Page 13 of The Christmas Invitation
Clara turned to me and explained, ‘Mark was working abroad in hotel management when Henry’s older brother, George, died a couple of years ago. Sybil kept the estate going until he finally decided to leave his job and come back.’
‘He got all the plans in place to turn Underhill into a business first, though,’ Henry pointed out. ‘He realized he’d have to make Underhill earn its keep if he wanted to hang on to it. And if that’s as a wedding venue, he’ll have to make the money in the short season from spring to early autumn, so there’s no time to lose!’
Henry rose to his feet. ‘I think I’ll go back to my study for a bit till dinner, my dear.’ He stooped to kiss his wife, then smiled kindly at me.
‘I expect you’ll want to get the lie of the land and then settle in, Meg. I’m very glad you’ve come. Clara is so excited about the portraits and we’ll have great fun over Christmas. I was hoping to settle with Lex about fetching the tree,’ he added. ‘But he must have had something urgent to do at the pottery and had to dash back. I expect he’ll ring.’
As long as he didn’t reappear in person, that was fine by me.
‘This must be all very confusing for you, Meg,’ said Clara. ‘My nephew, Lex, has brought Teddy back from school today. It’s in Great Mumming, where Terrapotter is.’
‘Terracotta?’ I said tentatively. I’d been a bit at sea during most of the conversation, but I’d come back to life at the mention of Lex’s name.
‘No, Terrapotter – it’s the name of his business.’
‘And … does he live there, too?’ I asked carefully.
‘Yes, in the cottage next to the pottery, the Old Forge.’
That was a mercy. Maybe he wouldn’t come up to the Red House while he knew I was here.
‘Teddy can go and change out of his uniform while I’m giving you the shorter guided tour of the house and then you can unpack and rest,’ Clara said, rising without difficulty from the enveloping sofa. I floundered for a moment, trying to escape its clutches, then followed her.
I swear that sofa was trying to eat me up whole. I’d rather not be a set of dry bones found down the back of it one day, like a new take on the Mistletoe Bride.
6
Verdant
Clara led the way through the hall with about twice as much bounce as I’d ever possessed, even before my illness.
‘Now, this door to my left is Henry’s study, but we’ll leave him in peace for the moment,’ she said. ‘He likes the view from the side window over the fields and down to the reservoir. When the weather is clear, he can see Underhill, the family home, at the top of the valley too, and the Starstone. All his favourite points of reference framed in one.’
She suddenly darted down a side passage, lit only by one dim bulb in an opaque glass shade painted with a Dutch scene of windmills and women in clogs and shawls.
When I caught up with her, she’d opened the door to a surprisingly large studio that must have been added to the house about a century ago. The floor was covered in ancient mottled brown lino, and a large studio easel of antique design stood importantly in the middle of it beside a battered table still bearing an artist’s paintbox, its lid closed, and a large kidney-shaped wooden palette bearing the dull ghost traces of the paint that had last been scraped from it. Nearby lay a flat palette knife, two brushes and a rag, as if put out ready for the day’s work.
It was a painterly version of theMary Celeste.
The room was long and at one end was a model’s dais, with a large, carved chair on it, facing the easel. The only other furnishings were a couple of smaller tables, a pair of battered easy chairs and some mainly empty bookshelves. A small, silent wooden clock eyed me balefully from the top of one of them.
Though the studio had obviously long been disused, it still held that faint scent of turpentine and linseed oil that was perfume to my nostrils. You can keep your modern acrylic paints, as far as I’m concerned: they smell vile and the colours aredead.
Faded green blinds were pulled down across all the windows, but above me I could see an expanse of dusky blue through the large skylight.
‘Tottie’s father had the studio built when he inherited the Red House,’ Clara said, to my surprise. ‘Of course, he was getting on a bit when Tottie was born, so he died a long time ago.’
‘Tottie’s father?’ I echoed.
‘Yes, Tottie’s the last of the Gillyflowers and we bought the house from her over thirty years ago, on the understanding she continued to make her home here.’
‘I hadn’t realized that,’ I said, then added, ‘Wasn’t it difficult for her to stay on in what had been her own home, once she’d sold it to you?’
I mean, call me nosy, but it was interesting.
‘Oh, no, she said it was a relief that she didn’t have the upkeep of a huge old house to worry about any more and could devote herself to the garden and her bees instead. Of course, we already all knew each other, so that helped, and we soon settled down together. I expect it’s much the same in a commune, isn’t it? You find your own interests and place in the group and … homogenize, as it were.’
‘Yes, that’s true,’ I said, thinking about it.
