Page 7 of It Always Snows on Mistletoe Square
Angela waves hurriedly at him and turns her attention back to me.
‘I am here about the job,’ I tell her. ‘I’m sorry to call unannounced, but there was only an address on the advert. I’m not too late, am I?’
‘No, my dear, you’ll never be too late,’ Angela says, smiling warmly at me. ‘Come in. Come in.’
I follow Angela into the hallway of the house.
‘Just wait there a moment, and I’ll see if Estelle is ready to see you.’
While I wait awkwardly in the hall, I take a look around me. Like the outside of the house, the hallway is decorated completely in keeping with the house’s age. Underneath my feet there is a prettily patterned black-and-white tiled floor, the walls are papered in a classic but understated pale floral print, and above me there’s a dusty glass chandelier hanging from the high ceiling. On the right of the hall there’s a staircase with a mahogany banister leading up to the next floor, and a little further along a few panelled wood doors lead presumably to further rooms. As I look a little more closely, I notice some of the decor is a little tired in places; the painted skirting boards are chipped where they’ve come into contact with shoes or furniture, and some of the wallpaper is just beginning to peel off the old walls.
‘Estelle is ready for you now,’ Angela announces, opening the first door on the left of the hall. ‘Don’t worry,’ she says as I walk tentatively past her into what once would have been the drawing room of the house. ‘Estelle’s bark is far worse than her bite.’
I smile gratefully at Angela, and I notice for the first time that along with her dungarees Angela is also wearing burgundy Doc Marten boots. Hardly the footwear of your average housekeeper – especially one who looks like they could possibly be in their sixties.
An older lady, her white hair pinned elegantly into a chic bun at the back of her head, is sitting in a supportive but comfortable-looking high-backed chair next to a large, ornate white fireplace. The fire is lit and burning cheerfully away in the grate, and on her lap is a hairy little dog, who looks up expectantly at me as I walk into the room.
‘Good afternoon,’ the lady, who I’m assuming is Estelle, says, looking up too. ‘Angela tells me you’re here about the position?’
‘Yes, that’s right,’ I say. ‘It’s a bit short notice, I know, and I’m aware today is the last day to apply, but I saw the advert and I think I’d be perfect for the job.’
Estelle considers me over her gold half-moon spectacles, and I wonder if that last part was a bit too presumptuous. She nods. ‘Please, take a seat.’
I take a brief look at my surroundings as I walk towards the chair she’s gesturing to. The room is quite an eclectic mix of styles and periods. There is dark, glossy, mahogany furniture – a large dining table and chairs, a tall heavy bookcase and a china cabinet with glass doors, alongside more modern fixtures and fittings – a flat-screen television, a DVD player and a vintage-style, pale blue digital radio. My eye catches on the huge Christmas tree standing undecorated in front of the window. It reaches almost the full height of the high ceiling.
‘I always like a real tree at Christmas,’ Estelle says, seeing me looking. ‘Angela is going to decorate it later for me, aren’t you, Angela?’
Angela rolls her eyes. ‘I guess I am. That’s after I get the pie finished for dinner, and all the hundreds of other things I’ve still to do today!’
‘Perhaps you’d be better served getting on with some of them, then?’ Estelle suggests. ‘I’ll be fine here with our guest.’
Angela gives a dismissive shake of her head as if she’s dealt with Estelle’s requests many times before.
‘Perhaps you could bring us some tea, when you’ve a moment in your busy schedule?’ Estelle asks. ‘If it’s not too much trouble, of course,’ she adds, giving me a knowing look.
I smile, but I feel a tad uncomfortable in the middle of this bickering as I hesitate next to the armchair Estelle suggested I sit in.
‘Of course!’ Angela says, heading out of the room. ‘Just a skivvy, aren’t I?’ she grumbles as she heads down the hall.
‘Don’t mind her,’ Estelle says, gesturing once more to the armchair opposite her. ‘Her bark is always worse than her bite. Now, please sit down, won’t you?’
I smile as I arrange myself in the seat next to the fireplace. What a strange pair these two are.
Estelle adjusts the pale blue cardigan neatly arranged over her narrow shoulders and the little dog sitting in the lap of her green tweed skirt happily wags his tail at me.
‘A very good sign,’ Estelle says approvingly, stroking the dog. ‘Alvie is a very good judge of character. You’re all right with dogs, are you?’
‘Oh, yes,’ I insist. ‘Love them.’ I smile at Alvie. He gives me such a knowing look from his bright green eyes, that it makes me jump in surprise.
‘I’m Estelle, by the way,’ Estelle says, clearly not missing any of this, but choosing not to mention it. ‘I think you know that already, though, don’t you?’
I look away from Alvie – I’ve known many dogs in my life, but I’ve never known one look at me quite like that before – to concentrate on Estelle.
‘Yes. Yes, I do,’ I reply hurriedly. ‘It was in the advert.’
‘And your name is?’ Estelle politely prompts.
‘I’m Elle. Elle McKenzie. I’m so very pleased to meet you, Estelle.’
