Wickham Hall: Part Four - White Christmas

by Cathy Bramley

  About the Book

  Sleigh bells are ringing and the snow is glistening at Wickham Hall! While overseeing the hall’s very own winter wonderland, Holly is kept busy making lists and checking them all twice. It’s almost enough to keep her mind off her one and only Christmas wish . . .

  But life isn’t as easily organised as an event at Wickham Hall (and even those usually have their complications). Can Holly learn to let go and live in the moment? After all, that’s when the magic really happens . . .

  Wickham Hall is an utterly feel-good story told in four parts – following Holly Swift’s attempt at organising her own happy-ever-after, one catastrophe at a time. White Christmas is part four.

  Contents

  Cover

  About the Book

  Title Page

  Previously in Wickham Hall

  White Christmas

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Epilogue

  The Plumberry School of Comfort Food

  About the Author

  Also by Cathy Bramley

  Irresistible recipes inspired by Wickham Hall

  Copyright

  WICKHAM HALL

  Part Four - White Christmas

  Cathy Bramley

  Previously in Wickham Hall: Sparks Fly . . .

  The drama of Bonfire night has finally settled down, and everyone at Wickham Hall is feeling festive. As the end to the year draws near, Holly still has some decisions to make about contacting her father – especially since she’s still eagerly awaiting Ben’s return so she can get her hands on that letter and hopefully get him under the mistletoe . . .

  Christmas is a time full of surprises, love and cheer – a time when magical things can truly happen. So has Holly finally learnt to just let go and live in the moment?

  Read Wickham Hall: White Christmas to find out!

  White Christmas

  Chapter 1

  Weak winter sun filtered through the mullioned windows and out on the lawn at the front of Wickham Hall I could see Lady Fortescue’s new oak love seat under a winter-rose-covered arbour and the gatehouse beyond. It was a stunning view and I was filled with warmth as I cast a glance over to the Fortescues, who sat side by side at the head of the table.

  It was early December and Lord Fortescue had called us all to a meeting in the Great Hall to update him on our ‘White Christmas at Wickham Hall’ festivities. This room was the hall’s show-stopper as far as the public were concerned. It still had the raised dais at one end where dignitaries would have eaten in Elizabethan times, but the décor was elegantly Georgian with white ornate plasterwork panels on the pale blue walls, three huge candelabra spaced along high ceilings and a long oak table with twenty chairs filling the centre of the floor.

  I had taken a seat at the end of the table with the other assembled staff members – all except Nikki, who appeared to be running late.

  Jenny removed the lid from a red and white cake tin and the smell of Christmas instantly filled the air.

  ‘Not mince pies already,’ Andy said mulishly, peering into the tin.

  ‘It’s December,’ said Jenny, pressing a fragrant miniature mince pie into my hand as she moved around the table, dishing out moreish morsels to all of us except Andy, whom she glared at until he took one for himself. ‘So it’s officially Christmas in my kitchen. Tell me what you think, everyone; we’ve gone for filo pastry this year and added a frangipane topping.’

  ‘Absolutely delicious, Jenny, and they smell heavenly. What is it that I can smell?’ asked Lady Fortescue, breaking off a piece of crispy pastry and popping it into her mouth.

  ‘Orange zest.’ Jenny beamed proudly and offered Lady Fortescue a second one. ‘And booze.’

  ‘We’ll have two hundred of them, please, for our “Christmas at Home” evening,’ said Lady Fortescue.

  ‘Excellent idea!’ declared Sheila, making a note on her pad. ‘And much lighter than traditional pastry.’

  ‘Quicker to make, too,’ added Jenny.

  Lady Fortescue began issuing further orders for Sheila to scribble down about her Christmas at Home event and Jenny handed round the tin for a second time.

  The Christmas at Home party was the social event of the year for a lot of local people, according to Sheila. The Fortescues invited everyone they’d worked with during the year to join them for festive drinks just before Christmas. Sheila had told me that people all over the county would be keeping their fingers crossed this week, hoping that they’d made the guest list.

  ‘Will you be there?’ I whispered to Jenny.

