Page 43 of The Christmas Invitation
‘Though Den and Tottie said they were going to church,’ she added.
‘Soon as I’ve fetched the soup from the freezer and the banana bread’s out of the oven,’ Den agreed.
I didn’t have him down as a churchgoer, and he wasn’t, because Clara explained, ‘Den’s best friends with Fred Golightly at the pub, so they have a good catch-up while Tottie’s at church.’
‘Me and Fred’s best mates, aren’t we?’ confirmed Den.
‘You can paint me for an hour or so before lunch, Meg, while I dictate the next chapter of the crime novel,’ suggested Clara.
‘That’s great,’ I said. ‘But I’ll give the walk a miss and just work in the studio till then.’
‘I think you should get some fresh air, Meg,’ Henry said. ‘Besides, Clara sometimes finds an empty house conducive to pushing through to the next stage of whatever she’s working on.’
I could empathize with that: like most creative people, I loved feeling the warm, heavy folds of an empty house enclosing me in a world of my own.
‘Yes, I’ve rather got bogged down in the years after we left Starstone for a parish in Devon, and before my arrival at university, which were pleasant enough, but so dull,’ agreed Clara. ‘I just need to tie up the loose ends and then move on to a more interesting stage of my life.’
‘When we met again?’ suggested Henry, and they exchanged one of those fond smiles that make couples who have been happily married for a lifetime resemble each other, however different their features are.
‘I’m not going for a walk unless you and Uncle Lex come too,’ Teddy said mutinously, and Lex gave me a sardonic look.
‘Of course I’ll come with you, then, Teddy,’ I said, and went to get my boots and coat.
Henry, Lex, Teddy and I set out by the back door, where a wide gravelled path led through the middle of twin knot gardens and round the side of the vegetable plot, a polytunnel and some small fruit trees, until it finished at an opening in a hedge. Beyond that was a grassy area with a neat row of white hives, surrounded by lavender and rosemary bushes.
It was a peaceful spot, though I could hear the hens somewhere near the stable block.
We passed through a five-barred gate into a field and down a track that Henry told me led to the bottom paddock, where Sybil’s horses were. It was a shortcut to Underhill, too.
It was bitterly cold and I’m sure I felt the occasional ghost touch of a snowflake. We didn’t talk much, and Teddy ran about hiding behind walls and jumping out at us.
Two horses were in the lowest field, a bay and a bright chestnut, standing in an open-fronted shelter, pulling at hay nets. They glanced over their shoulders at us as we passed, but we were obviously not as interesting as the hay.
A stream ran through the paddock. Lass, who had been ambling along in a vacant but happy manner, suddenly came to life, galloped off and jumped into a muddy pool.
‘You little stinker!’ said Lex, when she finally responded to commands and emerged, shaking herself vigorously as we backed away.
‘She’s a chocolate spaniel now,’ said Teddy, giggling.
‘Yes, andyoucan help me turn her back to her usual colour when we get home,’ Lex told him.
‘Oh, I usually just shut her in the garden hall till she’s dried off and then Den brushes most of the mud out of her coat,’ said Henry. ‘She does seem to have acquired a lot more of it than usual this time, though.’
‘She has, and there’s more than a slight hint of horse manure, too,’ Lex suggested.
Lass showed signs of wanting to get back into this deliciously fragrant bath, but was firmly clipped to the lead and dragged away.
The land rose in front of us to the hilltop crowned with the Starstone. From this angle, I could see a sort of level space below it and a dark fissure in the rocks. We didn’t head that way, but instead turned on to a downward path that came out at the road just before the gates to Underhill.
‘We just follow the road home again now, through the village,’ Henry told me. ‘It’s only about a mile.’
Lass, seemingly invigorated by her icy dip, towed him off briskly towards Starstone Edge, with Teddy skipping along beside him. Lex hadn’t said a word directly to me all morning and now strode off after them, leaving me to bring up the rear.
When we reached the edge of the village, many of the cottages we passed looked shut up for the winter and there were few signs of life, other than spirals of blue-grey smoke from one or two chimneys and a dog barking in the distance, possibly from one of the farms, for sound carries strangely in valleys.
Someone was about, though: rounding a bend in the road we caught up with a small, thin woman pushing a baby buggy. The infant in it was almost invisible, having been inserted into a sort of hooded sheepskin footmuff affair. I could see only two closed eyes and a button nose.
The woman turned, revealing a face that was quite pretty in a rodenty sort of way – pointy nose and pouched cheeks. Her hair was much the colour of the mud Lass had rolled in, long and limp and appearing a little damp. But then, it had always looked like that …
