The Christmas Invitation

by Trisha Ashley

  This one wasn’t anything to do with the portrait, but to go into one of the mounts I’d bought, as a present for Clara.

  ‘I’m perfectly comfortable, if it won’t take long, because I’d like to do a little more work before lunch.’

  ‘Five minutes,’ I assured him, flipping the sketchbook to a clean page and setting it on the easel, in place of the canvas, which I propped against the wall.

  ‘I think your grandfather will be surprised at the speed at which you’ve worked, Meg. I’m looking forward to meeting him. He sounds such an interesting chap.’

  ‘He is, and he’s never stumped in any conversation, either, which I think is because he’s so naturally curious about everything.’

  ‘It must have been an unusual upbringing at the Farm. Clara told me about your mother having been adopted and not knowing who her birth parents were.’

  ‘Yes, she was, though I can’t say she ever seemed inquisitive about it. But she’s always been someone who lives in the present, rather than looks back at the past,’ I said. ‘The adoption wasn’t a success, so in the end she ran away and ended up at the Farm. And that’s where I was born and stayed.’

  ‘A surrogate family,’ he suggested.

  ‘The perfect one. I do know who my father is and I’ve met him – he lives in France now – but there was no real connection.’

  I sighed, laying down my pencil.

  ‘I do wish I knew what has happened to Mum. River feels strongly that she’s still alive.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re right,’ Henry said gently, then seeing I’d finished my sketch, bent to wake Lass. ‘My feet are warm, but quite numb.’

  When Henry had gone back to his study to work, the morning was well advanced and I thought I’d go and visit Flower.

  The sky had that slightly ominous leaden tint and a fine, sleety rain was falling, but I decided to walk anyway. It was only about ten minutes away, hardly worth getting the van out for.

  Flower, looking damper than even I probably did after my walk, let me in at Preciousss by the shop door. It sounded like a million small jingle bells, due to the long string of fabric elephants holding brass bells in their trunks that hung on the back of it. The shop was narrow, but stretched back a long way, an Aladdin’s cave of wind chimes, dreamcatchers, bunches of scarves, swinging racks of clothes, pictures and posters, bookcases, shelves of dragons and other Tolkien tat, replicas of the Starstone, a basket of embroidered toe-post sandals (just the thing for winter in Starstone Edge), a case of silver and semi-precious stone jewellery, loops of thonged necklaces, trays of friendship bracelets, incense, joss sticks … It was a veritable New Age version of the treasure trove in Tutankhamen’s tomb, but without the mummy.

  The air was redolent with sandalwood, patchouli and possibly a hint of weed. Apart from the weed (River is very puritanical about these things), the smell was just like home.

  ‘I’ve put all the lights on in here, because I was sure you’d want to look around before we go through to the kitchen and have some coffee. Grace-Galadriel’s crashed out on the sofa in the snug with Bilbo.’

  She was right: I did want to look around and it was all way too tempting. The counter, a tiny island in a sea of little baskets of smaller items, was soon piled high with my purchases and she even produced starry wrapping paper and rolls of Sellotape.

  I’d already bought some Christmas wrap in Great Mumming, but I could wrap the one or two small gifts I’d bought for River in something more celestial.

  I’d selected several things to take back for my family at the Farm, too, and Flower, cheered no end by all this spending, popped everything into two huge brown paper carrier bags. Then she thriftily turned off the shop lights and led the way into a small kitchen, which was heated by a very ancient stove and awash with felines, who all ignored me.

  ‘How many cats are there?’ I asked, picking my way through them to a wheel-back chair.

  ‘Six,’ Flower replied, filling a battered kettle and putting it on a hotplate. ‘Tree, Leaf, Rainbow, Dandelion, Daisy and Sky.’

  She pointed to each in turn as she named them, but only one, Tree, reacted. He gave her a dirty look, then stalked off under a chair. One of his front fangs stuck out over his lip, which gave him a somewhat malevolent expression, so I was glad it wasn’t my chair he’d chosen to retreat under.

  She made coffee and Bilbo came in for a chat, carrying the baby, who had now woken up and regarded me with huge, pale eyes.

