Twelve Days of Christmas (10 page)

Jess introduced us and said, ‘We’re not stopping, Nan, because we’re going to the shop and then the pub for lunch, but Granny sent you some more cheese straws.’

Old Nan took the parcel without much enthusiasm. ‘A body could do with something a bit tastier from time to time,’ she grumbled.

‘Well, you should try living at the lodge – it’s all lumpy mashed potato, tinned rice pudding and not much else at the moment,’ Jess said. ‘At least you all get to go over to Great Mumming tomorrow in a minibus for the WI Senior Citizens Christmas dinner so that will be a change, won’t it?’

‘If the weather holds, because there’s snow on the way. Not that it’s like dinner up at Old Place anyway. They use those gravy granules and tinned peas, you know.’

‘So does Granny. But I hope you’re right about the snow, because I’ve never seen
really
deep snow.’

‘Be careful what you wish for. And be off with you, if you won’t come in, I’m letting all the warm air out standing here like this.’ And she shuffled backwards and closed the door firmly.

‘She gets a bit grumpy when her rheumatism is playing up,’ Jess explained, stepping over a low dividing wall and knocking on the next door.

The retired vicar, Richard Sampson, was a small, wiry, white-haired man with vague cloud-soft grey eyes and an absent expression. He came to the door with his finger in his book to mark the page, and seemed to struggle to place Jess for a minute, let alone take in her introduction to me. Then a smile of great charm transformed him and he shook hands. Unlike Old Nan, he seemed genuinely pleased about the cheese straws.

‘He forgets to eat and I’m sure he hardly ever cooks,’ Jess explained, leading the way to the third and final door. ‘He does have something hot in the pub occasionally, though, if Henry calls for him on the way there.’

‘Speak of the devil,’ I muttered, because the old gardener had presumably heard the knocking next door and come out from curiosity already.

‘Afternoon,’ he said to me and then added to Jess, ‘if those are more of Tilda’s blasted burnt offerings, then you can keep them!’

‘These aren’t burnt,’ Jess said. ‘And if you don’t want them, just give them to Richard, he seems keen on them. Oh, and remind him about the Senior Citizens lunch tomorrow and don’t let the minibus go without him.’ She thrust the package at him. ‘Right, now we’ve got other things to do. Bye, Henry.’

‘Women!’ Henry muttered, closing the door.

We passed the little church in its neat graveyard. Next to it was a dark-green painted corrugated iron building, little more than a shed, that according to a sign was the parish hall, but the rest of the village was across a small stone bridge over the stream, where we were nearly flattened by a big, glossy four-wheel-drive vehicle taking it too fast.

It stopped and reversed, nearly getting us again, and the side window slid down to reveal a pair of annoyed, puzzled faces.

‘Where’s the Great Mumming road?’ demanded the driver, who was shaven-headed and seemed to have been designed without a neck, since his chin just ran away into his chest. ‘The SatNav says we can turn down to the motorway from there.’

‘This little lane can’t be it, can it?’ said the woman next to him, resting a handful of blue talons along the window. ‘We must have missed the turn.’

‘No, this is the road to Great Mumming – but only if you’re a sheep,’ Jess said. ‘That’s why people keep following their SatNavs.’

‘Are you being cheeky?’ the man said belligerently.

‘No, she’s simply being truthful,’ I said quickly. ‘Apparently it isn’t much more than a track so the SatNav has an error. You’d be better off turning round and going back down the way you came.’

‘Left at the bottom of the hill and you’ll get to Great Mumming,’ Jess put in.

‘Oh, bollocks, what a total waste of time!’ he said.

Without a word of thanks the window slid up, the car shot forward, turned noisily in front of the church, and then streaked past us going the other way again. But we were ready for it and had run across the bridge and onto the pavement.

‘Charming,’ I said.

‘People following the SatNavs
are
just like sheep,’ Jess said. ‘At least most of the lorry drivers take one look at the lane down by the junction and realise there’s a mistake, though once one did turn into it and got stuck on the first bend. They had an awful job getting it out, Grandpa says, and had to rebuild a bit of the dry-stone wall.’

