‘You seem to have gathered a lot about him from a couple of phone calls,’ she said, amused.
‘We argue every time — he’s quite insufferable. He’s got a really deep voice, too, and sort of rumbles at me down the phone.’
‘What, one of those knicker-quiveringly deep voices?’ she asked with interest. ‘The kind that vibrate down your spine and back up again?’
‘Laura!’ I exclaimed, then laughed. ‘But, yes, it does and I suppose it would be quite sexy if he wasn’t being so rude to me. And unfortunately I just can’t seem to stop saying horrid things back, which isn’t like me at all: normally I manage to keep a professional relationship going, whatever the provocation. But it isn’t just his calls that make me dislike him, it’s also seeing how his actions have affected everyone here.’
And I told her how he’d abandoned his duty to look after his family and the elderly people in the village and taken himself off in a fit of pique, after he saw the engagement announcement between his brother and his former fiancée.
‘I expect he was so upset he didn’t think it through,’ she suggested.
‘Perhaps not, but once he’d had time to think he could have come back, couldn’t he? And then he seemed to assume that because the Chirks had invited his aunt and uncle to Christmas dinner, I should be happy to do the same. . and actually,’ I added, ‘I am.’
‘What, cooking Christmas dinner for his family?’
‘Yes, the Chirks left an enormous turkey and Christmas pudding anyway. And then Tilda Martland is so frail I don’t think she should even be trying to cope with the cooking, especially since she has her granddaughter to stay. Once I realised that, there wasn’t anything else to do but invite them.’
‘You are kind, Holly!’
‘I’m not, really — I didn’t want to do it. Only then I started to feel that I was being as mean and selfish as Jude.’ I sighed. ‘So now I’m committed to hosting a family Christmas dinner in a house that doesn’t belong to me and which is in need of a damned good clean, using food left by someone else!’
‘You’ll cope, you always do.’
‘We’ve had some snow too, and I can see that we’re likely to get cut off if it carries on — you’ve never seen such a steep, narrow, bendy road as the one up to the village! Luckily, there’s an amazingly well-stocked shop and enough food in the house to last a year, I should think, if you don’t mind eating a lot of fish and game.’
‘Jude shoots, then?’
‘No, it’s his Aunt Becca who does that, the horsy one. And she fishes, so she’s probably responsible for the trout and salmon — and the whole frozen pike.’
‘A pike? How do you know it’s a pike?’
‘Everything is labelled. I’ve never cooked pike before, but they’re supposed to be good eating. . I have a recipe for stuffed pike in my book of old English cookery,’ I added thoughtfully.
I always took my favourite recipe books away with me, along with my giant notebook, and it was just as well. It’s amazing what I’m asked to cook sometimes!
‘Are you serious?’
‘Yes, of course. I couldn’t eat a whole one myself, it’s pretty big, so I would have to ask the Martlands back another time to help me eat it. On Christmas Day it will be turkey and all the trimmings, of course, because that’s what they’re expecting.’
‘It’s quite funny, when you think about it, that you ran away from the idea of spending a family Christmas with me, but ended up having to host one yourself!’
‘Yes, I know, I can see the irony of it,’ I agreed. ‘Still, after Christmas Day, things will go quieter and I can relax and get on with my book again. Meanwhile, Jude accused me of trying to squeeze a whole lot of money out of him for cooking for the family, when I don’t intend charging for it at all! So I’m going to phone Ellen and tell her that if he calls, she isn’t to tell him what I charge for house-party cooking. I told him he couldn’t afford me.’
‘Isn’t he rich? The house sounds very grand!’
‘Grand but neglected, with just that useless cleaner coming in, and she told me he paid her half the going rate so he has to be either poor or stingy — or maybe both. But artists don’t usually have loads of money, do they?’
‘I think he’s doing all right, he’s quite well known.’ She paused. ‘It’s the weekend — Ellen hates being called then unless it’s an emergency, doesn’t she?’
