Page 8 of One More Christmas at the Castle
Except, I suddenly remembered, the summer when I’d turned sixteen when, while staying with Charlotte and her family near Hexham, I’d developed a major adolescent crush on a friend of her brother’s …
It was over by the time I’d got back to Great Mumming but I’d still felt guilty when I saw Liam again, though also safe and secure: I knew where I was with Liam.
Henry waved this aside with an airy hand. ‘But it was neverexciting, was it? Don’t tell me friendship didn’t just drift into a relationship, because I wouldn’t believe you.’
Since that was exactly how it had been, I said nothing.
‘It’s only surprising you didn’t split up when you went to university, but by the time we all graduated and set off for our road trip, I could see you were drifting apart, even ifyoucouldn’t. And then, in Avignon, up popped Mia in the middle, a sleek, spoilt little seal, ready to pounce.’
‘I suppose we’d sunk into a boring, comfortable rut, but although I knew she’d always fancied him I still didn’t see it coming.’
In our second and third years at university, Liam and I had shared a house rented by Mia’s rich father, with Henry and his boyfriend, Kieran. We’d all become friends, so that after we graduated, it had seemed like a good idea to travel around Europe together for the summer, all crammed into Henry’s battered old Ford estate car. And ithadbeen fun, right up until we reached Avignon, which proved to be a bridge too far.
Early one evening, Henry, Kieran and I had gone out to buy food and wine and then, as usual, stopped at a small café for adrink on the way home. But when we got back to our digs, the birds had flown, leaving only a brief note of explanation.
‘At the time, you said if it was a film you’d call it:Abandoned in Avignon: an epic story of love and betrayal,’ I reminded him.
‘It wasn’t a lucky place for either of us, after Kieran decided to stay on and move in with that waiter,’ Henry said sadly. Then he brightened. ‘Never mind, we still managed to have some good times after that, didn’t we?’
‘We certainly did,’ I agreed, remembering our slow, meandering journey down to the South of France, detouring to look at anything that sounded interesting.
‘And stepping in at the last moment to cater for that big house party at Uncle Rafe’s villa in Antibes, after all the staff walked out, gave us the idea for Heavenly Houseparties,’ Henry reminded me.
‘I still can’t figure out how you came to be distantly related to a prince!’
He shrugged. ‘Foreign princes are two a penny. They pop up in lots of family trees.’
They were unlikely to pop up in mine, even if I’d been able to fill in the gaps and trace it back far enough. I’d never really been interested, though I had sometimes wondered where I’d got my height and fairness from.
‘It was so kind of your uncle Rafe to let us use his name and title to promote our website. I mean, being recommended by aprincelooks so impressive, it’s no wonder our business took off, even at the prices we charge,’ I said, thinking warmly of Henry’s uncle, who resembled a small, jolly frog attired in full nautical gear, as interpreted by an expensive and exclusive couturier.
‘Yes, the only thing we both lack now is True Lurrrve,’ Henry said. ‘I expected both our Mr Rights to put in an appearancelong before this, but it’s simply never happened. I’ve no idea why, since we’re bothgorgeous.’
‘Speak for yourself,’ I said, because although I’m tall, blonde and leggy, my eyes are an odd shade of duck-egg blue, rather than Henry’s limpid cerulean, and also, I have the kind of long, straight nose that only looks good on a Greek statue.
‘Maybe in the New Year you’ll find someone nice on that new dating site,’ I suggested encouragingly. ‘I’ve given up on them. The men I’ve met so far have all been at least twenty years older than their photographs and a foot shorter than me.’
I’d always specified in my dating profile that I was looking for someone over six foot tall. Ever since I was a student I’d usually worn my hair plaited around my head like a crown, which added another inch or two. It was such an old-fashioned style that I thought it looked pleasantly bizarre, especially when teamed with T-shirt and jeans, or a short shift dress and leggings.
‘It’s the challenge they can’t resist,’ Henry said vaguely, pouring out the last of the green liquid from his glass teapot. Then he looked up and said, more briskly, ‘I suppose we’d better get back to business – and aren’t youdyingto hear all about our new client?’
‘Go on: tell me all,’ I said encouragingly, reaching out for Henry’s biscuit barrel and finding it full of home-baked madeleines. ‘All I know is, it’s a castle in Northumberland, so I may have to stock up on Uggs and thermal underwear.’
‘I’ve found out a bit more since Mrs Powys – that’s our client – rang me first thing and booked us. She said she was just checking in case of late availability. She certainly picked the right moment!’
‘Serendipity,’ I agreed. ‘Have you sent her the standard contract?’
‘Yes, I emailed it to her. We discussed the details of thebooking in general terms on the phone, but she said I could email for any further information I needed and her cousin, Lucy Ripley, would reply on her behalf – which she already has and she’s OK’d the contract.’
‘That was fast!’
‘There isn’t a lot of time to arrange things in,’ Henry pointed out. ‘Besides, Mrs Powys came across as quite a forceful character.’
I wasn’t entirely sure I liked the sound of the persistent and forceful Mrs Powys …
‘I don’t suppose you’ll have time to go up and check the place out, so a contact will be useful,’ I said, because normally with a new client Henry would pay an advance visit to see what the kitchen arrangements were like, and inspect the staff accommodation, which was frequently something our employers overlooked. Perhaps they assumed we just slept hanging from the rafters, like bats, for a few brief hours between duties. It also gave him an opportunity to settle the finer details of what, exactly, they needed – or expected – from us. The rules of engagement, as it were.
‘No, there certainly won’t be time to visit first, and it’s a very long drive,’ he agreed. ‘This time I’ll find out everything we need by email. I’ve already discovered quite a bit of background information about the venue, too: Mitras Castleisn’ta real castle, it’s just called that. And it’s near the Roman Wall.’
