What Happens At Christmas... (23 page)

‘Holly, hi.' The red hair was unmistakable. It was Amanda from yesterday's coffee morning.

‘Mmh, hi.' Holly did her best to swallow the large mouthful of pastry before answering. Finally she managed it. ‘Amanda, hi. Sorry about that. Big sausage roll, small mouth.'

Amanda smiled. ‘Nice party?'

Holly nodded. ‘Surprisingly so.' She immediately qualified her remark. ‘What I mean is that I was expecting that I wouldn't know anybody, and they were all going to know each other, and it was going to be awkward. But it wasn't like that at all.' She noticed that Amanda was glancing nervously around the room. ‘Is there something wrong?'

Amanda turned back towards her and gave her an uneasy smile. ‘Sorry, Holly. It's just that I thought I might meet my husband here. We're separated and I haven't seen him for months.'

A very loud bell started going off in Holly's head. Surely not? ‘When you say months?'

‘Not since last February. That's ten months now.'

‘And your husband's name is…?'

‘Justin, Justin Grosvenor. Have you met him?'

Holly nodded and hastily stuffed the other half of the sausage roll into her mouth. This gave her valuable time to reflect on how to answer that one. Finally she managed to swallow the sausage roll and washed it down with a big gulp of Prosecco. She decided to play down her friendship with Justin for now. ‘Yes, we share an interest in classic sports cars. He was trying to buy my old Porsche.'

Amanda nodded with a little smile. ‘That's Justin. He loves his cars all right.'

‘Well, you've just missed him. He was here a few minutes ago. Maybe he was looking for you.'

Amanda shook her head. ‘I very much doubt it. I haven't seen him for months. He's been away an awful lot. I heard he'd gone off to South Africa to his parents first and then I believe he went sailing in the summer. But I know he's home now because Melissa told me so.'

Holly decided it best not to intervene here. She glanced at her watch. It was gone two o'clock and the crowd of people had dwindled to a few die-hard socialites. Fergal and Bertie were sitting on the sofa on the far side of the room, glasses in their hands and a half-empty bottle of Scotch on the table in front of them. Clearly, it was just about time to leave. Before heading for the door, she decided to change the subject to something more cheerful. ‘So, are you going to come to Howard Redgrave's Christmas Ball?' She saw Amanda shake her head, but she persevered. ‘Go on, you'll enjoy it.'

Amanda shook her head. ‘I'll think about it, but I probably won't go. I might meet my husband and that could be so awkward, especially with all the village gossips listening in. Anyway, thanks for listening. It's been good to talk. Your dad was a great listener, too, you know. It must be in your genes.'

Justin had said the same thing the previous evening. Yet again, Holly was struck by the similarities between her father and herself. ‘Did you know him well?'

‘He and Justin's father were great friends and we often joined them for lunch or dinner. Yes, I knew him well and I liked him a lot.'

Holly had a thought. ‘Was it you by any chance who put the lilies on his grave?'

Amanda shook her head. ‘No, that was Susan. I'm doing the flowers next week. I'm going to give him roses.'

Holly raised her eyebrows. ‘You're taking it in turns?'

Amanda nodded. ‘There are a few of us. We thought it would be nice if we did something to remember him. Your dad was awfully kind and generous; I'm sure you've been told that already.' Seeing the expression on Holly's face, she laid a sympathetic hand on her arm. ‘He really was a lovely man, you know.'

As Holly walked back to Brook Cottage, she reflected on what Amanda had said about her father. So he had been a good listener. Certainly today she had done a fair bit of listening herself; first to Justin and then to his estranged wife. Maybe, she thought with a wry smile, she should consider giving up engineering and becoming a marriage guidance counsellor. But at least there was no doubt about the fact that she was getting more and more involved with the people of the village.

Stirling was very pleased to see her, particularly when Holly prepared his lunch and gave it to him. Holly's attempts at decoration had definitely given the place more of a Christmassy feel, although she fully intended taking the farmer up on his offer of some more greenery. More importantly, Stirling appeared to have accepted the presence of a tree in his home territory without feeling the need to pee on it. Holly gave a little sigh of relief. Although she still had a lot to learn about dogs, she had already worked out that he liked trees.