The small shop next to the shuttered Merry Kettle café had overflowed onto the pavement with a stand of fruit and vegetables, bags of potatoes and carrots and netting bags of firewood.

‘I love this shop! Mrs Comfort’s got everything.’

‘It certainly looks like it,’ I agreed. ‘What shall I do with Merlin?’

‘There’s a hook in the wall to tie him to and a bowl of water,’ she pointed out. ‘There, under the table.’

There was, too, and Merlin, tethered, sat down on a piece of flattened cardboard with a look of patient resignation. I think he’d been there before.

Inside, the shop proved to be a Tardis, since it went back quite a way into what had probably originally been the second room of the cottage. In America I think they call this sort of shop a Variety Store and there was certainly an infinite variety of stuff crammed into this one.

Mrs Comfort was plump, with a round face and high cheekbones that turned her eyes to slits when she smiled – rather attractive, in a Persian cat sort of way. Her straight mouse-brown hair was pulled back tightly and clamped to her head with a large, crystal-studded plastic comb.

‘Hi, Mrs Comfort, this is Holly, who’s minding Old Place for Uncle Jude over Christmas.’

‘I thought that couple were back again, that have been before?’ she said, looking at me curiously as I ducked my head to avoid the wellingtons hanging by strings from the beams.

‘They had to leave because their daughter had her baby much too early,’ I explained.

‘Shame – hope the poor little mite is all right?’

‘I don’t know, they haven’t told us.’

‘Well now, what can I get you?’ she asked, a hopeful glint in her eye.

‘Do you have newspapers?’

‘There’s a
Mail
left, but that’s the last. I’ve had three lots of lost drivers in already, and they’ve all bought one. That SatNav’s good for trade!’

‘We just saw another one,’ Jess told her, ‘but they didn’t hang about after we told them they’d gone wrong.’

‘I expect there’s more of them in the pub – I sometimes think the Daggers must have paid the SatNav people to send cars up here, they do a much better winter trade in coffees and lunches now than they used to.’

‘It’s an ill wind that blows nobody any good,’ I said and she agreed fervently.

She had most of the things on my list, including dried fruit so I could bake another cake to replace the one that had vanished. I bought more flour too, because if I was getting daily visitors, I might as well offer them a seasonal mince pie or two, and the Chirks had left several enormous jars of mincemeat.

While I was buying all this Jess had expended much time and thought over the line of sweet jars and now purchased a supply of Fairy Satins, triangular humbug-shaped sweets in alarmingly bright colours, and a large bag of wine gums.

‘And can I see proof that you’re over twenty-one, young lady?’ asked Mrs Comfort.

‘Ha, ha, very funny,’ said Jess. ‘You know there isn’t a drop of alcohol in them.’

‘How’s the book coming along, dear?’ asked Mrs Comfort, weighing out Satins on the scales and tipping them into a paper bag, which she twisted at the corners.

‘I’m on Chapter Six now and the vampires are having a midnight feast.’

‘That sounds like fun.’

‘Not for the girls they’re feasting on – but they deserve it,’ Jess said.

‘Mrs Comfort is a poet,’ she confided to me as we left the shop and collected Merlin. ‘There are lots of writers here: me, Mrs Comfort, Grandpa with his Christmas book and Granny’s cookery books. Richard has written a couple of pamphlets too, on the Revels and the red horse.’

‘Little Mumming is clearly a hive of literary activity!’ I said, impressed.

Chapter 10
Wrung

The Auld Christmas was a smallish hostelry with a large barn behind it and a cobbled forecourt on which a few vehicles were parked. Now I was closer I could see that the old man on the sign seemed to be wearing a mistletoe and oak-leaf crown and carrying a club, but it was hard to tell, because the coats of varnish protecting it had turned it the colour of Brown Windsor soup.

‘Are you sure about the dog?’ I asked as we went in.

‘Yes, come on,’ Jess urged me, pushing open an inner door to the left of the passage.

