The Christmas Invitation

by Trisha Ashley

  ‘That’s all very confusing, darling, but you do what you like about it. I’m a child of the Goddess; that’s enough for me.’

  She sounded like River.

  ‘Don’t you want to come over and meet your new family?’

  ‘No, though it is nice to have a sister – do tell her I hope she’ll come out and visit us one of these days. Boo-boo’s got a palace. You must come out too, Meg,’ she added kindly. ‘I’m not sure I’ll be back any time soon: too cold, too wet. I feel my home is here in India now.’

  Yes, I thought, probably in a lavish palace with servants and hot and cold running elephants, if such places still existed.

  ‘Are there elephants?’

  ‘In India, there are always elephants, darling.’

  When she’d rung off, I went out of the room rather blindly and literally ran into Lex in the hall.

  And it must have been the relief and shock, for I threw my arms around his neck and burst into tears all over his broad chest.

  ‘Mum’s alive!’ I sobbed as he gathered me into his arms.

  ‘I know. Your brother rang Clara earlier and warned her she was going to call you, but Clara thought it should be a surprise. Is your mother all right?’

  I stopped crying and mopped my face with a tissue I fished out of my pocket, then told him what my totally ditsy mother had said. And as I did, I began to see the funny side …

  ‘It’s exactly like her: the moment she remembers who she is, rich friends whisk her to a smart hotel, where she bumps into a maharaja, who instantly proposes to her.’

  I realized Lex’s arms were still around me and he was gazing down at me, suddenly sobered and intent. ‘We could go and visit her – together?’ he suggested, tentatively.

  ‘What do you mean?’ I said stupidly, feeling the world whirl dizzyingly round.

  He turned my face up to his and kissed me, long and hard, and my knees went weak. It didn’t help with the dizzy feeling, that was for sure.

  ‘I think you know what I mean,’ he said finally. ‘I love you and I think you love me. So, are we going to let the past keep us apart, or bring us together?’

  ‘Could it bring us together? Won’t the memory of Lisa always be there?’

  ‘Yes, but in the way she wanted to be remembered: fondly, as a happy memory, not a sad ghost.’

  I looked up at him and saw that his face was not sardonic, or sombre, or even kind, but instead filled with tenderness and love.

  I pulled his head down for another long kiss … eventually broken by River’s voice exclaiming in pleased tones, ‘How wonderful that your stars have now aligned! The blessings of the Goddess be upon you!’

  At dinner, we opened yet more elderflower champagne to toast Mum’s reappearance, but not another engagement because Lex and I had decided there had been too many of those lately. Instead, we’d have the honeymoon in India first and then a quiet wedding later, or possibly while we were still out there.

  Clara and Henry seemed to think this was a perfectly reasonable suggestion.

  ‘Just as well it was a good year for collecting elderflowers,’ Tottie said, topping up the glasses. ‘Otherwise, we’d be running out of fizz, by now.’

  Later, when I wished Lex goodnight, he said, ‘It’s been one hell of a day!’

  ‘You can say that again,’ I agreed whole-heartedly. ‘Half-nightmare, half—’

  He kissed me before I could complete the sentence. ‘I hope I’m in the good half now, whatever it is.’

  ‘Always,’ I assured him.

  As one elderly farmer had predicted at the party, the temperature had risen radically overnight and we awoke on the morning after Boxing Day to the sound of dripping everywhere. The snow still covered everything, but as the morning went on it was rapidly sinking like a deflated soufflé.

  By the time Lex and I had finished a long portrait sitting, followed by a kiss or two, slightly impeded by one jealous small dachshund, we emerged to the news that the tractor and snowplough had gone up the lane earlier … and then a little later returned, followed by the mail van.

  The road to Thorstane was finally reopened!

  After lunch, Flora rang to tell us that Piers had insisted on leaving the moment he heard the road was open and had paid Gil Adcock to drive him to the station.

  ‘She said he kicked up a huge fuss when she gave him his bill and said she was charging twice as much as his London club. But, of course, he had to pay it,’ Clara said.

  ‘I should think Gil will charge him quite a bit, too, if he’s taking him all the way to the station,’ Henry said.

  ‘He wanted Flora to take him, but she was too nervous to try it until the road thaws a little more tomorrow. When it does, she and Rollo plan to leave her car at the motel and then drive to London in his, so he can introduce her to his mother.’

  ‘Really?’ I said. ‘She doesn’t let the grass grow under her feet, does she?’

  ‘No, I think she’s got her man and she isn’t going to let him out of her sight now,’ agreed Clara.

  ‘They could have taken Piers back to London with them,’ suggested Tottie.

