by Daisy James
Josh had cajoled a couple of friends from the cricket club to do a shift behind the bar and by noon everything was as ready as it could be. Kirstie ran up the stairs to her flat, two at a time, her heart ballooning at the way the whole village had pulled together to save the party.
‘Hi, Livie. It’s just me.’
‘Kirstie, is everything okay?’ There was a hint of anxiety in her voice because they had already spoken that morning and Kirstie had said she would ring her back at bedtime to tell her all about the day.
‘Yes and no.’
‘Oh, my God. What has …’
‘It’s okay. Nothing serious.’ Kirstie couldn’t blame her sister for jumping to conclusions given their history. ‘When I spoke to you this morning I had no idea that it had snowed overnight. The sudden drop in temperature caused a pipe to burst at the church hall. The roof fell in and everything got covered in an inch of water as well as debris from the plaster ceiling.’
‘Oh no! What about the Christmas lunch party?’
‘Cancelled. The Rev couldn’t take the risk. Most of the guests are elderly, and without adequate bathroom facilities … well …’
‘Oh, Kirstie that’s awful. Poor Sandra! I know how hard she’s worked to make the day special for everyone. She must be devastated.’
‘Again, yes and no.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, yes, she’s upset, but there’s an army of willing helpers who’ll get the hall sorted out in no time. One of their regulars is a roofer and another is a plasterer. It will be back up and running in a few weeks. No need to cancel your baby and toddler group or yummy mummies yoga sessions, don’t worry!’
‘Well, that’s a relief.’ Olivia giggled.
‘So, what I’m ringing for is to make sure you are okay with us holding the Christmas lunch here at the Dancing Duck?’
‘Oh, Kirstie, that’s a wonderful idea. I’m totally on board. What a fabulous way to give something back to the community. I was wondering whether we should have arranged a farewell party for when we hand over the keys but … well … we just don’t have the spare cash to spend on a party.’
‘It’s okay. None of the food was lost in the flood and so far we’ve had even more donated than we know what to do with. There’ll be an extra ten people to add to the original fifty but that’s not a problem. A couple of Josh’s cricket pals have agreed to hold the fort at the bar. I’m sure we’ll break even.’
‘Thanks. Kirstie, you really are a star!’
‘Angel, you mean.’
‘What?’
‘Oh nothing.’
‘So, you and Josh have made your peace, I take it?’
Kirstie couldn’t fail to detect a hint of pleasure in her sister’s voice. ‘Yes, we have.’
‘Anything else to report?’
‘Maybe …’
‘Oh, my God, something’s happened. Spill all.’
‘We just kissed in front of Reverend Clarke and Sandra and half the congregation.’
Olivia squealed down the phone line. ‘Almost like a wedding then? I knew you two were made for each other. You’ve just delivered me and Harry the best Christmas present ever. I love you, darling. Enjoy the party and I want to hear every single detail tonight before you go to bed. Promise?’
‘Promise.’ She laughed. ‘I love you too, sis.’
Kirstie slotted her phone into the pocket of her jeans and hugged her new mantle of happiness around her shoulders like a comfort blanket stitched in a different pattern to the one she had been using the last couple of years. She trotted back down the stairs, a smile stretching her cheeks as she was welcomed into a heaving throng of people, each one brimming with Christmas spirit, patting her on the back, shaking her by the hand as she, along with Josh, were hailed as the other saviours of the day.
Chapter 23
By the time the last guest had left the Dancing Duck, Kirstie could have crawled under one of the tables and slept for twelve hours solid. She was exhausted, yet exhilarated. Every muscle in her body ached from the unaccustomed exercise of moving chairs, carrying plates laden with Christmas dinners, apple pies, Irish coffees, and tiny china plates with lace doilies and petits fours. Finally brandies and liqueurs did the rounds and the whole gathering sat back to rub their extended waistlines with satisfaction.
