Wickham Hall: Part Four - White Christmas (12 page)

I finished my speech to a huge burst of applause. Several people actually cheered and Esme and Zara were wiping tears from their eyes.

Sheila took this opportunity to bang her gong again and after several increasingly louder attempts, the noise quietened down a bit.

Ben and I gazed at each other, scarcely aware of Lord Fortescue delivering a Christmas message to the departing guests. Esme and Zara took over my job of helping Sheila hand out the Christmas gift bags and after a rally of cheerful goodbyes and Merry Christmases to each other the room finally began to empty. I noticed Zara link arms with Esme and drag her off somewhere and then it was just the Fortescues and me.

Lord Fortescue added another log to the fire and began rearranging the armchairs in front of the fire. Lady Fortescue perched on the edge of a chair and Ben and I helped him move the rest.

‘So where do we go from here?' Lord Fortescue took a seat next to his wife and looked at his son.

Ben ushered me onto a small sofa and sat beside me.

‘Dad, I've tried to fit in over the last few months, but it feels like I've had my wings clipped. Working in the family firm for five years before you retire would suffocate me. I'm used to my independence, the freedom to work when and where I want. Wickham Hall is magnificent and I know how privileged I am, but art will always be my first choice.'

‘Benedict darling, no one denies that you're a good artist.' His mother sighed wearily.

‘Correction, Lady Fortescue, forgive me,' I said firmly, ‘Ben is a very talented artist. Isn't he, Lord Fortescue?'

Lord Fortescue nodded and his eyes looked a bit misty as he looked at his son. ‘I'm very proud of your work, son, very proud.'

‘Thanks, Dad,' said Ben in disbelief. ‘Thanks.'

‘But I'd like to make a correction too, Holly,' Lord Fortescue smiled, ‘you are also completely irreplaceable.'

‘Perhaps we should talk about this,' his wife muttered. He ignored her. ‘Benedict, it would mean the world to your mother and me if you'd stay at Wickham Hall, but equally—'

‘Equally I need to follow my own path.' Ben nodded at his father.

My heart twanged with affection for them as a look of love passed between them. If I achieved nothing else tonight, I'd always be proud of that.

‘There might be a way for you to do that and stay at Wickham Hall,' I blurted.

A shiver of excitement ran along my spine; the plan I'd been working on for the last few weeks was still in its infancy, but this was exactly the opening I'd been looking for.

All three of them stared at me.

‘Ben, please listen,' I said. ‘I've got a suggestion to make.'

‘I'm sorry, Holly,' Lady Fortescue sighed, ‘but we have our dinner guests arriving any minute. This will have to wait.'

‘Beatrice,' Lord Fortescue caught hold of her arm, ‘remember how we were when we were young, brimming with ideas when we first came to Wickham Hall? Remember all our plans? Let's hear her out.'

I gave Lord Fortescue a grateful smile as his wife nodded gently in agreement. Ben edged closer to me and wound his fingers through mine.

‘The way I see it is this: you're torn between your career as an artist and running the business of the Wickham Estate. But I think I've found a way that will work for everyone.'

Ben shook his head and gave me a bemused grin. ‘I'm listening.'

‘Maybe the five-year handover period before your parents retire would work better if you had your own defined role. That way you'd have independence and responsibility for your own area.'

Ben raised his eyebrows doubtfully. ‘What did you have in mind?'

I glanced at the Fortescues nervously. ‘I've been looking into the art gallery project that you both started years ago.'

Lady Fortescue raised a curious eyebrow and Lord Fortescue leaned forward to rest his arms on his knees.

‘At the time the project was shelved, partly because of funding, but partly because there wasn't a high enough footfall of visitors to the hall. But now, the gift shop and the café – not to mention all the events that we run – have changed that beyond compare.'

Lord Fortescue was nodding contemplatively. Phew. That had to be a good sign.

‘Imagine, Ben.' I took his hands and gazed into his eyes, willing him to feel as excited about it as I was. ‘Imagine starting a collection of modern art at Wickham Hall! You could showcase some of your friends' work, you could even ship over art from your Cambodian students, hold your own exhibitions. It would be a blank canvas.
Your
venture,
your
Wickham Hall.'

‘I remember that project. An art gallery . . .' Ben's brow furrowed.

