Mistletoe & Mystery

by N/A

  “To what do Binks and I owe the honour of your visit?”

  “Oh, yes, sorry. Claudia ask me to deliver this,” she said, handing over the package.

  “Thanks. So, how did the first day of the fabulous Festive Feast course go?”

  “It went really well, plus I’ve just indulged in a breakfast fit for a very hungry giant! Tomorrow’s itinerary has changed though. We’re doing our Christmas-themed afternoon tea that had been scheduled for Thursday. I’ll save you a few turkey and cranberry sandwiches if you promise not to critique the symmetry of my bread-cutting skills!”

  “Now why would I do that?”

  Zach met her gaze and smiled, sending her stomach into a maelstrom of confusion. She had been with Luke for two years and she could honestly say, hand on heart, that she had never experienced such a vivid reaction when he’d looked at her. In fact, the strongest reaction he’d instilled in her had been one of devastation, followed by a long, slow burn of mortification. She belatedly realised that Zach was scouring her expression, as if watching the mini film reel flicker behind her eyes, his lips turned upwards to reveal the cute dimples that bracketed his mouth and she felt heat seep into her cheeks.

  “So, if you’ve finished your duties for the day, I’ve got an idea. Come on.”

  Millie laughed as he grabbed her hand and dragged her across the pristine expanse of the manor’s lawn at the rear of his lodge, their footsteps creating an ad hoc pattern in the undisturbed snow. Binks bounded in their wake, joining in the fun, bouncing and barking with abandon.

  “Do you want to build a snowman?” asked Millie, quoting her nieces’ Lily and Sofia’s best-loved phrase, except Zach took her literally.

  “Yes! A girl after my own heart. Let’s make it interesting though and have a competition. Points for the best twist on the theme. Ready, steady, go!”

  And before she could remind Zach that snow was her most hated weather element, he had zipped away to make a start on rolling a huge boulder of snow. She sighed and began to build a mound which she thought looked like a passable imitation of Binks with a pebble for his nose and a waggy tail made from twig. She was no Henry Moore, but at least she’d had a go – and it was the very first snow sculpture she had ever assembled.

  When she looked around to compare her effort with Zach’s he was nowhere to be seen, until she noticed the top of his red bobble hat poking above the parapet of the stone wall that encircled the lodge’s back garden.

  Why had he decided to build his snowman there? Was it because his masterpiece was so much better than hers, or because at last she had stumbled on something he was terrible at? She suspected it was the former, but before she could go and find out, Zach was jogging towards her to scrutinise her own work of art.

  “What’s that? A seal?”

  “No! It doesn’t look anything like a seal!”

  “Sorry, a mermaid? A unicorn?”

  “No! It’s Binks!”

  “Sorry, mate.”

  Zach tossed a sympathetic glance at Binks who was sitting with his head on one side, contemplating his likeness like a seasoned art critic. The look he gave his master made Millie giggle. She had to acknowledge that she had a lot to learn when it came to ice sculpture.

  “Come on then, let’s see yours!”

  She had taken only a few steps towards the lodge when a snowball flew through the air and landed with a splat on the top of her head, sending a cascade of snow down the collar of her coat.

  “Hey!”

  She turned to look at Zach, her eyes wide with surprise. Not being a fan of the snow, she had studiously avoided any encounter with the white stuff throughout her childhood. Therefore, she had never engaged in a snowball fight, and still cringed when she saw the game played out between Lily and Sofia from the warmth – and safety – of the conservatory at her sister’s home in Hampshire.

  However, as she watched Zach reach down again to gather more ammunition, giving her a very pleasant view of his toned buttocks, a surge of determination blasted through her veins. Zach had encouraged her to discard her comfort blanket whilst they were in St Lucia and she’d had the most fun of her life by flying through the treetops on a zip wire. This time the challenge was different – and, of course, much colder - but no less exhilarating. She crouched down to gather a snowball of her own and ran towards Zach, her arm raised ready to pitch the icy missile, but at last minute her toe connected with a hidden obstacle and she fell flat on her face at his feet.

