Skating at Somerset House

Skating at Somerset House
Nikki Moore

The first short story in the fun & flirty #LoveLondon series from exciting new chick lit author Nikki Moore!There’s nothing Holly Winterlake loves more than Christmas and skating, so working as an Ice Marshall at London's Somerset House is a dream come true.Noel Summerford hates the festive season and is a disaster on the ice, so taking his godson to Somerset House is his idea of the nightmare before Christmas!Things are bound to get interesting when these two collide…With a forty foot Christmas tree, an assortment of well meaning friends and relatives, and a mad chocolate Labrador, will this festive season be one to remember … or forget?

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Copyright (#ulink_6ca12011-93c5-53a2-b692-12cee9ccaada)

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First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2014

Copyright © Nikki Moore 2014

Cover images © Shutterstock.com

Cover layout design © HarperColl‌insPublishers Ltd 2014

Nikki Moore asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

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Digital eFirst: Automatically produced by Atomik ePublisher from Easypress.

Ebook Edition © November 2014 ISBN: 9780008126841

Version: 2017-10-10

Dedication (#ulink_78336e81-3405-5aa0-98a2-762c395b7297)

For anyone who loves Christmas… and for those who aren't so keen on it either!

For my family and friends; thank you and Season's Greetings x

And to Holly Martin, who won a competition and leant me her first name.

Nb. While the beautiful setting for this book is real, the events are not, and some elements of the story contain necessary poetic licence.

Contents

Cover (#uf9ca5605-8e51-567e-8db8-819c874e587f)

Title Page (#uc05f9592-6390-5595-9a60-e18286c833db)

Copyright (#ufacb2d60-7b07-52af-b278-745f7ef01839)

Dedication (#u71aec5fa-e905-5e0c-a77d-1a43bd84d83b)

#LoveLondon Series (#u7bd2c42a-7f3a-51cb-aedc-a9bf570e29f4)

Skating at Somerset House (#ue875b166-0fab-5257-a8b4-7c5fb51f666c)

Also by Nikki Moore (#litres_trial_promo)

Nikki Moore (#litres_trial_promo)

About HarperImpulse (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)

#LoveLondon Series (#ub91c1e7a-0c00-5cd3-91c8-98a8368dc4cd)

Skating at Somerset House

New Year at the Ritz

Valentine’s on Primrose Hill

Cocktails in Chelsea

Strawberries at Wimbledon

Picnics in Hyde Park

Skating at Somerset House (#ub91c1e7a-0c00-5cd3-91c8-98a8368dc4cd)

Noel Summerford hated Christmas.

The intense, harried craziness drove him half nuts every year. The pressure to buy everyone presents they didn't want and would never use. Shoving, rippling crowds on the streets forgetting their manners, desperate to cross every item off their shopping lists. People parting with their hard earned cash at rip-off prices that would reduce to near zero as soon as it hit Boxing Day. Endless turkey dinners with dry overcooked white meat, lashings of sickly cranberry sauce and stodgy stuffing. Unwanted, twee greetings cards with their cutesy reindeer or Santa cartoons. Cheesy, artificial music piped into every shop for months, seasonal tunes playing on every radio station until he thought his ears would bleed, especially as the girls in the office insisted on turning the music up to near deafening volumes. His female colleagues wearing silver bauble earrings and pressuring the men to dress in novelty ties and festive knitted jumpers made him grind his teeth, but worse was how they clambered up on desks in ridiculously high heels to hang decorations from the beige walls and white-tiled ceiling. It was an annual health and safety nightmare, given that he was the Corporate H&S Officer for a high-street retail giant.

Yes, Christmas was definitely his least favourite time of the year, and his preference would be to hide in his man-cave for the whole of December. He therefore couldn't think of anything worse than ice skating – or in his case falling on his arse countless, humiliating times – at Somerset House. It was London's favourite outdoor ice rink according to The Evening Standard magazine, or so Matt had informed him. He could admit that the main sandstone neoclassical building, set in a square shape around the central courtyard, was quite impressive with its graceful columns, Victorian style black lampposts, mini white-encrusted trees in massive gold leaf pots and grand entrances on the Strand and the Embankment. Right now that was contrasted against the modern single-storey, white-framed, temporary buildings that housed Tom's Skate Lounge, the Cloakrooms/Box Office and main skate entrance. Mint green and teal SKATE posters were displayed prominently and matching Fortnum & Mason flags flapped in the winter breeze. You couldn't deny there was a great buzz to the place with all the noisy, excitable visitors chattering and skating, both locals and tourists from the sounds of it. But Noel was a disaster on the ice, and the giant Christmas tree in a huge wicker hamper was overdecorated and overdone… as well as a sharp reminder it was only a few days until the dreaded C-day. There was no escaping it.

Leaning up against the transparent waist-high wall guarding the rink, taking a much needed break from skating, he shivered and shifted from one foot to another. Cold vapour formed in a puffy cloud in front of his face as he exhaled. It was seriously bitter today. He checked the watch that'd belonged to his grandfather; rectangular face, brown leather strap, built to last. It was three in the afternoon, so it was only going to get colder and bleaker. Although, if he froze to death, at least it would be a merciful release from this ice-encrusted hell. This was the last time he was doing a favour for a friend. Not that refusing had really been an option, given the favour was to carry out perfectly reasonable god-fatherly duties for Jasper, whose dad Matt was Noel's best friend.

Teeth chattering, as he watched people - including Jasper - whizz around the ice, he decided he was going abroad for Christmas next year. Somewhere he could sit on a beach, dewy beer bottle in hand and read a crime thriller while soaking up the sun's rays. Because even though he was wrapped up in black jeans, a long sleeved top, thick green jumper, woollen winter coat, scarf, thermal lined gloves and a beanie hat pulled right down to cover his hair, he was still bloody freezing.