  She was almost a year old and I suspected was going to resemble both her parents, which was unfortunate.

  Bilbo was a short, stocky man with a receding hairline, thin ponytail, a long nose that was bulbous at the tip and a lugubrious expression. However, he was very pleasant and chatty, wanting to hear all about the time when Flower was at the Farm and what we used to get up to. Flower had loved the donkeys. I expect that’s why she cried for a week after they left.

  After a bit he went back into the snug to play some kind of Lord of the Rings game on his computer.

  Flower said, ‘He does a lot of research on Tolkien, too – that’s why we’ve got the computer – but we don’t have mobile phones because they fry your brains.’

  ‘I’ve heard that, too,’ I said. ‘I do have one, but I keep it switched off most of the time. And I have an iPad, but that’s mostly for work.’

  ‘It’s all just stuff,’ she said vaguely, offering me what was left of a tin of peanut butter biscuits. Bilbo had taken a big handful back to his lair with him.

  She got on to the subject of Lex, whom she seemed to fancy, in a dim way. ‘You’ll see a lot of him over Christmas, because he always stays there from the Solstice ceremony to the New Year,’ she said slightly enviously.

  ‘I already know him a bit; he was in the year above me at art college.’

  ‘Oh, then you know about his wife dying? It was terribly tragic and I think it’s blighted his life because he’s never married again. I mean, he has gone out with one or two women, just nothing serious.’

  She sounded a bit disappointed by this. I think she’d much have preferred him to be totally blighted.

  ‘The Doomes had a nanny for Teddy until he went to school and she really threw herself at Lex, but I could see he wasn’t seriously interested in her, just being kind.’

  ‘Really?’ I prompted. I remembered Clara telling me about the nanny, but in connection with Mark, surely?

  ‘Flora, she’s called. She’s an orphan and grew up with her aunt, Deirdre, who runs a guesthouse called Bella Vista further up the road.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I remember passing that one. Clara says Deirdre’s in Australia, so it’s shut up for the winter.’

  ‘Everything in Starstone Edge shuts up for the winter,’ Flower said gloomily. ‘Flora trained in childcare and then her first job was looking after Teddy, but she didn’t live in; she stayed with her aunt.’

  ‘That must have been very convenient all round,’ I suggested.

  ‘It was a bit awkward for Lex when he visited the old folk and she wouldn’t leave him alone, but then, she’s been out with every unattached man within ten miles and she always starts planning the wedding after the second date,’ she said surprisingly cattily.

  ‘That must put them off,’ I commented, though now feeling slightly sorry for this unknown Flora.

  ‘Clara found her a good nanny position in London but she’s changed jobs several times since. In between she stays with her auntie, and last time she was home Mark was at Underhill too and she set her sights on him.’

  Well, Clara had said he’d had a fling with the nanny. ‘I suppose she already knew him?’

  ‘Yes, it’s a small place and he’d often visited because his mum moved back to Underhill after she was widowed, to look after old George Doome, her father.’

  ‘Did Flora get anywhere with Mark?’ I asked. Call me nosy, but this was all very interesting!

  She considered this. ‘They went out in his car a lot and Bilbo saw them in the pub
a couple of times.’

  I didn’t think that constituted a serious relationship, but I filed the information away for future reference, though I suspected Mark’s flattering interest in me had mostly been because he hoped I’d give him free advice about his paintings.

  ‘It’ll be great if you’re still here for Christmas, Meg,’ Flower said, changing the subject. ‘Me and Bilbo put a Christmas tree in the snug and we’re going to tell Grace-Galadriel that Father Christmas is a wise elf.’

  ‘How lovely,’ I said.

  ‘The Doomes always have a big Boxing Day morning party at the Red House. Everyone’s invited, so we go to that. Nibbles and drinks.’

  ‘Sounds fun,’ I said, then looked at my watch and got up. ‘It’s late – I’d better get back for lunch.’

  ‘You could stay and have something to eat with us. It’s lentil soup and I can easily open another tin.’

  ‘That’s kind of you, but I’d better go. I need to do some more work, anyway. I’m not here on holiday.’