The dog drank noisily out of his water bowl and then trotted over to the back door, indicating with his paw that he would like to go out. Holly followed him out into the garden and waited as he did a leisurely circuit of the trees and bushes, cocking his leg at strategic points along the way. While he was doing his tour of inspection, she wiped a few dead leaves off the Porsche and straightened a wing mirror. Satisfied, she decided a walk would be a very good thing.

She changed into jeans and boots and the two of them went for a long walk, ending up at Bob Cookson's farm. He loaded her down with holly and ivy and insisted upon giving her a big bunch of mistletoe as well. There was a strange sunset that day. The grey sky had cleared slightly and the solid cloud cover was starting to break up. As the sun dropped out of sight, it reflected up onto the underside of the clouds, turning them orange and yellow. The orange glow reflected in Stirling's eyes, giving him a supernatural look, and memories of the
Hound of the Baskervilles
came to mind. She half expected to hear a distant howl drifting across the moors. Instead, all she heard was the usual evening cacophony from the rookery behind the church, as the birds settled down for the night, and a few muted clucking noises from the ducks as the dog padded past.

Back home, she set about adding the finishing touches to the Christmas decorations. By six o'clock she finally pronounced herself satisfied with the result. She had even managed to attach a few bows to Stirling's basket, but she had few illusions as to how long they might last if he decided to investigate them. Finally, she hung the big bunch of mistletoe from the main beam in the middle of the room.

She made herself a cup of tea and went through to the lounge. There was an open fireplace there that she had never used. The fireplace itself was massive, like the one in the kitchen, with a heavy granite mantelpiece supported on stone pillars. In the middle of the hearth was a smoke-blackened metal fire basket. She decided to try it out, in preparation for the arrival of Julia and her boyfriend tomorrow. She crumpled up some old newspaper, added some kindling from a wicker basket to one side of the fireplace, and balanced a couple of small logs on top. She took one of the matches Jack had given her that first night and set it alight. The chimney drew very well and within a few minutes she had a fine fire burning in the grate, hissing and crackling as the dry wood caught. The noise brought Stirling through and he settled himself alongside the sofa, his nose towards the flames.

Holly looked round, conscious that she still hadn't finished clearing her father's things in the study upstairs. The lounge and the rest of the downstairs were fairly ordered now, with a pile for the charity shop heaped behind the sofa, but there was still a lot of clutter upstairs. Before starting on this, however, she turned her attention to her father's last remaining letter in the box sitting on the coffee table. She pulled out the envelope and settled down on the sofa, her feet resting on the dog. He grunted and stretched but made no objection.

It felt strange to realise that her father had only written this letter little more than a couple of months before. He had quite probably sat in this same room, on this same sofa, writing to the daughter he no longer knew. She took a deep breath, opened the envelope and unfolded the letter. As she read it through, she found she could now picture him so much more graphically than before. Since seeing the photos Howard had shown her and finding occasional pictures of him here in the house, she at last had an accurate image of his face. From things people had said and from the very contents of his house, she knew him so much better. And, she reflected with a wry smile, the large dog who was acting as a footstool for her at the moment was her closest remaining contact with him.

She read the letter twice. It had been handwritten, as had all the others, but this time his handwriting was noticeably weaker. It was dated only a matter of weeks before his death so he can't in fact have been writing it here. He would most likely already have been in Exeter, in a hospital bed. It wasn't a long letter and it didn't dwell upon his forthcoming death. In many ways it was positive, rather than negative. He told her how well he was being looked after, how many friends had made the journey into Exeter to see him, and he wished her health and happiness for the future. The final lines were the ones that brought the tears to her eyes once more.

I often wonder if you will ever read these letters. If you do, my dearest Holly, I hope you may be able to find it in your heart to forgive me for what I have done. I did what I did for love, but I realise now just how selfish my love made me. I am very sorry. So very sorry.

