Page 6

Lucie strode across the village green, the ground squelching under her boots from the previous night’s downpour. The air around her hung heavy with the scent of wet earth and moss, the threat of more rain still in it. She tucked her hands into her coat pockets as a cold, biting wind snapped at her cheeks and nose.

Pausing for a moment, she glanced up, unsettled by the position of the November sun low in the sky. Long shadows stretched across the road in front of her, where the sun broke through the clouds. It felt wrong after ten years in Southern Africa, where midday meant a blazing sun almost directly overhead, casting short shadows.

The damp air clung to her coat, pressing the contrast of north and south into her skin. Everything felt denser, wetter, and somehow heavier than the dry, sunburnt air of Botswana. She might be home, but home felt unfamiliar.

Reaching the large, wrought-iron gates of the hall’s north entrance, she saw a wide banner to one side: Winterbourne Hall and Gardens closed until Friday, 13 November. Park, shop & café remain open daily. Book tickets online for Winterbourne Winter Wonderland. A web address and QR code sat underneath. A metal sign stood in the middle of the narrow road: No Public Vehicular Access — Please use the main west car park.

She passed it, entering the wooded edge of the estate, and emerged into the open grounds beyond. Her eyes drifted left, instinctively searching for the old oak tree. In the warmer months of her youth, she had climbed it almost every day. She would haul herself onto the wide branch that forked from the trunk and settle there with a book, the world below forgotten. Relief settled in her chest when she saw it was still there, standing strong.

Gran had often taken her for walks in the grounds when she was a child. Even when she went to school, they would still find time to go over after. She would watch the seasons change here, kicking fallen leaves and collecting conkers in autumn, sledging down the hill in winter snow, watching the lambs frolic in spring, and then devouring endless ice creams in summer. Eventually, she was the one taking Gran over, pushing her around in a wheelchair.

When the estate had opened to the public in the late seventies, the villagers had gained open access to the hall’s grounds as compensation for any inconvenience caused by the thousands of visitors pouring into the area. In those days, most of the villagers worked at the hall in some capacity, so it was hardly of any advantage to them. Gran and Lucie made good use of it, her dad too, if he wasn’t busy with the pub.

As she made her way up the long drive, flanked on either side by rows of snow-dusted topiary balls, Winterbourne Hall’s sprawling, pale limestone façade rose into view, dominating the landscape. Towering chimneys, turrets, and corner towers punctuated the skyline as rows of mullioned windows caught the light. Its grandeur and elegance marked the building as an Elizabethan masterpiece.

She’d often dreamed of owning it as a child — or simply living in it. She’d grown up in an era of lavish adaptations of Jane Austen’s novels, in which grand houses were heavily romanticised. Even so, she certainly wouldn’t want to share it with a Bingley or even a Darcy — unless it was Georgiana. Even so, she knew the reality of owning such places was very different now. Many halls hadn’t survived the post-war years due to the extortionate running and maintenance costs.

She made her way around to the front of the building, taking in the extensive views it had over the landscape to the south and the tree-lined avenue in the distance. As she got closer, though, the chaos became obvious. Staff ferried artificial Christmas trees from large lorries into a long marquee. Mandy had mentioned they were switching from Halloween to Christmas, and the sign at the gate suggested it would take almost two weeks to complete. It certainly looked like a large-scale operation.

Two men on a cherry picker were laying cabling on the façade, rather unsuccessfully, thanks to the wind. She gave them a wide berth and, spotting an available member of staff, asked for directions to the office. They obliged with very specific instructions, for which she was grateful, having been into the actual building only once or twice a long time ago.

The front doors stood open, so she stepped into a small, oak-panelled entrance lobby where the scent of old timber hung in the air. Her eyes were immediately drawn to an enormous great hall to the right, where the chaos intensified. Christmas trees lay scattered among rolls of what looked like giant cotton wool — fake snow, she assumed — as staff wove between ladders and crates.

Following the instructions, she continued past the great hall and arrived at a vast oak staircase, its carved and polished banister catching the light as it rose into the upper floors. Taking a left, she moved down a quieter corridor, the noise of the hall fading behind her, until a small door caught her eye. A sign on it read: Office: Staff Only. She pushed it open and wound her way up a stone spiral staircase to a large room with an unmanned reception desk. She wandered over to the window to admire the view while she waited. A nearby door opened, making her jump.

“Lucie Brown?” a voice called out.

“Yes. Hi,” she replied, wandering over to a slim woman of medium height with short, dark curls. She shook the hand offered to her, immediately noticing how warm it felt compared to her own. She withdrew hers and tucked it into her pocket.

“I’m Mara, the managing director of Winterbourne. Come through to the meeting room. A member of HR would have been here, too, but they’re all tied up, so it’s just me, I’m afraid.”

Lucie followed Mara into a small side room and took a seat opposite her.

“Thank you for coming in at such short notice. As you probably noticed, it’s a bit hectic around here, and this is only day one of changeover,” Mara said, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“Yes. It looks like a lot of work.”

“It is, but we have a great team here, and an even greater CEO who holds us all together.”

Lucie fidgeted. The nerves she’d kept at bay began to surface. She’d always hated interviews — or, rather, being put on the spot.

“Your CV is very impressive,” Mara remarked. “I see you’ve spent the last ten years in Africa.”

“Yes. I went out there to teach drama in Namibia but ended up working for an organisation delivering drama therapy programmes to disadvantaged and abused women and children across Botswana.”

“Sounds challenging but rewarding.”

“It was,” Lucie replied, realising she may never get to do work like that again.

“And no plans to jet back anytime soon? You would be available for the full seven-week period until January third?”

“Yes. No plans to return.” Saying it aloud still stung, but she would have to get used to it.

Mara shifted in her seat, turning towards Lucie. “Look, I’m not going to beat around the bush. I’ve got one elf position left to fill, and you appear to be perfectly — if not overwhelmingly — qualified for the job. If you want it, it’s yours. We’d be lucky to have you.”

“Oh,” Lucie said, taken aback at her frankness, though at the same time she found it refreshing. “I’d love to take it.”

Mara exhaled slowly, her expression softening slightly. “Wonderful. The hours are five until ten on a five-day rota with the other late-shift elves. We close on Christmas Day, and it’s luck of the draw whether you get Boxing Day or New Year’s Day off.”