Page 2 of A Christmas Celebration
‘Because your exasperating godfather has… well, how can I put it?’ Dad struggled to explain. ‘Rather overstretched himself, I suppose you could say.’
I heard Mum muttering in the background and couldn’t help but smile again. My darling godfather, Angus, was always overstretching himself with one madcap scheme or another. His antics were entertaining to hear about, but that was when there were thousands of miles between us and I was in no danger of getting roped into helping with them.
‘What’s he done now?’ I couldn’t resist asking while simultaneously feeling a pang of sympathy for my godmother,Catherine. ‘Surely there’s enough people around and about at the hall to keep him on the straight and narrow?’
‘Well, that’s the thing,’ said Dad. ‘Most of them aren’t there at the moment. The charity Jamie and Anna run has closed for a couple of months, so they’ve taken the opportunity to fly out to Africa to visit the project Jamie worked on before he took over management of the hall.’
‘But why does that matter if the charity is closed?’ I asked, unable to fathom why their absence would be a problem.
‘It matters because Anna does a lot of volunteering locally,’ Dad explained. ‘She’s in charge of delivering groceries, library books and prescriptions to people who live out of town and she does a fair bit of ferrying to appointments and things too.’
‘In that case, why did she and Jamie leave without having sorted some cover first?’ I asked, feeling further confused.
‘Because Angus insisted he would be able to sort it.’ Dad filled me in. ‘He was worried they wouldn’t go at all if they were stressing about finding cover so he said he’d arrange it all and sent them on their way.’
‘I see,’ I said. ‘And there really is no one else who can help?’
‘Apparently not,’ said Dad, ‘and Hayley the housekeeper and her partner, Gabe, who maintains the grounds, are also away now too. There wasn’t supposed to be much of an overlap with Jamie and Anna’s trip but Gabe’s sister had a change to her schedule and the run up to Christmas suddenly became the only time they’d be able to get together.’
‘Crikey,’ I said. ‘So who have they got cleaning the hall?’
I knew that there was more to that particular role than flinging a vacuum cleaner about once a week.
‘No one at the moment,’ Dad explained. ‘And you know what a big deal Christmas at Wynthorpe is now, so there’s all of that to contend with too.’
I’d momentarily forgotten about the more recent festive changes, but the Wynthorpe Hall Winter Wonderland really was a big deal and, according to the plethora of photos I’d seen posted online, a huge seasonal spectacle. It doubtless took endless organizing and, with fewer people to help set it up, would soon become more of a pain than a pleasure.
‘I do know, yes,’ I said. ‘So, this really is rotten timing for the four of them to be off, isn’t it? Whatever was Angus thinking?’
‘Since when does Angus think?’ Dad laughed. ‘You know what he’s like. He just wants everyone to be happy.’
That did sound very much like my godfather. Generous to a fault, but often without a thought for the consequences and repercussions. As this current situation proved.
‘So, what do you think?’ Dad asked.
‘About what?’
‘About going to the hall. Why don’t you go and save the day? You could do the deliveries and flick a duster about the place, couldn’t you? You could have a proper Christmas there too. It’s been years since you’ve been in the country at the right time to celebrate that.’
‘I suppose…’ I said, biting my lip.
‘I know they’d be thrilled to see you.’ I heard Mum chipin. ‘Poor Archie has been pulling his hair out. He’s at his wits’ end with it all.’
I daresay, as the only Connelly brother in residence it was down to him to pick up the pieces and try to find a way to tidy up the mess his well-meaning father had made.
‘It might be just the distraction you find you need,’ Dad then craftily added.
And that was how, just an hour after arriving in the UK on November the fourteenth, I found myself boarding a bus for Peterborough and then another for the Fenland town of Wynbridge.
Chapter 2
Exhausted by the emotion of leaving my old life and colleagues behind in Jordan and further tired out by the endless hours of travelling, I had slept through the larger part of both bus journeys from Heathrow to the Fenland market town of Wynbridge, but there was no rest to be found on the actual drive down to the hall.
‘You can drop me here if you like,’ I soon piped up, taking pity on the taxi’s suspension.
The driver had markedly winced when I’d hopped off the bus in Wynbridge, into the back of his car and told him where I wanted to go. I had wondered why at the time, but bouncing along the Wynthorpe Hall drive, in and out of the potholes, his reluctance was explained without a word being said.
‘You’ll walk?’ he asked, twisting around to look at me.
