Wickham Hall: Part Four - White Christmas (4 page)

‘Mind?' I yelled, wiping away the tears that sprang to my eyes. ‘I'm thrilled!'

I flung one arm around his neck and the other round Mum's and hugged them warmly until eventually I pulled away and grinned at Steve.

‘Does this mean I get to call you Dad?'

Which I meant as a joke but instantly regretted because it reminded me of Antonio and the letter that I'd seen arrive, which may or may not have been from him. So while the two of them whooped with laughter, my stomach churned and I escaped to the kitchen to find alcohol.

We didn't have any champagne in the fridge, so we made do with a nice bottle of red wine that Lord Fortescue had given me as a thank-you for helping him join Facebook.

‘To the happy couple,' I said, raising my glass in a toast. ‘Lovely ring, by the way.'

‘Thank you, darling.' Mum sighed and stretched out her hand to inspect her new ring for the umpteenth time. ‘Steve took me into that little antique jeweller that I love in Stratford.'

‘The one she drops hints about every time we go into town,' said Steve, rolling his eyes.

‘So will this be a long engagement?' I raised my eyebrows over the rim of my glass.

‘We're not in any rush,' they both answered in unison and then giggled.

Mum cleared her throat. ‘Holly, ever since you were born it has just been you and me and that means that we've always shared a special bond.'

I nodded. ‘You've been the best mum I could have wished for but I'll be thirty next year, it's time you put yourself first.'

Mum tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear and shot Steve a nervous look. ‘I'm so glad you said that, love, because we've decided to move in together over Christmas.'

I choked on my wine. ‘In here?'

OK, so the cottage was a lot less cluttered these days, but even so, it was still
bijou
and that was putting it mildly.

‘Well, yes, we thought it was the best solution,' said Mum, chewing on her lip. ‘Granddad left me this cottage and it has a lot of happy memories, Holly. Whereas Steve's only been in his flat since his divorce.'

‘My place isn't suitable for two of us,' Steve added.

‘And this place isn't suitable for three!' I retorted. And then I noticed their discomfort.

Oh. This was my cue . . .

‘Hey! I'll move out,' I cried, as though the suggestion had just occurred to me. Let's face it, it
had
just occurred to me, but it was better than them having to actually ask me.

‘Really, Holly?' Mum's forehead furrowed.

‘Because I wouldn't want you to leave on my account,' said Steve, leaning forward and placing a hand tenderly on my knee. ‘And we don't want you to feel pushed out.'

‘No, it's fine, honestly. It's time I cut the apron strings.' I laughed.

‘Well, if you're sure . . . and there really is no rush,' said Mum, reaching for her fiancé's hand. ‘What do you think you'll do?'

I had to swallow a giggle; they
so
hoped that I would rush . . . I thought about it for a long moment and a smile spread across my face.

‘Do you know, I actually don't have a plan. How exciting is that!'

I planned everything in my life. In fact, I planned things in other people's lives, too. And for once I didn't have a clue what I was going to do, where I was going to live and who I was going to do it with. And it was actually incredibly liberating.

I might not have had a plan for my future living arrangements but I did have a plan for Wickham Hall. Or at least, I was working on one. And as soon as Mum and Steve disappeared into Henley for a celebratory engagement dinner, I retrieved the slim manila folder from my bag that Sheila had slipped to me earlier in the week, poured myself another glass of wine and settled back in front of the fire to read it.

It seemed that the Fortescues had begun a project some years ago to convert the row of stone garages that Lord Fortescue's father had used for his car collection into an art gallery. Plans had been drawn up, contacts made with various art institutions and cost estimates had been gathered. The Fortescues had been initially advised that there was a possibility of attracting funding from the Heritage Lottery Fund to finance the building works but when this had failed, the project had been abandoned. Instead, they had ploughed their money into the café and gift shop on the basis that it would provide a more consistent revenue stream and offer employment opportunities to local people. Besides, neither Lord nor Lady Fortescue had a particular passion for art.

But Ben did.

