‘Doesn’t she look amazing?’ asked Simon, always in awe of his beautiful wife. She planted a juicy kiss on his lips in gratitude.
Next to arrive in the sitting room were Bernie and Mrs Garfield, looking and smelling delicious, and there was that nervous moment just before a party begins when the hosts wonder if it will be a success or not. And then the doorbell rang and any worries were quickly washed away in the tide of greetings that followed, as each new guest entered speckled with the snowflakes that had just started to fall.
The crowded cottage was soon bursting with life and laughter, as the revellers became pinker and pinker with champagne. Soon the food was brought round by Kizzie’s older daughters and the guests were able to soak up some of the alcohol with the festive fare. Christmas carols played in the background although they were drowned out for the most part by the chatter and laughter that filled the house.
At about ten o’clock there was the clinking of knife on glass as Simon asked everyone to clear a space in the sitting room for his wife’s performance. A moment later the carols had been exchanged for the introductory bars of Big Spender and Rachel appeared with a chair from the kitchen, behind which she stood with a saucy pout and a jiggling hip. The dance that ensued was astonishingly well executed and very sensuous, raising the temperature in the sitting room even higher than it was already. At the end of the routine, as Rachel sashayed onto the chair, spread her legs and tipped her head over so her red curls fell to the floor, the applause was deafening.
‘Encore, encore!’ the guests chanted and Rachel began a second dance to New York, New York. Halfway through she decided to drag Rosamunde and Mrs Garfield up to join in, much to Rosamunde’s horror. But she’d had enough to drink to make her game and joined in as best she could, laughing at the wolf-whistles, while Mrs Garfield surprised everyone with her agility.
Afterwards Rachel was immediately on to Mrs G, persuading her she should take up classes as a way of keeping fit.
‘I don’t think they have classes around here for burlesque,’ chuckled Mrs G. ‘Marjorie Hawson has been doing her legs, bums and tums for twenty years and she’s not a great one for change,’ she added.
Soon most of the partygoers, including Kizzie and Gerard, started to dance. Rosamunde spotted Ed whirling Alison Thacker around the sitting room to Don McLean’s American Pie and was glad to see her enjoying herself at what must have felt like the most painful of Christmases – her first without Richard.
Rosamunde decided to sneak upstairs to check her make-up and, on her way, bumped into Bernie in the hallway. He’d just downed a black coffee to counteract the champagne and was about to head over to the church for Midnight Mass.
‘Okay, Dad?’ she asked, hugging him to her.
‘Excellent, excellent. Just been making sure I can say “vicissitudes” for the service, and I can. My sobriety test,’ he chuckled as he disengaged himself from Rosamunde to pop his dog collar on.
‘I don’t think you’ll have many takers from the party,’ remarked Rosamunde, as she made her way up the stairs. ‘It’s still in full swing!’ she laughed.
‘Make sure there’s some drink left for when I get back!’ called Bernie, and he wove his way through the crowded cottage to head across to the church.
Once upstairs, Rosamunde was taken by surprise when she turned to shut her bedroom door and found Benedict had followed her up.
‘Am I interrupting?’ he asked.
‘No, of course not. Come in,’ she said.
‘I just wanted to catch you on your own for a moment to give you this,’ Benedict explained, producing with a flourish a gift inexpertly wrapped in festive paper. ‘I know I’m seeing you tomorrow but I suspect it’ll be chaos and I wanted to see you open it.’ He grinned sheepishly.
‘You’re not going to put me to shame, are you?’ she asked. ‘I’m afraid I’ve only got you the ski socks you asked for!’
‘Just open it!’ he ordered. So Rosamunde perched on the edge of the bed and unpeeled the wrapping to discover the most exquisite clay koala painted in the most glorious orange and red hues, the details outlined in delicate gold. It was the most beautiful object Rosamunde had ever been given. She was speechless, but her tear-filled eyes said it all. Benedict looked at her enquiringly then took the koala and placed it carefully on the bedside table before sitting on the bed and taking Rosamunde’s face in his hands.