‘It would cost money, of course, to convert the old garages, but the space is fantastic. There'd be room for an exhibition gallery, a meeting room for visiting artists to give lectures, plus a large studio for you to work in, Ben.'

Ben's mouth began to twitch. ‘You've thought of everything, haven't you?'

‘Not quite.' I smiled back at him. ‘I haven't had time to research the costs, but I think we could apply for money from the English Heritage fund for a grant to help with part of it.'

‘Hugo, what do you think?' Lady Fortescue looked at her husband and I had to bite back a smile; it was a brilliant idea and she knew it.

Lord Fortescue addressed his son. ‘If you choose to develop the art gallery, Ben, we'll find the capital to do so. Holly's right, the reasons that the project failed last time don't apply any more.'

Ben slid an arm around my shoulders and pulled me close. ‘It certainly sounds appealing. Although—'

‘I know what you're thinking,' I cut in, ‘that there'd still be all the running of the estate to do. But if I got my job back, I can take care of the events by myself. And if I'm not mistaken, Lady Fortescue, I don't think you really want to relinquish your role entirely at Wickham Hall, do you?'

She blinked at me and I realized her eyes were moist.

‘I'm so sorry.' I was out of my seat and by her side instantly. I knelt down by her chair and touched her arm. ‘Have I got it wrong?'

She pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed her tears. ‘Not at all.'

I frowned. ‘Then, why—'

‘You really are a very perceptive girl, Holly,' she said shakily. ‘I'm not ready to be put out to pasture quite yet. I know Hugo wants to slow down, live a quieter life, but I thought I'd be able to carry on as a figurehead for ever.'

I stared at her. ‘Well, that's fantastic! There's no reason why you can't, is there?'

Lady Fortescue recovered herself and took a deep breath. ‘I thought I would be usurped if Ben fell in love with someone strong and capable. And I'd so miss hosting events like this . . . Well, perhaps not this particular one.'

We shared a smile at that; a family dispute at the mulled wine in full view of the guests probably wouldn't be forgotten in a hurry.

‘Holly, I owe you an apology.' She squeezed my hand. ‘With you at Ben's side, I thought I'd be surplus to requirements. I couldn't bear it.'

She turned to Ben. ‘And I'm sorry, darling, I've steered you towards some lovely girls but I chose them because they were unambitious, so that selfishly I could retain a role here.'

‘Goodness me, Lady Fortescue,' I said, taken aback, ‘I'm flattered but I think you're overestimating my abilities. Not only that, you're greatly underestimating how important you are to the running of Wickham Hall. I've absolutely no desire to encroach there, I promise you. In fact, I was going to suggest you hosted a new event next year: a charity fashion show?'

Her eyes lit up and she nodded. ‘Love it. Absolutely love it!'

Ben got to his feet and offered me his hand to help me up. ‘I think the art gallery idea is brilliant and I think you're brilliant. I need to find out more about the project, but in principle, yes, I'm up for it, if you are, Mum and Dad?'

‘Bravo!' cried His Lordship, banging the arm of his chair.

‘Champagne I think, Hugo,' said Lady Fortescue, clapping her hands together.

‘Wait!' Ben held up his hands. ‘I'll stay on one condition: Holly stays too.'

Lord Fortescue cocked an eyebrow at his wife.

‘Of course she can have her job back. Holly, I apologize, I overreacted and I didn't mean what I said. Hugo's right, you are irreplaceable,' said Lady Fortescue going pink.

‘Thank you, that's very kind of you to say,' I exclaimed. I pressed a hand to my poor thudding heart, but Ben still wasn't satisfied.

‘But not just as a member staff. Holly is far more precious to me than that.'

Precious
. I was precious to Ben. My heart clenched and I wished more than anything that this awkward conversation was over and I could show him how much he meant to me too.

‘Of course, of course,' said Lady Fortescue, ‘I understand. Holly, I have been less than gracious, but will you join us for dinner?'

I squeezed Ben's hand. ‘I'd absolutely love to.'

‘Wonderful.' She clapped her hands and went into hostess-mode. ‘I'll put you next to—'

‘You'll put her next to me,' Ben insisted.

‘And me,' chimed Lord Fortescue.

Zara appeared in the doorway, still with a clam-like Esme Wilde at her side. ‘Come on, everyone, all the guests are here. They've been served drinks in the Great Hall.'

