What Happens At Christmas... (22 page)

‘Thank God for that. Even with Stirling helping, there's no way we're going to be able to eat half of the other stuff as it is.'

‘You know what they say; a dog's not just for Christmas. Well, it's the same with turkeys. Christmas lunch was designed so that we then get meals composed of leftovers for days to come. We can divvy up what's left on Christmas evening.'

‘Talking of the dog, I've been thinking about him. At first I reckoned I might have to give him away because my flat in London just hasn't got room, but I can't do it. Somehow, I'm keeping him, one way or another.'

Jack gave her a broad smile. ‘That's good to hear. He's a lovely dog. If you need me to hang onto him for a few weeks or months till you get things sorted out, I'll be happy to help out.' He paused. ‘Of course, there's always plan B. Sell the place in London and stay down here.'

‘You're not the first person to suggest that.'

‘I can imagine.' Suddenly serious, he drained his coffee and stood up. ‘And now I must get back to my script. The heroine got drunk last night and she's just spent the night with the wrong guy. She should be waking up any time now.'

Holly smiled at him. ‘So how's that going to work out? Is Mr Right going to find out?' Underneath her smile, she found herself waiting rather anxiously for his answer. When it came, it didn't solve anything.

‘Mr Right already knows. I'll tell you what happens in a day or two. Thanks for the coffee. Bye.'

Melissa and Bertie's drinks party turned out to be a lot more interesting than Holly had expected. The invitation indicated that it would take place from twelve till two so Holly delayed her arrival until twelve-thirty, hoping to reduce the duration of what she anticipated as being a pretty boring event. By the time she got there, the house was crowded and people were spilling out onto the lawn. The weather was still dry, but the sky was becoming increasingly overcast. Melissa met her at the door, wearing an amazing dress made of bright green material with bananas, peaches and plums all over it. She looked like a very large fruit salad – a fruit salad that was smiling warmly.

‘Holly, my dear. Thank you so much for coming.' She enveloped Holly in her arms and kissed her on the cheek. ‘Now, what can I get you to drink? There's dry sherry, sweet sherry, red wine, white wine, Prosecco or, of course, a gin and tonic.' Just then she spotted more guests arriving and passed Holly on to her husband. ‘See what Holly wants to drink, Bertie, will you.'

‘Hello Holly.' Bertie took her hand in his and led her through to the dining room. The table was covered in bottles. From the colour of Bertie's face, it looked as if he had probably already sampled most of them. The veins on his nose were reminiscent of a London Underground map. ‘What's your poison?' He grinned at her.

‘Um, a glass of Prosecco, maybe?'

‘Good choice. I read the other day that the Eyeties are running out of the stuff and it's all our fault. Britain's drinking more Prosecco than the rest of Europe put together.' He filled a glass with the sparkling wine and handed it over to her. ‘Your father always drank Prosecco when he was here.' He caught her eye, his expression kindly. ‘How's it going in the house? Is it true you're going to sell it?'

‘I really don't know, Bertie. That was the plan, but I seem to be getting more and more attached to Brookford and all you nice people.'

‘Capital, capital! Do stay with us. We all loved your father and we'll look after you. You can count on that.'

He was such a loveable old chap and he sounded so sincere that she kissed him on the cheek. ‘That's ever so kind, Bertie. I really appreciate that.'

He was grinning again now. ‘Well, that's a first. I've been kissed by a Brice. Splendid!' Just then another familiar face, and a familiar pair of knees, appeared. It was the grey-haired Scot who had given her champagne the evening of Bertie's retirement party. It seemed so long ago now, although in fact it was less than a week. A lot had happened in the intervening days. Bertie did the introductions. ‘Fergal, this is Holly, George Brice's girl. You two've already met, haven't you? Holly, this is Fergal Frazer.'

Fergal gave her a broad smile. ‘Of course. Good afternoon to you, Holly. I didn't realise who you were when I saw you the other night. I knew your father well. He was a fine man, aye, a fine man.'

Holly gave him a smile. He raised his glass of Scotch and drank to her father's memory, before returning to the matter in hand. ‘Now, Bertie, if I might trouble you for another drop of that single malt…?'

