Page 15 of A Brambleberry Manor Christmas
Memories start flooding in…me, flat on my back in thebracken, hot and breathless, with the full weight of Noah Jackson’s muscledbody crushed against me…staring up into those deep blue eyes…
Heat steals into my cheeks and I drop the large metal spoonI’m holding. It lands with a clatter on the tiled floor.Definitely betterif Flo serves the starters!
‘You okay there?’ she asks.
‘Yes. Yes, I’m fine,’ I reply, turning away to drop thespoon in the sink.
‘Right, I’m going in.’
Flo goes off with the tray and silence suddenly reigns.
‘They seem a jolly bunch,’ she reports, coming back in a fewminutes later. ‘And the drinks are obviously flowing nicely.’
‘Excellent.’ I grin at her. ‘Hopefully they’ll be too merryto notice any faults in the cooking.’
She watches me carve the tender beef into thick, perfectlyeven slices. ‘That looks melt-in-the-mouth delicious. I’m drooling, I know, butthe scent of that wild mushroom and herb filling is heavenly. They’re going tolove it.’
‘Here’s hoping,’ I murmur, recalling Fen’s comment.Mumexpects everyone to be as focused on perfection as she is!
I’m fairly confident they’ll like the beef. It’s been themain course at two other dinner parties Flo and I have catered, and both times,it went down a storm. Clean plates all around, always a good sign. It’s thedessert that worries me. It doesn’t match what’s on the menu, so Marjery willknow that something went wrong.
Taking out the main course with Flo, butterflies take flightin my stomach. Added to the fear of things going wrong and disappointing Marjeryis the thought of coming face to face with Noah again.
I can’t believe I charged into that clearing imaginingsomeone was being murdered!
Passing a mirror in the hall, I catch sight of my flushedcomplexion and instinctively, I straighten my posture. I’ll have to brazen itout. I can’t hide in the kitchen all week just because I made an idiot ofmyself with one of the guests.
The dining room looks beautifully festive, lit by aceiling-high Christmas tree in the corner and hundreds of warm whitefairy-lights strung around the room. Candles, entwined with holly, berries andferns, glow at intervals along the centre of the magnificent table. I can’thelp feeling glad of the atmospheric lighting – it means no-one can see myblushes in all their glory.
I concentrate on delivering the plates of beef, movinganti-clockwise around the table as Marjery stipulated, while Flo brings in theserving platters of vegetables, mini Yorkshire puddings and the rich gravy insmall jugs. The table has been extended to accommodate the extra four gueststhis evening, although Marjery has assured me that on subsequent evenings, thenumber of diners will be no more than twelve. (I did a quick calculation in myhead but could only come up with eleven. Then I remembered the other girl who’sapparently arriving the day after tomorrow. Constance.)
It all seems to be going well. The hum of conversation andlaughter round the table continues as we serve, and everyone seems in aconvivial mood. Marjery and her husband, William, are sitting at opposite endsof the long table, with a ‘boy-girl’ seating arrangement for the rest of thediners.
‘Ooh, that looks absolutely scrummy!’ enthuses Melanie,smiling up at me as I put down her plate. She steals a glance at Marjery, atthe far end of the long table, and winces slightly. ‘It’s probably a bit naffto make comments like that at a formal dinner party,’ she murmurs. ‘Honestly, Icouldn’t do sophisticated if I tried.’ She shoots a glance at Fergus, who’ssitting opposite.
Fergus smiles but his face is a little stiff, as if he’sfeeling less than comfortable himself in this rather formal setting. I reflectthat he’s probably feeling a bit shy, and I feel a kinship with him at thatmoment, recalling all the times I sat awkwardly myself at dinner parties whenHarvey was entertaining business clients. Later, Harvey would put his arm aroundme and tell me I was being silly when I admitted I felt that I never hadanything interesting to say.
I swallow hard.Forget about Harvey. Work to be done.
‘You don’t need to be sophisticated, Melanie,’ says Noah. ‘We’reall friends here.’
Hearing his familiar deep voice takes me by surprise, andthe plate I’m laying down clinks loudly against Marjery’s wine glass. I murmuran apology and when I look up, I catch Noah’s eye, and he gives me a littlesmile as if he understands my discomfort.
When I saw him earlier, at the zip wire, he was dressedcasually in jeans and a winter jacket, but for the dinner, he’s changed into adark suit and tie and a white shirt. It looks good on him with his broadshoulders and dark hair. Very old-style James Bond.
As I get nearer to serving Noah, I find my heart ratequickening. And when I’m finally standing next to him, I’m convinced my face mustbe glowing more eye-catchingly than the Christmas tree they’ve erected onSunnybrook village green!
I can feel those blue eyes on me as I try to stop the spoonand fork in my hand shaking.
I just need to get the beef onto his plate. But my knees aretrembling so much, it’s as if I’m serving him on a bloody merry-go-round! Whatthe hell’s wrong with me?
‘I hope you’ve recovered from our shock meeting earlier on,’he murmurs. ‘I don’t know about you but I’m still feeling the reverberations.’
I laugh softly and force myself to meet his eye.
Big mistake.
Speaking of reverberations…I’m feeling them now where Ireally shouldnotbe feeling them – not while I’m attempting to do myjob!
