Page 89 of The Christmas Invitation
‘River’s arriving tomorrow afternoon,’ I said, changing the subject. ‘He knows only that I’m related to the Doomes, so I can give him the whole story. I’ve decided that I’m going to tell him all about that night with Lex, too, and the fallout afterwards. Not to mention the way Lex and Al have behaved since I got here.’
‘That’s a great idea! He’ll put it all into perspective for you and tell you what to do – but I think he’ll say exactly the same as me: you must insist Lex hears what really happened!’
‘I have a feeling you’re right,’ I agreed. ‘I didtryto tell Lex once, but he just walked off. I might have to tie him down and gag him before he’ll hear me out.’
‘I think you’ve been reading the wrong kind of novels, Meg.’
‘No, only murder mysteries, and luckily, so far at least, I haven’t felt homicidal.’
Tottie came back from her ride with Sybil, her face glowing.
‘Weather’s getting colder and it’s starting to freeze. There’s ice on the puddles.’
‘Is Sybil all right about Meg now?’ Clara asked. ‘I didn’t realize that she and Mark would be afraid that Meg and her mother would try and claim some money from the estate. Sybil has always been ready to fight tooth and claw to keep Underhill going for Mark.’
‘She was a bit quiet, but it’s a lot to take in at once,’ said Tottie. ‘When we got back, she tried to ring Piers Marten again, but there was no reply.’
‘Perhaps he got her first letter and has already gone to stay with relatives?’ I suggested.
‘Yes, he might have gone to stay with one of the children, I suppose,’ Clara said. ‘He treated his wife very badly and there was a messy divorce when they were still small, but they seem prepared to invite him out of a sense of duty.’
‘If he wasn’t such a horrible man I’d have invited him here for Christmas,’ Clara said. ‘But I really don’t want him under my roof and he’d be a total blight.’
I have to say, Piers Marten soundedfascinatinglyghastly … but not so fascinating that I ever wanted to meet him.
26
Left Luggage
I awoke next morning to a muffled white world and when I looked out of my window, I could still see large flakes of snow helicoptering slowly down from above, like the winged seedcases of sycamores.
It looked very pretty, though I thought the damp roads would have frozen yesterday evening, so that the covering of snow on top would make them treacherous.
River was supposed to drive over from Sticklepond today. I hoped he’d make it OK.
Tottie was in the kitchen, polishing off a poached egg, and she told me the local farmers had already been out to clear and grit the lane.
‘They’re on a contract from the council to do it, but actually, they need to give priority to keeping the road along the valley and up to the moors clear if they can, because of getting to the livestock.’
She pushed the coffee pot towards me and added, ‘Clara and Henry are working and Teddy’s going to help me this morning in the conservatory. I’d better go and winkle him out of the morning room.’
I didn’t ask where Den was: he seemed to come and go as he pleased, with no set hours other than those involved in supplying an endless stream of good food.
I wandered off into the studio and propped the iPad, showing the photo I’d taken, next to the portrait of Henry on the easel so that I could compare the two.
The head and hands … nothing to do there. Or to Lass, a furry rug across his feet …
But the way the faded old jewel colours of the Persian carpet on the dais merged into the darkness behind Henry … yes, that needed just alittlemore.
When I resurfaced, it was late morning and the day had brightened. I heard the swoosh of snow sliding off the roof, so a thaw must have set in.
I cleaned up my palette knife, then went through into the drawing room, where I found Clara and Teddy doing a jigsaw puzzle on a board laid over the coffee table.
Teddy looked up. ‘I don’t think I want to be a gardener when I grow up,’ he told me seriously. ‘Tottie made me wipehundredsof leaves, but they were shiny already.’
‘I think you might become an artist,’ I said, going over to the bay window and peering out past the Christmas tree. I could see stretches of the road along the valley and they looked dark and wet, with ragged white edges.
The road to Thorstane at its highest point over the moors probably wouldn’t have thawed yet, but whatever state it was in, it evidently hadn’t hindered River’s arrival, for right at that moment his familiar ancient and battered Land Rover came chugging up the drive.
