Page 28 of It Always Snows on Mistletoe Square
‘So how long have you two known each other?’ Ben asks Estelle and Angela. ‘I would guess quite some time?’
‘We’ve known each other a long, long time, haven’t we, Angela?’ Estelle says, slowly nodding as if she’s been asked this question many times before.
‘We surely have. I was just a young girl when we first met, wasn’t I, Estelle? And a bit of a tearaway back then too.’
Estelle casts a warning glance in Angela’s direction. ‘Yes, indeed you were. Now, Ben, would you care to stay for a night cap?’ she asks, abruptly ending the previous line of conversation.
What is it with these two? Why can’t they talk about how long they’ve known each other, or when they first met?
‘We will be retiring to the comfortable chairs by the fire after dinner,’ Estelle continues. ‘I remember a time when it would have been a different room we would adjourn to, rather than the same one we’ve just eaten in.’ She looks wistfully over at the chairs for a moment as she remembers. ‘But needs must, and the comfortable chairs it is. I have more tales of this house and my family to share with Elle tonight, and you’d be more than welcome to join us, Ben?’
Earlier, Ben expressed an interest – I thought perhaps only a polite one – in Estelle’s stories, and how we were working together on the book.
‘If you don’t want to, I’m sure we won’t be offended,’ I say hurriedly, in case Estelle has put him on the spot. ‘You probably have better things to do than listen to us wittering on.’
‘I can assure you I don’t witter on,’ Estelle says reprovingly. ‘Angela perhaps … ’
‘Hey!’ Angela pipes up, putting her glass down, which unlike ours has contained water all night. ‘You aren’t the only one who can tell a story, Estelle. You seem to forget that I know all your stories almost as well as you do.’
‘Some of them, perhaps,’ Estelle concedes. ‘But not all. Perhaps you would like to tell tonight’s tale, Angela? Since you know them so well.’
I expect Angela to decline, but instead she accepts the challenge. ‘I might just do that!’ she says defiantly as she turns to us. ‘When you’ve heard Estelle’s stories as many times as I have,’ she whispers, ‘they become second nature.’
‘Then we will make ourselves comfortable by the fire,’ Estelle announces, unperturbed. ‘And await your storytelling prowess.’
‘I’ll help you clear up first,’ I say, keen that Angela doesn’t resort to maid mode again.
‘Me too.’ Ben stands up.
‘Ben, you are a guest,’ Estelle says disapprovingly. ‘It is most kind of you to offer, but I simply can’t allow it.’
‘Whereas I’m now part of the staff,’ I say, winking at Angela.
‘Correction, Elle, you are now part of thefamily.’ Estelle gives me a stern look that is in contrast to her kind words. ‘Isn’t that right, Angela?’
‘Indeed you are,’ Angela says warmly. ‘And family is allowed to help.’ She winks back at me.
Ben accompanies Estelle to the chairs by the fire. He gallantly offers his arm for her to hold as they walk, which Estelle graciously accepts.
After Angela and I have cleared the dinner things, Ben helps Angela pull up a fourth comfortable chair to the fireplace, so there are now two chairs on either side of the fire.
Then Angela pours three large measures of whisky from an Art Deco drinks trolley into some crystal tumblers and carries them over to us on a silver tray. I hesitate when she offers me one but it’s obvious that Estelle is very much enjoying playing the hostess this evening and I don’t want to spoil her night, so I take a glass, intending to sip at it incredibly slowly, and only if I have to. The one glass of wine I drank with dinner is already plenty of alcohol for me, and I know adding spirits to the mix will only end in trouble.
‘Are you not having one yourself?’ I ask, as Angela passes her tray to Ben and Estelle.
‘No, I’m not a drinker, me,’ Angela says. ‘I’ve got a nice glass of orange juice instead.’ She fetches her own glass from the cocktail cabinet.
‘Here’s to good neighbours!’ Ben lifts his glass as we all settle down next to the fire.
‘Good neighbours!’ everyone replies, lifting their glass and taking a gulp of whisky.
I take the tiniest of sips. I know what Estelle’s stories are like, and, if tonight’s tale is anything like last night’s, I need to keep my wits about me. I wonder what Ben will make of it all? Perhaps I should have warned him. But how silly would I have sounded trying to explain what happened last night, when I don’t really understand it myself yet.
‘No telephone tonight, Elle?’ Estelle asks, looking around. ‘Elle had a gadget to record me last night,’ she explains to Ben.
‘No, I’m going old school.’ I hold up my notepad and pen. ‘The voice recorder didn’t work very well last night for some reason.’
‘What a shame,’ Estelle says, glancing at Angela. ‘Angela, do you still want to tell the story tonight?’