  She laughed softly. ‘No, we have a staff do in the café on Christmas Eve. Christmas at Home is a much posher affair held in the Red Sitting Room. The guests knock back vats of mulled wine and several tonnes of my mince pies. And then once the majority have gone, the Fortescues have a select group of people to a four-course dinner in here, which is even posher.’

  ‘Sounds gorgeous.’ I grinned. ‘The Red Sitting Room is my favourite room at Christmas.’

  I was so excited about Christmas, partly because Wickham Hall looked wonderful when it was decked out in decorations but also because Benedict would be back and I was dying to get my mitts on him and that letter from Italy . . .

  ‘Jenny, you have a lightness of touch worthy of a Parisian patisserie,’ exclaimed Lord Fortescue, brushing a cluster of crumbs from his chin.

  ‘Indeed,’ agreed Lady Fortescue as she handed her husband a napkin. ‘Talking of Paris, Jenny, you must let me know if you need any gourmet treats for the kitchen bringing back from my Paris trip.’

  Jenny’s eyes widened. ‘Oh, I will; thank you. Perhaps some marrons glacés from Fauchon or some French mustard from La Grande Épicerie or caramels from—’

  ‘Goodness!’ trilled Lady Fortescue. ‘I won’t be able to carry all that. Just make me a list and I’ll see what I can do.’

  ‘A buying trip? Perhaps I could come? I’ve got some great ideas,’ Andy suggested, edging forward on his seat hopefully. He was looking very festive today in a red tartan shirt buttoned tightly to his neck.

  ‘No, it’s a personal trip, I’m afraid, Andy,’ Her Ladyship replied. ‘Besides, we need you here making sure the hall looks its best for Christmas.’ She took out a small mirror from her handbag and dabbed at her mouth delicately. ‘I shall be shopping for outfits in Paris for our Christmas break with the Valois family.’

  ‘She’s exhausted all the London shops, haven’t you, Beatrice?’ Lord Fortescue chuckled.

  ‘I don’t want my wardrobe to be judged by Madame Valois Senior and be found wanting, that’s all, Hugo.’ She frowned. ‘Anyway, Zara will be joining me in Paris and then we’ll return to Wickham Hall together.’

  ‘While we’re all sitting here,’ said Sheila, flipping open a small cardboard box, ‘please can you all add your signature to the official Wickham Hall Christmas cards. Sign and pass them clockwise please, Holly.’

  She held a pile out to me and I stared at the picture on the front of the card.

  It was a modern watercolour painting of a robin perched on the edge of a terracotta pot. The pot was filled with red cyclamens and topped with a thick layer of snow and there was an unmistakable snow-covered Wickham Hall in soft focus in the background. My pulse raced as I flipped the card over to read the back, even though I could already guess who the artist was.

  ‘White Christmas at Wickham Hall by Ben Fortescue.’

  I press
ed my lips together to hide my smile; how much persuasion had he had to use on his mother to have his preferred name printed in black and white?

  Once again, Ben’s passion for both his art and his home shone through. I stroked the card with my fingertip. I missed his presence in my life and couldn’t wait to see him again. He’d be labouring in the sun under the Cambodian sky now, repairing the school that meant so much to him while we discussed the frippery of Christmas with its decorations and parties and cards . . .

  He had been gone for almost a month already; would he be back in time for Christmas? I wondered.

  I bit back a sigh and began to sign my name in card after card, passing them on to Jenny. An industrious silence fell across the room for a few minutes as we all concentrated on producing our best handwriting.

  Lord Fortescue circled his wrist in the air before checking his watch. ‘I really think we should start our Christmas planning meeting, we’ve waited for Nikki long enough.’

  ‘Oh!’ Andy’s hand shot up. ‘Can I kick off? I’ve just put the finishing touches to the décor plan for the Great Hall and I’d really love to share it with you.’

  Lady Fortescue sighed. ‘I’m not convinced about this year’s theme.’

  ‘Oh, I think it will be beautiful,’ I said, earning myself a faint smile from Andy.