Sandra had insisted on having a donations box on the table in the restaurant so that those who could afford it could donate their loose change for the extra kindness shown by Kirstie and Olivia Harrison in coming to the rescue. However, Kirstie intended to sneak the cash into the church collection box when Sandra wasn’t looking. Okay, they were selling the pub because the business was losing money, but they were not on the breadline.
When it was time for everyone to say goodbye, there had been tears from several of the village residents and helpers alike. It was as though they weren’t just thanking them for the fabulous Christmas Day, but for the long and loyal service to the community and also expressing their sadness that it had come to an end.
Although no one said it, it was clear they knew that the pub would never be the same again. That the new owner intended to change the Grand Old Lady of the village beyond recognition. Most also knew about the Old Barn being converted. The more pragmatic of the residents knew that change had to happen. What proprietor in their right mind would keep things as they were if the place wasn’t financially viable? Change was inevitable and they were prepared to give the new owner a chance, hoping for an updated version of a village hostelry, whatever that turned out to be.
‘Thank you, Leon, Michel. You were absolutely amazing today.’ Kirstie leaned over and deposited kisses on their cheeks.
‘De rien,’ replied Michel, disappearing into the kitchen to begin the process of scrubbing down every surface and inspecting every glass for stray fingermarks.
‘It’s been a magnificent day, Kirstie,’ said Leon, his French-accented voice heavy with emotion. ‘I will now be even sorrier to see the current ownership end.’
‘Me too, Leon. Me too.’
Leon patted her shoulder, gave a Gallic shrug, and followed Michel into the domain where he was happiest.
‘I think I’ll go and help the guys in the kitchen.’ Emma smiled, her blue eyes shining as she relished the opportunity to spend time with Leon.
Perhaps Leon would get his longed-for Christmas gift after all, thought Kirstie as she peered through the porthole to see Emma snatch up a tea towel and join Leon at the sink, laughing at some comment he had made.
‘I don’t suppose there’s enough in Sandra’s collection box to save the pub from its rottweileresque new owner?’ asked Josh.
‘I doubt it.’ She laughed. Yet for the first time she agreed with Josh in thinking how wonderful that would be. ‘Anyway, I was going to drop whatever’s been donated into the church coffers.’
‘I agree,’ said Josh. ‘It’s a shame though, especially after such a fabulous day.’
Kirstie opened her mouth to agree but instead found herself crumbling against his chest, the emotions of the day overflowing in a stream of tears. It felt like for the first time everything that was happening to the Dancing Duck had hit her. What the sale would mean, not only to the village, but what it would mean to her. She knew with absolute clarity that she wished with all her heart they were keeping the pub. She wanted desperately for it to remain in the Harrison family.
‘I don’t want The Duck to be sold,’ she whimpered. ‘I don’t mind admitting that today was one of the best days of my life. Only one thing could have made it better and that was to have Livie by my side. I love it here. I love the clutter, the stuffed animals, the quirky paintings, the red velvet seats, the roaring fire in the bar. But most of all, I love the people of this village who have taken us into their hearts. The way they come out to help save the day with a smile on their faces and a song in their hearts. I reckon you could have heard that rendition of “White Christmas” all the way to Maltby.’
‘I
t’s just another great memory to store in the coffers,’ said Josh, holding her at arm’s length so he could look her in the eye. ‘I know I will treasure it. I realize this is the last Christmas we will celebrate here, but Kirstie, here’s an idea. Let’s not make it the last we celebrate together. What do you say?’
‘Oh, I …’ but before she could say anything further Josh had lowered his lips to hers and in the middle of the deserted bar, a room she had spent so many days of her life in, she kissed the man who had been by her side almost as often. A feeling of complete safety enveloped her as she sunk into the warmth of his embrace.
They eventually pulled apart, breathless and smiling.
‘Fancy coming over to my place when we’ve finished up here?’
‘I’d love that! Actually, I’m looking forward to seeing what you’ve done with Angus’s old barn. I can’t believe you project-managed it yourself.’
