He was an obvious business type, dressed in a sharp suit and immaculate shirt and tie, and from his lofty height had the distinct advantage over her five foot three. His richly dark hair fell carelessly around his ears, enhancing the line of his firm jaw…and his eyes! Black and glittering in their pools of startling white. They were calculating, even dangerous eyes, Cryssie thought instinctively.
Clearing her throat, she spoke to the assistant, her voice ringing out with all the authority she could manage. ‘I hope those aren’t the only ones—the only Runaway Rascals you’ve got there,’ she said hotly. ‘I only want one,’ she added, as if to imply that anyone wanting four was greedy and thoughtless!
The girl glanced briefly at Cryssie. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, as she wedged the boxes into two large carrier bags. ‘These actually are the last. We’ve never known such a manic demand for anything, and—’
‘But I rang this morning and you promised…you assured me you had plenty,’ Cryssie protested.
‘We did—and they’ve all gone…like hot cakes! And the management decided that we weren’t to reserve any over the phone—as I told you when we spoke. First come, first served seemed fairest.’ She finished packing, and pushed the bags across the counter. ‘We will be getting a delivery at the end of January.’ she added helpfully. ‘Not that that’s much good now, of course. You can leave your address and phone number with us for when the dolls are next in, but you’ll have to explain that the Runaway Rascals have all run away from Santa’s sleigh!’
Oh, very funny, Cryssie thought angrily. She glared up at the man, who glanced back down at her casually and without apparent interest. As if she didn’t exist—as if he couldn’t care less about what anyone else wanted! He could at least have made some sort of apology, she thought.
Then, with one lean and sunburnt hand, he took hold of the bags and turned to go. Not apparently even having to sign anything, or produce any cash, Cryssie noticed. That somehow made it worse, because the dolls were terribly expensive for what they were. She was the only consistent earner in their household, and had learned to be thrifty and save for things like Christmas and birthdays. She wouldn’t have dared have an account at Latimer’s, or anywhere else for that matter. Pay as you go was the safest, she’d always been taught.
As they both moved away from the counter he hesitated and looked down at her properly at last. ‘That was…unfortunate,’ he drawled. ‘The ordering department obviously got it wrong this time, didn’t they…Or perhaps we should all shop earlier?’ he added pointedly. And, with a barely perceptible tilt of his arrogant mouth, he turned abruptly and walked away, leaving Cryssie standing there feeling utterly defeated.
So…she shouldn’t have left it until the last minute, should she? But then—so had he! Except that he’d arrived at the store just a few seconds before her!
She looked around vaguely for a minute or two, wondering what to do next. She knew Milo would be so disappointed to wake up and not find the precious toy in his stocking. It was true there would be plenty of other gifts to unwrap—but this was the one he really wanted, and had been keeping on about for months.
Her face still flushed with annoyance, she picked up a pair of football boots, examining them for size and wondering whether she should buy them. Milo was football mad, and hadn’t yet had a proper pair, always kicking around in his trainers—which were expensive enough, heaven only knew. Maybe these, together with a new ball, would ease his disappointment.
Cryssie leaned against a counter for a minute, feeling stressed and irritated. At the age of twenty-five, she sometimes felt the responsibilities that life had placed on her were almost too much to put up with. Since the death of their parents ten years earlier in a car accident, she and her sister Polly—younger by two years—had lived with Great-Aunt Josie, until she, too, had died. Luckily that had been before they’d known that Polly was expecting Milo, or that the man in question had done a convenient runner. So now the two women and the little boy lived in a small rented terraced house in the town, with Cryssie the only one bringing in any real money.
After a few minutes she began to calm down, accepting ruefully that the self-satisfied owner of the four dolls obviously had four kids, and it would be no good giving to three and the fourth going without. A soft voice by her side made her turn around to see the assistant standing there, obviously concerned.
‘Are you okay?’ the woman enquired. ‘You look shattered…’