Page 66 of One More Christmas at the Castle
‘True – you’ve got his measure. And Mrs Powys says we can have a tree for our staff sitting room, too. I’ve got some red gift ribbon in one of the boxes – I’ll cut a couple of pieces.’
‘There we are, then: the great tree expeditionwilltake place,’ said Henry, and went to lay the table, ready for lunch.
And not only did the Christmas tree expedition take place, but it was fun, rattling and jolting down the steep track through the woods, having to stop occasionally to move fallen branches out of the way.
Right at the bottom of the estate, where the track turned before beginning to ascend the other side of the valley, we found the small plantation of fir trees, in all sizes from tiny to enormous.
We selected a huge one for the Great Hall – but not as enormous as Henry would have chosen – and a modest five-footer for ourselves, and tied our ribbons round them.
Henry, of course, started singing about tying a red ribbon round the old fir tree, until I found enough snow on the nearby boundary wall to pelt him with.
The ensuing snowball fight was a little limited by the amount of ammunition …
Damp and glowing pinkly, we all returned to the Castle. Duty called and, anyway, I was looking forward to cooking up a complete roast chicken dinner, which would be like a mini dress rehearsal for Christmas dinner.
‘Stuffing balls,’ I murmured to myself, as the three of us wedged ourselves on to the front bench seat of the Land Rover, and Xan looked startled.
‘It’s all right, she’s just dreaming about tonight’s dinner,’ Henry explained.
‘I’ll make stuffing balls – sage, thyme and finely minced onion,’ I said, ‘and an extra tray of them for the freezer, ready for Christmas Day. I could make extra bread sauce, too …’
And as my mind wandered off again down familiar, but no less exciting, culinary tracks I vaguely registered Henry, saying, ‘We’ve lost her again.’
19
Old Chestnuts
The Christmas pudding was finally cooked, cooled and then rewrapped and stored in a bowl on a cold larder shelf.
I gave the dried fruit soaking in rum for the cake a good stir while I was in there, and it gave off such a rich aroma that I felt quite light-headed …
Henry took his Parmesan puffs starter through to the sitting room before dinner and was away some time.
‘Has Simon arrived?’ I asked when he finally returned. Henry had met him earlier, when he’d popped up to the site to look at the snowboarding possibilities, and they seemed to have got on surprisingly well. Apparently, Simon used to be a rock climber before his accident. I suppose even academics can be addicted to extreme sports.
‘Yes, he arrived just as I was crossing the Great Hall to the sitting room, so I let him in. We were having a little chat while he changed his wellies for shoes – they’re never a good look with a suit – when Mrs Powys called out, wanting to know what was holding him up. So then I threw open the sitting-room door and announced him in my best Jeeves manner.’
‘I can imagine!’ I said.
‘I followed him in with the dish of Parmesan puffs and, at Mrs Powys’s request, poured some drinks.’
He paused, then added, ‘I think Lucy had already helped herself to more than one sweet sherry, because her cheeks were quite pink and she giggled when I refilled her glass and thanked me as effusively as if I’d handed her the Crown Jewels.’
‘Oh, well, I expect dinner will sober her up,’ I suggested, and Henry went off to check on the fire in the dining room and switch on the warming plates on the side table.
I put the finishing touches to the roast chicken dinner, which was perfection, of course … as would also be my lovely, deep apple pie, to follow. The chicken, a fat, free-range one, was golden brown, and I’d stuffed the loose skin above the neck with my own mix – breadcrumbs, sage, thyme and finely minced onion – and laid rashers of streaky bacon over the breast.
The kitchen smelled totally delicious. I’d kept the baize door closed to try and prevent the aromas from pervading the whole house, but it seemed a pity not to share it. Still, I expect mouth-watering wafts escaped whenever Henry went to and fro.
He beat the gong with his usual brio and then, when he carried out the chicken on a lordly dish, I followed with the vegetables, gravy and bread sauce, setting the covered dishes down on the hotplate.
Turning to go, I caught Simon’s eye and he gave me that strangely heart-breaking smile, which I returned.
Xan, seated opposite Sabine, who was at the head of the table, turned his head in time to catch this exchange and regarded me with a rather curious, frowning expression, though I could think of no reason why he should, so perhaps he was just thinking of something else …
Henry took some time to follow me back to the kitchen,having stayed to carve the chicken after Xan said he was useless at it and always ended up hacking it into lumps, and Simon, fearing Mrs Powys would ask him next, had hastily said he was even worse.
‘But they’re all tucking in now and Xan poured the wine while I was doing it. Mrs Powys told Xan not to give any to Lucy because she’d had quite enough to drink already, and the poor thing looked totally crushed.’