‘Tough.’
‘And she’s going to be really mad if you go ahead and get pregnant and then hand your notice in! You’re her best and most reliable cook, she told me so.’
‘Double tough. Laura, you know those wartime journals of Gran’s?’
‘Yes, they sound fascinating.’
‘They’re getting even more fascinating,’ I said, and described how there seemed to be a romance forming between her and one of the patients — and my growing conviction that the Ned Martland she had once loved was Noël Martland’s younger brother.
‘It does sound likely, doesn’t it?’ she agreed. ‘It’s such a coincidence that you should be there. Really, it’s just like a novel!’
‘That’s what I thought, though I hope it’s not a tragedy, because Noël’s brother sounds like a bit of a bad lot. I’ll have even more reason to dislike Jude Martland if his uncle broke Gran’s heart!’
‘They say everyone has got a novel in them, don’t they? Only I’d have thought your grandmother’s would have been a fairly sedate Mrs Gaskell sort of affair.’
‘Yes, that’s what I’m hoping. And I don’t think I’ve got a novel in me but I might just have a recipe book — if I ever have the time to finish it,’ I added bitterly.
‘How’s it going?’
‘Not very fast so far, because there’s simply been too much to do and a constant stream of visitors. And when I’ve had a spare minute, Gran’s journals have been a bit too fascinating to resist.’
‘Well, ring me if you find out anything else interesting!’
I was getting chilly by then and only got Ellen’s answering machine when I tried her number, so I left a message on that, before heading for home.
* * *
I gave the fruit soaking in brandy a stir and it was already starting to smell delicious: you really can’t fail with that recipe.
Looking at my by now extensive to-do list, I thought I had better gird my loins and start on the rest of the cleaning, on the principle of getting done first what you least want to do.
It was already evident to me that the Jacksons, the elderly couple who had since retired, had really cared for the house. The linen cupboard, where tablecloths, runners and napkins were kept, smelt of lavender sachets and a plentiful supply of cleaning materials lined the utility-room shelves.
I filled a cream enamel housekeeper’s bucket with everything I thought I would need and carried it through to the dining room, along with the old upright vacuum cleaner and a long-handled, slightly-moulting brown feather duster.
Always start at the top of a room and work downwards: that was the lesson Gran had taught me. I dealt with the cobwebs and worked my way down the panelling, then vacuumed some of the dust out of the curtains using the extension hosepipe, set on low. I’d polished the furniture and was well into cleaning the floor when Jess suddenly appeared.
I nearly had a heart attack when I caught sight of her dark figure with its pale face standing silently in the doorway. I gave a yelp and she said, ‘Did I make you jump? I did knock, but I had Grandpa’s key, so when there was no answer, I came in. Granny sent me to see if you needed any help. Not that I like housework,’ she added mutinously.
‘Neither do I, actually, but I do like the look and smell of a fresh, clean room. It would be wonderful if you could give me a hand. I’ve nearly finished in here and I was going to do the garden hall and cloakroom next, so if you could take the feather duster and get rid of all the cobwebs in the corners first, that would be great.’
‘Oh — okay,’ she said, brightening slightly, presum
ably because I hadn’t immediately handed her the vacuum cleaner. Merlin followed her out — he didn’t seem to like the noise.
I finished off the floor, then took the silver candlesticks and tray through to the utility room to clean later, before going to see how Jess was getting on.
‘Merlin eats spiders,’ Jess told me. ‘I suppose he thinks they’re snacks on legs.’
‘Good, I hate them.’
Jess’s main contribution to the cleaning after that was to entertain me while I worked by telling me the details of the plot of her vampire novel, until finally I straightened my aching back and declared, ‘Lunch time, I think.’
‘You look very hot and grubby!’
‘That’s because your uncle has let his house get filthy — he should be ashamed of himself.’
‘I don’t suppose he even noticed,’ Jess said. ‘When he’s working he doesn’t, and he’s working most of the time. Even when he isn’t you can tell he’s still thinking about it. What are you having for lunch?’