A shiver ran up my spine and I fought the urge to pinch myself. I, Holly Swift, was joining the Fortescues for dinner in the Great Hall.

‘Excellent,' boomed Lord Fortescue. ‘I think we could all do with a drink.'

‘OK?' Ben placed a steadying hand at my waist.

I nodded.

‘Thank you,' I replied, feeling dazed and overcome and ridiculously close to tears. ‘Thank you for saying I'm precious.'

And then a tiny joyful tear did escape and I reached inside my new clutch bag for a tissue.

Instantly Zara seemed to levitate off the ground with a screech. ‘Bianca!'

She fell on my open bag and gasped as she saw the label. ‘It is! It's a Bianca!'

Esme's and Lady Fortescue's heads popped up like meerkats.

‘Mum, look! It's the Bianca clutch!'

‘Good grief, Holly. How did you get hold of one of those?' Lady Fortescue's jaw gaped.

‘Mum's been on the waiting list for ages!' Zara exclaimed.

‘Bianca bags cost an absolute fortune!' Esme rushed to my side, wide-eyed and looking a little put out. ‘Holster! When did you . . .? How on earth . . .?'

I gazed at Ben and we shared a look of bemusement.

‘It's one of my dad's.' I shrugged nonchalantly. ‘He sent it to me for Christmas.'

‘Your dad? Antonio Biancardi. Biancardi –
Bianca
,' Esme stuttered, reaching to stroke the leather. ‘Oh. My. God.'

Lady Fortescue's face was a picture of disbelief, admiration and envy. ‘You're Antonio Biancardi's daughter?'

I swallowed. ‘Yes.'

‘For the record,' Ben laughed, squeezing his way into the melee and putting his arm around my waist, ‘I don't care who her father is. It doesn't make the slightest bit of difference. Does it, Mother?'

‘No, no, of course not,' said Lady Fortescue with a high-pitched laugh. She grabbed my arm. ‘But do you think he'd like to contribute to our charity fashion show next year?'

‘Probably.' I beamed. ‘He seems like a very nice man.'

Lady Fortescue shot me a look of confusion but she was prevented from digging for any more information as Lord Fortescue clapped his hands.

‘Right, everyone, to the Great Hall, please, we've ignored our guests long enough.' He peered at Esme. ‘And will you be joining us for dinner, young lady?'

‘Coolio! I mean, yes please, I'd be honoured.' Esme dipped into a bizarre curtsey until Zara pulled her by the hand.

‘You can sit by me.'

Lord Fortescue offered his wife his arm and the four of them left.

And then Ben and I were alone in the room. He switched off the chandeliers and the table lamps until the only light came from the glow of the fire and the glimmer of the Christmas tree.

I walked slowly towards the tree, gazing up at the silvery angel remembering Marjorie's tales of Ben as a boy.

‘I love Christmas,' I murmured, as Ben slipped his arms around my waist.

‘Me too. It's perfectly acceptable to turn off all the lights and smooch in the dark at Christmas.'

Slowly he turned me round to face him and the reflection of the fairy lights danced in his eyes and my heart started to pound.

‘You don't have the urge to launch yourself at the tree then, and cover yourself in pine needles?'

‘Not at the tree, no.' He grinned. ‘Launching myself at you is a different matter entirely.'

He cupped my face in both of his hands tenderly and all I could hear was the crackle of the fire, the steady sound of his breathing and, far away, voices laughing as guests continued to arrive.

‘Well, that was all very exciting,' I breathed, suddenly nervous.

Every kiss we'd tried to share so far, every moment, had been interrupted and I was determined that this time nothing would come between us.

‘You, Miss Clipboard,' he said, ‘are the most amazing, surprising and capable woman I have ever known. And my mother has well and truly met her match.'

He tilted my chin and his breath felt warm on my face.

‘I can't believe you went to all that trouble, working on the plans for the art gallery for me. You're incredible and very clever. Plus you have freckles, even in winter; I didn't know that was possible. I love those freckles; I could look at them all day.'

I looked into his eyes and ran my fingers up the fabric of his jacket, linking them behind his neck. ‘And I can't believe you found Antonio Biancardi for me. I've got a father. For the first time. And he seems lovely! And the owner of a coveted accessories brand to boot, which seems to have gone down rather well with your mother. I love that you're so impulsive and spontaneous. Plus you have the most beautiful curls; I could run my fingers through them all day.'