Page 45 of One More Christmas at the Castle
‘Damned with faint praise,’ Xan said. ‘I do feel abitsorry for her, because from what Sabine has told me, she hasn’t had much of a life. She worked as a secretary and was her boss’smistress for years, but when he died, she was left with nothing and out of a job. Sabine offering her a home and allowance came just at the right moment.’
‘That is a bit sad,’ I said. ‘And I don’t think it’s really working out between her and Mrs Powys, is it? Lucy’s just the kind of person to rub her up the wrong way.’
‘She certainly does, and Sabine isn’t one to suffer fools gladly. Or incompetence, which is probably Lucy’s middle name,’ said Xan.
I remembered to tell Henry that Mrs Powys would discuss the booze ordering with him when she came down. ‘She’ll ring the library bell when she’s ready.’
‘OK,’ he said, polishing off the last bit of his bacon. ‘Then I’ll go into Hexham.’
‘The cleaners will be in shortly,’ I said, glancing at the clock. ‘Everyone will be out to lunch today except you, Xan, and I expect you’ll be holed up in the study?’
‘Yes, they won’t disturb me there. I want to open all the cupboards and drawers and try and make a rough list of what’s there.’
‘You sound like Dido – she’s the queen of lists. I think she has lists of lists,’ Henry said.
‘There’s nothing wrong with being organized,’ I said with dignity, and then went to see if Lucy wanted anything more.
I found her just leaving and asked if she was going to fetch the newspapers.
‘There looks to have been a hard frost, so those little roads might be still slippery,’ I said. ‘I could ask Henry to go and fetch them instead?’
‘So kind!’ she twittered. ‘But I always go to the village on Wednesdays anyway, just not quite this early.’
‘Well, do take care,’ I said. ‘If the weather gets too bad,Henry can fetch the papers in that old Land Rover, which will be much safer.’
‘Oh, really?’ she said, brightening. ‘I’m sure I shouldn’t be so timid, but in winter I would prefer to wait till later in the mornings when the roads have thawed, or the local farmers have gritted them. I’m very much involved in village activities, you know.’
I had a mental image of her doing yoga on a village green, or polishing the church brasses. The latter was, I thought, more likely.
‘There’s a little local history museum with a lending library, staffed by volunteers, and I like to take a turn once a week. But the person who usually opens up today is ill, so the vicar asked mespecially…’
This had clearly been an offer she couldn’t refuse.
‘So you see, I have to get there early. Then later on, I’ll be lunching with the vicar and his wife, before the Knit and Stitch club. I’ll be back in time for tea.’
I hoped this riot of dissipation didn’t exhaust her.
She suddenly looked at her watch, squawked and rushed out. Then ten minutes later, looking out of the kitchen window, I saw the small white hatchback creep past, Lucy hunched over the wheel.
Henry had gone to speak to Mrs Powys – with or without the two-headed axe – and Xan had already retreated with Plum to the study.
I’d just taken a small packet of smoked salmon out of the freezer, intending to make Xan three kinds of finger sandwiches for his lunch – and then extra for afternoon tea – when a large white minibus pulled up and disgorged the cleaning team. Rather like the A-Team, but without all the jewellery and attitude.
I went to open the door and introduce myself, and then they swung into action with practised ease, while a cheerfulyoung woman called Fran, who had a round face and bright pink hair, vanished into the laundry room.
Henry came out of the staff sitting room, dressed like a teenage surfboarder and shrugging into a disreputable padded jacket.
‘Mrs Powys suggested I go to the wine merchant she has the account with in Corbridge first, and talk to them – they’ll deliver. Then I’ll carry on to Hexham and buy those crackers and anything else on your odds and ends list I can find.’
‘Great – thanks, Henry,’ I agreed, fetching it. ‘If they have a selection of crackers and you can’t decide, text me.’
‘OK, see you later!’
I went to find one of the cleaners and said there was no point in stripping mine and Henry’s beds this week, because we’d only been in them five minutes, but someone carried all the other bedding and towels through to the laundry room soon after. I looked in and found both the washing machines whirring and Fran feeding clean towels through a rotary ironing device.
She looked up and smiled, but turned down my offer of tea or coffee. ‘We all bring flasks and cold drinks with us,’ she said, as another fluffy towel emerged from the machine.
‘I’ve seen those irons in other big houses. They look really quick and handy,’ I said.