Your ever loving father

George

Holly slumped over on her side, cradling her head in her hands, and wept. A few seconds later she felt a movement and then Stirling was up on the sofa beside her. He flopped down and rested his head on her shoulder, the warmth of his body reaching through her jumper. Gradually she regained control of her emotions and turned her head towards him. The big brown eyes met hers, the flickering flames from the fireplace reflecting back at her. He studied her gravely until she stopped crying. Only then did he decide his job was done and he let his head subside onto his front paws and he stretched, pressing his back legs against hers as he did so.

‘Stirling, you are the very best dog in the world.'

He grunted contentedly. He already knew that.

Some time later, the doorbell rang. She got up from the sofa, shooing the dog down onto the floor as she did so. She went through to the kitchen, desperately trying to tidy her rumpled clothes and tousled hair, realising that, once again, she had a jumper that smelt of dog. She opened the door to find Jack with a big bouquet of flowers.

‘They were delivered earlier, but you were out, so they brought them round to my house, but then I had to play squash, so I'm sorry it's taken me so long to get them to you.' He gave her a smile. ‘Sorry, they're not from me. Must be from another admirer.' As he handed the flowers to her, he must have noticed her red-rimmed eyes. His expression immediately changed to one of concern. ‘Are you all right? You look awful.' He reached down to scratch Stirling's ears as the big dog realised who was at the door and came to say hello.

‘Awful? You really know how to make a girl feel good about herself. Come on in.'

‘I'd better not. Shouldn't you be phoning your admirer to thank him for the flowers?' He was smiling, but she could see he wasn't fully at his ease. She rather liked that.

She grabbed his arm and pulled him in, closing the door behind her. ‘Come in. I need to talk to somebody, and you'll do.'

‘Put like that, I don't have much choice, do I?'

She went over to the fridge and brought out a bottle of Prosecco. ‘Drink?' She glanced back over her shoulder to where he and the dog were wrestling on the floor. He looked up.

‘Only if you're drinking.'

‘I most definitely am.' Holly washed the dog smell off her hands, opened the bottle and filled two glasses. By this time, Jack had extricated himself from the dog and was washing his own hands at the sink. He came back over to her.

‘When I used the word
awful
, I was referring to your mood. You're as alluring as ever, but you look sad. Want to talk about it?' Just for a moment, he rested his hand on her shoulder.

Holly nodded, loving the feel of him against her. ‘I've lit the fire in the other room. Want to come through?'

They went into the lounge and Holly added a log to the fire. The red embers were throwing out a lot of heat and she peeled off her jumper before sitting on the sofa. The dog came through with them, took a look at the sofa, decided against it and flopped onto the floor in front of the fire. Although there was space alongside Holly, Jack settled into an old leather armchair directly opposite her. He picked up his glass. ‘You've heard the world's running out of Prosecco?'

Holly managed a smile and raised her hand. ‘Guilty as charged. I was at Melissa and Bertie's house for drinks today and I started on the Prosecco there.' She waved her glass in his direction and took a mouthful. It was cold, it was fizzy and it was refreshing. She picked up her father's letter and handed it across to Jack. ‘Written only a week or so before he died.'

She sat and stared into the fire as he read her father's letter. After a few minutes, he folded it and handed it back to her. ‘So, do you?' His voice was low.

‘Do I what?'

‘Do you forgive him?'

‘Of course I do, Jack. He was my dad.' She took another sip of wine.

‘He'd be very glad to hear you say that.' There was emotion in his voice too, now. She kept forgetting that they had been close friends. ‘It's just such a shame he wasn't able to hear it during his lifetime.'

Holly dropped her head. ‘I know, Jack. I know.'

They sat in silence for a few minutes before he decided to change the subject. ‘I like the Christmas decorations. Now all you need is Santa Claus and a stocking full of presents.'

Holly looked up and smiled. ‘I'm buying myself a present tomorrow. I have to go into Exeter to pick Julia up. You know, my raven-haired lesbian lover? Well, it appears that Howard's Christmas Ball necessitates a long dress, so that's what I'll be getting for Christmas.' She glanced across at him. ‘Have you got a dinner jacket?'