Would she hear from Malcolm today? Would she hear from him at all before she saw him on the twenty-eighth? He’d asked for her phone number before he’d left the previous night, and she’d given it to him, but there had been people around and they kept getting interrupted, so she’d forgotten to ask him for his.

But it already felt strange to know she wouldn’t see him for three days, and might not even have any contact with him at all.

She laughed at herself. Five days in a row with a man and it was like she was addicted to him. What had gotten into her? She was acting very silly, but somehow, she didn’t mind at all. She smiled and opened her book.

Malcolm enjoyed his drive back to London from Sandringham a lot more than he’d enjoyed his drive there. It was Christmas Day, the sun was shining, everyone in the government was on holiday until early January and couldn’t bother him, and soon he’d be spending five straight days with Vivian in London.

He smiled when he thought about the night before. With the exception of his misstep with Vivian’s travel arrangements, that had been the most fun Christmas Eve he’d had in a long time. He hoped Vivian really did forgive him for doing that, and hadn’t just decided to stay with him in London because her daughter had intervened. He was pretty sure from what he knew of her that she wasn’t the type to just go along with something she didn’t want to do, but just in case, he needed to make some excellent plans for the two of them, to ensure she had a great time. He already had a few ideas—he’d make some calls the day after Boxing Day. He smiled to himself; this was where his job came in handy.

After a quick stop at his flat to drop off his luggage and briefcase, he went straight to Sarah’s. It was still early in the day, but he was looking forward to seeing everyone, and finding out what this great news was that Miles kept hinting at. He laughed as he remembered Vivian’s hilarious guesses. When he parked his car, he pulled out his phone.

Happy Christmas! Enjoying your first English Christmas? Looking forward to seeing you in a few days.

He pressed send and then he realized he hadn’t given her his number the night before.

Um, this is Malcolm, by the way.

He could almost hear her laughter in her response.

Oh really? I never would have guessed! And Happy Christmas to you too! Have fun at your sister’s. Julia is stuffing me full of food here.

He slid his phone into his pocket and rang Sarah’s doorbell with a smile on his face.

She, however, was not smiling when she opened the door.

“Happy Christmas, Sarah!” he said anyway, and pulled her into a hug. She stood in his arms stiffly but dropped her head on his shoulder for a moment before she pulled away.

“Mmm. Not sure how happy it is.” She shook her head and turned to walk down the hallway. “I hope you can talk some sense into him.”

Oh dear. Whatever Miles’s news was, Sarah was not happy about it. It was probably moving in with the girlfriend; Sarah had never liked her. He prepared himself to make peace between his sister and his nephew, once again. Luckily, he was used to that role; he’d been doing it ever since Miles was a preteen.

Malcolm followed Sarah into the kitchen and took a deep breath in. Everything smelled fantastic. He could tell the turkey was already in the oven, and there were three glorious cakes on the counter. His sister may not be a professional chef like Julia, but she was a fantastic cook. Miles sat at the table peeling potatoes.

“Help me with this, will you?” Miles said when he walked in.

“Happy Christmas to you, too,” he said to his nephew.

Miles looked up at him with a grin.

“Oh right, Happy Christmas. Help peel these? I saved you a bun.” Miles gestured over to the bread box.

Malcolm laughed and hunted out the bun, badly wrapped up in tinfoil next to the bread box. As he sat down at the table, Sarah deposited a cup of tea in front of him and muttered something about needing to clean the loo, then disappeared. She was usually in the kitchen all day on holidays. She was either really upset about whatever was going on with Miles, or she’d left to give him this time to find out what was going on with Miles, and “talk some sense into him.”

He grinned to himself when he thought of all of the things Sarah had wanted him to talk sense into Miles about over the years. Those trousers he’d insisted on wearing when he was thirteen, the cigarettes she’d found in his room when he was fifteen, how he wanted to do nothing but draw from ages ten to thirteen, that friend of his who was a “bad lot” when he was sixteen. For most of these things, he’d done a bit of talking sense into Miles, but he’d mostly explained to Miles how to best get along with his mother, and explained to Sarah how to deal with her son. He expected more of the same today.

He took a bite out of the bun and smiled as the icing hit his tongue. They’d had buns like this for Christmas his whole life; he was pleased Sarah still made them.

“Oh, this reminds me.” He took a bag out of his pocket and tossed it to Miles. “I got you some of those sweets you like.”

Miles grabbed the bag and looked up with a grin on his face.

“From that place in Norfolk? Oh wow, thank you.” He laughed. “Remember that time the dog got into the bag of those sweets and ate it all when I’d only had one piece? I was so mad.”

Malcolm laughed, too.

“If I remember correctly, you cried for hours about it, and refused to speak to the dog for a week.”

Miles pulled a piece of candy out and popped it in his mouth.

“I was only seven!” He laughed again. “The poor dog.”

“So, Miles, don’t keep me in suspense.” Malcolm got up from the table and got a paring knife. There was an extra peeler on the table, but he’d learned how to peel potatoes with paring knives and still thought his way was faster. “What’s your big news?”

Miles dropped his peeler and beamed up at Malcolm.

“I was accepted into the London College of the Arts! My instructor this year said I had a huge amount of talent but also a huge amount to learn, so I applied, and I got a place, and with a scholarship! I start in the autumn!”

Malcolm sat down across from him.

“That is exciting, but . . . I don’t understand. You’ll be at Oxford next year.”

Miles shook his head.

“No, no, this is instead of Oxford. I can’t wait to learn more and more and devote myself to my painting. Mum keeps ragging on me, but I know that you’ll—”

“Instead of Oxford?” Malcolm couldn’t remember the last time he’d shouted at his nephew—probably the cigarette thing—but he couldn’t help it. “Devote yourself to painting?” He shook his head and laughed. “No. You are not doing that.”

Miles’s lips tightened.

“Yes, I am!” He dropped the potato on the table. “I can’t believe you’re reacting this way. You’ve always been supportive of me and my art; I thought you’d be thrilled that I’m working hard and making real progress and listening to my instructor when she says—”

Malcolm sighed.

“I am supportive of you and your art, Miles. I love your paintings, I agree with your instructor when she says you have a lot of talent, and I am thrilled that you’re working hard. I see nothing wrong with you planning for a future in the arts—haven’t I taken you to museums hundreds of times? But you also need contingency plans. Good Lord, you’re not giving up Oxford for art school. You don’t get to throw your future away like this.”