The Snow Angel

by Lulu Taylor

  They went into a small hall. Emily noticed at once that this part of the house was very different from the rest: tidy and carefully decorated, with a sense of calm and order. A lamp glowed on a mahogany side table, and a large porcelain stand held umbrellas and walking sticks. A row of gentle watercolour landscapes hung on the ivory-painted wall.

  ‘I’m in here,’ came the voice again, and James led the way into a cosy sitting room furnished with comfortable armchairs. In one, by a woodburner with a glowing belly, sat an elderly woman, her grey hair short and neat, her blue eyes bright behind a pair of gold-framed spectacles. Her skin sunk into hollows beneath her cheeks and was well lined, but she had a vigorous air about her, and she stood up as James and Emily came in, smoothing down her floral skirt.

  ‘Evening, Mum. I’ve brought Emily Conway as promised.’

  Emily stepped forward. ‘Hello, Mrs Pendleton. How do you do?’

  The elderly lady put out her hand for Emily to shake, and smiled. ‘Hello. I’ve heard a great deal about you from James. How are you finding life at December House?’

  ‘Very nice, thank you. We’re pretty well settled now.’

  ‘It’s lovely to have a young family there. The place will be much livelier now, I suppose. Old Mrs Few wasn’t seen much towards the end. She had someone in to look after her when she got ill, and then she left for good to go to a home, and died not long after. So the house has been empty for quite some time.’ She smiled at Emily again. ‘I wasn’t expecting to be her executor, but I was glad to hear she’d left the house to someone who had a connection with it. I’d imagined it would be sold and the money donated to the charity she nominated. That’s what happened to all her possessions.’ She gestured to Emily to sit down and took her own seat again. ‘James, what about a gin and tonic for Mrs Conway and one for me?’

  ‘Good idea,’ James said, heading out.

  ‘Please, call me Emily.’ She sat down on the edge of the sofa. It was covered in a slippery floral chintz, similar to Mrs Pendleton’s skirt material. ‘I don’t know how much of a connection I can boast of, to be honest. I’d never even been to this part of the world before we moved here.’

  ‘But James tells me you’re a Fellbridge.’

  ‘That’s right. But I had no idea that my family once owned December House. My father never mentioned it.’

  Mrs Pendleton nodded. ‘Oh yes, they did, I’m quite sure of it, although everything I know about that period came from my mother-in-law. She lived here at the time the Fellbridges owned the place. It was their holiday home, I believe, but they stopped coming up for whole summers in the fifties and the house was virtually empty for years. They sold up to the Fews in the early sixties.’ She frowned, her brow crinkling. ‘I remember my mother-in-law telling me that your aunt Cressida came for a while and that it was the last time a Fellbridge was here. Not long after that, the house was sold and the Fews arrived. They were very reclusive, I’ve heard. Mrs Few refused all invitations and was almost never seen. I arrived here in the late sixties, after my marriage, and my mother-in-law went into a home herself. It was only then that I got to know Mrs Few, and her husband. She emerged little by little. But only in a very vague sense – they still kept themselves to themselves. He died not that long afterwards, poor young man. At least, he seemed young to me at the time. He had some kind of early onset dementia, I think. I saw Mrs Few every now and then, but she didn’t appear to need much company. Content by herself, you know.’

  James came back with the gins and handed one to Emily. ‘Giving Emily all the gossip, are you, Mum?’

  ‘It’s fascinating,’ Emily said, the long glass cold in her fingers. ‘But did Mrs Few ever mention the Fellbridge family, or why she wanted to return the house to us?’

  Mrs Pendleton shook her head. ‘Not a word. We didn’t talk of intimate matters. We didn’t have that kind of relationship.’ She frowned. ‘But I do remember one thing. I was surprised when I learned that she had left the house to your family because I did get the distinct impression that she was afraid of the Fellbridges in some way. I don’t know why exactly, as I can’t remember her mentioning them at all, but I suppose she must have for me to have had that strong sense – that she was afraid that one day they would come back.’

  ‘How odd,’ Emily said, interested. ‘That seems rather contradictory.’

  ‘Doesn’t it?’ Mrs Pendleton smiled. ‘That’s the limit of my knowledge, I’m afraid. Now. James says you have two very charming children. Do tell me all about them.’

