Page 15 of The Christmas Invitation
My room was right at the end of the passage and Clara threw open the door and switched on the light.
‘It has a lovely view of the reservoir when it’s light enough to see anything,’ she said. ‘There’s a bathroom directly opposite across the passage and you do have a washbasin, which is as en-suite as we’ve got so far.’
‘That’s absolutely fine,’ I assured her, because it was verging on luxury compared to a lot of places I’d stayed in, and while I was growing up, River had been more concerned with the ecological disposal of waste water from bathrooms rather than convenience.
Anyway, I found the room delightful, with little trace of the Gothic darkness that must have once prevailed, other than an imposing mahogany bed with a sort of half-circle of ornate woodwork jutting out above the head, from which hung heavy, looped-back faded red brocade curtains. It looked entirely suitable for a ‘lying in state’ and I would have to resistthe urge to sleep on my back with my arms folded across my chest and my toes turned up.
The prevailing colour of the décor was a deep, old rose pink … and I really wished I’d had my hair done that colour, rather than green.
‘It’s lovely,’ I enthused. And it was warm, too, which also was not the case in several country piles I’d previously stayed at while working on commissions.
‘That little door over there leads to some stairs that take you up to one of the turrets – the pepper pot one. It’s like a tiny sitting room of your own.’
It sounded very Rapunzel, though I didn’t have enough hair for the role.
‘There are lots more rooms in the attic that were once used for servants, but we only utilize it for storage.’
‘What about Den?’ I asked curiously.
‘He lived in at first, but then we made him a flat over the garage. He likes his privacy and also, he can cook up the kind of food he enjoys there: bangers and mash, that sort of thing. I suspect he slips Tottie the odd bacon sandwich, too, but we don’t ask.’
‘It’s a bit like that at the Farm, over fish,’ I told her. ‘River and I both eat it when away from home, but we don’t mention it there.’
‘You still call the Farm home,’ she observed with interest. ‘I suppose it’s where your roots are, just as Henry’s and mine lead directly to Starstone, even if they’re now washing about underwater.’
I looked at her questioningly and she added, ‘I was born and lived in Starstone until I was eight and the reservoir was built. My father was the vicar there. Henry and I knew each other as children, then met up again at Oxford.’
And now they lived at the Red House, looking down at where their home once was … and presumablystillwas, under the waters of the reservoir.
‘Come down to the drawing room as soon as you’re ready, Meg,’ she told me. ‘We dine at seven during the week, because of getting the child to bed at a reasonable hour.’
My bags were sitting in the middle of the faded carpet. When I was finally alone I resolutely decidednotto reopen the can of worms that was Lex right then, but save it for later, when the first shock of finding him here and part of the family had worn off.
I unpacked everything into the large wardrobe and a chest of drawers almost as tall as I was, then washed in the bathroom opposite, which was old-fashioned, but had an electric shower installed over the claw-footed bath. The radiators were all warm and so was the water. Clara and Henry obviously liked to be cosy and had the resources to heat such a big house.
Back in my room, I debated what to wear for dinner. I suspected anything would be acceptable, which was just as well, since I’d left the Diors and Balenciagas at home, and as for the pleated silk Fortuny dress, it was at the cleaners …
I wear jeans and Converse sneakers most of the time, and my smart clothes are an eclectic mix of styles from the hippy to the vaguely trendy, though the latter is usually by accident. Tonight I put on a sea-green velvet tunic and darker green leggings, malachite earrings and scuffed Chinese velvet Mary Janes with a button strap. I was a symphony of verdant green from hair to toes.
I wondered if there was a Green Lady in mythology as well as a Green Man. I must ask River.
Clara and Henry were, it seemed, both thoughtful and friendly hosts, and I left my room with a calm sense of anticipation of the evening ahead.
7
In the Soup
Before I went downstairs, I couldn’t resist looking at the sitting room in the pepper pot tower. A narrow spiral stair took me up into a tiny circular space with one slit window to the front, should I feel like some archery practice. It was simply furnished with a comfortable old tapestry armchair, footstool and small table.
It was so cute that I lingered longer than I should have, so that by the time I finally made it to the drawing room, I found everyone already gathered, imbibing sherry or whisky and soda, both of which I refused. Teddy generously offered to share his orange juice with me.
‘No, that’s OK, Teddy,’ I said, and instead accepted a minute conical cocktail glass of golden mead from Tottie, which she had made herself.
I sipped it cautiously, but it was even better than the herb-infused kind that River makes to a very old Welsh recipe, though I wouldn’t tell him that for the world: he’s very proud of it.
Teddy had exchanged his school uniform for a rainbow-striped jumper, dark tracksuit trousers and Mickey Mouse slippers with sticking-out ears.
He saw me looking at them and said, ‘I don’t really like Mickey Mouse, but my dad sent them from America and I’ve only just grown into them because he got the size wrong. Clara said I should wear them till my feet have grown again and then I can choose my own.’