  Zach roared with laughter, wisps of mist from his warm breath lingering in the air. “You never cease to amaze me with your capacity for calamity, Millie!”

  Millie rolled over onto her back and flapped her arms and legs to make a snow angel, something she had seen Lily and Sofia do.

  “What’s the matter? Scared you’ll get a speck of dirt on that pristine jacket of yours?”

  “No. Why?”

  Zach lay down next to her to make his own snow angel and Millie took the opportunity to sling a huge dollop of snow in his face

  “Take that!”

  But within seconds she received similar treatment and found herself pinned down in the snow, Zach holding her wrists and staring down into her eyes, scouring her soul. She was suddenly scared of what he might see lurking there, so she averted her gaze, only to have Binks lick the snow from her face.

  “Euew!”

  The moment passed and Zach scrambled to his feet, helping her upright.

  “Fancy thawing out with a mug of the best hot chocolate the Cotswolds has to offer?”

  “Sounds like paradise!” she laughed, suddenly keen to see the inside of the lodge that Zach called home.

  However, much to Millie’s disappointment, Zach didn’t steer her towards his front door, but to the passenger seat of his Golf.

  “Hop in!”

  Chapter Eight

  “Where are we going?”

  “Into Berryford.”

  “For the best hot chocolate in the world?”

  “Well, in Gloucestershire – yes.”

  “Okay.”

  Millie settled into her seat and dragged off her hat, patting down her wayward curls. She glanced across at Zach, his eyes fixed on the road ahead, his hands strong and sure on the steering wheel and tufts of dark hair standing to attention after being freed from the confines of his beanie.

  Her heart ballooned and she experienced the familiar feeling of exhilaration that always bubbled to the surface whenever she was in Zach’s company. If anyone had asked her as she got ready for her engagement party eight months ago, with her best friend Frankie making a great job of plaiting her hair into an elegant chignon, she would have insisted that she had no qualms in trusting her future happiness to Luke, that she loved him and that was all that mattered. But Luke had never made her feel such heights of emotions; depths, yes, when he had abandoned her at the hotel ballroom they had hired and left her to explain to both sets of relatives and all their friends why he wasn’t at the party.

  It had been the most confidence-draining event of her life, but even she hadn’t suspected that there was worse to come when she eventually discovered the identity of the woman he’d ditched her for. Okay, her identity had no bearing on how hurt she was, she would have been devastated no matter who he had chosen instead of her. She had been shocked to the core, but not as mortified as Frankie had been to discover that Luke had decided to spend his life with her mother instead of her best friend. TS Eliot had been right, April was the cruellest month!

  None of that was Frankie’s fault. Millie hadn’t blamed her for what had happened, yet it had been the end of their friendship because two weeks later Millie had hightailed it to London and she hadn’t been back to Oxford since.

  In that moment, as Zach steered into a parking spot outside the village café, she realised she missed Frankie and her cheerful take on life, that the void in her heart she had thought was Luke-shaped was in fact where Frankie had been. She resolved to pay her a visit as soon as the
Festive Feast cookery course had concluded, armed with an abundance of Christmas cheer and goodies. Why should she allow Luke to take her best friend from her along with everything else he stole on that fateful day in early April? It wouldn’t be easy - nothing worthwhile was ever easy – especially after she had seen on a mutual friend’s Facebook page that Luke and Donna were expecting a baby in January which meant Frankie would have a half-sibling.

  She’d had trouble processing that piece of information, and whenever she had tried to give it some thought, her emotions morphed into a haphazard mess. She hadn’t even shared the news with Poppy, but maybe a chat with a friend who had known her inside and out from the age of ten would help her work it through and perhaps at the same time she could return the favour. She had no idea how Frankie felt about having a sibling twenty-five years younger than she was. Not only was it a huge age-gap, but Frankie had always been very close to her mother who had given birth to her at the tender age of seventeen. Millie recalled many occasions when mother and daughter had been mistaken for sisters, much to Donna’s delight and Frankie’s cheerful disgust.