  Later, Emily wished she could be back in the cosy sitting room, sipping gin and tonic with Mrs Pendleton rather than in the middle of James’s dinner party.

  It’s not his fault, she thought. He’s done all this for me. It’s so nice of him. But . . . I can’t help wishing that he hadn’t.

  The other guests were three couples who all appeared to know each other quite well, and while they were friendly enough, they didn’t pay much attention to Emily, instead shouting at each other in great guffawing tones as though they were putting on some kind of show for her entertainment.

  James was absent most of the time, in the kitchen cooking supper. He appeared, red-faced and wearing an apron, to call them through to the dining room with the air of someone who had achieved something he never thought possible. Emily followed them all through, and on the table were two steaming casseroles full of something rich and meaty, along with dishes full of mashed potato and a cheerful mix of carrots and sweetcorn.

  ‘It’s not cordon bleu,’ James said apologetically as they all sat down. ‘But it should taste okay. And there’s stacks of wine. So dig in.’

  ‘Looks lovely, darling,’ drawled one of the women – Emily hoped it was Harriet, otherwise she’d forgotten her name.

  Once they had passed everything round and all the plates were loaded up with food, the man next to Emily – Andy? Or is it Simon? – turned to her and said, ‘So, still wearing your ring, are you?’

  ‘Sorry?’ She looked at him, confused.

  He nodded at her hand. ‘Your wedding ring. You’re still wearing it.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said.

  ‘So were you the left or the leaver?’

  The woman on his other side – now, I’m sure she’s Georgina – said, ‘God’s sake, Si, you do sound callous! Excuse him, Emily, he’s basically a rhinoceros.’

  Simon ignored his neighbour and said, ‘You’re divorced, right?’

  Emily blinked and said, ‘Er . . . no.’

  ‘Whoops!’ he said, grinning. ‘I thought you must be a sexy single brought in for James’s amusement. He’s quite the gay divorcé, aren’t you, Jim?’

  ‘What? What’s that?’ James looked over from where he’d been listening hard to one of the other women while eating stew very fast.

  ‘Just saying that you’re on the market!’ Simon laughed again. ‘I thought Emily must be in the same boat. But apparently she’s still married! Where is he then? Does he let you out to play on your own? Bit foolish of him, if you ask me.’

  Emily saw James’s face turn brick red and he opened his mouth to say something so she said quickly, ‘He’s in London. We are separated. But not divorced.’

  ‘Ah.’ Simon nodded. ‘I thought it must be something like that. Here’s my advice. Do what James did when he and Jojo split. See a mediator, not a lawyer, and work out all the terms yourself. Lawyers tell you to go for as much as possible, everyone gets greedy, then angry, and all perspective is lost. Mediators help everyone stay reasonable. Jojo could have taken half the farm if she’d been the sort but she understood how that would have shafted James, so they came to quite an amicable agreement, didn’t you, Jim?’

  James looked even more embarrassed. ‘Well, I—’

  ‘Simon!’ The woman James had been talking to looked mortified. She was evidently Simon’s wife. ‘That’s Jim’s private business.’

  ‘Sorry!’ Simon said amiably, not looking in the least apologetic. He glanced at Emily’s glass
and reached for the wine bottle. ‘You need a top-up, Emily. Better get you a bit tipsy if Jim’s going to stand a chance. You’re far too toothsome for a bloke like him.’

  James winced and looked away, while Simon’s wife turned her eyes up to the ceiling and said, ‘I knew he shouldn’t have had that third G&T before dinner.’

  ‘I’m not pissed, if that’s what you mean,’ Simon said. He looked at Emily again, squinting at her curiously. ‘I say . . . what’s that bloody great scar running down your face? Did you walk into a door after a few too many beers or something?’

  Emily felt the blood rush to her cheeks. She should have been ready for something like this, but she wasn’t. At the mirror earlier, doing her make-up, she’d tried to use concealer to cover up the dark red line running down her face but the make-up hadn’t made much impact on it. She’d told herself that it was still too early for the scar to have begun to fade – that sort of thing took months, even though she was using a special oil on it every evening – and she’d worn her hair down so that she could keep the side of her face covered if she wanted to. But she’d forgotten it and tucked her hair behind her ear. The great red jagged line must have been very visible to her neighbour.