  ‘Rollo’s got a ridiculous little two-seater sports car,’ I said. ‘They couldn’t have taken him, even if they’d wanted to.’

  Zelda was still at Underhill, and River drove Sybil there that afternoon, so she could pack for her trip with him to the Farm.

  ‘We’ve told Mark about your mother’s call,’ Sybil said when they returned. ‘I’m sure it’s put his mind totally at rest, so that now we can forget all that tangle in the past.’

  Tangle was one way of putting it.

  ‘What about you, dear?’ Sybil asked me. ‘So lovely that you and Lex are … well, together. Are you going to stay here a little longer, or are you coming to the Farm tomorrow, too?’

  ‘Oh, I’ll stay here until I’ve finished Lex’s portrait at least, and then I suppose I’d better tell my landlord I’m not renewing my lease on the flat. Luckily it expires just after my exhibition in February.’

  ‘And after that, we’ll go India,’ Lex said with the special smile that made my knees turn into jelly. ‘I must get back to work in a few days, though. I’ll “get potting”, as you once suggested!’

  ‘Potted,’ I corrected, but I smiled.

  I knew at some point I’d have to meet with Al and Tara, to lay the foundations for our future relationship. I wasn’t looking forward to it, but I’d already had an abject apology by telephone from Al, so I was prepared to forgive and, if not forget, put it behind me.

  ‘We’ll have to make our plans, so that after your exhibition and our trip, you can move up here permanently,’ Lex said.

  ‘We’ll all go to your exhibition,’ declared Clara.

  ‘And I’ll hire a minibus for the Farm contingent,’ said River. ‘We can all meet up there!’

  It sounded like it would be one of my more memorable one-woman shows.

  ‘There’ll be lots of coming and going between Starstone Edge and the Farm in the years to come – what fun!’ said Clara happily. ‘It’s all working out surprisingly well!’

  Then a frown crossed her face and she added, ‘Oh, but there’s just one thing! Henry, I’m afraid Rollo is coming for tea today with Flora, to say goodbye. He behaved himself quite well at the party, so it seemed mean not to let him.’

  Henry sighed. ‘I expect I’ll end up letting him print one of my poems in his ghastly magazine. But I’m definitely not writing a foreword to his collected poems!’

  ‘Meg, you’ve enlivened and enriched our lives!’ declared Clara.

  And Lex, sitting next to me, gave me his sideways arrowhead smile and said, with a hint of his old sardonic self, ‘She’s a gift that just keeps on giving.’

  Epilogue

  Twelfth Night

  It was Twelfth Night and an icy wind prowled around the Red House, occasionally casting a handful of snowflakes at the window, or howling menacingly down the chimney.

  The two dogs were s
hut up with Clara in her study, out of the way, and though the spaniel, Lass, snored gently under her desk, Meg’s young and excitable dachshund, Pansy, barked madly at the unseen menace, whirling round in a circle like a little dervish.

  Out in the hall, the huge Christmas tree was being denuded of its ornaments and tinsel by Lex and Meg, while in the drawing room Henry and Teddy were carefully removing the antique baubles from the artificial tree in the bay window.

  Clara heard Lex’s deep laugh and Meg’s voice protesting about something and, as always, it did her heart good to hear her nephew happy again.

  Zelda, always a creature of impulse, had already packed up her possessions from the shared flat in London and moved straight into Underhill.

  Teddy, reassured that he could continue living at the Red House, yet still spend time with his mother, seemed remarkably sanguine about this change now, while Zelda’s soon-to-be mother-in-law, Sybil, had just returned to Underhill from her visit to River’s Farm and seemed to have dropped ten years and revived like a flower in water. Clara was not sure if that was from relief that the truth about the past had come out and the blackmail stopped, or from River’s company. She was already talking about another, longer visit …

  Clara was sitting at her U-shaped desk, supposedly waiting for inspiration for the next crime novel to strike, which she had decided to call Scratched Out. She had summoned the Muse and confidently expected her to arrive at any moment, or she would want to know the reason why.

  There was still a good hour before she could decently eat lunch – though good smells were wafting beneath the door from the direction of the kitchen.

  Cheese and onion pies, that comforting winter alternative to hearty soup, she rather thought, and perhaps some of Den’s special savoury scones to have for tea later …

  Food was such a pleasure.

  The voices of Henry and her great-nephew Teddy sounded louder, so they must have removed the decorations and now be headed for Henry’s study, to put away the valuable vintage and antique glass baubles in their places among his extensive collection.

  Later, Lex and Den would take the pine tree outside, and then store the boxes of decorations back in the attics. Being so substantial, the Victorian Gothic house wasn’t short of them and there had been some talk about perhaps turning some of them into an apartment for Lex and Meg. The Old Smithy cottage attached to Terrapotter could then be turned over to Al and his family, who were bursting out of their tiny rented terraced house.

