Page 12 of Christmas All the Way

‘Hmm,’ Keeley said, noncommittally. She was having a hard enough time accepting Xander’s interference; she wasn’t sure her ego could cope with adding Poppy into the mix, no matter how well-meaning and enthusiastic she was. ‘We’ll see.’

‘Of course,’ he said easily. ‘There’s no rush. Was there anything else you liked?’

Keeley thought some more. ‘I liked the sense that I was being invited to be a witness,’ she said slowly. ‘By the house, I mean. It almost felt as though it watched me come in, and then decided what to show me. God, that doesn’t even make sense.’

But Xander was nodding. ‘No, I completely get it. I have the same feeling every time I visit – like I’m a welcome intruder, sharing in a secret.’ He puffed out his cheeks. ‘I have to be honest, I think it’s unique to that particular place. But I do think we could capture an echo of it.’

She considered the rooms of Juniper Cottage, which accurately reflected Eliza’s life but without the same warmth and vitality she’d sensed in Delores Semple’s house. ‘How?’

Xander leaned forward. ‘You might not love this idea initially but hear me out.’

Keeley stifled a groan. Maybe he was going to suggest actors after all. ‘Go on,’ she said, with grim resignation.

‘Okay. I realise this would need a radical restructure in the way you manage your team of volunteers, but how would you feel about extending your opening hours in December?’

She stared at him. ‘What would be the point of that? We hardly get any visitors during the winter months anyway. Staying open for longer would just emphasise that.’

Xander considered her objection. ‘Fine, I hear that. So what if we switch your opening times entirely? So instead of opening at nine or ten o’clock in the morning, you stay closed during the day and only take bookings for the evenings. That way, you’d create scarcity and also offer something new.’

‘But what?’ she asked, feeling her brow crease. ‘What can we give visitors in the evening that they can’t get during the day?’ But even as she said it, the seed of an idea was unfurling in her mind, planted by Poppy’s observation that the atmosphere was even more intimate at night. ‘A candlelight tour.’

Xander snapped his fingers. ‘Exactly. A personal tour for small groups, given by those who know Eliza and her work the best, offering insight and little-known secrets about her life. And all by the cosy glow of candlelight – perhaps enclosed in lanterns, to soothe your health and safety jitters.’ He paused, searching Keeley’s expression as though trying to gauge her reaction. ‘You could decorate the house the way Eliza would have done – a proper Victorian Christmas. With a bit of marketing magic, I reckon it would sell out ten times over and still have a waiting list. I know tickets to Delores Semple’s house are like gold dust every festive period.’

It was a good idea, Keeley knew. Her heart started to quicken as she considered the possibilities – a glass of mulled wine on arrival, made to Eliza’s own recipe, although it would need to be drunk before the tour began, because she had no intention of risking red wine stains on the already delicate carpets. The thought of decorating the house pleased her too; they had never done much more than put up a tree in the hallway in the past. But Eliza’s diaries were filled with descriptions of Christmas jollity, and even a number of sketches she had undertaken to pass the time. Keeley was certain she could interpret that evidence to recreate Eliza’s vision of a festive celebration. But who among her team of volunteers was confident enough to lead a tour? Judith, perhaps, but she had young grandchildren and might not appreciate the sudden imposition of evening hours during the dark and hectic month of December. And Elspeth would almost certainly jump at the chance, but her knowledge of Eliza held more gush than information. Keeley drummed the table, deep in thought. If they went ahead, she might need to recruit some new talent. And that was going to cost money. ‘I don’t know,’ she said finally. ‘I can see how it could work but the logistics might be a headache. How confident are you we could entice people to the cottage in December?’

He shrugged. ‘Pretty confident. Especially since there’s the added bonus of the village Christmas decorations. I hear they draw a decent crowd.’

‘That’s true,’ she conceded. There had always been an unspoken boundary between the bright showiness of the village decorations and the understated reserve of Juniper Cottage. Perhaps it was time to blur that boundary, just a little.

‘And there’s plenty of time to build up your mailing list,’ Xander went on. ‘We might need to do a bit of early decorating one evening next month, maybe stick the tree up and splash out on a few mince pies to get some pictures for socials but that shouldn’t be an issue, should it?’

Keeley thought of the half-finished box of mince pies in her kitchen, the ones she and Grace had opened on Sunday afternoon after bedding in her new plants. ‘Mince pies, yes, but I’m not sure where you’re expecting to find a real tree in September. They don’t usually go on sale until late November.’

Xander was undeterred. ‘Then we fake it – no one will look too closely, anyway. What we want to do is create a vibe, a nostalgia for Christmas Past.’

She couldn’t let that pass. ‘I know some of our visitors are old but none of them were around in the Victorian era.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ he insisted. ‘Christmas is about tradition and collective memories – doing the things our predecessors did, for no other reason than to feel connected to something bigger than ourselves.’ His eyes gleamed. ‘We’ll go big on greenery and berries and the illusion of feasting – more of a Yule celebration than a Christian one but dressing it up with the same sense of importance it gained during Victoria’s reign.’

Keeley pulled a face. It all sounded wonderful but she couldn’t help thinking Xander was confusing Eliza’s romantic commentaries with Dickens’ A Christmas Carol.

‘Not at all,’ he insisted, when she voiced her concern. ‘Dickens did pretty much create the English view of Christmas, I’ll grant you, but your Queen Victoria and her prince did a lot of the heavy lifting too. It’s thanks to them that we have Christmas trees.’

‘I know,’ Keeley said dryly, but her heart wasn’t really in it. Xander’s enthusiasm was too contagious, his expression too alive with the possibilities of the idea for her to summon up much sarcasm.

‘So what do you think?’ he pressed. ‘Do you think we can do it?’

Keeley’s head was starting to spin. There were so many things to consider. Did she have enough volunteers to accommodate several tours per night? How would her team react to the idea? Would she be able to recruit help if she needed it? Could Xander put his money where his mouth was and draw in enough bookings to make the gamble pay off? And, most importantly of all, would it help to grow awareness of Eliza’s work?

She sighed, rubbing her forehead to ease the start of an ache in her temples brought on by an overwhelming morning. ‘You know,’ she said, dismissing the feeling that she had somehow been manoeuvred into something unexpected. ‘I think maybe we can.’

The brilliance of the smile he flashed her way was almost – almost – worth the pain in her head. ‘Atta girl, Dr Cotterill,’ he said, holding up a fist for her to bump. ‘The trustees are going to be thrilled.’

Keeley wasn’t certain about that, but convincing them to give the green light to the plans was his problem, not hers. ‘So what do we do now?’

Scrawling a few more sentences in his notebook, he snapped it shut before answering. ‘I speak to Malcolm, you start thinking about decorations, and we meet up sometime early in September to start the ball rolling.’

She sat back. At least that meant he’d be out of her hair for a few weeks but she’d need plenty of time to get the volunteers on side. December felt distant but it had a habit of coming around quickly.