‘Nothing exciting — an omelette probably. What are you having?’
‘God knows,’ she said gloomily. ‘Probably tinned soup — and I’ll be the one in charge of heating that up, because Granny’s tired today and Grandpa is hopeless.’
She got up. ‘I suppose I’d better come back tomorrow and help you make beds. That’s why Granny sent me, really, to tell you to make sure the bedrooms are aired.’
‘Beds?’
‘Granny said it would be much more convenient if we all stayed on Christmas night.’
‘Convenient for who?’ I said, startled. I was sure they’d only been coming for lunch when Mo and Jim were doing the catering and I don’t remember any previous mention of staying over. .
‘For you, of course, so you won’t have to drive us back to the lodge. And they’ve told Auntie Becca that Christmas lunch was on again, so she’s coming too.’
‘What — to stay?’
‘Yes.’ She counted up on her fingers. ‘So that’s three bedrooms, isn’t it?’
‘I suppose it is,’ I said faintly. ‘Oh, joy! And yes, you’d better come back tomorrow and help, because I expect I’ll now have to clean the bedrooms before I can make the beds up.’
I’d have to revise my menu plan, too, if I was catering for rather more than just Christmas lunch! It was just as well the warmth from the big log fire in the hall was permeating all the rooms upstairs and airing them — except for the owner’s Bluebeard’s chamber, of course. If that was damp and dank and chilly when he got back, that would be his own fault.
‘Your Uncle Jude called last night, so I assume the phone is working again.’
‘Did he? I think he must like you!’
‘No, I think it’s the opposite, actually.’
‘Auntie Becca called back later to say that since Christmas was on as usual, she’d popped down to the village to tell Old Nan and Richard.’
‘Oh my God!’
‘Is that a problem?’
‘Oh no,’ I said faintly, ‘I mean, after looking forward to a quiet and restful few weeks on my own, I should be delighted that I’m now going to be cook, cleaner and general factotum for a large house-party, where everyone bar you is so elderly they’re obviously not going to be a lot of help, shouldn’t I? Whatever gave you that idea?’
She grinned. ‘I know you’re joking — and it’s going to be much more fun than last year, when Great Uncle Alex was so ill and Guy and Jude fell out over Guy and Coco flirting, though Guy flirts with everyone. Aunt Becca said she was surprised when she saw the announcement of his engagement to Coco, because although he always wanted whatever Jude had, he lost interest once he’d got it.’
That seemed very acute of Becca. ‘A bit of a Cain and Abel syndrome?’ I asked, interested, but she looked blank.
‘I hate Guy, he’s always winding me up and he never buys me a present either, just gives me money.’
‘That is a present, it just means he has no idea what you want.’
‘Jude usually gives me a present even if sometimes it’s a bit weird. But I don’t suppose he even thought of it this time, dropping everything and rushing off like that.’
‘He said he sent hampers to Old Nan and Richard, so I’m sure he will have remembered.’
‘You know,’ she said with an air of one making a major discovery, ‘I like Jude much better than Guy, even if he is grumpier! If he says he’ll do something, he does. And when he’s home, he lets me go and mess about in the studio with modelling clay sometimes and he’s going to teach me to weld, too.’
‘Well, that’s certainly a life skill that not a lot of girls your age have.’
She jumped up. ‘Look at the time! I’d better go, or Granny will be trying to open that tin herself.’
‘I’ll bring you some homemade soup down tomorrow,’ I promised. ‘I usually have a big pot of it permanently on the go and top it up every day, but I just don’t seem to have had a minute since I arrived, so there isn’t enough at the moment.’
Making more soup and having a good turn-out of the kitchen cupboards occupied most of the rest of the day, and no call from Jude Martland marred my peace. . until he rang really late, just as I was thinking about bed.
‘I emailed your boss at Homebodies and asked her how much you charged for your cooking,’ he said without any preamble. ‘My God, I don’t know who can afford those wages!’
