Page 63 of One More Christmas at the Castle
‘No, I expect he’d just think it was highly amusing now,’ Henry suggested.
‘I think that might be even worse. I’ddieof shame!’
Sabine
I enjoyed this morning’s recording session, remembering those early days of my marriage when I was, as they say now, living the dream, even if I hadn’t known this particular dream existed until Asa came into my life.
I soon settled down on Corfu and thrived in a bohemian atmosphere that was entirely new to me. Almost immediately, I felt myself turn into a happier, more sociable creature, like a flower opening in the sun, and the artists, writers, archaeologists and other academics who visited the house provided a rich mixture to grow new ideas in.
I was already a strong swimmer and quickly learned to dive, using an aqualung, as we called it then.
The sea was so clear and revealed a whole new underwater world to explore.
Asa taught me how to distinguish natural formations from man-made ones – the remains of old statues, walls and steps … the traces of ancient wrecks.
Tommy was usually with us, but his wife, Rose, was an artist with a large studio behind their small cottage where she worked long hours when inspired.
It was the start of such adventures, especially when the producer of the upcoming documentary series decided that including me in it would increase audience interest!
And so, it soon transpired, it had …
‘The late fifties and early sixties were the best of times for us to work and flourish in – but, of course, we thought our happy existence would go on for ever,’ I finished, and it was only then that I remembered where I was and that Xan was recording every word I said.
He smiled at me, turning the machine off. ‘That was great, Sabine, but I think we should stop there. I’m afraid in the next session we must briefly touch on the loss of your father and stepmother in that car accident, since it led to you and Asa spending more time at Mitras Castle.’
The hint of a dark shadow seemed to creep across my golden memories.
‘If you really think it necessary,’ I said.
Henry joined me in the library when I rang, and I found our subsequent discussion about the ordering of Christmas presents for my guests surprisingly pleasant and soothing. He has such good ideas and is really a delightful and helpful young man.
Then I drove off to my appointment with the aptly named Pain Nurse, whowasa pain, since she doled out my pills in such meagre quantities.
18
Thyme Out
Xan and I both donned wellies for our walk, and it was a pity Plum didn’t have any, because his little legs sank into even the light covering of snow outside.
We climbed the hill and took the path up through the trees to the wicket gate that led to the Roman site.
I’d put on my anorak of many colours, and this time Xan had remembered to wear a hat – a black beanie one, which reminded me of the Phrygian cap Mithras was wearing in the mosaic. It suited him, though, and the rainbow silk scarf, the fringed ends blowing in the slight breeze, brightened up his long, dark, military-style greatcoat.
If instead he’d been wearing a cravat and Hessian boots, he’d have been a dead ringer for most people’s idea of Mr Darcy.
He saw me looking at his green wellies.
‘I wanted the kind with frog eyes on the top,’ he said gravely, ‘but they don’t come in my size.’
‘That’s the trouble with having big feet. I take an eight and all the nicest shoes stop at size seven. Still, I wear moccasins and moccasin boots most of the time, anyway.’
‘I like your moccasins,’ he said.
‘You should see my party ones – they’ve got beaded thunderbirds on the toes.’
‘I look forward to it.’
He’d picked Plum up when he flagged halfway up the steep path, but once we were through the wicket gate, put him down again. Most of the snow had blown off the exposed parts of the site, so the ruins just looked artistically frosted. There was no sign of Simon that morning, unless you counted a thin swirl of gunpowder-grey smoke in the far distance, where his cottage lay hidden by the visitor centre.
