Page 8 of Christmas Wishes at Pudding Hall
The children were already skating away now the small disturbance in the atmosphere had settled.
‘You’re Christa, yes?’ one of the men said while taking off his rain jacket and hanging it on the array of hooks near the front door.
She nodded. ‘Yes. Sorry about that but it was all very chaotic. I don’t like chaos.’
The man looked her up and down and then laughed a little but not meanly. ‘Then you better get prepared for when his ex visits. She is the original Goddess Discordia.’
Christa stared at him. ‘When does she arrive?’
‘Whenever she pleases,’ he said. ‘She’s the one with the list of intolerances.’ He gave Christa a knowing look and she smiled respectfully in response.
It wasn’t for her to say what was an allergy, intolerance or disordered eating, but God knows, every year there were more and more requests at the restaurant for accommodations and substitutions. Perhaps the world was becoming more intolerant in general, she often reflected.
‘I’m Adam, Marc’s lawyer, and this is my husband Paul. We’re here for Christmas also. I have to make some calls. Paul, can you show Christa to her room?’
Adam was gone in an instant but she could hear his voice barking down the phone as he left.
Paul smiled at her kindly and she felt herself relax.
‘Hey, Christa, grab your things and I’ll take you to your room. We usually have a housekeeper but she’s gone in to York to get some supplies. FYI, she’s terrifying.’
Christa laughed. ‘That’s something to look forward to. Don’t worry about my things – I can get them when the rain stops,’ Christa said. She looked around the foyer and didn’t see any Christmas decorations.
This foyer was crying out for a tree and some cascading pine branches and bows down the bannister.
‘Did you just arrive?’ she asked Paul.
‘No, we’ve been here about a week but Marc and Adam work all the time. I’m the corporate wife, so I’ll be hanging around the kitchen, if you don’t mind.’
‘I don’t mind at all,’ she said, meaning it. Paul had a pleasant demeanour and was more relaxed than the other two men.
The twins were rollerblading away, their war cries and slapping of the hockey sticks competing with the storm outside.
‘Come to the kitchen then,’ said Paul. He had a New York accent and wore a beautiful cashmere jumper, and she followed him through the house that was impeccably decorated but without a whisper of the time of the year. There was a mix of modern and period furniture, muted tones of grey and indigo and black, with art to match. It was certainly elegant but very masculine and impersonal.
‘Will Christmas be celebrated?’ she asked looking around.
‘Of course,’ Paul said as he pushed open the door to the kitchen. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘It’s just that there aren’t any Christmas decorations,’ said Christa, wishing she had kept her mouth closed.
‘Marc isn’t the festive type,’ said Paul with raised eyebrows that silently spoke volumes. He gestured to a beautiful professional kitchen, big enough for six chefs to make a banquet for fifty people. ‘They usually do Christmas at their house in San Francisco. I think that was more the ex-wife than him. I do remember them having holiday décor when I went for a cocktail party, but it was all very silver and blue, not my style. I’m more of a traditional, Martha Stewart style.’
‘Oh my gosh, me too – I love traditional decorations. The more old-fashioned the better,’ Christa agreed. ‘I did a big tree covered in tartan ribbons last year. My ex hated it.’
Paul grabbed her arm. ‘Oh that’s perfect.’ He sighed. ‘It’s hard for me. I’m an interior stylist. I keep turning around corners in the house and see where a gorgeous Yuletide moment could be.’ He shook his head. ‘Anyway, have a look around and let me know if you need anything else and I can let Adam know.’
Christa looked around the space. Stainless steel was mixed with wood panelling and marble countertops for baking. It was better than the kitchen at Playfoot’s. Simon would be green with envy at this space.
Christa opened a drawer and saw Alessi cutlery lined up in perfect order.
‘How many will I be cooking for each night?’ she asked.
‘For now, it’s myself, my husband Adam – the lawyer with the loud voice – the twins and Marc.’
‘No dinner parties or cocktail events? Christmas drinks?’
‘No, we don’t know anyone here and Marc isn’t the event type. Hates dinner parties.’