I reached for my notepad, heart pounding, as the ideas began to flow. This could be just the sort of project that would entice Benedict Fortescue to take up the mantle and allow his parents to retire. Could I turn these half-formed ideas into a workable plan before Ben came back? And even if I did, would he listen to me? He still hadn't responded to my Facebook friend request and I really didn't know how he felt about me.

Just then my phone flashed up with a Facebook message and my heart swooped with joy.

It was Ben.

I paused in front of Joop's front door the next morning to admire the blissfully romantic Christmas wreath that hung from the brass door knocker. It was made from dried rose heads frosted with a shimmery coating and dotted with pearlescent baubles.

Once inside, the elegant, understated Christmas theme continued with matching miniature white trees either side of the entrance covered in strings of pearls and a colour palette of pale pink, cream and rose-gold decorations. Twinkling lights covered every edge of the little boutique from the mirrors, the fitting rooms and even all along the counter. The effect was breathtaking.

‘Morning, with you in a moment!' chimed a voice as a figure emerged from the back of the boutique, hidden beneath an armful of clothing still in their plastic garment bags. Esme's eyes suddenly appeared over the top of it and several of the bags slipped out of her arms and onto the floor.

‘Holster! You're up early for a Saturday.'

I dashed forward to scoop the dropped items and kissed her cheek. ‘I was hoping to tempt you out for breakfast and a trip to the library, but I see you're on your own.'

‘Library?' Esme pulled a face. ‘Not your most irresistible offer. Anyway, you're right: Mum's not feeling too great today so, regretfully, I'll have to give the library a miss.'

She looked about as regretful as Mum had last night when I'd offered to move out.

‘Poor Bryony; give her my love.' I glanced round the shop. ‘Love the Christmas decs, by the way, especially that antiquey-looking wreath.'

‘Mum made it from the bouquet of flowers that Wickham Hall sent me after Zara's wedding.' She lowered the rest of the clothes onto the floor gently and began removing the plastic covers.

‘You two are so talented.' I sank onto the chaise longue. ‘If I'd known how good your mum was, I would have asked her to help me out at the hall with our Christmas craft workshops.'

Esme wrinkled her nose. ‘It took her ages, to be honest, Hols. Her joints are getting worse; her shoulder has been sore this week too. Anyway,' she shook herself and smiled brightly, ‘thanks for wangling me an invite to their Christmas at Home gig. I can't wait! Me, Esme Wilde, rubbing shoulders with the aristocracy; who'd have thought!'

I slipped off my boots and stretched out my legs. ‘Nothing to do with me. I think the Fortescues genuinely go through their diary and pick out everyone who has done them a favour of some sort. You came to the rescue at the wedding; they don't forget things like that.'

‘And you, you'll be there, won't you? We can party together.' Her eyes sparkled mischievously.

‘I will, but only in an official capacity,' I explained. ‘Clipboard in hand, whispering everyone's names to Lord Fortescue as they make their way along the receiving line to shake hands with him and Lady F.'

Esme's eyes popped out on stalks. ‘Flippin' 'eck, I didn't realize it would be
that
fancy. Now I'll have to rethink my outfit. Never mind, as luck would have it we've just had a delivery of new stock, as you can see. I'll have a look through this lot while I hang. Are you staying for a bit?'

I grinned and waggled my eyebrows at her. ‘I have so much news, Es, I could be here a while.'

‘In that case, make yourself useful.' She deposited a selection of slidy plastic-covered garments on top of me. ‘I'll stick the kettle on.'

She made it as far as the back room and turned. ‘Oh, and I'll say yes to breakfast, you can fetch us both a bacon roll from the café over the road.'

I did as I was told and when I returned from the café bearing bacon, two customers, intent on trying on everything in the entire shop, were in the fitting rooms. Esme was tied up for the next half an hour helping them choose an outfit each for their work's Christmas party and so I wrapped the bacon rolls up to keep warm and busied myself hanging up the new stock on the rail on wheels that Esme kept for moving stuff around.

As soon as the two ladies departed, clutching their Joop bags triumphantly, we dived into the back and demolished our breakfast.

‘OK, ready for part one of the news?' I said, tearing a hole in my ketchup sachet and zigzagging it across the bacon. Esme squirted both brown sauce and ketchup inside her bun and nodded. ‘I am burning with curiosity; I never thought those two women would leave.'

