The Night Before Christmas (3 page)

Also, Lydia worried that the so-called perfect woman Stephen had thought he’d met that first evening after the fun run was only an approximation of the real her, and he was gradually coming to realise that she wasn’t quite the angel she’d made herself out to be. Work was a dog-eat-dog world, and while she did as much legal aid work as she could, she could only do it when her clerk allowed. And as her first fun run had also been her last, her near spotless trainers had been languishing in the bottom of her third of their shared wardrobe ever since she’d moved in.

Lydia couldn’t help but wonder whether, if Stephen
ever put just a little of the time he devoted to his causes into ‘them’, gave her just a little of the attention that he gave the people he helped, then perhaps she might feel a little more relaxed about marrying him and a little less worried that, now she was officially his consort, he’d done with romancing her and no further effort was required. It was true, Stephen had made her a better, more mature woman; he’d made her care more about the world outside of her bubble, too, and Lydia loved him for that. But she doubted that he’d love all the vain, silly, paranoid, immature little thoughts that still ran around her head, no matter how grown up and sensible the world around her demanded she be.

She doubted that he’d love her nagging, persistent fantasy that at least some of the passion he had so much of should be directed towards ravishing her every chance he got. By that same token, she wished that the touch of his hand, even in passing, would ignite her with desire. She wanted to share a look between them across a crowded room, a look full of a promise, of longing to be fulfilled as soon as a room with a door that locked could be found. Secretly, Lydia had always expected the man she married to kiss like Rhett Butler, to kiss her like every woman deserved to be kissed. Instead, since she had found the ring, Lydia felt more and more like Holly Golightly in
Breakfast at Tiffany’s
, pretending to be the sort of person she simply wasn’t. Holly tried to hide the raggle-taggle runaway she really was behind a
vacuous veneer of glamour and sophistication. Sometimes, Lydia found the struggle to hide her imperfections from her perfect man simply exhausting.

She also couldn’t help but feel that, even if every relationship did reach this stage, when its mere existence was enough for both parties to live in easy contentment, it really shouldn’t come quite so early on, even before a proposal. She thought of the last time she’d plucked up the courage to initiate sex with Stephen. He’d already been in bed and she’d just watched Harry finally realising he was meant to be with Sally, so her heart was full of the conquering power of love to overcome any obstacle, even an exhausted boyfriend. Gingerly, Lydia had crept naked into bed, pressing the length of her body against Stephen’s back and running her fingers lightly up his thigh. Before she could explore any further, he’d stopped her hand with his own, patting it firmly and then removing it from his leg entirely, returning it to her own.

‘Sorry, darling, do you mind? I’m just desperate for a good night’s sleep.’

Lydia remembered how the sting of such a mild, thoughtless rejection had kept her awake for hours, staring into the dark.

No one knew better than her exactly what chasing the fantasy of romance and passion got you: a succession of broken hearts and a life full of chaos and confusion, bouncing from one disappointment to the
next. At least with Stephen she knew he would be there at the head of the table every Christmas, always. And for her, more than most, that should be enough.

Yet somehow, it wasn’t.

Now, glancing over at Stephen, who, despite the almost totally clear road, was driving a sensible three miles below the speed limit, Lydia sighed inwardly. She was determined that this was going to be her perfect Christmas. The only person that could stop it happening exactly the way she dreamed was her.

‘Listen …’ Lydia breached the silence as Stephen took the slip road off the motorway onto a road that snaked into the mountainous countryside. ‘I just want to say thank you for agreeing to come. I can’t wait to see all the girls in one place again, that’s true. But there isn’t anyone I’d rather spend Christmas with than you.’

‘I know this means a lot to you,’ Stephen smiled in acknowledgement. ‘And I know it will be great. It’s just … I know we seem to have been a bit like ships that pass in the night, recently. My work at the drop-in centre has taken over a bit, and your chambers have been keeping you flat out. I’m always exhausted, you always stay up far too late watching those silly old films of yours. We have been less than intimate. I do notice these things, you know, even if you think I don’t. I’ve been waiting for the opportunity to come up so that I can focus on you. This Christmas I am all yours, even if I don’t get you all to myself quite as much as
I hoped. I want to make sure you know how much I love you.’

‘Do you?’ Lydia asked, feeling unexpectedly touched and hopeful that the early promise of their relationship – the spark of passion they’d once had for each other – might be about to make a spectacular return. ‘Well, there’ll be plenty of time to get “reacquainted”. Katy says our room is one of the nicest, with a view of the lake, a four-poster bed and an open fire.’ Lydia glanced coyly at him. ‘As soon as it’s decent, we’ll hide away upstairs and perhaps get … um … reacquainted?’