  “Earth to Millie?”

  “Oh, sorry.”

  “Everything okay?”

  “Fine. Fine. So this is where they make the best hot chocolate, is it?”

  “Yes, come on.”

  Millie jumped from the passenger seat and followed Zach towards the quaint little teashop. It was the first time she had seen Berryford in the daylight and the village was Christmas card perfect. Shafts of welcome sunshine wriggled through the clouds highlighting the buildings with a copper-infused radiance, their roofs finished off with a dribble of white icing. Of course, the magnificent Christmas tree had become the focal point of the village green, with the village hall on one side, The Flying Fox pub on the other, and a row of cottages built from the same honeyed stone as Stonelea Manor to their left.

  “It’s so pretty, isn’t it?” she sighed. “The way the snow sits on the branches and along the eaves of the church.”

  “Are my ears deceiving me? Can it be that Amelia Harper, advocate of tropical breeze, palm trees and sun-drenched beaches is submitting to the jury a soliloquy on the positives of the snow-covered English countryside?”

  “Maybe,” she laughed as she caught her first glimpse of Kate’s Kitchen.

  A plethora of twinkling fairy lights laced the bow-fronted windows of the café like a giant’s necklace and the jolly beat of I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day spilled out into the street. It was impossible to see inside as an opaque sheet of condensation masked the windows, with streamers of water running down to the sill. When Zach pushed opened the door, the tinkle of the brass bell made her smile which turned into a full-on beam when she saw who was rushing forward to greet her.

  “Millie, darling! You came!”

  “Hello, Blake. I’m reliably informed that you make the best hot chocolate in the whole of the county, so no pressure.”

  “Your sources are as immaculate as your taste in companions,” Blake smirked, sending Zach a mischievous wink. “Grab a seat and I’ll be right over.”

  Millie chose a table next to the window, peeled off her borrowed wax jacket and took a moment to glance around the room. Kate’s Kitchen was like any traditional café you’d stumble across in many of the villages peppered around the Cotswolds. She knew a few enterprising owners had traded up to become chic bistros, offering a diverse range of organic, locally-sourced menus; pheasant, rabbit, goose accompanied by fresh asparagus and samphire and home-made ginger and melon ice cream.

  However, it was apparent that the eponymous Kate had chosen not to follow this dash into the ‘Elite Culinary Club’ to satisfy her customers. The interior presented a neat synopsis of village life; warm, welcoming and relaxed. Every corner had been decorated with handmade wreaths of holly and ivy jostling for space against their more brazen cousins - wire rings woven with neon-coloured tinsel and baubles. The whole ensemble was presided over by a Christmas tree that would not have looked out of place in Barbie’s weekend castle. Who knew you could even buy cerise-pink tinsel Christmas trees?

  Animated chatter swirled around the room on the wings of the most delicious fragrance of warm spices mingled with vanilla and honey and the strange addition of a top-note of chlorine. She glanced at the young couple at the lemon gingham-covered table next them, ploughing their way through a sharing platter crammed with doorstopper sandwiches, triangles of home-baked corned-beef-and-potato pie and a short pyramid of well-risen cheese scones. On a rosebud patterned china cake-stand were slabs of cake and a selection of miniature jam doughnuts.

  Millie thought of the afternoon tea they served at Étienne’s; thinly sliced cucumber or smoked salmon and cream cheese sandwiches, melt-in-your-mouth fruit scones with lashings of Chantilly cream and homemade raspberry jam, and a selection of dainty patisseries to round off the treat, all beautifully presented on Etiènne’s signature gold-rimmed Royal Doulton china. It would look like a doll’s tea party compared to this hearty fayre. She hoped that Blake wasn’t thinking of bringing them one to sample. She didn’t think her stomach could cope after the over-indulgence of breakfast.

