Page 78 of One More Christmas at the Castle
I let him put back the books, once they’d been clapped together to remove any dust … which also dislodged the occasional bookmark, one in the form of a dried bay leaf, and another, a small newspaper cutting about one of Asa and Sabine’s underwater discoveries – or at least, that’s what Xan said it was about. I’d have to take his word for that because it was in Greek. He kept it, anyway.
The time passes too quickly when you’re enjoying yourself and I was surprised when Henry came in to remind me it was almost tea time.
‘You might both want to have a wash before then,’ he said cheekily. ‘You look grimy.’
‘You’d be grimy if you’d been cleaning these shelves. I don’t think the books have been taken down within living memory,’ I told him. ‘But yes, I’d better dash off to wash and change. Did you bake, or snowboard?’
‘Snowboard, but I’ve cut sandwiches and sliced seed cake and a bit of the ginger, ready for tea. I’ll bake tomorrow, because the way the snow’s going, this will be the last day I can take out the board. The forecast isn’t for snow again for the next few days, at least.’
‘Good, because I want the cleaners to come on Wednesday and then Mrs Kane to arrive safely on Thursday – not to mention the supermarket delivery.’
‘Never mind, Henry, if the temperature keeps dropping at night, then the lake will freeze solid enough for skating,’ Xan said, and although, as far as Henry was concerned, that was hardly a substitute for snowboarding, he embraced the idea with his usual enthusiasm.
I could see I’d soon find myself dragged out there, whether I wanted to skate or not, an ungainly Bambi on ice.
Luckily for me, when Xan and I walked down to check on the state of the lake late next morning, he thought that we should give it another night or two of freezing to make sure of the middle.
I heartily agreed. I certainly didn’t fancy plummeting through the ice into freezing water. Even the thought made me shiver.
Henry, after his promised baking session in the earlyafternoon, popped up to Maria’s cottage with some warm savoury scones and, on his return, came into the library, where we were at work on the bookshelves again, to report that Andy seemed much stronger and he and Maria were thinking of going to spend a couple of weeks over Christmas with their daughter and her family in York.
‘They’ve got a small granny annexe, with a downstairs bathroom and bedroom, so it’s ideal really, though Andy says he can now climb stairs. I think Maria’s a bit overprotective.’
‘That’s natural, but I’m sure he needs to build his strength up again. It would do them both good to get away and be looked after, though,’ I said. ‘Didn’t she tell us that both her daughter and son-in-law were doctors? Perfect to keep an eye on him!’
‘They are and, what’s more, they want Maria and Andy to go and live with them permanently. They’ve already had plans submitted to extend the granny annexe, to give them more room.’
‘Sounds perfect, and they really do need to retire. Coping with the work at the Castle on her own has been too much for Maria.’
‘I think she wants to go but still feels a bit torn about leaving Mrs Powys, especially now she’s ill.’
‘That’s understandable,’ said Xan, ‘but I think now they’ll have to put what’s best for them first.’
‘Just what I told them,’ agreed Henry. ‘And that we’d see if we could arrange for some help before we leave in the New Year. There has to be someone local who could come in by the day, at least.’
‘Perhaps Lucy’s friend Daphne might know of someone,’ I suggested. ‘And if we ask around the agencies, we might even manage to find someone to live in.’
‘That would certainly soften the blow when Maria tells MrsPowys she and Andy are moving to York,’ Henry agreed. ‘She’s asked me to tell Mrs Powys that they’re going away over Christmas and then, when they get back, perhaps Maria will break the news that they are leaving permanently. So let’s get Christmas over and then put our minds to the problem,’ he added cheerfully.
I sent a long catch-up email to Charlotte later, but reading it through before sending, realized that every other sentence seemed to have Xan’s name in it and so I had to do a bit of editing first.
I’d heard nothing from Granny Celia and Dora, although I wasn’t expecting to. Mrs Frant was making sure everything was OK at the cottage and she had my mobile number if she needed me. As to Dad, he forgot my existence unless I reminded him.
Charlotte replied almost instantly and said business was booming in her little needlework shop, so she probably wouldn’t be able to get up to her parents’ house to join the children until Christmas Eve.
It didn’t look as if we’d be able to meet up, because by then, of course, the house party would be in full swing and I’d be too busy to get away.
And when I came to think of it, I hadn’t left the Castle since I’d arrived – I hadn’t even wanted to. It was a little world all of its own with the Winter Garden magically blooming at its heart.
23
Shooting Stars
Another cold, sunny day dawned and when I glanced out of the morning room window as I was clearing after breakfast, the snow on the lawn seemed to be stealthily deflating, like an undercooked meringue, the crisp coating probably covering nothing more substantial than air.
I couldn’t see down into the steeply terraced garden from there, of course, but the distant view of hills and fields was still white and rather like a Christmas card.
As the cleaners took over the house, the other occupants slowly departed: Lucy to do her stint in the library-cum-folk museum and Mrs Powys to her beauty salon and usual haunts in Hexham. They’d both lunch out and, since Henry had decided to go and pick up a few odds and ends that the supermarket couldn’t supply, as well as buy fresh flowers for the house, that left only me and Xan for lunch again.