‘I expect she gave you the weekly rate, but I told you I was expensive.’ Trust Ellen to try and get more money out of a client without even consulting me, too!
‘If you add that on top of double house-sitting rates, it’s extortionate,’ he said. ‘And you won’t be doing anything millions of women won’t be doing for their families for nothing over Christmas.’
‘They will be doing it for love — and it makes you think, doesn’t it? Christmas is always hard work for women.’
‘That’s not what I meant. . though I suppose you have a point,’ he agreed grudgingly.
I was about to tell him that I had no intention of charging him for anything other than the house-sitting, and would have a word with Ellen about it, but something seemed to hold me back. He probably wouldn’t have believed me anyway.
‘Did you want anything else, or did you just ring me to complain about the Homebodies charges?’
‘I phoned for the sheer pleasure of hearing your voice,’ he said sarcastically and then I was listening to the empty air: he’d gone.
I fell into bed, exhausted and irritated in equal measures and wasn’t much soothed by the next few pages of Gran’s journal, since I could see ominous signs of where things were heading:
Sister caught me laughing with N this morning and hauled me over the coals for it. I was very upset by this, and was lucky not to be moved from that ward. N was sweet and said he would make it up to me once he is well again, though he didn’t say how. .
Still, at least I might get the chance to find out more about Ned Martland from Noël over Christmas, so every cloud has a silver lining, even if it is slightly tarnished.
Chapter 12
Deeply Fruited
N was discharged from hospital today and sent home to convalesce, but before he left he caught my hand and pleaded with me to meet him on my next half-day. Against my better judgement I eventually agreed, though I stipulated that it must be somewhere out of the way, since I do not wish to be the target of idle gossip among the other nurses.
February, 1945
Yesterday’s snow had half-melted by evening, but it froze overnight and then a fresh covering over the top made things pretty treacherous outside. I was worried about Lady on the cobbles and rang Becca to ask if I should still let her out.
‘Of course,’ she said, and she was quite right, because Lady walked across to the paddock with small, cautious steps as if she’d been doing it all her life — which actually, I expect she had.
Becca had also said she was looking forward to Christmas Day. I seemed to be the only one
who wasn’t. I’d caught her on the way to church, because apparently the vicar comes over from Great Mumming once a fortnight to hold a service here and today was the day: in fact, I could hear the distant peal of the bell as she rang off.
The brandy-soaked fruit for the Christmas cake smelt intoxicatingly delicious when I fetched the bowl into the kitchen and then began assembling and weighing the rest of the ingredients, which is the most time-consuming bit, along with greasing and lining a cake tin. Luckily there was a good selection of those in all shapes and sizes and I had found a suitably large one in the cupboard yesterday.
Once the cake was safely baking, as well as some mince pies to offer what I now foresaw would be a permanent flow of famished visitors, I had a sit-down with a cup of coffee to brace myself for another bout of the hated cleaning, this time of the bedrooms.
I was getting heartily sick of it — not to mention of Jude Martland, the cause of all this extra work! So when Jess turned up again, this time I was much more remorseless in making her help me.
She told me which rooms her grandparents and Becca usually had and said she herself always slept in the old nursery. The rooms didn’t seem to have been used since the previous Christmas, so that apart from a coating of dust and needing the beds made up with lavender-scented linen from the big cupboard at the end of the passage by the stairs, they didn’t actually take a huge amount of time to do — much less than I expected.
Jess showed me the cupboard full of old toys in the nursery, though some of them were more recent, mainly miniature instruments of mass destruction that had probably belonged to Guy and Jude. The room was at the back of the house and, like mine and Jude’s, afforded an excellent view of the horse figure on the side of the folly-topped Snowehill, which was certainly living up to its name today. The red horse was now white and practically indistinguishable, much like Lady in the paddock below, though Billy was a small dark blob.
Twelve Days of Christmas Page 11