  ‘Simon!’ his wife said, agonised. She looked over at Emily. ‘I’m sorry. He’s awful! So rude . . .’

  James said in a steely voice, ‘Simon, that’s enough, mate. Emily’s my guest. I can’t have you talk to her like that.’

  Simon looked surprised at the reaction. ‘All right, all right,’ he said mildly. ‘Sorry, Emily. Didn’t mean to upset you. It doesn’t spoil your looks, if that’s what you think I’m saying. I just wondered how you’d done it.’

  ‘That’s the point, Simon,’ James said before Emily could reply. ‘You don’t know how it happened. You could cause Emily pain by raking up something you’re completely ignorant of.’

  ‘Fair point,’ Simon said, nodding. ‘I see that. None of my business.’

  ‘It’s all right, really,’ Emily said. She smiled at James, who was gazing at her now, a look of apology in his eyes. ‘I don’t mind talking about it.’ She’d been intending to keep quiet on her circumstances, but it seemed better to say what needed saying. ‘I was in a bad car accident. My husband is in a coma in a London hospital and they don’t know if he’ll ever wake up. The children and I have moved up here to recover.’

  Simon gaped at her, horror growing in his eyes. ‘I say, I’m a bloody idiot. Georgie’s right, I’m a rhinoceros, blundering in like that. I’m most terribly sorry. God, that’s awful.’

  The whole table was silent now, sympathetic eyes turned to her. It was obvious that no one knew what to say to her revelation.

  ‘It’s fine,’ she said. She smiled encouragingly at James. ‘I don’t mind talking about it. Really.’

  James smiled back, making an expression of contrition at the same time.

  ‘Don’t be silly, we wouldn’t be so rude,’ Simon’s wife said. ‘We’re all very sorry to hear about the accident, it sounds beyond awful. I hope your husband makes a full recovery too.’ She paused and said in a different tone, ‘Now, Emily. Tell me, have you found a school for your children yet?’

  ‘Not yet. But Carrie’s only four,’ Emily said, grateful for the subject change.

  ‘You’ll need to get her name down soon,’ she said. ‘I think the applications close next month. And you’ll probably want to find a nursery too, if you want some childcare out of term time.’

  They were soon discussing the local provision and whether Emily would like the name of a good childminder, which led to some descriptions of local characters, including one childminder who was rarely seen without a cigarette dangling from her lips and who handed out packets of crisps and bottles of cola to keep her charges quiet. Emily warmed to them all a little more as the evening progressed. Out of sympathy for her, they toned down their raucousness, but she sensed that the evening was just getting started; the wine was flowing hard and voices were getting louder again. By eleven, there was a general air of drunkenness.

  ‘I say,’ Harriet said in a slurred voice, ‘shall we get some music on? I feel like a bit of a boogie!’

  I think that’s my cue to leave. Emily got up. ‘I’m afraid I must get home,’ she said. ‘The babysitter needs to be back before eleven thirty and I have to drive her.’

  They tried to persuade her to stay but she was firm and made her farewells. After a round of goodbye kisses, some sloppier than others, and some muttered words of sympathy, she followed James out to get her coat.

  ‘I’m so sorry about earlier,’ James said, as he led her to the door. ‘Simon’s a bloody clumsy fool. He was abominably rude.’

  ‘It’s not your fault,’ she said, smiling at him comfortingly. ‘Besides, people are going to be curious. I know my scar is hard to miss.’

  ‘I hadn’t seen it at all,’ he said gallantly. ‘I’ve only ever noticed how pretty and glamorous you are.’

  ‘You’re very kind,’ she said, touched by his slightly awkward compliment.

  ‘I mean it,’ he said. He looked down at her, suddenly more boyish than ever in the half-light from the hall behind him. ‘You’re lovely. Your scar doesn’t change anything about you.’

  She heard the sincerity in his voice and was warmed by it. ‘Thank you, that means a lot. And thanks for a very nice evening.’ She leaned in to kiss his cheek, tilting her face upwards to him. He went to do the same, and they both turned to the same side, so that their lips touched briefly before they shifted quickly and ended up with a clumsy brushing of cheeks to mouths.