We stepped down into a dark cavern, lit at one end by a roaring open fire and at the other by the dull glow of a fruit machine. Behind the counter was a buxom, red-haired woman of about forty-five and a couple of obvious locals were sitting near the fire, eating bread and cheese. An even more obvious pair of strangers were eating at a table nearby and they looked at Merlin with acute disapproval.

‘Do you mind the dog?’ I asked the woman behind the bar. ‘Only Mr Martland said—’

‘Oh, we know Merlin, Jude brings him down here all the time and he’s better behaved than most of our customers,’ she said, then shot a look at the muttering strangers and added loudly, ‘and them that don’t like it can go in the public bar next door or take themselves off.’

The complaining voices abruptly ceased.

The woman wiped her hand on a pink-spotted, duck-egg blue apron and held it out to me: ‘Nancy Dagger. My husband Will’s down the cellar, changing kegs and that’s his old dad over there near the fire.’

A tiny man with a long, snowy beard suddenly leaned forward out of a hooded chair, the like of which I had never seen before, and said in a high, piping voice, ‘That’s right – I’m Auld Man Christmas, I am!’ Then he laughed wheezily, like a pair of small musical bellows. ‘Heh, heh, heh!’

‘Take no notice,’ Nancy said. ‘We know you’re looking after Old Place instead of those Chirks what have been here before, Henry told us all about it last night. But I’ve never known Martlands to be away from Old Place at Christmas before!’ And she shook her head. Then she gave me a sharp look and added, ‘But then, I suppose you’re family?’

‘Not at all, I just work for the same agency as Jim and Mo.’

‘I thought you had the look of a Martland, being tall and dark and all,’ she insisted, eyeing me closely – but then, it
was
gloomy in there.

‘No, I’m not related to them – and Mr Martland will definitely be back for Twelfth Night, because I’m due to leave that morning.’

‘He should be here now, that’s how it’s always been,’ she said. ‘People round here don’t much like change.’

‘It’s because he argued with Guy and didn’t want to see him,’ Jess told her. ‘But I think it’s mean of him not to think of the rest of us.’

‘Well, talking won’t mend matters,’ Nancy said. ‘What can I get you ladies? Are you having lunch?’

I ordered a hot pot pie and, after much deliberation, so did Jess. ‘Pies aren’t my favourite thing,’ she explained, ‘but I’m getting a lot of cold food from Granny, so I might as well have something hot while I can.’

‘I expect the old folk will have a bit of a struggle to cope this year, poor things,’ Nancy said. ‘I can make you a nice cup of drinking chocolate, how about that? Squirty cream on top.’

‘Oh yes, that would be lovely, thank you!’ Jess said. ‘Oh, and Grandpa gave me some money to pay for Holly’s lunch, too.’

‘That was a kind thought,’ I said, touched – and also still feeling uneasily and illogically guilty again after Nancy’s remarks.

I did have all the food for Christmas dinner and cooking it wouldn’t be a problem . . . so was I now obstinately punishing Noël, Tilda and Jess, simply because Jude had got my back up? Was I being as selfish as he was?

How much of a hardship would it really be, to put my personal inclinations on one side and invite them for one meal?

It was no use, I was simply going to
have
to do it!

I could look on it as research and write that Christmas chapter for my book, after all!

When we got back to the lodge I handed over the sherry, then said, ‘I’ve been thinking things over and you know, it seems such a pity to waste all that lovely Christmas food that the Chirks left behind, because I won’t be able to eat it all. So, even though it’s very short notice, I wondered if you could possibly all come for dinner on Christmas Day with me anyway?’

‘Oh
yes
!’ exclaimed Jess, bouncing up and down in her large, black lace-up boots.

‘But you don’t celebrate Christmas, m’dear, so surely that would be an imposition?’ Noël asked doubtfully.

‘I don’t have to
celebrate
it, just
cook
it,’ I said brightly. ‘Anyway, I’m sure it will make a nice change.’

‘Well, in that case . . .’ he said, glancing at his wife.

‘It’s very kind of you,’ Tilda said. ‘Of course, I
was
fully prepared to do a festive lunch, but I do see your point about not wasting the Chirks’ food.’