‘I wonder if it ever gets so cold that the lakes freeze over,’ Stephen mused absent-mindedly, ignoring her overture yet again, slowing the car as the road bent sharply. ‘I wonder if it’ll freeze thick enough to walk on.’

‘Hmm.’ Lydia tried to hide her disappointed expression by peering out of the window at the scenery just vanishing in the rapidly diminishing light. ‘I wonder.’

Chapter Three

‘I don’t think I’ve ever been so far away from everywhere before,’ Lydia said a little breathlessly as Stephen, guided by the slightly smug-sounding sat nav lady, carefully drove through the narrow, twisting country lanes, snowflakes dancing erratically in the beam of the headlights.

Snow was falling thick and fast by the time Stephen pulled the Prius onto the rather grand gravel drive that led up to Heron’s Pike House. The sun had set some hours before, shrouding the hills and lakes in a cloak of darkness, and Lydia had only been able to catch glimpses of the surrounding mountains, looming like shadowy giants against the winter sky. The lakes, which she knew must be there, were completely invisible.

‘Everywhere is close to somewhere, Lyds. Location is not always defined by how near you are to Harvey Nichols.’ Stephen chuckled, doing that thing he did when he pretended she was just some silly, fluffy-headed girl and not a hard-hitting, highly educated barrister at all. In the beginning, Lydia had quite liked it, finding it funny and sort of sweet, the way he shepherded her around as if she needed protection. Recently, though,
it had rather started to grate, just a little. But, determined to be happy for the next four days at least, she ignored his teasing and waited, like a child eager to be the first to see the sea, to catch her first glimpse of Heron’s Pike House sparkling in the snow.

When her friends’ new home finally came into view, it glowed like a beacon. It was so pretty that Lydia felt almost like she’d been transported into one of those Christmas cards from her childhood, the ones always featuring a snow-laden scene and smothered in glitter. Each newly planted conifer tree that lined the drive had been adorned with glittering lights, creating the perfect runway for Father Christmas to land his sleigh. From their vantage point, the house itself even seemed to pulsate with warmth, bathed in carefully placed floodlights that cast dramatic shadows from its faux gothic towers and ramparts. As a carefully designed finishing touch, the red-painted panelled front door was lit perfectly to show off the handmade wreath tied to it, bristling with holly, shiny tartan ribbons, cinnamon sticks and dried oranges.

‘Textbook Katy,’ Lydia said fondly, as she gazed up at the house. ‘She’s been waiting all her life to bake cakes and trim things in gingham. She must be in her element now as lady of the manor. I bet you ten pounds she’ll be making the children playsuits from an old pair of curtains by Boxing Day.’

Built from Cumbrian stone, the house was a high
Victorian flight of fancy. Katy had told her that it had previously belonged to the same family for several generations and had gradually fallen into disrepair. Originally designed as a sizable twin pair of houses, Katy and Jim had knocked through to create a double-fronted mansion with long elegant bay windows that Katy told her had cost a fortune to refurbish. The ostentatious and entirely decorative ramparts lining the roof were brought to an extravagant full stop by two delightfully fanciful turrets, majestically rounding off each corner of the house, looking for all the world as if the only thing they lacked was a pair of long-haired princesses to languish in them.

It was clear, even from the outside, how much Katy had revelled in bringing the old place back to such glittering form. It had also been a total steal, according to Katy’s husband, Jim. But what they’d saved on buying their Victorian folly, they were obviously spending on turning it into a going concern.

‘It is very grand,’ Stephen said, leaning over to look out of Lydia’s window and kissing her on the ear at the same time, which made her forgive his fluffy-headed girl comment.

‘Grand!’ She smiled warmly at the classic Stephen understatement. ‘It’s gorgeous! I want to wrap it up in Christmas paper, pop a bow on it and take it home. This is just the right place to spend a perfect Christmas!’

Stephen smiled, gently drawing her face to meet his.
‘I’ve never known anyone as sweet as you, Lydia Grant,’ he said, and at that moment, as Stephen kissed her, all of Lydia’s doubts, her entire list of cons, melted away in an instant. Perhaps, Lydia thought, she truly was being silly and fluffy-headed; perhaps, on this one occasion, she was over thinking and analysing too much. Perhaps she was the one with the issues, not Stephen. He thought she was sweetest person he knew, and maybe that was a very good reason to marry a man. Perhaps everything was going to be all right after all.

