Chapter Ten
I was in the middle of balancing the last mince pie on top of the pile on a silver platter, when the door to the dining room swung open, bringing the first guest into the bar: Stephen.
He was still chewing on something and when he saw me, drummed a little ditty on the edge of the bar and headed in my direction. ‘You’re still here. Don’t you have a home to go to, young lady?’
‘Young lady?’ So much for the black dress making me look mature and sophisticated.
He folded his arms on the gap of highly polished wood between my mince pies and the soft drinks pumps, propping his shoe on the brass foot rail that ran the length of bar. Short of sliding across the counter on his belly, I wasn’t sure his body language could have focused on me any more directly. ‘That’s not offensive is it? You are young and you are a lady, correct?’
‘I guess that depends on your perspective. I’m young if you compare me to a seventy-year-old rather than a seventeen-year-old.’
‘And the lady part?’
I raised my eyebrow at him and turned my attention back to the mince pies. I didn’t want to get drawn into any flirtatious conversation with him. He’d been verging on rude to me at breakfast and I was sworn off unprofessional interactions with guests.
An intense flashback to Nick standing so close to me in the kitchen I could’ve licked him – and wanted to – had me accidentally knocking the mince pies out of line and my tower almost toppled. I homed in on the here and now, nudging and twisting until they sat perfectly… God, I was turning into my mother. Was this why she was always fussing over everything? To avoid intrusive thoughts and inappropriate fantasies about guests? Not a possibility I’d ever considered.
Beth, step away from the mince pies.
‘Weren’t you very hungry?’ I asked him, since he was still standing there, and I guessed the polite thing to do was make conversation.
‘Oh, I’m on strict instructions from my nan to save her favourite seat.’
‘I see.’ So Dorie had woken up from her siesta and made it down to dinner. I was glad to hear it. Not only was she good company, but hopefully she’d also keep her inconveniently attractive grandsons out from under my feet. ‘She likes the armchair between the fire and the Christmas tree.’ I pointed over his shoulder.
‘Thank you for the tip.’ He moved back a step, then hesitated. ‘Beth, since we’re on our own, I just wanted to say, about this morning… I hope I didn’t come across as jealous or resentful. I know I’ve no reason to feel either of those things.’
There was no hint of his usual humour on his face, his dark eyebrows drawn together in a frown that said: I’m concerned and earnest, and I want you to know it.
It was a very interestingly phrased apology. Not much of an apology at all. He had noreasonapparently – not noright. And for the first time I could see, not just his natural charisma, but the clever politics of a businessman. He was fishing for me to say something about how I felt about Nick. A sharp desire to know what Nick had said to him about last night stabbed at me.
I gave him a blithe smile. ‘Okay, no hard feelings.’
‘Excellent.’ He was back to grinning again. He’d done his bit. Cleared his conscience or got back in my good books or confirmed he hadn’t been usurped by his brother – whatever his goal was. He moved back towards the bar and rubbed the pad of his thumb across my cheek, making me jump. ‘Icing sugar,’ he explained and then looked over to the door. ‘Nick, you’re finished too. Grab that seat by the fire, would you? I’ll get the drinks.’
I tried to turn my head casually, slowly, towards Nick. He stood still in the doorway for a moment, his eyes moving from Stephen to me and back again before he gave a sharp nod and walked over to the fireplace.
‘A pint of bitter for me,’ he called out, sinking into an armchair facing away from us so all I could see was the back of its embroidered upholstery, the top of his dark golden curls and one of his long legs sprawled out.
‘So. He’s bitter.’ A little smirk played at the edge of Stephen’s lips. ‘And I’ll have a Coke please. Steering clear of the whisky tonight.’
As I fetched their drinks more guests started coming into the bar. Either lingering over dinner was not as appealing when it was self-service, they’d been missing their alcohol fix too much or they wanted to nab the best seats too. The two families with young kids took up positions on the big sofas that faced each other at the far end of the bar. They made use of the coffee table between them for the kids to play with the toys and colouring books and devices their parents had wisely brought along, while the other guests chose from the Queen-Anne-style furniture strategically placed by the French doors, which led out onto the veranda, the Christmas tree, or the large fireplace.
I began circulating with the glasses of mulled wine and mince pies and then discovered the first logistical issue of the evening. Like Stephen and Nick, some guests did not want any mulled wine, they wanted to stick to their usual tipples and that meant I needed to make periodic trips to the bar too. Julius Mundey had taken up residency on the bar stool at the corner as though keeping note of how many times I had to run back and forth and how long guests were being made to wait.
I had just ferried a gin and tonic over to June, of Jane and June, and was wondering where I’d left the tray of mince pies, when a group of non-guests walked through the door.
My first thought was,Please God don’t tell me this event was advertised to the public too, quickly followed by a burst of sheer joy when I saw it was Lydia. With the exception of my mother, no other person spontaneously arriving could have made me feel so happy. For some bizarre reason she was with Ben and Rachel, who she didn’t make a habit of going out on the town with.
Careful to avoid photo-bombing the artistic shot June was lining up with her G&T and the twinkly lights of the Christmas tree in the background, I virtually skipped between the guests and threw my arms around her.
‘Lydia, did Mum send you?’
She gave me a firm squeeze around the waist and then leaned back, keeping hold of my elbows and studying my face.
‘I haven’t spoken to her since she left for Norfolk. Am I to assume she’s gone and got herself snowed in up there?’ When I nodded, she swept her eyes around the crowded bar and one of her finely threaded eyebrows hooked up. ‘Where is everyone, honey?’ She shook her head without waiting for an answer, clearly not referring to the guests. ‘Your mum told me about this evening when she came up with the idea, but I wasn’t intending to come. Then this afternoon I had this nagging feeling—’ she rested her fist against her tummy, just below where her belly button was ‘—right here. I knew something wasn’t right. Are you okay?’
I wanted to throw my arms around her again, but I restrained myself.
