Page 12 of A Brambleberry Manor Christmas
I’ve managed to solve the problem of the four extra guestsat dinner tonight. The local butcher, who I’m getting to know quite well thesedays, did me proud; there’s a much larger fillet of beef stowed safely in theice-box in the boot of the car, and I’m already planning to make a beef tartarstarter with the smaller fillet. I had to work fast to get the black cherryice-cream ready in time, but Flo’s eyes lit up when she tasted it and I trusther palette one hundred per cent. It will make a good accompaniment for theroulade.
Flo springs out of the car, while I text Tavie, telling herI should be back by ten and that I’ll see her then. (I’m hopeful, rather thancertain, that she’ll be back when she promised.) Who is this Mal? Perhaps hereally is her boyfriend? But no, she’d have told me if he was. In fact, Isuspect she’d have taken a twisted delight in telling me, knowing that it wouldfreak me out a little! But I haven’t got time to stew over Tavie. Dinner is tobe served at seven-thirty, which means Flo and I have a mountain of work to getthrough in the next four hours.
I sigh. At least I won’t be sitting at home, watching theclock and worrying about Tavie.
By the time I’ve finished texting, Flo has already takenmost of the crates and boxes into the manor house kitchen.
I’m in awe of Flo’s energy. She’s twelve years my senior,but she puts me to shame. These days, an exciting Saturday night for meinvolves putting my feet up with a glass of wine or two in front ofStrictlyCome Dancing. Flo, on the other hand, is more than likely outdoingthe dancing…at a club with friends. I guess she’s one of those people who canburn the candle at both ends and (just about) get away with it.
Inside the manor house, the entrance hall is decked out toperfection. An enormous Christmas tree nestles beside the grand staircase,giving off a glorious pine scent. It’s at least ten feet tall, hung withstunning globes of silver and red, and sparkling with fairy-lights. Gifts arepiled up around the lower branches, and the fresh ferns and holly branchesentwined around the banisters of the staircase are twinkling with tiny whitelights.
Spotting Santa’s legs dangling from the chimney breast ofthe baronial-style fireplace makes me smile. The white-trimmed red velvettrousers and black, gold-buckled boots of Father Christmas delivering his giftsperfectly offsets the formality of the entrance hall, magically transforming itinto a place for laughter and celebration.
As we head to the kitchen, we hear barking, and withoutwarning, a bundle of toffee-coloured fur tears into the hall and starts jumpingup at Flo.
‘Hey, boy!’ She laughs delightedly. ‘Where did you comefrom?’
‘Oh, he’s gorgeous. Or is it a she?’
‘He’s a he,’ says a voice, and a large woman with lots ofcurly dark reddish hair and twinkling eyes comes panting after the little dog.‘This is Wilbur and he’s being a very naughty boy today. Because of all theexcitement of being in a strange house, I suppose. Wilbur! Get down!’
‘He’s fine,’ laughs Flo. ‘Is he a puppy?’
She nods. ‘Just a year old. A very cheeky cockapoo. I’mRhoda, by the way. My husband, Bob, and I are old friends of Marjery and Will.Delighted to be invited to this lovely pre-Christmas house party!’ She glancesat Flo’s box of fruit and vegetables. ‘I take it you girls are handling thefood? How lovely! Well, I won’t keep you. I need to find Bob. Come on, Wilbur.Heel, boy.’
As Wilbur is clearly far too excited to remember what a heelis, Rhoda sighs good-humouredly, goes over to where he’s sniffing around theChristmas tree and scoops him up. ‘See you later, girls!’ she calls, and startsclimbing the stairs, presumably in search of Bob.
In the kitchen, Flo and I quickly unpack the crates and setto work in the rather draughty kitchen, knowing that soon, with the ovens on,it will grow comfortably toasty.
I whip up the batter for the mini Yorkshire puddings, thenstore it in the fridge for later, while Flo starts prepping the vegetables. Theguests are having drinks at seven in the plush drawing room before sitting downto eat at seven-thirty in the formal dining room, with its long,richly-decorated festive table. I plan to begin browning the fillet of beefwith its wild mushroom stuffing soon after six, so that it has time to roast inthe oven and rest before serving.
‘How’s Tavie?’ asks Flo, with a sympathetic glance.
‘Oh, trying my patience as usual,’ I say lightly. ‘She’s outwith her friend, Amy, at some boy’s house, and every bit of me wanted to refuseto let her go, but I can’t do that, can I?’
Flo grimaces. ‘Ooh, I remember it well. Trying to strikethat balance between making sure they’re safe and wrapping them up in cottonwool.’
I groan. ‘And you had twice the trouble.’
‘Couldn’t you pick her up on the way back tonight?’
I laugh bitterly. ‘She’d literally murder me if I turned upat someone’s house to collect her.’
Flo grins. ‘Teenagers. They swear they couldn’t give a stuffabout anything, yet they’re more self-conscious and awkward than a naked mantrapped in a department store window!’
‘Nice image.’
‘You have to give Tavie some freedom, I suppose. She’snearly sixteen.’
‘Yes.’ I sigh. ‘But it’s so hard. On winter nights, I justwant to get in our cosy jim-jams, play Ludo and drink hot chocolate withmarshmallows by the fire, like we used to.’
‘She’ll be fine. As long as you know where she is and shecomes back at a reasonable time.’ Flo shrugs. ‘I guess you have to trust her.’
I nod. ‘She’s a sensible kid underneath all the indignantposturing. She’s told me she’d never do drugs, and she thinks that people whodo are dumb. So that’s something.’
‘Good for her.’
‘I know. And I do believe her. She’s always truthful aboutstuff like that, although sometimes I wish she wasn’t quite so upfront.’ Igrimace. ‘She told me the other day that she’d tried smoking weed but shedidn’t like it so she wouldn’t be doing it again.’