‘Lovely – then that’s settled,’ I said. ‘If Mr Martland gets through to you again on the phone, will you assure him that Lady and Merlin are both fine, if he is still fussing about them, and tell him of the change of plan? He did suggest yesterday that I carried on with the Chirks’ invitation, so he can’t have any objection.’

‘Oh, did he? How kind and thoughtful of the dear boy,’ Noël said.

‘Yes, wasn’t it just?’ I replied, slightly sourly.

‘Of course it will be a lot more work for you than you bargained for originally,’ he said. ‘I expect you usually charge quite a lot for cooking, don’t you?’

‘Yes, but actually you’ll be doing me a favour, because I still have to write the chapter on Christmas house-party catering for my book, so it’ll be good research.’

‘I may well be able to give you some useful tips for your book, too,’ Tilda said graciously, and I thanked her.

‘I think you
should
be paid a little more – I’ll speak to Jude about it,’ Noël insisted.

‘No, please don’t – I’m sure I’ll love doing it and of course I’ll bill him for any extra food I have to buy.’

Noël rubbed his gnarled hands together gleefully. ‘Well, well – a Martland family Christmas celebration after all – how splendid! And I include
you
in the family now, m’dear, because you already feel like one of us.’

‘Nancy Dagger thought she was a Martland,’ Jess said.

‘Only because I’m tall and dark,’ I said with a smile. ‘It’s quite gloomy in the pub, isn’t it?’

‘I expect that is it,’ he agreed, ‘and by the way, do call Jude by his first name. There is no need to be formal when we are going to be seeing such a lot of each other.’

‘But I’m not going to be seeing anything at all of Jude,’ I pointed out. ‘Though if the telephone works, I suppose I’ll
hear
a lot more.’

‘Do call him Jude – he isn’t one to stand on formality,’ Tilda said. ‘The artistic type, you know.’

‘Not really, the most artistic I ever get is cake decorating . . . and that’s a point, because the Chirks didn’t leave a Christmas cake. I’d better get back and start one. Thank goodness I just bought more dried fruit and candied peel!’

‘It is too late in the day and it won’t taste right,’ Tilda objected. ‘But I have a Dundee cake in a tin that Old Nan gave us, so I could bring that.’

‘No, it’s fine, I have a last-minute recipe where you steep the fruit in spirits for a couple of days before making it and it really tastes rather good. If I do that today, it can have a good long soak.’

‘Oh great,’ said Jess. ‘And you were going to make mince pies anyway, you said.’

‘Yes, those too. Would you mind if I borrowed this basket, Tilda? Only I bought much more than I expected. Jess was a huge help carrying everything back, though – she had the heavy rucksack.’

‘Good girl,’ Noël said.

‘
And
I’ll come and help you put the decorations up,’ Jess offered.

‘Decorations?’ I echoed, not having thought any further than food, drink and the chore of cleaning the dining room for Christmas Day lunch.

‘Yes, all the decorations are in the attic, and there’s holly and ivy in the woods for the taking.’

‘I – hadn’t thought that far yet,’ I hedged. ‘Let me make a start on the baking first.’

‘Okay, and then we’ll do it,’ she persisted. ‘There’s a couple of trunks of amazing old clothes in the attic you might like to see, too . . . though I’m too old for dressing up now, really.’

‘Oh . . . well, we’ll see.’

Tilda, suddenly looking much more alert and bright-eyed, swung her legs off the sofa and slid her feet into a pair of improbably tiny black velvet high-heeled slippers, edged with waving fronds of pink marabou. ‘Now, what would you like us to bring? We have a lovely big box of luxury crackers – and Noël has the keys to the cellar, of course, so he can find us something decent to drink.’

‘If you’re sure Mr – I mean
Jude
– won’t mind?’

‘Not at all, he’s the most generous of souls.’

I hadn’t seen much sign of anything except selfishness yet, but perhaps, as well as hidden cellars, the unknown Jude had hidden depths too?