I peered at her over my bun for a few seconds to build the tension. ‘Mum and Steve are engaged and I'm moving out of the cottage.'

Her jaw dropped open. ‘Wow. Fantastic for them. How do you feel?'

I lifted a shoulder. ‘Happy. I keep waiting for a wave of nerves to hit me about leaving Weaver's Cottage but so far, I just feel . . . exhilarated. Like next year is going to be different. And I can't wait.'

She nodded encouragingly. ‘Go on, then, hit me with your plans.'

‘That's what is different,' I said, beaming. ‘I don't have any plans. You know, all my life I've freaked out if things aren't in order or tidy or “in the plan”. Maybe it's time to, as you would say, “live in the moment”. So as far as plans go, I'm going to be taking a leaf out of your book. Trying it your way. What's so funny?' I said suddenly, noticing that Esme's shoulders were shaking.

She dropped her bacon roll onto her napkin. ‘Just that I was going to say the same to you. From now on I'm doing it
your
way.'

I blinked at her and slurped my tea. ‘What do you mean?'

She took a deep breath.

‘I need a plan. And quick. I think we might have a buyer for the shop.'

‘Oh, that's good, isn't it?'

Esme's shoulders sagged. ‘Well, Dad's delighted. Mum's having second thoughts. She's had a new lease of life since starting the personal shopping thing. She had a group of eight here last night, all taking turns in the fitting room. And I definitely don't want to sell. I'm wondering whether I could take over the business myself and let Mum go part-time. But I need a plan to make Joop more profitable.'

‘Esme Wilde, that's brilliant!' I abandoned my breakfast and hugged her tight. ‘You could definitely run this place by yourself. And I'm so proud of you.'

‘Well, money will be tight to start off with so . . .?' She opened her eyes wide and stared at me.

I cringed. ‘I can't really help out, Es. I'm going to need cash for a deposit on somewhere to live.'

‘I don't need cash, you plonker,' she cried, thumping my arm. ‘I need a lodger. You need somewhere to live . . .'

I smiled at her as I hesitated to give her an immediate reply. Esme would be fun to live with and she had been nagging me to move in with her ever since she first got her own flat, but something held me back. I was reluctant to take the easy option. For once in my life I wanted to force myself out of my comfort zone and try something different.

‘Thanks for the offer, Es, but I think it's time to strike out on my own.'

My best friend pulled a sad face. ‘Fair enough, but if you need somewhere temporary, you know where I am.'

I kissed her cheek. ‘I'll remember that. Actually, I might ask Lord Fortescue if he has anything going.'

‘At Wickham Hall?' she wheezed, banging her chest as a morsel of bread went down the wrong way.

‘No!' I laughed. ‘On the estate. Quite a few of the staff live in tenanted cottages; they're highly sought after, though.'

Jim and his wife lived in Wickham-owned cottages, as did Edith; Lord Fortescue had granted them lifelong tenancies. I wasn't sure I'd need anything quite that permanent, but I was confident that he would be a fair landlord. And it would be good to stay close by.

Esme winked. ‘Now that would be handy for when Ben comes back.'

‘Two words,' I replied: ‘Lady Fortescue. One sniff of impropriety and she'll have me deported.'

She rolled her eyes. ‘Honestly.' She sighed. ‘When are you two going to wake up and smell the pheromones?'

‘Part two of the news coming right up.' I jumped to my feet. ‘But first, let's start hanging that new stock.'

There appeared to be far too much clothing for one tiny boutique but Esme assured me that it was less than normal, due to their precarious cash flow. The next two weeks of pre-Christmas and, more importantly, pre-New-Year's-Eve trading would see off most of it, she reckoned. We removed the plastic garment bags and sorted items by colour and collection, with Esme dipping in and out of the task between customers.

‘What we really need is for our suppliers to offer us sale or return to avoid all our money being tied up in stock,' she said, after she'd waved off a customer who'd tried on an armful of dresses and bought nothing. ‘But that's about as likely as Coco Chanel wearing pink.'