The kiss felt bizarrely familiar, as if they had been kissing all their lives, but it was no less wonderful for it. They fitted, Rosamunde thought, and she wondered what on earth had taken them so long.
The party immediately forgotten, they didn’t emerge from Rosamunde’s bedroom until the following morning. When Rosamunde awoke to find Benedict beside her she found herself astonished at just how right it felt. She lay there watching his long fluttering eyelashes until there was a loud crash and Lily and Art burst into the bedroom, waking Benedict and causing Rosamunde to pull the duvet up to cover her modesty.
‘There’s a man in your bed!’ remarked Lily. ‘It’s not Father Christmas, is it?’ she asked, peering to get a better view. Rosamunde laughed.
‘No, s’my friend Benlict,’ Art told his sister, knowledgeably.
‘So sorry.’ The next to burst in was Rachel. ‘They were dying to say Happy Christmas,’ grinned Rachel. Then she spotted Benedict. ‘Oh, yikes! Gosh! Sorry. No idea. Out, out, children. Now, quick, quick!’ and the three reversed out of the bedroom.
‘I guess there’s no chance of this being a secret union, then,’ remarked Benedict with a raised eyebrow, before turning to kiss Rosamunde. She kissed him back and, as a result, the couple arrived late, dishevelled and snow-flecked at the morning service.
‘You devil! I thought he was gay! Top marks for the conversion,’ whispered Rachel as the pair joined the others in the Vicarage pew, everyone budging up to accommodate them.
‘Ssshh!’ replied Rosamunde, though she could hardly contain her happiness. She sang merrily along with all the carols and dug Benedict in the ribs during his dreadful descant in O Come All Ye Faithful. Rachel also revealed her New Year’s resolution to Rosamunde during this final hymn.
‘I’ve decided to be faithful from now on,’ she told her sister. ‘I’ve finished things with my Spanish lover. I think it’s time to focus on Simon.’
Rosamunde was amazed but pleased and Simon winked at her. She wondered how much of a blind eye he’d had to turn over the years. What is it about this Christmas? she wondered to herself. Could there be any more surprises?
As it turned out, there was another one in store.
40.
AUGUST 1999
FRANCE
After a day trip to the nearest town – beautiful but hideously busy and stiflingly hot – Rosamunde returned to the peace and tranquillity of the villa. As had become their custom so quickly and easily, Rosamunde joined her hosts for an aperitif followed by a delicious dinner. And after dinner – as had also become their habit – Pierre continued with his storytelling.
‘Your mother,’ he said, twinkling at Rosamunde. ‘Now, she was the most glorious person ever to live on this planet. Why is it always the case that the most wonderful creatures die early and the most horrible of people seem to survive forever?’ he asked, and Rosamunde thought how true that was.
‘She wasn’t perfect, though, of course,’ he added. ‘But you name one human being who is,’ he said, and Rosamunde found her interest piqued. Of course, in her mind her mother was the most perfect person ever to have existed. She was interested to have an insight into the fuller picture.
‘I think I told you I didn’t see Marguerite until she was sixteen. She came to visit us then, and my goodness, was she beautiful! I must admit I fell a little bit in love with her myself. And she was so full of beauty within as well. Her eyes – dark eyes – they gleamed with her life and vitality. I tell you, she brought some much-needed glamour to our village and caused quite a stir. The boys of the village were tripping over themselve
s in their desperate pursuit of her, but Marguerite, while she was friendly, remained a little aloof. You see, as well as being vital and engaging, she had this serenity about her, too. I see this in you, Rosamunde, this gentle serenity. It is the most attractive of qualities.’
Rosamunde blushed, delighted with the compliment and the comparison to her mother.
‘One of the most striking things about Marguerite was her beautiful wardrobe of clothes. She had little money, of course, but she had learnt to sew at school and by sixteen she was the most accomplished dressmaker, making all her own clothes. She looked a million dollars and it was a real passion for her. When she was staying with us, very often she would work on patterns late into the night and spend the days stitching whilst she gossiped with my mother.’
Rosamunde nodded. She remembered how her mother had always been beautifully turned out, her clothes the perfect expression of her character – elegant, beautiful and a little playful too.