‘Always the element of surprise when you’re talking about my wide array of abilities.’ Josh laughed, gathering up a stray pint glass from a pot plant and sticking it in the dishwasher.
For the next hour they worked companionably, tidying up the bar before moving on to offer their help in the kitchen.
‘All under control,’ said Leon stretching a sheet of clingfilm over a Tupperware box crammed with mince pies.
‘What do you have planned for this evening?’ asked Emma, her eyes darting between Josh and Kirstie, suspicious about their sudden closeness.
‘Josh has offered to show me his barn conversion.’
‘Makes a change from asking you to view his etchings in his art studio!’ Emma giggled, a wide smile on her face. ‘Well, have fun. Will we see you tomorrow?’
‘Of course! The pub is still open to the public, even if the restaurant will be closed.’
‘What about you, Leon?’
‘I shall be working on a new recipe for chocolate cake, which I will cover in a generous glaze of chocolate and chilli ganache with a raspberry jus and …’
‘Ah, absolute heaven,’ murmured Emma, running the tip of her tongue along her lower lip, her eyelids closing as she imagined the texture and taste of two of her favourite ingredients.
‘Well, I could do with the assistance of a sous chef,’ said Leon, his tanned face reddening at his sudden upsurge of boldness. He had indulged in several glasses of his favourite Burgundy in honour of Christmas Day, which had given him the courage to be more relaxed around the object of his affection.
‘You want me to help you create a new Leon Blanchard recipe? Awesome! What time shall I come round?’
‘Is ten a.m. too early?’
‘Count me in!’
Kirstie exchanged a knowing look with Josh. The wheels of love were turning at last and Kirstie hoped that Leon would grasp the opportunity to tell Emma how he felt. After all, time was running out. Once the pub was sold, they would not have the good fortune of seeing each other every day.
As she left with Josh, Kirstie caught the expression on Leon’s face, the slight upturn of his lips, the crinkle of excitement at the corners of his eyes, the increase in the volume of the humming to the Christmas track playing on the radio. She managed to catch his eye and mouthed ‘Tell her!’ and this time she saw him nod his agreement, making her heart expand with joy. Yet another gift from the arms of Christmas Cupid!
Josh grabbed a bottle of Bollinger from the fridge behind the bar and stuck a couple of twenties under the till.
‘Come on, you can drive the Spider. I don’t want to risk it.’
Kirstie beamed. She had loved driving the little sports car last time. She hadn’t realized how much she missed the feeling of being at the controls of a car. The driver had such freedom to decide where to go, to change directions on a whim if the mood took that turn – yet another Christmas gift from the village of Cranbury.
The car bumped down the gravel drive towards Josh’s barn conversion. Over to her right she could see Angus’s farmhouse, a helix of silver smoke curling from the chimney into the heavy pewter sky. She recalled the many evenings she had spent with her parents at Angus and Judith’s huge rustic kitchen table, being fed to bursting by the enthusiastic amateur cook. Judith, being the typical farmer’s wife, prided herself in producing wholesome, organic dishes, mostly made from the vegetables she had grown herself in the garden outside her kitchen window. Kirstie had never seen such an exotic array of herbs and wished she had access to something similar in London for the guest presenters on Kirstie’s Kitchen.
An unfamiliar black Range Rover was parked in the courtyard next to Angus’s ancient air-force blue Land Rover.
‘Whose is the Range Rover?’
‘That belongs to Alistair Anderson, Angus’s brother.’
‘Ah, yes. Gosh, the last time I saw Alistair I was a gawky thirteen-year-old and he insisted on explaining to me in great detail how to paint a decent watercolour.’
‘I remember.’ Josh chuckled. ‘But his obsession with art has clearly stood him in good stead. He’s branched out from his architects’ practice and bought a gallery in London. In fact, I think Angus said that he’s currently exhibiting the work of a celebrity abstract artist. Even got his photo in one of the tabloids on opening night. I think Angus was a bit envious, to be honest.’
