Wickham Hall: Part Four - White Christmas (5 page)

‘Hmm,' I said noncommittally, thinking that what she really needed were more customers like Lady Fortescue whose wardrobe capacity knew no bounds.

‘Oh! Now this is a dress.' I sighed with longing as I spied a pale gold empire-line tunic with a scoop neck and sleeves that flared out from the elbow to the wrist. ‘Esme, I think I'm in love.'

She quirked an eyebrow. ‘Fab choice. But it's not a dress; it's supposed to be worn over trousers.'

She inspected the label before foisting it on me. ‘Jersey silk – very slinky. Try it on.'

I squinted at the price tag with one eye – ouch – and handed it back to her firmly. ‘I'd better not. I might love it, but I don't need it and I haven't budgeted for anything like this so . . .'

Esme looked at me like I was insane. ‘So? Live dangerously for once in your life, Holster, be frivolous. Didn't you just declare a new spontaneous you?'

I pursed my lips. She was right. I grabbed it from her and dived into the fitting room. ‘Absolutely.'

I scrambled out of my jeans and top and concentrated on taking the thing of beauty off the hanger without snagging the delicate material.

I popped it over my head and when I straightened up, the cool silk fabric slithered down me and I held my breath. It might have been a tunic for some people (tall ones, mainly) but on me, with my short legs, it was the perfect length. The scoop neck hinted at a bit of cleavage whilst still being classy and the dress had a subtle sheen to it, making it perfect for the Christmas season. I didn't have anywhere to wear it and I almost certainly couldn't afford it but all the same, it was definitely coming home with me.

I took a step closer to the mirror. The colour seemed to make my brown eyes shine and my blonde hair glow.

‘I look all . . . glowy.' I giggled, turning this way and that.

‘You look beautiful,' said Esme, joining me in the fitting room. ‘And it's got a touch of the Elizabeth Bennet about it. Well, the top half has anyway.'

She was right.

‘How apt for Wickham Hall.' I bowed to my reflection and performed a graceful curtsey. ‘Thank you for a delicious luncheon, Mr Darcy,' I enunciated, holding up the sides of the dress.

Esme snorted. ‘Mr Fortescue, more like. Any news?'

‘Which leads me nicely into part two of my news,' I said, pressing my lips together in a prim smile. ‘Or is it part three? I've lost track.'

‘I don't care,' she laughed, ‘just tell me!'

‘I heard from him last night!'

I was still floating on high since getting Ben's message and was only too happy to fill Esme in on its contents. There was a seven-hour time difference between here and Cambodia: he had sent it in the early hours of his Saturday morning when I received it on Friday evening.

Lord Fortescue had been right: there was no internet or even phone service in Mae Chang village where he was based, and it wasn't until he made his fortnightly trip to the nearest city for supplies that he'd been able to go online and so had only just picked up my message.

‘Well, we're now friends on Facebook, so that's a good start,' I said, ushering her out of the fitting room so I could close the door and get dressed again without passers-by on Hoxley High Street getting an eyeful.

‘And he sent me a message. The school repairs are almost finished and he has been working with the officials to organize careers advice for the students so that their education really helps them to help their own communities.'

‘Aww, that's good. And did you apologize for blasting him for secretly contacting your father in Italy?'

My stomach lurched at that but I was saved from answering by the arrival of a customer in the shop. Esme leapt into sales mode and promised to find the lady the perfect outfit for a Christmas dinner dance.

I had replied to Ben last night, of course. Immediately. I'd updated him on all that had happened since he'd left, about the White Christmas theme and even about putting the angel on top of the Christmas tree. And at the end of my message I had told him how sorry I was that I'd reacted the way I did and that if I hadn't completely blown it I hoped that we could still be friends. And after I pressed send I waited for three hours, staring at my phone for a reply. I could only guess that he had needed to leave his internet connection because I hadn't received an answer.

