‘Well, we get so many free Air Miles due to Andrew’s job,’ said Felicity. ‘Back and forth to the States all the time. Means we can go Business Class. It’s a shame not to make the most of it.’
I opened my mouth to say something about the carbon footprint of multiple international flights but caught Joe’s eye and closed it again. Instead, I handed my hessian gift bag to Steve. ‘Just some wine,’ I said. ‘Happy Christmas.’
‘Is it organic?’ asked Felicity as we followed Steve through to the enormous sitting room. ‘I’m always very careful as to where any produce is sourced. Particularly if it’s a gift.’
‘Oh, is that why you didn’t bring anything?’ I said innocently. Joe dug me in the ribs.
‘Are you all ready for Christmas then Felicity?’ he said, pleasantly. ‘Are you guys going to be home or maybe off seeing family?’
I left Felicity wittering about something to do with visiting her brother, who was working for an oil company in Saudi, while I made my escape on the pretext of finding Carol. After politely nudging past various groups of paunchy men in suits who were discussing loud and important things while their wives looked bored, I eventually located her in the kitchen where she was hovering nervously behind a vast tureen of mulled wine that was sitting on the most enormous granite-topped island I’d ever seen, more a continent than an island in terms of land mass. Her sparkly Santa hat was askew, and she was just refilling her champagne flute from a half-empty bottle on the counter beside her when she spotted me.
‘Hattie!’ she said, sounding a little slurred but also genuinely pleased to see me, which was nice. She gave the tureen a stir. ‘Mulled wine? Or more Champers?’
‘I’m good actually Carol,’ I said, indicating my still-full glass. ‘The house looks amazing. I mean, it’s gorgeous anyway, but the decorations are fantastic.’ I gestured to the eight-foot Christmastree beside the French doors and the family of singing mice in felted winter coats that were arranged on the pine dresser. ‘Is that – festive wallpaper too?’ I said, indicating the wall behind her and thinking she couldn’t possibly have redecorated just to celebrate one month of the year.
‘It’s a frieze,’ she said, pleased that I’d noticed. ‘It goes up quite easily and then I can take it down in the new year. I designed it myself, the recurring motif, and then there’s a company who made it for me. It means I can have a different one for Easter, and one for Halloween… Steve says it’s like being on a movie set sometimes!’ She pointed to the current scene. ‘But the Christmas one is my absolute favourite. Can you see the little elves peeking out between the trees?’
I peered more closely at the gurning gnomic faces looming from log cabin windows and behind reindeer-drawn sledges. ‘I can,’ I said. ‘And I like the fields of candy-canes.’
‘I know it’s a bit childish,’ she said. ‘And it’s not as if there are any kids in the house to appreciate it, other than me – Steve says I’m like a big kid sometimes! – but I just love Christmas. Must be because I’m called Carol!’ She laughed, gesturing to her Santa hat. ‘Christmas Carol, that’s me!’
‘We could do with you at the library,’ I said, proceeding to tell her all about mine and Colin’s exploits decorating yesterday and the book tree I’d made today.
‘A book tree!’ she exclaimed. ‘That’s a great idea!’
‘What’s a great idea?’ asked Tiggy, who had just entered the room silently shadowed by her husband John.
‘Hattie was telling me about the book tree she made at the library,’ said Carol excitedly. ‘I was thinking I could easily construct one for the drawing room.’
‘Goodness! Are you sure you needmoredecorations Carol?’ said Tiggy, graciously accepting a glass of mulled wine and shooing her husband back into the hall. ‘The house is fit tobursting with all of your delightful Christmas knick-knacks – so whimsical – I don’t know where on earth you find such an… eclectic assortment. And it’s soextraordinarilyfestive already with all the flashing lights and bright colours – it’s a wonder you don’t have a constant migraine!’ She laughed. ‘Besides, you’d probably need quite a few books to make a decent-sized tree.’
‘Oh, but I’ve got loads of books upstairs,’ said Carol, undeterred. ‘Most of them are in the bedroom and the study but there are plenty in the studio too.’
‘A fitness studio?’ said Tiggy, her ears pricking up at the possibility of on-site gym facilities and how luxurious they might be in a house this size.
‘Oh, no,’ Carol laughed. ‘It’s an art studio.’ She shook her head and laughed self-deprecatingly. ‘I paint a bit now and then. I’ve never really been any good, but Steve says I’m a very creative person and it makes me happy so…’ She moved as if to gesture towards her personally designed wallpaper frieze and I rushed to interrupt her.
‘Well, of course you’re creative, Carol!’ I said. ‘You only need to take one look at the wonders you’ve worked with the décor throughout the house. Now, tell me what recipe you’ve used for that mulled wine. It smells delicious. Every time I try and make a batch it tastes like paint-stripper.’
As Carol went into detail about star anise and Sicilian oranges, I breathed a sigh of relief that I’d managed to stop her talking about how she’d designed the frieze. I could just imagine how sneery Tiggy would be. Unsurprisingly, given that I seem to be a magnet for awful people, it wasn’t long before Felicity came to join us.
‘Carol,’ she boomed. ‘Are you doing food at all? It’s just I can’t possibly keep drinking without something to line my stomach. Cava plays havoc with my IBS.’
‘It’s Champagne,’ said Carol nervously. ‘Not Cava, but yes, there should be waiters – well, some of the teenagers from the village – wandering round with trays of hot and cold hors d’oeuvres. And I was just in the process of getting the platters ready.’ She crossed to the American-style fridge and hauled out two large snowman-shaped trays of crudites and three terracotta bowls with robins stencilled around the edges.
‘Can we give you a hand?’ I said, taking one of the bowls from her. ‘Hmm, guacamole. My favourite.’
‘It’s homemade,’ said Carol looking pleased. ‘Try it.’ She gestured to a pepper stick.
‘I won’t touch avocados,’ Felicity announced, looking disparagingly at the green dip. ‘Not since I discovered their environmental impact.’ She gave Carol a stern look. ‘Do you know how much water is used to produce just one avocado? Three hundred and fifty litres! I just couldn’t live with myself.’
‘Did you have any luck getting someone to fix the heater for the outdoor pool, Felicity?’ asked Tiggy as she picked a single stem of carrot from the tray and nibbled on it, sans dip. ‘Maxine says the chap she used when their filtration system failed is very good. I could get you his number?’
‘I’m hoping Damon will take a look when he’s feeling up to it,’ said Felicity, shaking her head. ‘He’s amazing with technical stuff when he puts his mind to it. But of course, at the moment he’s still adjusting to the reality of his diagnosis.’
Carol and Tiggy nodded sympathetically and I didn’t feel able to ask directly what the diagnosis was, but Felicity was keen to enlighten me anyway. ‘We finally saw a specialist,’ she said, her mouth pursed tight. ‘Had to go private. The doctor we saw on the NHS didn’t know what he was talking about. Said there was nothing wrong with Damon. Trying to save money I expect. Anyway, the consultant we saw at Manor Park thankfullyknew what he was doing and the tests showed that Damon has HFAAS.’
‘Ohhh, right,’ I said, wondering if that was an acronym I should be familiar with. ‘Gosh, that’s uhm – that must have been a shock?’