  The idea of ‘White Christmas’ that Andy had come up with – both in the hall and outside in the part of the gardens that Nikki would be converting into a winter wonderland – would use natural materials, mostly sourced from the estate, such as seed heads, fruit and vegetables, a wide variety of leaves, sticks and twigs all given a snowy finish with white and silver spray paints. He had grand plans to suspend a series of angels all the way down the main staircase and fill the Long Gallery entirely with snow-sprayed Christmas trees. I had my doubts about Andy, but there was no escaping the fact that he was incredibly talented.

  Lady Fortescue turned away from me slightly. A snub that wasn’t lost on me; she’d been giving me the cold shoulder ever since she found me drinking beer in Ben’s private rooms back in September.

  ‘The decorations at Chatsworth this year have been supplied by Liberty of London and must have cost a fortune. Wickham Hall’s decorations are going to look a little . . . well . . . “low budget” by comparison.’

  Andy shook his head confidently. ‘Have faith, Lady Fortescue.’ He stood up and laid a large sheet of card in front of her. ‘As you can see from this mood board, we’ll be making a bold statement with our white and silver sprayed—’

  At that moment, the door flew back on its hinges, knocking into the wall, and Nikki appeared carrying a large handful of long twigs sprayed white and silver.

  ‘So sorry I’m late, but I’ve been experimenting with a few bits and bobs for Christmas and I thought you’d like to see the finished article.’

  ‘Bits and bobs?’ sniffed Lady Fortescue. ‘The mind boggles.’

  ‘Bear with,’ Nikki said, flashing us a grin as she produced glass baubles from her pockets and hung them randomly on the end of the twigs. ‘Ta-dah!’

  ‘Now, imagine that on a grander scale,’ said Andy, waving his hands around. ‘Armfuls of them along the length of the Great Hall, all snowy and covered with silver-sprayed pine cones.’

  ‘It’ll be like Narnia,’ I said, glancing round the room. I could picture it perfectly. And I thought the simplicity of using natural materials, bringing the outside in, would look magical.

  ‘Bravo,’ said Lord Fortescue. ‘It does have a simple charm to it. What do you think, Beatrice?’

  ‘Oh, very simple,’ she agreed, which judging by her folded arms and furrowed brow was evidently not a compliment.

  ‘Harvey Nichols did something similar a couple of years ago, Your Ladyship, and the Sunday Times said it was the classiest display they’d ever seen,’ Andy countered.

  She raised an eyebrow at that. ‘Well, all right, let’s run with it.’

  Nikki and Andy exchanged looks of relief and took their seats at the table.

  While Jenny and Sheila sorted us all out with more hot drinks, Nikki gave us a rundown of the White Christmas decorations for the garden.

  ‘I’m delighted to say that Jim will be playing Santa again this year.’ She beamed.

  She had sourced a Nordic-style wooden hut that would be accessed via a temporary covered walkway directly from the formal gardens. Tens of thousands of tiny white lights would lead the way – wound around trees, gateways and hedges – and dozens of decorated Christmas trees, cut from the estate, would create impact. And finally, once inside the hut, the children would be greeted by elves before getting to meet Santa himself.

  My heart lifted at the thought of Jim in a Santa suit. He would love entertaining the children and it would be his last job at Wickham Hall before he retired on Christmas Eve.

  ‘How is Jim, Sheila?’ I asked. The Fortescues had insisted on him having a whole month off on full pay to recover fully after collapsing on Bonfire Night and I hadn’t seen him for a while.

  ‘Desperate to come back to work.’ She chuckled. ‘Goodness knows how they are going to cope when he begins his retirement proper in January.’

  ‘He’ll never retire,’ laughed Jenny. ‘Same as Marjorie the tour guide and Edith in the shop.’

  ‘But he couldn’t speak highly enough of you, Andy,’ Sheila added. ‘I didn’t realize that you’d been going round to their house to help out.’

  ‘Bravo, Andy, bravo,’ bellowed Lord Fortescue, reaching across to pat Andy’s shoulder.

  Andy squirmed in his chair, blushed the colour of his shirt and picked up his teacup to hide his face. ‘It was the least I could do,’ he mumbled.

  Hmm, I had my suspicions as to why that should be.

