Twelve Days of Christmas (24 page)

‘I don’t know what’s the matter with you – I got on fine with Jim and Mo! And surely you can’t be this rude to all your clients?’

‘I only give back as good as I get! In fact, I’m a perfectly calm, competent and reasonable person.’

‘Oh yes,
perfectly
reasonable: after all, you only implied I’d neglected my elderly relatives and then got me so worried that you wouldn’t look after them properly that I got on the first plane back from America.
Then
I found you’d filled my house full of people.’

‘
I
filled your house? Whose family, ghastly ex-fiancée, free-loading brother and refugee actor are they anyway, may I ask?’ I demanded. ‘And did anyone ask
me
if I wanted to double the number of people I was cooking for?
Or
offer to help me – apart from Michael, who isn’t part of your family at all!’

We glared at each other. He was looking a bit rough, which was probably equal parts bad temper and jet lag . . . or maybe he always looked like that?

‘If your uncle and aunt wouldn’t mind, perhaps it
would
be best if I removed myself down to the lodge,’ I said after a minute. ‘I’ll leave you detailed instructions for cooking dinner tomorrow and tonight’s is really quite simple. I can show you the menu plans and Tilda will tell you—’

‘Just stop right there!’ he snarled, then wearily rubbed a hand across his tired face and gave a long sigh. ‘Look, Holly, I think perhaps we’ve simply got off on the wrong foot. Couldn’t we put the past behind us and start again? If I apologise in fifteen different positions and not mention money, will you
please
stay over Christmas and do the cooking?’

There was a slight element of gritted teeth about this apology and proposal and I said suspiciously, ‘What, as general skivvy?’

‘As a house guest who has kindly offered to do the cooking.’

‘I’ll think about it,’ I said, ‘perhaps you are right, and we should let bygones be bygones and start over again. But meanwhile, if your vacuous ex-fiancée demands another egg-white omelette, I might just oblige and then rub her silly face in it.’

He grinned suddenly with genuine amusement and I blinked at the transformation: he looked younger – perhaps not much older than me – and if he wasn’t handsome, he was still interestingly attractive . . . if you liked the strong-featured, hard-jawed type, that is.

‘She has elderly parents who’ve spoiled her rotten, but she’s not usually quite this bad.’ He paused and added, ‘Was it my imagination or was she turning the charm on me at breakfast?’

‘Only in a general way, I think,’ I said, considering this. ‘She’s all over Michael like a rash, of course, but then, he’s apparently a well-known actor and she’s met him before, so it isn’t really surprising.’

‘I got the impression he was just soothing her down, because it’s
you
he seems to be getting on with like a house on fire. In fact, if you’ve been snogging George as well, you seem to have managed to get off with two total strangers in no time at all.’

‘I wasn’t snogging George and I haven’t “got off”, as you put it, with either of them,’ I said with dignity. ‘They’re just both very nice men.’

‘Well, my brother isn’t and he seemed to be eyeing you up a bit, too.’

‘What, saying I was beautiful?’ I laughed. ‘Oh, that’s silly, he was just winding Coco up. I think he’s being a bit cruel to her, because he must have led her on to think they were going to get married, or she wouldn’t have sent off the announcement and told her parents, would she?’

‘You’ve met her now:
you
tell
me
.’ He got up, narrowly missing the lamp suspended over the kitchen table. ‘So, do we have an agreement? You’ll stay and do the cooking?’

‘I suppose so,’ I agreed reluctantly. ‘But I’m doing it for Jess, Noël, Tilda and Becca – and for Old Nan and Richard.’

‘Richard?’ He raised a thick dark eyebrow. ‘Another man you’re on first-name terms with already?’

‘Don’t be so daft, you great streak of nowt,’ I said crisply, which had been one of my grandmother’s favourite put-downs to uppity men, and he grinned again and got up, clearly taking my agreement for granted.

But by then I’d realised that flouncing off to the lodge and being a hermit really wasn’t an option anyway, not when there was a Christmas dinner to cook, and people I was fond of who would be disappointed if it wasn’t right.

‘I’ll stay until after Boxing Day, at least, then see what the roads are like. But until then, this is
my
kitchen and I won’t have any interference with my cooking – is that understood?’

‘I can’t guarantee that from Tilda,’ he said dubiously.

‘That’s all right, she doesn’t interfere, just
suggests
.’