  I thought Den’s home-made soup would taste a whole lot better than the canned too, not to mention the fresh, crusty loaf I’d seen Henry removing from the breadmaker earlier.

  Grace-Galadriel had all this time been sitting stolidly and silently on a rag rug among a sea of cats, chewing at a rusk, but now slowly toppled over backwards. I feared for her head if it struck the stone floor beyond the rug’s edge, but instead it landed heavily on a ginger cat. It squirmed out as Flower was scooping the baby up and walked away in an offended manner, only spoiled by its having the remains of the rusk sticking out of its mouth like a chewed cigar of Churchillian proportions.

  I collected the brown paper carrier bags full of my purchases on the way out. The bags were the sort that go soggy and disintegrate in the rain, and outside it still looked distinctly and damply sleety. I’d have to walk fast or I’d be leaving a strange trail of random objects behind me.

  ‘Drop in any time,’ Flower urged me hospitably, waving the baby’s arm goodbye. ‘I’ll probably be here. There’s nowhere else much to go at this time of year.’

  I didn’t think there would be many places to go any time of year, but then, it must be beautiful in summer, so why would you want to?

  I pulled up my anorak hood and stepped out briskly into the sleet, but had barely got going when a large black and glossy Ford Cherokee pulled up next to me and Mark was lowering the window and offering me a lift.

  It didn’t look like he’d counted the pennies when it came to buying himself a car!

  I scrambled gratefully up into the passenger seat. ‘Thanks so much, Mark! I know it’s only a few minutes’ walk, but these paper carriers are likely to fall apart long before I get there.’

  ‘You’ve been buying up Flower’s shop?’

  ‘I suppose I have bought rather a lot,’ I admitted. ‘It’s very New Age and not that different from the one in the craft centre at home, though they make a lot of the things themselves there. I was brought up in a commune on a farm,’ I added in explanation.

  ‘Yes, I’ve heard about that from Mum. And isn’t your grandfather coming to stay soon, or did she get the wrong end of the stick from Tottie?’

  ‘No, she’s right, though River isn’t my real grandfather, I just think of him like that. Clara was kind enough to invite him to stay for the Solstice ceremony, so he’ll be arriving on the twentieth for a couple of nights.’

  We were almost back at the Red House by then and I asked Mark to drop me at the end of the drive. ‘I don’t want to hold you up.’

  ‘Actually, I’m only on my way to Great Mumming to get some more paint and sandpaper – and if you haven’t had lunch yet, why don’t you come with me? There’s a pub that does great food.’

  ‘That’s a kind thought, but they’re expecting me and I’m already running late. And actually, I went into Great Mumming yesterday, because I needed some art materials.’

  He looked flatteringly disappointed. ‘Then why not come up to Underhill tomorrow? I’d love to show you what I’m doing to the place. I’ll pick you up after lunch.’

  ‘That would be nice, if it fits in with Clara’s plans, but I could drive up. I’ve got my camper van with me.’

  ‘Oh, no problem,’ he said. ‘See you tomorrow!’

  When I told Clara about the invitation she said she’d ring Sybil. ‘When Mark brings you back, she can come along too and they can both stay for tea. The boy can’t work all the time.’

  ‘How old is “the boy”?’

  She grinned. ‘Oh, I suppose he must be thirty-one or so by now, but he seems a boy to me. What on earth have you been buying?’ she added, looking at the bags.

  ‘There was a surprisingly good stock of things in Bilbo and Flower’s shop. I got a vegan cookbook for Oshan – he thinks he can cook, but he really can’t – and there was a new book on ley lines for River and … well, I bought a few more odds and ends. Then in this bag there are two tunics, a purply-pink one and a powder blue, with pleating and little bells.’

  And there was a pair of black harem trousers, though I certainly wasn’t harem material.

  ‘What with the new dress I got in Great Mumming, I’ve never bought myself so many new clothes all at once in my life,’ I said. ‘I don’t know what’s come over me.’

  ‘They’re all very pretty, so why not?” Clara said, admiring the tunics that I’d pulled out to show her. ‘I love new clothes.’

  ‘Now I’ve put weight back on, I fit much better into my old ones again.’