But as far as I was concerned, they could stay hidden: I’d never before liked a man less just on the sound of his voice! And now, because of him, instead of spending the anniversary of Alan’s death in quiet contemplation, I would be gearing up for a feast.

I got up. ‘Well, if you’ll excuse me, I’d better get back. I have a lot to do.’

Merlin retired to his basket by the Aga, exhausted, and watched me with his bright amber eyes while I listed all the things I needed to do before Christmas Day.

I’d been working on it all the way up the drive – not only deciding on the menu (traditional), starting a cake and getting the large ham I had spotted out of the freezer to slowly defrost so I could cook it, but also finding the formal cutlery and crockery . . .
and
cleaning the dining room and downstairs cloakroom, too.

At least I’d already done the sitting room!

I would ignore the bit about decorations. Jess could come and put them up, if she really wanted to, though it hardly seemed worth it for one day.

I found a huge mixing bowl in one of the cupboards and into it went the dried fruit and chopped peel I’d bought that day, bulked out with some sultanas and a packet of slivered almonds (only a month out of date) from the store cupboard.

Into the mix went the drained and chopped contents of a jar of cocktail cherries (these, tiny silverskin onions and olives seemed to be well stocked in the larder, among the pickles and preserves), and the brandy from the decanter in the dining room, eked out with a bit of rum.

Then I covered the bowl with cling film and put it on a shelf in the larder, before ticking that task off my increasingly extensive to-do list.

Advance organisation is the absolute
key
to successful catering for large parties – I make that plain on the very first page of my book!

It wasn’t a huge surprise to me when Jude rang just after I got in from giving Lady her warm mash and Billy a distracting handful of goat biscuits, and shutting the two of them in for the night. The wind had dropped, letting a few flakes of snow float idly down like feathers, so presumably the floppy phone lines weren’t blowing about.

‘Jude Martland,’ he announced brusquely, as if I hadn’t already guessed who it would be.

‘Lady’s fine – she’s just had her mash and she’s snugly bolted in for the night with Billy,’ I assured him, before he could ask. This time I was determined I wouldn’t let his autocratic manner annoy me, but remain my usual calm, professional self. ‘And Merlin had his arthritis tablet with his breakfast and I’ve just given him a good brushing – which he badly needed, by the way.’

‘Oh . . . right.’ He sounded slightly disconcerted. ‘That wasn’t actually what I was going to say. I’ve just spoken to Noël and Tilda – the line was too bad to hear a word earlier.’

‘I know, it was a bit windy.’

‘I understand you’ve agreed to do what I asked and cook Christmas lunch for the family?’

‘Yes, but only because I was in an impossible situation and there was nothing else I could do. But it was
your
responsibility to look after everyone, not mine to try and pick up the pieces after you’d swanned off in a huff.’

‘I did
not
swan off in a huff! And anyway, it’s no business of yours why I decided to spend Christmas over here – nor can I see why you’re making such a fuss about laying on Christmas dinner, when everything has been provided for you by the Chirks and you’re a cook anyway!’

‘Chef,’ I said icily, though normally I don’t mind being called by either title. ‘And you obviously have
no
conception of the amount of work involved – not just preparing, cooking and clearing up dinner, but cleaning your filthy dining room and the downstairs cloakroom, which looks as if mud wrestlers have had a bout in there.’

‘Then get what’s-her-name – Sharon – to help,’ he said shortly.

‘You’ve forgotten – she’s resigned.’

‘Oh yes . . . Well, it’s not
that
bad, is it? You’re exaggerating! A quick run-over with a duster and the Hoover . . .’

‘Look, I’m used to keeping the parts of the house I’m using clean and tidy – though even then they don’t usually need a total deep-clean – but that’s
all
I’m contracted to do, other than look after the animals! Conversely, when I’m doing house-party cooking, my clients don’t expect me to do anything except produce delicious meals – and my charges for that are
extremely
high!’

‘Oh, I see! I suppose that’s what this is really all about, trying to get a lot more money out of me?’

‘No, it isn’t – and you couldn’t
afford
my prices,’ I snapped.