Page 143 of One More Christmas at the Castle
‘What stone is vermilion?’ I enquired, looking up from the pots and pans.
‘Carnelian, I think. That seems to range from pinkish to bright red, doesn’t it?’
‘I’ll see if I can get a quick look when we take the main course in,’ I said. ‘And see – my castle-shaped fruit jelly came out in one piece!’
‘It looks as if it came out of a child’s sandcastle mould! Do you want me to whip any cream up for the top of the trifle?’
‘No, that’s for tomorrow, for those who prefer it to Christmas pudding.’
‘Since we’ll be there for dinner too, albeit below the salt,Ihope to eat both,’ he said greedily.
‘You have to ignite the brandy on the pudding and then carry it in, first,’ I pointed out. ‘I’ll put heatproof mats down on that little table in the passage outside the dining-room door, and you can light it there. Preferably, without singeing your eyebrows.’
‘I only did thatonce,’ he said, hurt. ‘But I always enjoy the bit where the lights go off and I carry the flaming pud in!’
‘Me too … and this is all nearly ready,’ I said, checking the oven.
‘So is the dining room! Dom helped me make the table look uber-festive, with one of those tasselled and embroidered Christmas runners down the middle.’
‘Lovely. In ten minutes you can beat the gong for dinner, because you can’t hang about when it’s fish.’
Tonight, I was giving them thick, melt-in-the-mouth fillets of smoked Scottish rainbow trout, which would look impressive, but was really very easy to cook. It would be accompanied by dauphinoise potatoes.
When the time came, I carried the dish of trout fillets through myself, and when I set it down in the middle of the table Mrs Powys looked at it appreciatively.
‘Is that trout? How lovely!’
‘Smoked rainbow trout,’ I said. ‘I thought it would make a nice change.’
‘Indeed. I think you’re an inspired cook, Dido,’ agreed Mr Makepeace.
‘I must say, one was rather dreading Maria’s monotonous lamb and rice offerings,’ drawled Frank.
Sophie, whose red dress left as little to the imagination as her previous ones, reached out a hand for her wine glass, which Domhad just filled and I spotted the ring Henry had mentioned. Given the size and colour of it, it would be a bit hard to miss.
It had a large, flat, oval stone, the same colour as her dress, surrounded by a twisted, rope-like gold setting, and had caught Simon’s eye, too.
‘That ring – isn’t it a Roman intaglio stone?’
‘How clever of you to spot it, but then, youarean expert,’ she said.
‘May I see?’ he asked eagerly, and she slid it off and passed it over.
‘The setting is more modern, of course – Victorian, I should think,’ he said, ‘but the stoneisRoman.’
He examined it more closely, then said with interest, ‘I think I’ve only seen that particular design once before. It looks like a mouse, driving a chariot pulled by a rooster!’
But I had now edged round a bit and was staring at the ring too, for there was something about it – and especially that description – that rang a bell in my memory. I, too, had seen one like it once before …
Sophie, looking up, must have caught my expression for her own suddenly changed and she said, very sharply, ‘Could I have it back, please, Simon?’
He looked surprised, but immediately returned it and she put it back on to her finger.
I recovered myself with an effort, hoping everyone had been looking at the ring and not at me, then went quickly out of the room.
Alone in the kitchen, I felt both shaken and confused. Sophie’s expression when she’d suddenly noticed my interest in the ring – both guarded and guilty – had been exactly the same as the one she’d worn on that day, so long ago, when I’d spotted her coming out of the side door of Charlotte’s parents’ house.
All at once, dizzyingly, a whole raft of fragmented memories from that time had clicked together in my head to form a pattern.