As soon as I was dressed I left Joop with one of their lovely carrier bags over my arm, my new dress tucked into sheets of delicate tissue paper. I had promised Esme that I would try to think up some money-making ideas for her and Joop. I'd loved having a girlie catch-up with her, but for some reason I'd resisted revealing my innermost thoughts about Ben to her. I didn't want to tempt fate, perhaps, I mused. A lady with a Liberty-print scarf over her head opened the door to the tiny old-fashioned hairdressers as I passed by and I caught a whiff of hairspray along with the velvety tones of Michael Bublé singing, ‘All I Want for Christmas is You'.

. . .
to come home
, I finished inwardly,
to smile me that smile and wrap me in your arms and never let me go.

And to tell Lady Fortescue to bog off.

It was officially Christmas. A magnificently bedecked Wickham Hall had reopened its doors to the guests for the Christmas season five minutes ago and there was a slightly hysterical sense of purpose mixed with the magical buzz of Christmas in the air as we all scurried round putting the final details in place for the first day's activities.

The sixteenth-century building seemed to thrive on all the energy and attention and I felt it breathe a warm welcome as I journeyed through the public rooms, turning on all the fairy lights.

There was a permanent smile on my face this morning, and not just because of the beauty of Wickham Hall. I'd had another message from Ben and . . . he was coming home . . . Hurrah!

Guess what, Miss Clipboard? I'm flying home on Friday. Managed to get last seat on the flight. I've had a great time, but am ready to come home and face the music (aka the parentals), and not to put too fine a point on it the first thing I'll be doing is taking the world's longest shower. Can't wait to see you because I've got loads to tell you. (But after the shower obvs) Ben x

Friday was only four more sleeps . . . I could not wait.

‘Welcome to a White Christmas at Wickham Hall,' I overheard Marjorie declare to the first visitors, a middle-aged pair of ladies, who instantly started to unravel chunky scarves and divest themselves of gloves as they stepped through the door.

I beamed at the new arrivals and followed at a safe distance behind them to eavesdrop as they oohed and ahhed at the twelve-foot Christmas tree that stood proudly at the bottom of the wide staircase where Zara had descended in her wedding dress six months ago.

‘I was worried it would look a bit plain, being all white,' hissed Marjorie, tugging my sleeve. ‘But I'm really impressed.'

I nodded in agreement. The hall looked even more spectacular than I'd envisaged and even Lady Fortescue had capitulated that Andy had been right and had done a splendid job.

‘Loving the Christmas jumper, Marjorie.'

She giggled and her bright eyes crinkled at the corners. ‘Watch this!'

I widened my eyes as she plunged a hand underneath her layers and started fiddling and huffing. I held my breath, bemused, until Rudolph's nose began to flash and a dubious electronic version of ‘Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer' began to play.

‘That's brilliant!' I laughed, pleased that she and everyone else, come to that, had joined in with my suggestion of having a Christmas jumper day for staff. I pulled at my own cream and green snowflake-patterned jumper. ‘It makes my Norwegian woollie look very boring.'

‘Never mind, dear,' she said, pinching my cheek. ‘It's very you.'

‘Thank you,' I said.
I think.

‘Tasteful and demure.'

Let's leave on a high
, I thought and left Marjorie to welcome the next group of visitors. I carried on towards the Great Hall to check that Andy had everything he needed.

I had only gone a little way along the corridor when Lady Fortescue appeared from a door leading to their private staircase, laden with armfuls of ladies' clothing and followed closely by her husband.

They could barely see over their load and I hurried forward to help them with the door.

‘Thank you, Holly. Lady Fortescue is making room in her wardrobe before her trip to Paris tomorrow,' Lord Fortescue said breathlessly, giving me a subtle wink behind his wife's back.

‘I'll have to put something down, Hugo, my wrists are in danger of giving way,' Lady Fortescue groaned.

I glanced at the clothing and spotted evening dresses, a tweed something-or-other, several jumpers and countless coats, as well as a bag filled with something over Lady Fortescue's arm.

‘Oh goodness, let me help,' I said, relieving her of half of her pile.

‘Thank you. Although now I've sorted them all out I'm not sure what to do with them.'

‘Well, how about . . .' I hesitated. I could always take them to Mum's charity shop but would she see that as an insult? Besides, I thought, looking at the quality of her castoffs, they would be wasted in there amongst the musty old rain macs and nylon wedding dresses . . .

