Page 8 of It Always Snows on Mistletoe Square
Estelle nods. ‘Elle, what a lovely name. What is it short for, my dear?’
‘It’s just Elle.’
Estelle regards me for a moment over her glasses. ‘Now I don’t think that’s quite true, is it?’
How does she know that?
‘Okay, you got me,’ I admit quickly. ‘It’s just I really don’t like my full name – that’s why I always go by Elle.’
‘I’m sure it can’t be that bad?’
‘It is.’
Estelle waits, and I realise this interview is not going to continue if I don’t tell her.
‘All right, my full name is Noelle.’
‘Christmas baby?’ Estelle enquires, not seeming to find anything odd in the name I find so embarrassing.
‘Yes, my birthday is Christmas Eve.’
‘How lovely. In just a few days’ time. Do you have any plans?’
‘Er, no. I’ve been a bit … busy this year. I haven’t really had time to plan anything.’
‘I see.’ Estelle nods, but is polite enough not to press me further, which I deeply appreciate. ‘So perhaps we should talk about the position now?’
‘Yes, please,’ I reply gratefully.
Alvie jumps down from Estelle’s lap and heads over towards the Christmas tree.
‘Now, Alvie, be good. Don’t you go tinkling up the tree or Angela will be very cross with us.’
‘Angela will be very cross about what?’ Angela comes back into the room with a silver tray laden with a full china tea service. She puts the tray down on a small wooden table behind Estelle. ‘Now you stay away from that tree, Alvie!’ she calls. ‘I haven’t time to be clearing up your doings today!’
Alvie just wags his tail amiably and continues sniffing around the tree.
‘How do you like your tea?’ Angela asks me.
‘A drop of milk, one sugar, please.’
As Estelle begins to tell me about the job, I find my gaze drawn back to Angela. It’s fascinating how much effort goes into her tea-making. I’m used to tea made with a few dunks of a bag in a mug. But Angela is very elaborately pouring the tea from a china teapot, through a strainer, before it’s allowed anywhere near the fine-bone-china cup and saucer.
‘This house,’ Estelle continues, ‘has been in my family for many generations. But I am the last in a long line of owners. Unhappily, I was not blessed with any children, and I have no other immediate relatives to pass this house on to.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ I say as I’m offered my cup of tea by Angela. ‘Thank you.’ She holds out a bowl of sugar cubes and I take one with a tiny pair of silver tongs. ‘So how long has this house been in your family, Estelle? It’s all right if I call you Estelle?’
‘Please do,’ Estelle says. ‘It’s been in my family since it was first built in 1750.’
‘Gosh, that long?’ I say, genuinely surprised to hear this. ‘That’s over two hundred and fifty years.’
‘Yes, it is a long time for one house to belong to a single family.’ Estelle takes her own tea from Angela now. ‘Thank you, Angela. Won’t you stay and have a cup with us?’
‘I will, thank you,’ Angela says without a hint of surprise, and immediately I get that their relationship is a little more than simply employer and employee.
‘A house this size, anyway,’ Estelle continues. ‘We’re hardly a stately home.’
‘I bet you’ve got many more interesting tales to tell than one of those bigger houses though.’