Suddenly unable to wait any longer, Lydia threw open the door, instantly feeling frozen as a blast of cold Cumbrian air engulfed them. She wrapped her coat around her and practically ran up the white marble steps to the front door, negotiating the impressive wreath to find an old brass knocker in the shape of a lion’s head. Lydia sounded it three times, and then, just to be on the safe side, pressed the brand new electronic doorbell too, instigating, somewhere deep in the depths of the house, the sound of a very excitable dog.

‘I’ve got a feeling we might be staying here for a bit longer than four days,’ Stephen said, stamping his feet in the several inches of snow that continued to accumulate as he got out of the car. ‘The snow is really coming down now. You go in and get warm, I’ll grab our bags from the boot.’

Lydia clamped her arms around herself and hopped from one foot to the other as she heard squeals from
inside. The sounds should rightfully have come from the children, but she recognised Katy’s voice and, sure enough, it was she who flung the door open, enfolding Lydia immediately in an enthusiastic hug. Katy’s dog, a motley-looking grey lurcher of indeterminate age, skipped around her knees. With her free hand, Lydia rubbed the soft head of Vincent Van Dog, so called because he’d arrived at the dog’s home where Katy had rescued him lacking in one ear, for reasons unknown.

‘Lyds!’ Katy exclaimed as she grabbed Lydia’s face and kissed her on both cold cheeks, drawing her inside the glorious warmth of the house. ‘God, it’s so good to see you! For a while, there, I was worried
no one
would make it. Alex and David came up this morning, but Mum and Dad are stuck in Perth, Jim’s folks are still in Surrey and there’s no sign of Joanna yet, although she’s en route. Jim reckons in another hour or two the roads around here will be impassable and we’ll be snowed in!’ Katy squealed again, clapping her hands together like a little girl. ‘But at least you’re here. I have really missed you, you know.’

Gently, Lydia prised the hem of her coat from between Vincent’s teeth, sure that he was only attempting to chew a hole in it by way of a greeting.

‘There’s no need to sound surprised about it,’ Lydia said, rubbing Vincent’s muzzle as she looked happily around the impressive hallway. It had been converted into a lobby, complete with shiny leather chairs and a
reception desk, the cosy area accessorised with a little brass bell and a Christmas tree, sitting in the crook of the sweeping staircase, that would put the one in Trafalgar Square to shame. ‘I shouldn’t miss me at all if I lived here,’ Lydia breathed, squeezing her friend. ‘Oh, Katy, it’s
wonderful
! This house was built for Christmas.’

‘I know!’ Katy exclaimed. ‘Brilliant, isn’t it?’

The heavy door creaked open behind them, and Stephen staggered in, his hair and shoulders encrusted with snow, his arms weighed down by all of their bags and presents.

‘Oh, Stephen, you poor love, come in,’ Katy said, taking one of the bags from him.

‘Seriously, Lyds, what have you got in these?’ Stephen asked her, depositing the bags on the tiled floor with relief. ‘Did you feel the need to bring a kitchen sink?’

‘Wish she had.’ Katy smiled as she kissed Stephen in greeting. ‘We actually could do with one.’

‘All I brought was, you know, just the essentials.’ Lydia grabbed another bag from Stephen, who winced, putting his hands on the small of his back and making what sounded distinctly like an old man noise.

‘Although many people might question whether four pairs of high-heeled shoes are strictly essential for a few days in the Lakes,’ he said dryly, winking at Katy.

‘Only four? Lyds, you are calming down! Is it the recession?’ Katy joked, suddenly feeling compelled to
hug her friend again, and kiss her once more too, for good measure.

‘Goodness, I don’t think anyone’s ever been so pleased to see me since … I don’t think anyone has ever been that pleased to see me,’ Lydia said. ‘So do we just arrive, or are you going to officially check us in like an official lady hotelier?’

‘What? Oh yes – yes, right.’ Katy gave a mock bow to her guests and bustled efficiently behind the tiny reception desk, where she was rather dwarfed by what must have been fifteen feet of Norwegian spruce. The staircase, Lydia noticed happily, was
exactly
the sort of staircase for sweeping down in a red velvet dress, Scarlett O’Hara style, which was exceptionally fortunate as she had just happened to pack such a garment for Christmas Day. Granted, it was only knee length, and lacked any sort of bustle, but it was quite the statement dress and would go brilliantly with a statement staircase. Lydia resolved to ask Katy to video her on her phone as soon as no one else was looking, especially not Stephen. Or Joanna, who probably would bring a floor-length dress with a bustle and train to boot.

