Page 37 of The Christmas Invitation
‘Even a Norwegian spruce won’t hold them till Twelfth Night, unless you superglue them on,’ said Tottie.
When Teddy had finally gone up to bed, Henry showed me some more of his collection of vintage ornaments, and the bottom drawer of the cabinet, which contained Teddy’s collection of antique papier mâché fish. These oddly shaped aquatic creatures were actually little boxes for sweets that you could fill and hang on the tree.
‘I sometimes find one or two in mixed auction lots and he loves them, so now we keep an eye out for them.’
Henry was very knowledgeable and told me a lot of interesting things about their history and the difference between glass blown from a kiln-heated rod and lampwork, but really I just loved the sparkliness of the silvered glass baubles and the strange and often quirky shapes – snowmen, fruit, musical instruments, birds, pixies … you name it, they made it.
‘The antique papier mâché Santa tree topper, which I showed you last time, always goes on the tree in the hall, to please Tottie. She’s the one who misguidedly added that glitter and cotton wool when she was a little girl.’
‘I actually like it like that,’ I admitted.
‘So do I, really, and even if it has ruined its value as an antique, it’s increased its value as a family heirloom.’
He closed the drawer again on his treasures and we went back to the drawing room, but I didn’t linger long because I suddenly felt very tired. I went up to bed, leaving Tottie and Clara discussing what to have for dinner next evening. The consensus seemed to be that it would be a pasta dish that Lex was particularly fond of …
The food, however delicious, would probably choke me if Lex was sitting at the same table.
I wondered if I could develop a sudden allergy to Christmas trees overnight. It seemed an idea with lots of promise, since It would not only get me out of the expedition tomorrow, but a tree in the house would give me a reason to leave as quickly as possible.
I just wasn’t sure how convincingly I could put on an allergic reaction, and sustain it, under Clara’s bright, clever eyes.
Clara
Father’s new parish in Devon was warm and welcoming but I remained deeply unhappy at leaving Henry and everything I knew and loved behind me.
Then my mother’s elder sister, Aunt Beryl, who was a wealthy widow with no children of her own, kindly suggested she paid the fees for me to be privately educated and my parents chose a small boarding school noted for the scholarship and intellectual achievements of the girls. Many had gone on to pursue degree courses at Oxford or Cambridge.
It was a stimulating environment and I also made several friends, all of whom went on to achieve considerable success in their chosen fields. But of course, I never forgot Henry. There always seemed to be some invisible connecting thread between us, as if we had been born twins …
Henry’s father (his mother having died soon after we moved) was not the kind to write letters or send out annual Christmas cards, so all contact with the Doomes petered out, as these things do. Secretly, though, I intended that when I was old enough I would go and find Henry, but until that day I’d just have to bide my time.
In due course I was accepted, a year earlier than my peers, at Lady Margaret Hall, which was my mother’s old college in Oxford.
Aunt Beryl had originally suggested that I be ‘finished’ abroad and then she could launch me on the London social scene … but I was quite determined on what I wanted to do with my life, and it wasn’t an endless round of empty social events with a ‘good’ marriage inserted into the middle of it. When I told her this, and that my idea of fun was picking out an inscription on some ancient stone, she laughed and promised to support me through college instead.
She was to have more luck a few years later with my sister, Bridget. She proved more than happy to enter the social whirl of London, while I pursued my studies and embraced my chosen career.
I was never one to be deflected from my purpose.
14
Brief Encounter
We all met for breakfast early next morning and I tried my get-out-of-gaol-free card. ‘I’m afraid I remembered last night that I’m allergic to pine trees,’ I said casually, buttering toast.
‘What makes you think that, dear?’ said Tottie, who was combining the consumption of crumpets with the construction of a mound of sandwiches for the picnic. Den had just taken a tray of vegetarian sausage rolls out of the oven, which were also probably part of the moveable feast.
‘The moment the Yule tree was brought into the Farm and hung from the rafters in the hall, I’d start to sneeze and my eyes would water,’ I said. ‘I really don’t think it would be a good idea to come with you to choose the tree. I mean, a whole plantation of them …’ I tried to sound regretful.
‘I’ve never heard of anyone being allergic totrees,’ Clara said, sounding very Lady Bracknell. ‘I’m quite certain it must have been something else setting you off, Meg.’
‘It does seem an unusual allergy, especially for anyone brought up in the country,’ agreed Tottie.
‘I think, my dear, that coming with us today would settle the matter one way or the other,’ Henry suggested. ‘Perhaps itwas just dust disturbed from the rafters when the tree was hung up, or something like that?’
Had I really had a reaction, that would have been a possibility, seeing that no one ever dusted the huge beams of the farmhouse ceilings, or removed the cobwebs and their occupants (‘our little friends’, as River referred to them).
‘Of course, if you start sneezing and your eyes stream the moment we get out of the car, then we’ll know you were right,’ Tottie said.