Holly made her way out through the crowded living room. The house was hung with streamers, and strings holding Christmas cards. A Christmas tree with flashing lights stood in one corner and a large bunch of mistletoe hung ostentatiously over the French doors. She walked out through the doors and joined the group of people who had gathered outside on the terrace. Although she had left her jacket at the door, she didn't yet feel cold, although she could see people's breath in the air as they talked. It was a fine garden, remarkably tidy for this time of year, consisting of a large lawn bordered by shrubs. A flagpole to one side was flying the Union Jack, presumably in honour of this party. The first face she recognised was Donny from the post office.

‘Hello, Donny. I suppose this is the busiest time of year for you.'

‘Hello, Holly, yes it's been busy, but it's almost over now. How're you getting on at Brook Cottage?'

‘Very well, thank you. I'm really settled in already.'

‘That's good. Maybe you'll change your mind and stay here with us. Now, come and let me introduce you to some of your neighbours.'

Holly spent what turned out to be quite an enjoyable time talking to many of the local residents, among them the farmer, Bob Cookson, who made her an interesting offer. ‘If you'd like to come across to the farm later on, I've got some nice holly with a load of red berries. And there's some mistletoe you can take if you like. I always offer some holly to the church ladies for the Christmas decorations and there's fair bit left. You're very welcome.'

Holly thanked him and determined to take him up on his offer. After Jack's departure this morning, she had done her best to decorate the tree and the kitchen with the few bits and pieces in her possession. She had been meaning to go out that afternoon to pick some greenery, but if it was already cut, then so much the better. Whether the mistletoe got used was anybody's guess. Jack, as always, had been friendly, helpful, neighbourly, but she still sensed a barrier there, not helped by his conviction that she and Justin were an item.

A hand caught hold of her arm and a familiar voice whispered in her ear. ‘Far and away the most beautiful woman here. How are you my dear?' She turned towards him with a smile.

‘Howard, how lovely to see you. And you're looking very good yourself.' He was wearing an impeccable charcoal grey suit and a blue, red and yellow striped tie. ‘Old school tie?' She grinned at him, remembering what he had told her about his childhood.

He grinned back. ‘I bought it from a charming young lady at a market stall in Phuket. But who needs the old school tie when you've got one of these?' He ran his fingers casually up his lapel until they reached a tiny red ribbon sewn into his buttonhole. Holly knew exactly what that was and she was very impressed.

‘Howard, that's awesome. Fancy you having the
Légion d'Honneur
. There can't be many Brits who have that.' This award was the highest honour in France, rarely awarded to foreigners. The old man shrugged his shoulders.

‘Only haul it out on high days and holidays. I was awarded it for services to French commerce. I believe my lingerie has graced the figures of several first ladies of France.' He grinned at her. ‘And, to my knowledge, at least half a dozen mistresses of senior politicians. But, how remarkable you should know what this is. Normally nobody this side of what we call the English Channel recognises it.'

‘I worked in France for a year straight after university. My boss had been awarded the
Légion d'Honneur
for services to the automobile industry, and his suits all had the red ribbon.' She caught his arm and held onto it. ‘So, now that I've got you, you must tell me something very important. What should I wear for your ball? Are we talking long dress or short? Should I wear heels or will I cut up your wooden floors? Are the men wearing dinner jackets? Do I need a tiara? Glass slippers?'

He laid his hand paternally over hers. ‘You could come in a rubbish sack and you'd still be the Belle of the Ball. And by the way, as I'm the host, I have to be granted at least one dance with you. Please remember that. As for what you wear, all I can tell you is that most of the ladies will be wearing long dresses, but, having seen your legs, I would have no objection to your coming in a mini skirt. Definitely no tiara necessary and the floors are old oak and bomb proof. Wear your nine-inch stilettos if you dare.' He had a thought. ‘I don't want you drinking and driving. I'll send Geoffrey over with a car to collect you and your girlfriend. Eight o'clock all right?'