  I looked at him sharply and for a split second he caught my eye and a look of panic flashed across his face. Nikki had been adamant that her team hadn’t put any polystyrene in the bonfire. The gift shop, on the other hand, had piles of the stuff . . .

  Today was the day, I thought, I’d collar him on the way out of this meeting and confront him.

  ‘Holly?’ Jenny prodded me with her teaspoon. ‘Sheila asked for a progress update?’

  ‘Oh, yes, sorry!’ I gave an embarrassed laugh. ‘Nearly all the Christmas events are sorted. A lady from Henley library will read stories around the Christmas tree in the Red Sitting Room every day at four. All tickets are sold out for the celebrity chef demo with Daniel Denton.’

  ‘Told you.’ Jenny nodded smugly.

  ‘The only thing still to be arranged is someone to run our Christmas crafts workshop. The man who had originally agreed has broken his wrist, so I’m searching for a new person.’

  Andy cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. ‘I’ll do it.’

  ‘Really?’ I blinked at him.

  He nodded. ‘The hall will be decorated by then, so I’ll have time. Edith can cover for me in the shop.’

  I could hardly believe it: Andy, offering to help me out? Wonders would never cease.

  ‘Andy’s wonderful with stuff like that,’ said Nikki. ‘Remember the button holes he did for Zara’s wedding?’

  ‘Well, OK.’ I shrugged. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Right, everyone.’ Lady Fortescue clapped her hands together to signal the end of our meeting. ‘I think we’ll leave it there. If you could just stay for a minute, Jenny, to talk me through Daniel Denton’s recipe choices.’

  Andy was first to leave the room and I hurried after him.

  ‘Andy?’ I called as soon as I was in the corridor. ‘A word please.’

  He looked shiftily back towards the Great Hall.

  ‘Make it quick then,’ he said, folding his arms. ‘I’ve got a delivery of hampers due any second.’

  ‘Sure,’ I said, gazing at him intently. ‘It’s about the bonfire.’

  Andy shifted his weight from one foot to the other. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  I gave an exasperated sigh and mirrored
his body language by folding my arms. ‘Admit it, Andy. You hid a load of toxic packaging in the middle of the bonfire, didn’t you?’

  His face drained of all colour. ‘I . . . um . . . I . . .’

  ‘Well?’ I demanded. ‘It’s time you and I cleared the air.’

  ‘Oh hell,’ groaned Andy, lowering himself to the bottom step.

  Chapter 2

  ‘So it was you!’ I gasped. ‘You do realize that someone could have died – Jim, for starters. We were very lucky that none of the spectators were seriously injured.’

  ‘I’m so sorry.’ Andy pressed the heels of his hands into his eyeballs. ‘What an idiot. It was all me, all my fault. Are you going to tell the Fortescues? I wouldn’t blame you if you did. But, please don’t, Holly, please don’t.’

  To my horror his shoulders began to shake.

  Along the corridor, the door to Lord Fortescue’s office opened and I heard Jenny saying her goodbyes to Sheila. She would be appearing at any moment and even though there was no love lost between Andy and me, I didn’t want our discussion to become public knowledge.

  I grabbed Andy’s arm and pulled him up the stairs to my office, closing the door behind us.

  ‘Sit down,’ I muttered, handing him a tissue. ‘Now, tell me everything.’

  I busied myself making us both a coffee that probably neither of us wanted while he sat at Ben’s desk and sniffed.

  ‘It was that bonfire meeting.’ He sighed. ‘I’m ashamed of it now, but I felt so humiliated. Everything I said was dismissed and everything you suggested everyone was like: “Oh, yes, Holly, a Guy Fawkes competition, fabulous idea.” And then when Benedict turned up after being away in the Orkneys for weeks, I was so pleased to see him and he only had eyes for you.’

  ‘Me! Really?’ My voice went a bit wobbly and I turned away before Andy noticed my secret smile. That was lovely to hear, especially as I’d really missed Ben since he’d left in November and I was tempted to press Andy for more.

  ‘Yes. And when I tried to compliment him on his art, all he did was order me to clear up the rubbish. It was the final straw.’