‘Then it’s a bargain,’ he said gravely and offered me a shapely, long-fingered hand the size of a bunch of bananas. At least, unlike Henry, he didn’t spit in his palm first.

Chapter 24
Birkin Mad

After lunch it was pretty clear that the weather wasn’t going to change: in fact, the sky was ominously pewter-coloured again. Coco still didn’t seem to grasp that some way couldn’t be found to get her home and in the end said that if no-one would help her, then she was going to walk to the village and possibly even down to the main road, where her phone would work and she could summon help.

‘Who from?’ asked Guy interestedly.

‘The AA? The police?
Someone
to take me back to civilisation!’ ‘Look, it’s not going to happen, much though we wish it would,’ Jude said impatiently.

‘No, nothing short of a helicopter could do the trick, I’m afraid,’ Noël told her. ‘But I’m sure we will all have a fun Christmas together,’ he added optimistically.

‘A helicopter!’ She seized on the idea avidly. ‘The air-sea rescue people could—’

‘Oh, don’t be so stupid,’ Jude snapped. ‘You can’t ask the emergency services to helicopter you out, just because you want to go home!’

‘I don’t think there’s really anywhere flat enough for them to land anyway,’ Noël said, considering it. ‘Only the green, and the houses are all a bit too close to that. Of course, they can winch people up.’

‘Well then, Jude could take me down to the main road where there is bound to be somewhere flat enough. I can phone Mummy and Daddy and get them to arrange something. Or you can lend your Land Rover to Guy and we could both—’

‘Nothing doing,’ said Guy. ‘Give it up.’

‘You’re all so horrible to me, except Noël and Michael! I want to talk to Mummy and Daddy,’ she whined.

‘If you start that howling again, I’m going to slap you,’ Becca said uncompromisingly, which seemed to work just as well as threatening her with a drenching.

‘Look, Coco,’ said Michael kindly, ‘I ought to phone my friends and let them know what’s happened to me, so why don’t you and I walk down towards the village together until we can get mobile signals? It’ll give us a chance to see what conditions are really like, too.’

‘All right,’ she agreed sulkily, ‘but if I can find someone who can get me out of here, I’m not coming back!’

‘We’d better find you both something more practical to wear before you set out, then,’ Tilda observed. ‘You won’t get very far dressed like that.’

Becca rooted out old wellingtons and waxed coats that more or less fitted and they set off down the drive, Coco’s rather Dr Zhivago white fur hat striking a strange note. They walked through the virgin snow at the side of the drive, so where the tractor had ploughed must have been too slippery.

‘I hope they’re going to be all right and Coco doesn’t do anything stupid,’ I said, watching them from the sitting-room window until they disappeared into the pine trees above the lodge.

‘Michael seems a sensible chap, so I’ll be surprised if they go very far,’ Jude said, ‘and even Coco will be able to see that it’s impossible to get out. Not that I want her or Guy here, of course, but I’m prepared to put up with them under the circumstances.’

‘Thanks,’ said Guy dryly.

Jude looked measuringly at his brother. ‘Don’t think I’ve forgotten how you behaved last Christmas, though, and how much it all upset Father, when he was so ill,’ he said evenly.

Guy looked slightly shamefaced. ‘No, well – look, I’m really sorry about that! It’s just that as soon as I set eyes on Coco I fell madly in love – she’s so stunningly pretty.’

‘You did? I thought you just took her away because she was my fiancée!’

‘No,’ Guy said wryly, ‘I fell for her, hook, line and sinker. But then I fell out of love with her quite suddenly, just after she sent that engagement notice to the papers. It was quite a wake-up call. What about you?’

‘
Me?
’ Jude said. ‘Oh, the minute I saw her again. In fact, in retrospect, you might have done me a favour by breaking up our engagement, because I don’t think I’d grasped before quite how silly she is! I must have been blinded by her looks.’

‘Me too,’ agreed Guy. ‘It’s strange how when I thought I was in love with her, everything she said seemed funny and endearing, whereas now it’s intensely irritating.’

‘Still, that’s not her fault – but it
is
yours that we’re landed with her for Christmas,’ Jude said. ‘You’ll have to look after her and see she doesn’t make a huge nuisance of herself until we can get her out of here – and also has a bit of fun, too.’

