Page 70 of A Chef's Kiss for Christmas

“Yes.” Gravel crunched underfoot as they moved towards the front door. “You heard what I said, right? You got yourself into this? If you have a terrible time, you only have yourself to blame.”

“I’m not worried,” she said. “I think it’ll be fun.”

“I wish I had your confidence.”

“I think that’s the first time anyone’s ever said that to me,” she replied, amused.

“You know what I mean,” he said with a hint of an eye roll.

He insisted on carrying her bag as they ascended the few steps to the front door. Weirdly, she felt pretty confident while they waited in silence after the extended melodic chime of the doorbell.

“They probably forgot we’re coming,” Warren said, giving up on waiting and trying the handle to find the door open. He walked into the spacious entranceway, at the centre of which was a tall Christmas tree, decked out with stylish blue and silver baubles.

“Hello!” Warren called, depositing their bags at the foot of the wide staircase. “Anybody home?”

Anna’s eyes flittered over the selection of abstract paintings on the white walls. She was no art aficionado, but she’d guess they weren’t cheap.

“Where is everyone?” she whispered, feeling suddenly like an intruder.

“They’ll be around here somewhere.” He tipped his head and set off along the hall.

“It’s huge,” Anna remarked when he opened the second door they came to and revealed a large but cosy living room with three walls lined with glass-fronted bookcases and the other wall containing a huge wall-mounted TV.

“It’stoobig,” Warren said. “You can’t find people. Let’s try the kitchen.”

They hadn’t got much further along the hall when a voice reached them – loud and assertive and seemingly mid-argument.

“That’s my sister,” Warren said flatly.

He knocked on the doorframe of the open doorway at the end of the hall as he stepped through it. Anna followed him into the large open-plan kitchen/dining room. At the marble top island, a young woman sat perched on a high stool with a laptop and a bunch of papers spread in front of her. She glanced up, her eyes landing on Warren and Anna before darting back to the laptop screen to continue her video call.

“I have to go,” she said. “My brother and his girlfriend just arrived. But make the changes to the contract. If we have to redo it later, so be it. And if Peter Fisher gets back to you, I want to know about it straightaway.” Her lips pulled to what might have been a smile, but was so fleeting it was hard to say for sure. Then she closed the lid of her laptop and slid off her stool.

Even if it weren’t for the logos on her crisp white shirt and the buckle of her belt, the perfect tailoring of her jeans and shirt made it clear the outfit was all designer labels. Together with her neatly styled blonde hair, perfectly made-up face and subtle but striking jewellery, she looked as though she’d just stepped out of a high-class magazine as she strode over to them.

“It’s so great you could make it,” she said, leaning into Warren and greeting him with an air kiss beside his cheek. “I said to Mum, I’d believe it when I saw you, but here you are.”

“Here I am,” Warren parroted, then gestured beside him. “Selena, this is Anna.”

“Lovely to meet you.” She smiled, but made no move for physical contact. “Mum’s been telling me all about you.”

“It’s good to meet you too,” Anna said. “This house is gorgeous.”

“Yes, I love it. Sometimes I just need to get out of the city. It’s the perfect escape.”

“Where are Mum and Dad?” Warren asked.

“In the study.” Selena grimaced. “Mum said to tell you something came up with the deal they’re working on. They’ll probably be on video calls all afternoon, but she said you should make yourselves at home.”

Her phone rang, and she backtracked to her makeshift desk. “That’s my assistant, Patricia. I should probably take it.” She cast Anna an apologetic smile. “It’s a little chaotic today, but we’ll all have dinner together later.” She swiped her finger across the phone screen. “Hang on one second, Patricia.” Settingher phone on the worktop, she collected up her papers and lifted them into the crook of her arm with her laptop.

“Where’s Josh?” Warren asked.

“With Tamara. I think she was taking him to some play centre in Bath. They’ll be back for dinner. We’ll eat at seven.” With her phone at her ear, she waltzed past them, then stopped in the doorway and turned back. “You’re in the back bedroom. The one that used to be the playroom.”

“I thought we’d be up in the attic,” Warren said.

She wrinkled her nose. “Why would you be up there?”