Page 57 of It Always Snows on Mistletoe Square
‘My Estelle.’ Clara takes her hand. ‘You are such a good girl. If it were only that simple. The King is making a very hard choice in giving up his position for the woman he loves. He may live to regret it in the future, I fear.’
‘But he may not,’ Estelle says. ‘Why can’t you have both? Why can’t you have love and security and family?’
‘Perhaps for a lucky few, that’s what they do have. But for most of us sacrifices have to be made in life to keep ourselves and our family safe and secure.’
‘Like when you turn a blind eye to Father’s other women, you mean?’ Estelle asks quietly.
Clara nods slowly. ‘I need to keep us safe, Estelle. I haven’t been able to provide for us and look after you properly since you were born. I need someone to take care of me. Your father and this house is our security. Which is why your father can’t be allowed to lose it. Or we will lose everything.’
Estelle stares at her mother for a moment, and then she nods. ‘I understand,’ she says patting her mother’s hand. ‘Don’t you worry, Mother.’ Estelle stands up and smooths out her dress. ‘I will look after you. I will not allow us to lose this house, ever. Trust me, from now on, I will haveeverythingunder control.’
The young Estelle leaves the room and we follow her, leaving an exhausted-looking Clara to rest.
Our Estelle waits for her younger self to head back down the stairs before speaking.
‘When we return to the sitting room, we have moved on a few hours,’ she says matter-of-factly, but she too looks exhausted like her mother had. Living through this again is clearly quite a strain for her. ‘My father and his friends are now in the middle of their poker game. They will pause shortly to listen to the King give his abdication speech on the wireless.’
‘Are you all right to continue with this, Estelle?’ I ask. ‘It’s clearly hard for you to witness it again.’
Estelle smiles. ‘Thank you, Elle, for your concern, but I will be fine. It’s important you, and now Ben, know all the significant moments in this house’s history. Let us continue.’
She leads us back downstairs to the hall where we find the young Estelle listening intently through the gap in the door to what is currently being said in the sitting room.
Estelle slips past her younger self into the room.
The young Estelle twitches a little as her older self passes her, like a shiver has just run down her spine. But she quickly pulls herself together, and tilts her head again to listen to the conversation.
We follow Estelle into the sitting room and find the area around the fire is now vacated as Stephen and his three guests all sit around the table at the other end of the room. A velvet curtain has been pulled halfway across the gap where the wall usually is, to create a more secluded area for the men to play cards in. But we can still see most of what’s going on.
Angela, unlike the rest of us, goes right up to the table and watches them closely.
Cigar smoke wafts from the card table, along with much ribbing and raucous laughter.
‘So, how’s business, Stephen?’ one of the men asks. Like all the men he’s wearing a smart evening suit, with a crisp white shirt and black bow tie.
‘Can’t complain, Winter. Can’t complain,’ Estelle’s father says, studying his cards.
‘You still don’t regret giving up publishing, then, and going it alone?’ the man called Winter continues.
‘Not at all. Never enough money in it for me.’ Stephen smiles slyly at the others. ‘My talents are better used elsewhere.’
‘Especially when authors donate their money to charity, eh?’ One of the men with grey hair and a matching moustache says, lifting his bushy eyebrows.
‘What are you talking about, Tannon?’ a younger man with a kind face asks.
‘That author fellow,’ Tannon says, wafting his hand across the table. ‘What’s his name … Barrie, that’s it. The one that wrotePeter Pan. Didn’t he give all his profits to the hospital or something?’
‘He gave his rights to Great Ormond Street – yes. And therefore any future royalties,’ Stephen explains. ‘My wife was over the moon. She says it will help the hospital greatly.’
‘Until people stop buying the wretched book, of course,’ Tannon says. ‘When they get bored of fairies then the money will dry up.’
‘How is Clara, Stephen?’ the younger man enquires.
‘Much the same, Michael. Much the same,’ Stephen says, not looking up.
‘I’ll have to pop in and see her sometime,’ Michael says. ‘As a friend, of course,’ he hurriedly adds when Stephen looks worried. ‘Not as a doctor – no charge.’
Stephen nods. ‘Thank you, Michael. I’m sure she’d appreciate that.’