‘It was on this visit to France when she was sixteen that an old friend of my father came to visit. He lived in Paris and when he discovered Marguerite’s skill he suggested she should try to find an apprenticeship at a design house in France. I think your mother had given little thought to her future at that point, although she had just left school. Suddenly she was seized with the desire to pursue such a career and within a year she’d won herself an apprenticeship at Chanel! Her ambition was astonishing in those days – this was 1962 – and she was all alone in Paris. Penelope was in Exeter and Marguerite knew no one at all to start with. But she could speak the language and she adored the job, working incredibly long hours but making many friends as well. Now and then she would take a short break and visit us here, regaling us with all the stories of the glamour and the fashion shows.’
Rosamunde smiled. She knew this part of the story but it was wonderful to hear it again after so many years. When Rosamunde was small she had insisted her mother tell her all about her days of working in Paris – she never tired of the story, thinking it amazing her mother could once have been somebody other than her mother.
‘A couple of years later, with her apprenticeship under her belt, Marguerite returned to England for a short trip to see her mother. Her relationship with Penelope was not brilliant. Penelope was fearful her daughter would make the same mistakes she had made – for by now she was rather bitter about the fact she’d disobeyed her parents to take off with Laurent. She’d begun to forget how in love she had been with him and found herself wishing she hadn’t rebelled. This made her over-protective of Marguerite, although, of course, she had little control over her by this point and Marguerite was very headstrong.
‘Anyway, she still loved her mother – of course – and so she had returned for a short visit. It was during this trip that she met Bernie. They were both nineteen and he had just started studying theology at Exeter University after a brief spell working in a bank. It was a pretty new university back then. They met in a pub one evening and a whirlwind romance followed. But, of course, the time came when Marguerite had to return to her job in Paris and Bernie had three years of study left. They agreed to keep in touch by letter, which they did, but it wasn’t long before Marguerite was swept off her feet again. This time by a man called Etienne.’
Rosamunde was agog. This was a part of the tale she was not familiar with.
‘Your mother was treated badly by this man. He was what I think the English call a “cad”. But she was smitten with him – she adored him. Then, like history repeating itself, she found herself pregnant.’ Rosamunde took a sharp intake of breath.
‘She was pregnant?’ she asked, almost unable to believe her ears. Suddenly she found herself quite dizzy with concern. She tried very quickly to do the maths. It must by now have been the mid-1960s. Did this mean Rachel was only a half sister? She took a gulp of wine and waited – with bated breath – for the next instalment of the story.
41.
CHRISTMAS DAY 2014
After church, Benedict returned to Farm Cottage to change his clothes. Ed was still in bed so Benedict shouted at him to meet in the pub in half an hour and asked him to bring Humphrey, who was enjoying a doze and clearly didn’t want to be disturbed yet.
Rosamunde was already in The Dragon’s Head with all the family when Benedict returned and, when he saw that his parents and Kizzie, Gerard and the girls were there as well, he decided it was time to reveal all. He ordered a pint of bitter and bravely turned to face his loved ones. He cleared his throat.
‘Could I just say a few words, please?’ he asked, adopting the booming voice Rosamunde remembered from that day of rehearsals in the church hall. She looked up, astonished. What on earth was he doing? His family, friends and half the pub silenced themselves to hear what Benedict had to say.
‘As you know, for the last three years I’ve been gay. Or at least, I haven’t actually been gay. I’ve been pretending to be gay.’ A few gasps were audible around the pub, followed by the scrape of a chair. The next thing Rosamunde saw was a flash of blonde hair before Benedict received a stinging slap across the face.
‘You bastard!’ yelled Clara, before running out of the pub in tears. She was followed by a bewildered-looking husband, carrying a screeching Hugo.
‘Shit, I didn’t realise Clara was in the pub,’ Benedict continued, putting a hand to his blazing red cheek. ‘Well, I may as well continue now she’s gone. Erm, so, where was I? I’m sorry I had to do it, but I had my reasons – which I’ll explain another time. The point is that I’m not gay. And not only that, I’m in love with a woman.’
