Page 102 of One More Christmas at the Castle
She looked at me keenly. ‘Interesting that you feel that, too. Sabine, of course, has a powerful connection to it – I think it’s in her blood.’
‘Generations of her family have lived here, haven’t they? So I’m sure it is,’ I said.
‘We enjoyed our walk, but Sabine was glad to get back to the fire in the sitting room – so lovely that she now has Henry to attend to things like that.’
‘He’s having lots of fun pretending he’s a lumberjack and chopping enough wood to keep the fires going for about ten years,’ I said. ‘Hewascleaning up the cloakroom after his garland-making session yesterday, but I think he’s just gone out to the woodshed yet again.’
‘I expect the exercise is good for him,’ she said, watching with interest as I poured the mixture for the chocolate custard into a pan and put it on the stove.
‘He’s been telling me all about your travels abroad, after you left university – so fascinating! And he said you’d collected so many notes and recipes that you’ve been able to turn them into books!’
‘Yes, luckily I found a niche publisher who releases one every year, for the Christmas market: small, fat hardbacks in retro covers.’
She was quiet while I brought the custard to simmering point, stirring till it thickened, before carrying the pan back to the table.
I had a tray of small ramekins on a baking tray ready, and poured a little into each one.
‘There, they’ll soon cool and then can go in the fridge, but I’ll grate the dark chocolate now, for the tops.’
‘I loved the sound of your little books when Henry described them to me – that mixture of recipes and reminiscences is always irresistible.’
‘Ican’t resist those by other authors, either,’ I agreed, and, while I grated the dark chocolate finely into a little bowl, we compared our favourites.
But somehow, by the time I’d begun assembling the ingredients for my pineapple upside-down cake, I was telling her that my books didn’t make a lot of money and that when Henry and I wound up our business the following year, as we intended, I’d have to find something else to make ends meet.
And that wasn’tallI told her, by any means! Henry was quite right: Nancy can effortlessly abstract information by a kind of osmosis.
She certainly didn’t pump me, yet by the time I’d finished making my cake, I’d also expanded a bit on what Henry had told her about my rather dysfunctional upbringing, too.
‘Granny and her husband didn’t have any children, so they adopted Dad, who was the illegitimate child of a distant relative. Then alongIcame, the result of a very out-of-character liaison Dad had with another student at university and poor Granny felt compelled to take me on, too!’
‘Poor child, rather,’ Nancy said.
‘Oh, no, I think it was definitely poor Granny! She and a friend had hoped to travel extensively, once they’d both retired, but after a while they managed to arrange things so they still could.’
‘Ah, yes, Henry told me about your best friend. Liam, theson of your childminder, who used to look after you when they were away. But first love doesn’t always endure and it was so sad that relationships came unstuck for both you and Henry in Avignon. Though, of course, these things often work out for the best, however little you think so at the time.’
By now, I felt that our lives were an open book to Nancy, but somehow I didn’t mind. Her interest in us was what I could only describe as benevolent.
‘God meant you and Henry to be free to come and help Sabine, in her hour of need,’ she said, with one of her beaming smiles, then got up. ‘I’d better go and see if Sabine is stirring yet – and is that pineapple sponge for today’s dessert? So delicious, served in moist slices, with cream.’
‘It is dessert, but for tomorrow, and there will definitely be cream,’ I said.
When she’d gone, I made another mug of coffee and sat looking through my Christmas and Boxing Day dinner menus and timing planner while the cake was baking.
Xan managed to persuade me out for a short walk with Plum – just half an hour – and the icy touch of the air did freshen me up after all that cooking. We went down to the Winter Garden, pausing to admire the daffodils and the deceptively frail blossom of the witch hazel, then on to the lake.
We were both quiet, though it was a comfortable, friendly silence, only broken when we stopped by the temple folly.
‘It’s a pity we haven’t got time to skate again today,’ Xan said. ‘We might have done, after dinner, but we’ll be watching that home movie instead.’
‘Probably just as well, because I still have bruises from last time,’ I told him. ‘But maybe the ice will stay firm for a few days yet.’
‘When the sun’s out, it does melt the surface a little, but then it seems to freeze again even more overnight,’ he said. ‘It’s certainly very thick.’
I looked at my watch. ‘I’d better get back and check on my dumplings.’
‘That’s something no other girl has ever said to me,’ he told me with a grin, bending to scoop up Plum, who was about to wander out on to the ice, and tucking him under his arm.