  “Oh, don’t mind them,” scoffed Blake, catching her staring at her neighbours and misinterpreting her frown as one of disapproval for their canoodling. With a flourish worthy of a music maestro he deposited two tall mugs, topped with swirls of cream and crowned with flakes of chocolate, on the table in front of them. “Grant and Martha got together at the tree lighting party last night and they’re already acting like the new Harry and Meghan. Ooops, forgive me, I forgot to bring your cake!”

  Blake rushed back to the counter, his gingham apron flapping at his waist, and carefully carried two china places back to their table as though they were the crown jewels.

  “Voilà!”

  “What exactly is this?” asked Millie, wrinkling her nose as she eyed the slab of treacle-laced cake. She could almost feel her arteries contracting in horror as she contemplated a taste-test. Up close, the cake looked more like something she would use to build a barbeque than enjoy as an afternoon treat.

  “Try it.”

  Millie broke off a corner and was surprised at how heavy and dense it was. Give her a glazed fruit tart or a raspberry and vanilla crème mille-feuille and she’d been the happiest pastry chef in the Cotswolds. She had never been a fan of lard-based pastry, or of heavy suet puddings, or jam donuts either.

  “Well, I’d love to stay and chat, but my customers need me! Enjoy!”

  “What’s the matter?” asked Zach, noticing her hesitation and a glint of familiar mischief appearing in his mahogany eyes. “Ah, is Kate’s baking not up to your Parisian Patisserie School standards?”

  “No, it’s not that at all.” Millie gaped, horrified that his suggestion may have been overheard. It made her sound like an elitist foodie snob. She indulged in another sip of the hot chocolate, a little too sweet for her taste but still delicious, wrapping her fingers around the handle and hugging the glass cup to her chest.

  “What then?” he persisted.

  “It’s just,” she glanced over her shoulder and lowered her voice, “it’s all a little stodgy, don’t you think? More what you’d feed a trucker at a roadside greasy spoon than a discerning tourist visiting one of England’s most picturesque counties.”

  Zach chuckled as he crammed a piece of the rejected parkin into his mouth, licking his lips with exaggerated relish. “I grew up eating good wholesome baking like this.”

  “Well, that certainly explains a lot.”

  Zach ignored her retort. “The majority of Kate’s customers are hikers, cyclists and ramblers - people who spend their day yomping around this glorious countryside, equipped with only a rucksack and a walker’s pole for company. They need good hearty food to keep their energy levels up. What use is a pistachio-infused macaron, or a profiterole filled with crème pâtissière and dribbled with cucumber juice, going to be? They’d keel over like a bunch of mai
den aunts overcome by a bout of the vapours. Extreme cyclists love savoury dumplings floating in rich casseroles, long-distance hikers adore toasted crumpets dripping with butter. Anyway, what else is a Croque-Monsieur but a cheese and ham toastie?”

  Millie took a tentative bite of the parkin and experienced a sharp slap to her taste buds causing her to grimace. She briefly wondered whether Zach and Blake had set her up so that they could tease her about her baking snootiness. She narrowed her eyes as Zach continued with his culinary caper, watched over by a smirking Blake from the counter.

  “Kate’s parkin is made from an old family recipe. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind sharing it with you if you were thinking of introducing it at the patisserie paradise you work in in Hammersmith? Maybe it’s exactly what your customers have been craving all these years.”

  “I very much doubt it. Étienne’s serve only the freshest, locally-sourced fruits with our desserts, not this suet-filled, artery-clogging….”

  “Ah, Kate, can I introduce you to Amelia Harper?”

  Chapter Nine

  Heat flooded Millie’s face as she calculated whether Kate had heard her prognosis on her country fayre. She watched in horror as Zach stood up from his seat and bent down to deposit a kiss on the teashop owner’s cheek before stage whispering in her ear “Don’t mind Millie - she’s French and prefers to indulge in those dainty little mince pies and chocolate roulades we had at the party last night - perfect if you’re planning an afternoon tea with Barbie’s pet unicorn. Ooops, sorry, sorry,” he held up his palm in Millie’s direction, tossing her a mischievous look, “half French.”