  ‘You’re just right, now,’ she assured me.

  ‘My mother’s small and plump – or she was, last time I saw her,’ I said. ‘My father’s the tall, stringy type, so I must fall somewhere in between.’

  For the first time I noticed that there were distant hoovering noises above our heads and, now I came to think of it, there had been a van outside when Mark dropped me off.

  ‘It’s Tuesday, so Mary’s Pop-ins are here,’ she said.

  ‘Mary’s Pop-ins?’

  ‘A local cleaning service from Thorstane. They send a team over every other Tuesday to give the house a good going-over, then in between, Olive Adcock gives us a couple of hours and changes the beds and that kind of thing. She’s very obliging. Den likes to do the kitchen himself, though; he won’t let anyone else clean it.’

  She tilted her head, listening to the noises from above. ‘They’ll have finished upstairs in a few minutes and move down here, so I’m going out for a walk with Henry and you’re welcome to join us. Tottie’s going to Underhill to ride with Sybil.’

  But I said I’d had enough walking in the sleet for one day.

  I had a hasty lunch and a cup of coffee, then went into my studio to mount two sketches – Tottie and Henry – and by then the cleaners were finishing with the drawing room, so I retreated upstairs to my little turret, where I’d stashed the presents. I didn’t think Teddy would go up there, but I’d already wrapped his art box anyway, just in case. One of today’s purchases was also for him: a little bean-filled corduroy dragon. I couldn’t resist it.

  I decided to wrap everything and there was quite a heap of parcels when I’d finished, though I put the ones for the Farm back in the biggest bag.

  Then I sat in the tapestry chair and read Clara’s novel … and as the afternoon light faded, I reached the end.

  I never saw that twist coming!

  Downstairs, the house was shiny and clean and the scent of lavender polish competed with that of resinous pine. I could hear the tapping of typewriter keys behind Henry’s door, but Clara’s was wide open and she called me.

  ‘Come in, Meg! Tottie’s gone to collect Teddy and I’m dying to tell someone – look!’

  She gestured at her screen, where several pieces of incised clay tablet had been roughly fitted together.

  ‘Eureka!’ she cried. ‘And since I know that the same inscription is also engraved on to a stone temple slab, it would appear to be an edict sent throughout the land, rather than
just a proclamation.’

  I got the gist, even if not quite understanding what she was talking about. ‘Wonderful,’ I enthused, but she was already sitting back down at the keyboard. ‘The pieces are from three different museums and two collectors,’ she said. ‘I must email them all and let them know …’

  Seeing she’d forgotten I was there I tiptoed out again and closed the door quietly behind me.

  After tea, which had taken on a celebratory air once Henry had winkled Clara out of her study, I went back into the studio and rang the Farm.

  River answered and said he was all set to visit his friend Gregory Warlock in Sticklepond on Monday, before coming on to the Red House.

  ‘I’m sure you remember me mentioning him. Besides having the museum of witchcraft in the village, he has written some works on ancient sacred sites, as well as novels.’

  ‘Yes, I do remember,’ I agreed.

  ‘I’ll have only a short journey onwards to the Red House from Sticklepond.’

  I told him all about my visit to Flower and then he asked how the portraits were coming along.

  ‘Clara’s is completely finished and I’ve just started Henry’s. I’m hoping they’ll let me put them in my February exhibition.’

  I hadn’t asked them yet, but I was sure they would agree.

  ‘I look forward to seeing them – and you too, my dear Meg,’ he said, then gave me his usual Goddess-inspired benediction and rang off.

  Before I could turn my phone off again, Fliss caught me and I told her about Rollo’s behaviour and that I’d told him I never wanted to see or hear from him again.

  ‘I told you you should dump him, right after the accident,’ she said.

  ‘I know and I wanted to, but he seemed to feel so guilty that I ended up agreeing we could stay friends, just to show I didn’t blame him for what happened. And he did visit me several times while I was in hospital.’

  ‘Only to inflict all those sad poems he’d written about how he felt on you.’

  ‘Yes, there was that. And though he insisted he’d have supported me and the baby if I hadn’t miscarried, that was easy enough to say then.’