‘That’s a tall order – but Michael might do the trick. He’s a good-looking guy and a well-known actor and she seems to be turning her sights on him a bit, did you notice?’

Jude nodded. ‘Yes, she was wittering on about acting and some TV commercial she’d been in. Okay, let’s foist her onto him, that should keep her happy and occupied.’

‘That’s so unfair – Michael’s way too nice for Coco!’ I exclaimed unguardedly and they both looked at me.

‘Have
you
got your eye on him too? You’ll have to work fast if you don’t want Coco to cut you out,’ advised Guy. ‘You haven’t seen her when she swings into action!’

‘Don’t be silly, I barely know the man,’ I snapped. ‘But I
can
see he’s good-natured and kind, which is more than can be said of you two!’

‘Attagirl,’ commended Tilda drowsily from the sofa. Then she swung her tiny feet off it and slid them into her marabou and velvet mules. ‘Well, I’m glad you two boys are friends again.’

‘I wouldn’t go quite that far,’ Jude said, but when she insisted on them shaking hands he did so and even allowed a relieved Guy to thump him affectionately on the back.

‘Pax?’ Guy said hopefully.

‘Pax,’ Jude agreed.

‘Have I missed something?’ asked Noël, who had been snoring away on his own sofa like a small buzz-saw for the last ten minutes.

‘The boys are friends again, Noël, and I think I will go and have a little rest on my bed now,’ Tilda said. ‘What are the rest of you going to do this afternoon?’

‘I’m going down to the studio for an hour or two,’ Jude said. ‘Make sure everything is all right.’

‘You could have walked down there with Michael and Coco,’ Noël pointed out.

‘I could, but I didn’t want to.’

‘Can I come with you, Uncle Jude?’ asked Jess.

‘Yes, if you wrap up warmly.’

‘And Holly, too?’

‘Oh no,’ I said quickly, ‘I’ll be glad of some time to myself in the kitchen, there’s lots to do.’

‘You never stop,’ Becca commented. ‘Cooking seems to me to be very hard work!’

‘It is, and especially hard on the feet: that’s why I usually have a rest from it over the winter. But I do like cooking and I’ve never catered for a large Christmas house-party before, so all this is a novelty and a challenge.’

Jess said, ‘Holly’s writing a cookery book, but she hasn’t thought of a good title yet.’

‘We could have a brainstorming session later,’ suggested Guy.

‘Thanks, but I’ll storm my own brain in due course,’ I replied and retired to the comforting ambience of the kitchen. Merlin went with me, though he did cast a ‘my loyalties are divided’ look back at Jude. He’s so much happier when we’re in the same room – and I’m starting to get the feeling that Jess is, too!

I added more vegetables to the soup pot and put it on the Aga, then did a bit of food prepping for later, including bringing the turkey into the kitchen to come to room temperature for tomorrow. But really what I wanted to do was search among the recipe books on the shelf to see if I could find anything like the Revel Cakes that Nancy at the pub had described. And the very first book on the shelf, the big, fat, red hardback copy of
Mrs Beeton
, turned out instead to be a box, full of handwritten recipes and cuttings from magazines and newspapers: quite fascinating! This kind of thing is like treasure trove to a keen cook.

The Revel Cake recipe was in there, written in a faded copper-plate hand on thick cream paper. I copied it out into my own notebook and put the original back into the box. It seemed to be a spicy bun mixture, with one or two additions, like saffron and a sprinkle of chopped candied peel on top, and I expect it evolved into that over centuries from something very much plainer. You pulled the dough into a long roll and then made little concentric coils, like fossil ammonites. If I was here long enough and had the time, I could make and freeze batches to leave for Twelfth Night. I wondered how many would be needed?

The house seemed to have gone pleasantly peaceful and when I put my head through the sitting room door it was empty, apart from Becca, stretched out asleep on the largest of the sofas. There must be something naturally soporific oozing out of the walls.

I could hear the TV from the morning room, some kind of sport, going by the roars, so Guy was probably in there with Noël.

I threw another log on the fire and then retired to the kitchen again, this time to read a bit more of Gran’s latest journal. Now I’d met Jude Martland and his attractively untrustworthy brother, I even more urgently wanted to discover if Gran really had been pregnant and, if so, whether Ned was going to offer to do the right thing by her. I can’t say it was looking very promising at the moment and if Guy is really like his uncle, then Ned can’t have had any staying power whatsoever. And in that case, I really wouldn’t want to find I was even
distantly
related to his family!

