, what are you planning to do with Milton's temper? How are you playing his outbursts? Is he mad? Clinically insane? Faking it? Blimey, Adley's a genius!" Billie was raising her voice. "How do you 'pluck out the heart of his mystery?' The scene on the balcony is so ambiguous, it's electrifying! I've got goosebumps!" she exclaimed and thrust her free arm towards him.

He lunged forward, his bottom still on the sofa, his upper half suspended mid-air by the strength of his surely exceptional core muscles. His fingers wrapped around her wrist; he pulled; and Billie fell into his arms like an old tatty duffle bag out of an overhead storage compartment on a coach.

"Eric!" she yelped.

He pinched the sleeve of her pyjama top and bared her forearm.

"What are you doing?" Billie hissed, tingling head to toe.

"Ch-checking your goose–" He pressed his lips to the round bone on the inside of her wrist. "–bumps."

Three more tiny kisses followed, each closer to her elbow.

"But the children– and Clem–" Billie sounded ridiculously breathy.

"You're so f-fit when you're f-fired up about books," he purred, stretched, and nuzzled her neck. "Carina, deliziosa... And I d-don't know what I'm doing with Milton. I'm only h-half in. D-dyslexic, yeah?"

"Do you want me–" A strangled little mewl escaped her, because his warm lips slid along the side of her neck.

"I do," he rumbled. "Cazzo, damn snow..."

"I was going to offer to read the script to you." Billie valiantly fought against the strange haze in her noggin. "And if you could share your thoughts– Um, Eric... Your thoughts on your character, and how he would have the house– Oh god..."

His hands were creeping up her hips, bunching up the shirt matching his trousers. Even through her leggings, it felt as if his palms were leaving sensitive marks on her skin.

"Just..." He drew her closer, and on top of him. "Un po' di più... B-bit more..."

Billie twisted from under his greedy mouth, pressed her hands into his shoulders, and shoved him back down onto the sofa.

"W–" Dair stopped in his tracks - and smirked. "Oh I s-see."

"One more, and then back to work," Billie ordered, cupped his jaw, and snogged him.