‘Well, at least he has an expert in the family whom he can ask about the paintings that come into his possession for auction. I wish Alistair had been around more often when Mum and Dad were intent on hoovering up all the dross Angus sent their way. If Alistair had told them it was all worthless, maybe they wouldn’t have bought so many.’
‘I don’t think your parents bought their paintings because of the investment opportunity. I think they bought them because they liked them, or felt a connection to the subject matter.’
‘Really? Then it’s a shame they felt a magnetic attraction to everything they came into contact with!’ Kirstie laughed.
‘Here we are. What do you think?’
Kirstie pulled on the handbrake and leaned over the steering wheel to survey the building that couldn’t have looked less like an old agricultural barn. Whilst the roof retained its grey slates, the whole of the façade was taken up with full-height windows and bi-folding glass doors.
‘It’s amazing, Josh. You really are talented.’
‘Come on. I want to show you inside.’
Josh leapt from the passenger seat and opened the double-width oak front door. He slipped off his shoes and padded across the stone flagged floor to the kitchen to collect a couple of champagne glasses, which he set on the black marble island unit that separated the kitchen from the living area, before he popped the cork on the champagne bottle.
Kirstie pulled off her boots and joined him, surprised to find the floor was not cold as she expected but warm to the touch.
‘Underfloor heating,’ explained Josh, handing her a glass.
Kirstie sipped the delicate bubbles and cast her eyes around the vast room. The shiny black doors of the kitchen cabinets reflected the overhead spotlights back into the room and the marble of the countertops was just like polished coal. The whole room, complete with stainless steel appliances, looked good enough to grace the glossy pages of an interiors magazine.
‘A chandelier in the kitchen? How decadent!’
‘Ah, that’s not a chandelier; it’s an extractor fan. Come on.’
Josh led her to one of the overstuffed leather sofas, which bracketed an ancient log burner. He knelt at the stove and held a match to the kindling, coaxing tongues of amber fire until he was satisfied.
All around them, oak beams criss-crossed the walls and ceiling, giving the living room an authentic rustic look amidst the hi-tech appliances in the kitchen and the huge flat-screen TV suspended from the wall opposite the fireplace. It was more akin to a New York loft than a barn in the Hampshire countryside. A black-and-white geometric floor rug softened the effect and a heap of books about cricket personalities on the coffee table rounded off the look.
; ‘What do you think?’
‘Gorgeous. You must have worked so hard.’
‘I did, but working hard was exactly what I wanted to do. I loved every minute and I learned so much. I’m actually contemplating starting a business. Alistair knows a guy in Weybridge who is planning a similar conversion and he’s put a word in for me as project manager.’
‘Oh.’
Kirstie was immediately swept back to reality. In a couple of weeks Josh would be out of a job. It had been such a wonderful day that she had started to believe in the fairy tale that maybe the Dancing Duck could be saved. But that was all it was: a fairy tale. The sale was going through, she and Olivia were signing the contracts on Friday, and the best thing to do was accept it and turn their energies towards dealing with the consequences.
Anyway, she thought as she sipped her champagne and stared at the flames dancing in the grate, even if they didn’t have the financial worries to contend with, Olivia couldn’t be expected to continue with the responsibility now she had Ethan to care for. It was too much, even with Josh as bar manager.
And no matter how romantic it sounded to run a village pub at the centre of a close-knit community, her life was in London. She had already proved to herself just how hard it was to come back home, even for the weekend. She loved her life in the capital, the opportunity to take in a show whenever she wanted, the wide variety of restaurants and cafés to serve any craving, even the trappings of working for a TV company that treated her so well with tickets to the theatre and as many parties as she could find the energy to attend.
Then a tiny voice whispered in her ear – if you still have a job – but she shooed it away. She did not want to think of the conversation she’d had with Brad the day before Christmas Eve. He had probably been dealing with a hundred things at once, something he was famous for, and had no time to talk to her about her future plans. She was upset that he had cancelled their meeting but that just meant she would get to see Olivia and she couldn’t complain about that.