As they waited for Katy to play hotelier and shuffle various bit of headed paper, Lydia felt Stephen find her hand and hold it, squeezing her fingers gently. Lydia smiled at him, Christmas warmth spreading through her as she looked up at the tree. Katy and the
children had certainly gone to town on it; not a single needle had been left unadorned. It was garlanded with yard upon yard of tartan ribbons, and every branch was laden with a glittering array of ornaments, ranging from a selection of somewhat macabre robins that looked to be fashioned out of actual feathers, complete with beady eyes, to homemade salt-dough stars, some lacking what might be considered the conventional number of points, and a few with considerably more. She knew Katy could be relied upon to give her children a conventional, old-fashioned Christmas, and Lydia’s inner child, who’d never had a real Christmas at all, gave a happy sigh.

Finally, Katy seemed to be ready to greet them officially.

‘Welcome to Heron’s Pike Hotel,’ she recited carefully, treating them to a fixed grin, which she snapped on and off instantly. ‘You are in room eight, perhaps the finest of our rooms, with stunning views of the lake and mountains. Breakfast is served between eight and ten, reservations for dinner must be made by four and takeaways in the rooms are not permitted, which to be honest doesn’t matter because the nearest Indian is in Keswick and by the time you got it back here it’d be cold anyway, but Jim says we have to be specific.’

Katy re-composed herself. ‘You’ll find a tourist information pack in your room as well as tea and coffee making facilities, and complimentary biscuits. Only there’s no kettle quite yet because the delivery has been
delayed by the snow, and quite possibly no biscuits either as the kids were up there earlier and they do love a shortbread.’ Katy presented them with a big, heavy looking, old-fashioned metal key. ‘Oh, and don’t lose it because we can’t get another one cut without having to find an actual blacksmith. Apart from that, enjoy your stay!’ The smile snapped on again. ‘How did I do?’

‘Getting there, definitely getting there.’ Lydia smiled encouragingly. ‘Perhaps try a little less honesty for the actual paying guests. So where are Jim and the kids?’

‘Torturing Alex and David,’ Joanna said. ‘Just to warn you, Alex is a little bit … um … testy, probably the long journey. Leave your bags there for now and come and say hello. We’re in the family sitting room, it’s much cosier than the guest one, hope you don’t mind.’

Katy led Lydia and Stephen through what Lydia assumed must be the more formal, guest sitting room. Situated at the front of the house to the left of the staircase, it was a grand, self-important room, with what looked like its original plasterwork intact on the high ceiling, forming an ornate central rose surrounded by swathes and swags of some kind of fanciful plaster foliage. The floor-to-ceiling stripped oak window shutters were open in defiance of the glass-shuddering wind that was whipping the snow into a balletic frenzy outside. Not strictly in keeping with the period, the walls were painted a more Georgian white and
duck-egg blue, which Lydia supposed was more fashionable and guest friendly than some heavily patterned wallpaper. There were two pairs of sofas, some mismatched ‘shabby chic’ armchairs and even one chaise, arranged around an assortment of what looked like lifestyle magazines fanned out on small tables, to create three or four little intimate areas in the imposing grandeur of the room. Trimmed with fresh holly and made of white marble, there was a beautiful, original fireplace, over which hung an integral oval mirror that must have returned the reflection of many a hopeful young woman over the last hundred years. A fire had been set, but not yet lit, giving the room a sense of anticipation, like a sleeping princess on the verge of being awoken with a kiss.

‘It’s almost impossible to keep this room warm,’ Katy said, rubbing her hands together and shuddering as they followed her, Vincent Van Dog padding closely at heel. ‘Jim says it’s because of the ghost of one of the sisters that used to live in the houses. Nonsense, obviously, and really irritating as the kids believed him and now they arrive in our bed every single night screaming about being dragged into the lake by Mad Molly. I wouldn’t mind, but they won’t lie still. Tilly’s the worst; it’s like going to sleep with a hyperactive octopus. It’s okay for Jim, he could sleep through an earthquake, but, quite honestly, if I don’t get some more sleep soon I’ll be chucking myself in the lake!’ Katy smiled ruefully,
but Lydia noticed she did look a little wan beneath all the Christmas cheer. Hosting Christmas must be taking its strain on her, Lydia decided, resolving to be an extra helpful guest.

‘There really aren’t any ghosts here, though, just high ceilings and drafty windows, and, given the fact that the ancient central heating didn’t make it as far as this room, no radiators either.’ Spotting a china shepherdess ornament out of place on the mantelpiece, Katy hopped over a footstall to realign it, turning back to survey the room and all her handy work. ‘This room hadn’t been used for years, we don’t think. When we arrived, it was full of junk and looked like the family had been letting their pets run riot in it. But I did find that old chaise, in surprisingly good nick, under all the rubbish, and a few other bits and bobs that we’ve put around the place, like Little Bo Peep here, and this old, old photo of the year the lake froze over and people could skate on it.’