  ‘Sorry,’ James said, embarrassed again. ‘I’m quite the klutz tonight.’

  ‘Goodnight, James. See you soon,’ she said and turned to head for her car, hoping that he hadn’t noticed how much the strange little half-kiss they’d shared had affected her. Her lips were tingling where they’d touched his. In that instant when their mouths had met, she’d been almost overwhelmed by his nearness and by the powerful sense of his strength and masculinity. Her nostrils had filled with his scent: a musky sweetness of male skin mixed with aftershave. To her astonishment, her whole body had responded with a strong rush of something she hadn’t felt for months.

  What is it?

  Her fingers were trembling as she fumbled for the car key in her bag. She already knew.

  But I don’t fancy James! He’s not my type at all!

  James was a bluff country squire, the kind of person who was the butt of jokes in films. He wore cords and checked shirts and drove a Land Rover. He had pink cheeks and hair that stood straight up on end, like a fluffy chick’s. A sex god he was not. And yet . . .

  Oh my goodness. Her skin was tingling hard as though she had received a bolt of electricity through it. It felt like everything in her had been dormant, and now a great alarm had rung, waking her up suddenly and completely. She felt jittery as she drove the car slowly out of the driveway and onto the lane.

  But . . . James? She recalled the touch of his mouth on hers and felt the same burning shiver course through her. It can’t be him. It’s just because he’s a man. Because it’s been so long since I’ve had a mm kiss me or touch me.

  Her eyes suddenly filled with tears and she blinked them away, trying to damp down the sudden flood of sadness that rushed through her.

  That’s what this is about. Loneliness. She bit her lip and tried to laugh. As long as I don’t get carried away with the idea that this is anything to do with James. Whatever happens, I mustn’t do that.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  It was the boy on the bicycle who shattered the peace of Cressida and Ralph’s idyll. He brought up a telegram from the post office, working his way up the hill on his bike, arriving puffed but exhilarated from the effort.

  ‘Here you are, miss,’ he said to Cressie, who was at the kitchen door with logs for the range when he came pelting round to the back of the house.

  She dropped a log and took it, staring at the envelope. It could only be fro
m home. She had gone up to the Pendleton place a few days before and rung her father. She told him airily that she and her friend Nina had decamped for a while to December House. ‘For some walking,’ she told him. ‘And rest. We’re both bushed. It’s like a tonic up here. I’m enjoying it tremendously.’

  ‘Good,’ her father had said. ‘Take your time and get well rested while you can.’

  Now there was a telegram.

  She tore it open.

  Come home as soon as you can stop mother gravely ill stop time of the essence Papa

  She read it over and over as the contents began to sink in. Ralph came into the kitchen.

  ‘Have you been log gathering?’ he said. ‘You look quite the woodcutter’s daughter, all covered in shards of wood and bits of bark. I shall have to paint you like that. Shall I put some coffee on?’

  She looked up at him, stricken. ‘I’ve had a telegram. My mother has taken a bad turn. My father wants me to go home immediately.’

  Ralph went to her quickly and hugged her. ‘I’m sorry, darling. What awful news.’

  Cressie looked back at the telegram with shaking fingers. ‘I can get the lunchtime train, if we hurry. As soon as Maggie comes, we’ll send her up to the farmhouse to ask them to ring for a taxi. Oh Ralph.’ Her eyes filled with tears.

  He hugged her again. ‘I know. You must be so worried. We can only hope for the best. Shall I come with you?’

  ‘No . . . no. You can’t. Where would you go? You couldn’t come home with me. Stay here. I hope it’s one of the bad spells she sometimes has and I’ll be back in a few days.’

  ‘All right.’ He glanced at the clock. ‘We won’t wait for Maggie. I’ll go up to the house myself and ask for that taxi.’

  ‘No, don’t do that. I don’t want them to know we’re here together. Maggie won’t be long.’

  He frowned and then said reluctantly, ‘All right. I want to help, that’s all. And I hate to think of you so far away.’ He kissed her head. ‘I’ll miss you terribly.’