Holly thanked him profusely and gradually moved around the house and garden, chatting to friendly faces here and there. In the course of the party, many of the conversations she had were about her father. If she hadn't already known it, Holly learnt that he had been totally devoted to his wife; or, rather, his second wife. Everybody agreed that George had never fully recovered from the death of his beloved Lynda. Although she was originally from Dartmoor, it was generally accepted that Lynda had no surviving relatives here, and George himself only had Diana Edworthy – his second or possibly third cousin. The death of Holly's mum, then Lynda, and now her father, left Holly in the position of being just about the last remaining survivor of the Brice clan.

A bit later on, Holly went in for a warm up and a refill. She was delighted to find Justin in the dining room, talking to Bertie. His face lit up into a smile when he saw Holly. ‘Well, hello, Holly. You look lovely as always.' He came over and kissed her on both cheeks.

‘Hi, Justin. Hi, Bertie. Any chance of another glass of the Italian stuff?'

‘Coming right up.' Bertie poured her a glass of Prosecco and then decided to do the rounds of the house to see who else was in need of a top-up. Holly and Justin were left alone. He glanced round and then started talking.

‘I did an awful lot of thinking last night, after I left you. First of all, please can you forgive me again for ruining your evening with all my problems. The last thing you wanted to hear was me wittering on about my failed marriage.'

‘Justin, you didn't spoil anything. And the food and the wine were amazing. And I drank pretty much that whole bottle of Menetou Salon by myself.'

‘I found myself thinking about what you said, about my needing to talk to my wife. You're right, you know, completely right.' He gave her a little smile. ‘It was just so very good to be able to sit down with somebody who was prepared to listen sympathetically. I really needed that. I've been keeping everything bottled up for almost a year now and it was so very good to talk.' He glanced round the room again and, seeing nobody, he resumed. ‘Everybody in the village knows we've split up. I haven't said anything, but of course the word's got round. As far as I know, nobody has any more idea of why she did it than I have. It's a complete mystery. Anyway, I've decided; I'm going to contact her, I promise.'

‘Very good. So, are you coming to Howard's Christmas Eve Ball on Saturday?'

He shook his head. ‘I'd be too afraid of meeting her there. If we're going to talk, I'd like it to be in private, without providing a public spectacle. No, I'll stay at home and watch
The Great Escape
or whatever else is on TV on Christmas Eve.'

‘I think you should come, Justin. Look, my best friend from London's coming down tomorrow, and she'll be at the ball with me. That's two of us for protection. We'll look after you. I don't like the idea of you being home alone on Christmas Eve. No, you've got to come.'

‘Holly, I don't know…' He had a thought. ‘Anyway, Jack'll be there to look after you. Holly, if I can give you a little bit of advice, I think you'll find he's a really good chap. I've known him for a while now and he's a bright boy. And he's doing very well for himself with his writing, you know.'

‘And he's a mad keen surfer. I went up to Croyde with him the other day. He's really good.'

Justin smiled. ‘Ah, so you and Jack…?' Holly blushed and shook her head.

‘Just good friends. Like you say, he's a really good chap. Now, about the Christmas Ball…' Suddenly his face changed and he interrupted her before she could say more.

‘Oh, Lord, Holly it's her. I've just seen her car. Look, I've got to get off. If I meet up with her here, Melissa and her friends will get a ringside seat and I couldn't bear it. Thanks, again, but I have to go. Bye.' He put his half-empty glass down on the table and hurried out into the garden, presumably trying to make his getaway unobserved. Holly drank some of her wine and then went through to the lounge, mulling over what he had said. Given that everybody seemed to know all about her father's life and was prepared to talk about it, she could understand why Justin might be keen to keep any meeting with his wife away from the prying eyes and ears of gossipy village folk – amongst whom, she had no doubt, was her hostess.

Holly hadn't had much chance to talk to Melissa, and had just seen her remarkable blue hair sweeping from room to room, bearing plates of nibbles. Thought of food reminded her she was quite hungry. There were various plates on a stunning Louis XVI table set against the wall. She started with a couple of prawns on sticks before moving on, via the smoked salmon on triangles of brown bread, to the cocktail sausages. She was halfway through a large sausage roll when there was a light tap on her arm. Holly looked round.