At this there were more gasps, as everyone looked around trying to determine who the mystery woman might be. Rachel smiled smugly to herself, being the only person aware of just who it was at the centre of this drama. Rachel always loved a good drama.
‘Bloody hell, Benedict,’ piped up Kizzie. ‘Who’s the woman?’
‘Erm, well, actually it’s Rosamunde,’ he beamed, crossing the pub to take hold of her hand. ‘It’s official!’ he announced. ‘We’re a couple!’
A round of applause followed, with Mrs Garfield contributing some loud wolf-whistles. Kizzie looked at her best friend, agog. She marched over.
‘And when were you going to tell me?’ she asked, sternly. Rosamunde felt like one of her pupils.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘But it only happened last night!’ At this, Kizzie’s face softened and she clasped Rosamunde into a hug.
‘I’m so pleased,’ her friend told her. ‘Truly, some good news like this is just what we all need.’
A moment later Ed entered the pub. He bought himself a beer and a packet of crisps for Humphrey before joining the rest of the group.
‘Did I miss anything?’ he asked and everyone began to laugh.
‘Not much!’ yelped Rachel, dabbing at her eyes.
There followed a hearty Christmas lunch at the Vicarage, which was eaten in the sitting room at the kitchen table (dragged through from the kitchen), to which had been added a garden table to make enough room for everyone. After this the group made their way down to Outer Cove to watch the Christmas Day swimmers. Every year a small posse of stalwarts went for a dip on Christmas Day afternoon and today Simon, Ed and Benedict decided to join in, much to the amusement of the rest of the group. They didn’t last very long and emerged blue and shivering. Rosamunde wrapped Benedict in a large towel and hugged him to her.
‘You didn’t even swim!’ she admonished him.
‘It was too cold,’ he told her, his teeth chattering. ‘And to be honest, I’m not the greatest swimmer at the best of times.’
‘Well, if you do this next year, at least wear a wetsuit,’ she laughed as they all hotfooted it back through the snow to the Vicarage to warm up with tea and crumpets.
It was at this point that Bernie asked to see Rachel and Rosamunde in his study and they instantly feared the worst. Immediately Rosamunde decided he must be ill. This was going to be a horrible surprise – she felt it in her
bones.
‘Sit down, girls,’ Bernie ordered, looking serious. ‘I have something to tell you and I hope you won’t find this too difficult.’ Rosamunde’s heart sank further into her boots.
‘The thing is . . .’ he explained, looking anxious, ‘I’ve asked Mrs Garfield to marry me and she’s said yes.’ Rosamunde thought she might burst with delighted shock.
‘I know this is going to be hard for you both but she won’t in any way replace your mother. It’s just that we’ve become very fond of each other over the years and we’re such good companions . . .’ He stopped.
‘Dad, don’t be ridiculous!’ Rosamunde admonished. ‘We’re in our forties now – we’re not kids – and of course we don’t mind. It’s the best news we could have hoped for,’ she said, hugging her father.
‘Fabulous news!’ grinned Rachel. ‘Where the hell is Mrs G?’ she asked. ‘We need to talk dresses!’
‘She’s in the kitchen, I should think. Oh, I’m so pleased you don’t mind! I’ve been so worried about telling you both.’
‘You’re so daft!’ said Rosamunde. ‘But there is one thing, Dad,’ she added. Bernie looked up, concerned.
‘Yes?’
‘Well, if she’s going to be our stepmother we can’t keep calling her Mrs Garfield. What on earth’s her real name?’
‘Ah, yes,’ Bernie smiled. ‘It’s a habit I must get out of myself! She’s called Elizabeth Anne,’ he told his daughters. ‘But she’s asked us to call her Betty.’
Yes, thought Rosamunde. Betty Pemberton. That seemed to her the perfect name for dear Mrs G.
The evening that followed entailed a raucous game of charades followed by bedtime for the children and Love Actually for the adults, who’d all seen it before, apart from Rosamunde. She was the only person who managed to stay awake until the end, at which point she dragged Benedict up to bed. As they lay in each other’s arms she suddenly remembered that Benedict was leaving the next day for his month in France.
Christmas at the Vicarage Page 18