But if my mother
was
Ned Martland’s daughter, then my grandfather was the brother of Jude and Guy’s father, which would make us cousins – removed cousins it’s true, though not, if Ned abandoned Gran, far enough for my liking!

Then I thought of dear Noël, Becca, Jess and even Tilda, who I am growing fond of despite her being such an old toot, and realised that I wouldn’t mind being related to
them
at all.

I restrained the urge to skim forward in the journal, but settled down with my fingers crossed, hoping that maybe Gran wasn’t pregnant after all, broke up with the untrustworthy-sounding Ned, and married my grandfather instead.

Unfortunately, everything in the journal pointed to a different conclusion – as did my mother’s birth certificate when I went upstairs and had a rummage in the trunk and found it. This was probably why I was a bit short with Jude when he and Jess came back, bringing a breath of chilly air with them.

Jess said she’d made a snowman while Jude had been messing about in his studio, and that the mill pond was almost completely frozen over.

I shivered: ‘You didn’t go on the ice, did you?’

‘No, I wanted to, but Uncle Jude told me not to.’

‘What’s the delicious smell? And are those scones?’ Jude asked hungrily.

‘It’s just the soup – I like to keep a big pot going in winter. And the scones are cheese ones for tea. I was just about to take them through to the sitting room. I thought Tilda might be down by now.’

‘Whatever I ought to be paying you, you’d be worth it,’ he said sincerely, taking the tray I’d set out.

‘And as I keep telling you: you couldn’t afford me.’

He looked down at me curiously. ‘I don’t know why you’re so convinced I’m penniless.’

‘Oh, I’m sure you’re not
entirely
penniless, but you’re an artist with a neglected house and no live-in staff, so clearly you aren’t exactly rolling in it.’

‘It’s a lifestyle choice.’

‘What, the grubby, neglected house?’

‘No, I meant not having any staff living in. Actually,’ he added, ‘I hadn’t realised the house
was
getting in a mess until I came back and saw how much better it looked now.’

‘You shouldn’t have been so stingy and paid Sharon a bit more, then. She wasn’t exactly going to bust a gut for half the minimum wage, was she?’

‘Is that what she told you I paid her?’

‘Yes, and no Christmas bonus either. Do you mean – it wasn’t true?’

He laughed. ‘No – and so much for trying to do a good turn! When I advertised the job she came to me with a sob story about her husband being unemployed and being so angry he was taking it out on her. I felt so sorry for her I took her on – and paid her double.’

‘Double?’

‘Yes, believe it or not. Then I realised how useless she was
and
caught her trying to steal some of my sketches from the wastepaper basket in the study. I really wanted to get rid of her, I just didn’t know how.’

‘Oh . . . then I’m sorry. I thought you were mean as well as poor,’ I apologised.

‘Uncle Jude’s got lots of money, Holly,’ Jess said. ‘Mummy says his sculptures sell for ridiculous amounts and he’s rolling in it.’

Jude gave me the strangely attractive smile that softened the hard line of his mouth and quirked it up at one corner. ‘You didn’t think Coco wanted me for my good looks alone, did you? So yes, whatever your charges are, I could pay them. But since you won’t accept that, I’m under an obligation to you.’

‘You needn’t be, because I’m not doing it for you.’

‘I know, but I still feel under an obligation. I’ll just have to find another way to pay you.’

I discovered I was still staring up (a novelty in itself) into his gold-flecked dark eyes and hastily looked away. ‘Did you see Coco and Michael?’

‘No, but everyone else is in the sitting room. I thought they’d be back by now, but they must have gone on to the village.’

‘I hope Coco doesn’t try anything silly.’

‘Michael seems the sensible kind, I don’t suppose he’d let her.’

‘What are we having for dinner tonight?’ asked Jess, getting on to something she considered more important.

‘Pheasant pie with redcurrant jelly and winter vegetables. I’m making great inroads into the frozen pheasants. And we’ll have the trifle for pudding, if you help me whip the cream and sprinkle hundreds and thousands on it later.’

‘Or we can use squirty cream, that’s my favourite.’

‘Yes, I noticed and I got the last of Mrs Comfort’s stock, so you can use as much as you want to.’

‘Cool! But I don’t know if I like pheasant pie.’