  How amazing and wonderful it was that the tangled interactions between the Doomes, herself and Nessa Cassidy had finally woven themselves into a complete and very lovely design!

  And now, the loom seemed to have been set up to begin a new one … and a new volume of her memoirs.

  She found she still had a lot to say …

  Perhaps it had been a mistake to mention to the publishers of her crime novels that she was at work on her memoirs? They had seemed surprisingly keen on the idea of publishing them!

  They would certainly need some severe editing first, to protect the guilty. But the new volume could start in the present and travel backwards, as she recollected the wonderful times she and Henry had had abroad, roaming in remote areas and working on archaeological sites. She had lots more stories to tell.

  She opened a new file and began to type:

  Second Impressions

  The Memoirs of

  Clara Mayhem Doome

  Volume 2

  Foreword

  Acknowledgements

  I would like to thank Oliver Mahony, Lady Margaret Hall Archivist, for his invaluable assistance in researching and understanding what life was like for a female student in Oxford in the late fifties and early sixties. (Though of course, any errors or instances of artistic licence are entirely my own doing.)

  Also with gratitude to my son, Robin Ashley, for general research, technological support and ordering the takeaway dinners when the deadlines approached.

  And finally, a huge thank you to my wonderful agent of many years, Judith Murdoch, for her constant support and encouragement.

  Recipes

  Old Fashioned Sticky Treacle Cake

  I do not imagine that Clara does much cooking herself but, if it were to take her fancy, I like to think that this is exactly what she would make on a cold wintry night. Warming, nostalgic and comforting, this is the perfect dessert to make on those days in between Christmas and New Year’s Eve for guests, children or even just for yourself. Enjoy with custard or on its own.

  You will need …

  225g (8 oz) butter

  225g (8 oz) light muscovado sugar

  1 tbsp (1 oz) treacle

  2 large eggs

  ½ pint whole milk

  450g (16 oz) self-raising flour

  4 tbsp (4 oz) golden syrup

  Before you do anything else, preheat your oven to 140ºC fan/160ºC/gas mark 3. Combine the butter, sugar and treacle in a large pan and place over a medium heat until the ingredients have melted together, stirring as needed.

  Leave the stovetop mixture to cool and, in the meantime, mix both the eggs and milk together. Once there is no danger of the eggs being cooked, add the eggy-milk and the flour to the original mixture. Beat everything together with brute force inspired by Clara’s iron will.

  Once fully combined, pour the mixture into a greased and lined 23cm (9 inch) baking tin and bake for around 50 minutes. Test the cake by inserting a skewer and checking whether it comes out clean. Allow the cake a few minutes to cool and then poke the cake all over with a clean skewer and dollop the golden syrup all over the sponge. When the cake has fully cooled, turn it out of the tin and cut yourself the first, sticky piece.

  Meg’s Mother’s Anglo-Indian Cardamom Kheer (Rice Pudding)

  When Meg’s mum does eventually come back from India there is one thing she would certainly be bringing back with her: this recipe. Kheer is the Indian version of Rice Pudding and it’s delicious. This recipe takes its inspiration from the Indian dessert but uses pudding rice in place of a more traditional basmati, although you can use either.

  You will need …

  2 pints whole milk

  1 tsp ground cardamom

  120g (4 oz) pudding rice (or basmati should it take your fancy)

  100g (3.5 oz) sugar

  1 tsp vanilla essence

  35g (1.2 oz) unsalted pistachios, roughly chopped

  Nutmeg, to garnish

  Bring the milk to boil over a medium heat in a large pan. Add the cardamom and rice to the boiling milk, stirring constantly. Lower the heat so the mixture is barely simmering and cook for 45–50 minutes, stirring every few minutes to stop the rice from sticking. The pudding is finished when the grains of rice are soft enough to squish between two fingertips. Add the sugar, vanilla, and two thirds of the pistachios. Stir and turn off the heat. Serve either warm or chilled, garnished with extra pistachios and a sprinkle of nutmeg.

  THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING

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  Transworld is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com.

  First published in Great Britain in 2019 by Bantam Press

  an imprint of Transworld Publishers

  Copyright © Trisha Ashley 2019

  Cover design by Beci Kelly/TW

 
Illustration by Robyn Neild

  Trisha Ashley has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

  This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Every effort has been made to obtain the necessary permissions with reference to copyright material, both illustrative and quoted. We apologize for any omissions in this respect and will be pleased to make the appropriate acknowledgements in any future edition.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  ISBN 9781473526259

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