Some of these looked good enough to sell in Joop.

And there was Esme's solution: add a barely worn designer clothing rail to Joop! My stomach quivered with excitement. Sale or return, no initial cost of the stock . . .

‘You were saying, Holly?' Lady Fortescue tapped her toe impatiently.

‘I could dispose of them for you, Your Ladyship,' I volunteered. A second even more brilliant thought occurred to me. ‘And the money from the sale can go to a charity of your choice.'

She pondered this, pressing her lips together thoughtfully. ‘I did want to do something for charity,' she said slowly. ‘And there's plenty more where this came from. What do you think, Hugo?'

‘I think my arms are aching and you should hurry up and make a decision.' He chuckled, shooting me another wink.

‘All right, done, Holly. We'll put these in your office for now.'

‘Perfect,' I said with a glowing smile. ‘In fact, if you just put things on the floor, I'll pop out to my car with everything.'

They both lowered their bundles to the floor with relief.

‘On second thoughts, I might keep that,' said Lady Fortescue, plucking a fur hat from the top of Lord Fortes-cue's pile. ‘The forecast for this week is snow. I might even get stranded in Paris.'

‘You might, I suppose,' conceded Lord Fortescue, looking a mite too cheerful for his own good.

‘And Benedict. What about him?' she fretted.

My ears pricked up and I bent down to add my pile to theirs.

‘I doubt that the snow will reach South East Asia,' he chortled.

‘No, but it might close the airports in Britain.'

‘Darling, we've got a few days until he comes back, let's try not to worry.'

‘But the BBC said—'

‘The BBC is no more in control of the weather than you or I,' declared Lord Fortescue, giving his wife a peck on the cheek. ‘So I suggest that you carry on packing for Paris while I pop outside to feed the birds. The ground is frozen solid and they'll be struggling for food. And Holly, if you get a moment, please can you check on Jim in Santa's workshop? There is another spare heater in the gatehouse; I don't want him getting cold.'

‘Of course.' I nodded.

He paused to smile at me briefly. ‘Thank you.'

I recognized the dismissal and spent the next twenty minutes loading Lady Fortescue's elegant clothes into my car. Back inside, a quick glance at my watch made me quicken my pace to the Great Hall. Andy's first workshop would be starting in the next half an hour and the last time I'd seen him he'd been getting very stressed about the lack of berries on his holly and had begged Nikki to go foraging for some better specimens.

Every other day the long dining table in the Great Hall would be laid for a formal dinner with shimmering candelabra, opulent goblets, elegant silvery cutlery and antique china, but today it had been covered with a protective plastic sheet. Heaps of greenery, moss, wire and ribbon were piled along its length and at the very end sat Andy, snipping at a freshly cut bunch of holly with secateurs.

‘Hols!' he grinned, looking up.

The new friendly Andy was still taking some getting used to, but I wasn't complaining. I smiled back when he held a sprig of mistletoe over his head and puckered up.

‘I am so looking forward to today,' he said, placing a Christmas kiss on my cheek. ‘I've got a full house of fifteen customers and in the next three hours we're going to attempt a garland, a table centrepiece and a wreath. It's going to be fab.'

I couldn't help sharing his enthusiasm as he pointed out all the materials he'd arranged in front of each guest, which included a huge tray of dried clementine slices that Jenny had done for him in the café ovens.

‘It looks and smells amazing,' I said, picking up some cinnamon sticks that he'd wrapped into bundles with raffia. ‘I wish we'd booked more of these workshops now. I must make a note in my diary for next year. What will you do tomorrow?'

‘Gift shop in the morning and then,' his eyes glittered mischievously, ‘elf duty.'

We both laughed.

‘I can't wait to see you in the green tights,' I said. ‘Which reminds me, I must check the rota.'

Whereas Jim was Santa every day, no one had wanted to play permanent elf, so Sheila suggested that we all take turns and I had yet to find out when I was due to do my stint.

‘Well, as you've obviously got everything under control, I'll go and see if Santa's workshop is warm enough. I don't want Jim getting frozen to his chair!'