Page 55 of A Very Irish Christmas
A young couple from the village volunteered to be our happy newlyweds, and Emily added to her actual dress with a few lace panels and a stunning train. It all looks good, and when Ryan comes back in, we get what we need – oh-so-spontaneous shots of the perfect wedding dinner.
It’s all moving quickly now, and everyone seems to have got the hang of what’s needed. Charles gets stuck in with everything, shifting tables, moving furniture, shepherding villagers, fixing a plug when Orla’s precious hair curlers blow a fuse.
The hardest work is changing the scenes in the ballroom, trying to show its versatility. We do a full dinner scene, with all the round hired tables set, happy diners sipping their wine and chatting as Roberts, in a full traditional butler’s outfit, makes his way around the room carrying drinks on a silver tray. Once that’sdone, we fold all the tables down, and set it up as a party – the guests standing and chatting, spilling out onto the terrace.
The final shots take the most work – but are also the most fun. We’re staging an actual ball in the ballroom. The people taking part are all outfitted in either costumes from upstairs, or formal wear we hired in just in case. It’s kind of weird, seeing all these now-familiar people gussied up like extras in a glossy period drama.
The chandeliers have been cleaned and the bust bulbs replaced, and I’ve gone around the room adding large silver candelabras, now all flickering beautifully away. Night has fallen outside, and we leave the French doors open – the starlight and the silvery glow of the moon are shining through the now-falling snowflakes, and the contrast between that and the warm radiance of the ballroom is strikingly beautiful.
Allegra and Roberts are joining in for this one, and I smile as I see them together – definitely of the generation who learned how to dance, looking every inch the part as they stand in hold. Charles has donned a dinner suit and he wears it well – in fact he looks incredibly handsome as he walks towards the dancefloor.
‘Now, everyone,’ I shout, getting their attention, ‘look at Roberts and Allegra! See how they’re standing? Aim for something like that! It doesn’t need to be perfect, nobody is going to be marking you at the end! Don’t move too quickly, and please don’t worry – just try and enjoy yourselves!’
There’s a lot of shuffling while people figure out what hands go where, and Charles strolls around helping out where he needs to. He meets my eyes as he passes, holds out his arms and says: ‘Can I tempt you, Cassie?’
Yep, I think, in all kinds of ways. But now is not the time for shenanigans. Now is the time for action. I glance over to Ryan and check if he’s ready. When he gives me the thumbs-up, I wave over to Georgie.
She’s on the piano, joined by the musicians from the village, who are pretending to be a string quartet. She nods, and the music starts – a kind of stripped back version of a piece I recognise as the waltz from Swan Lake. It’s not a full orchestra, and the guy playing the cello has never really used one before so he’s only pretending to bow, but somehow it works.
I can’t help laughing as everyone starts to dance – truthfully, it’s a scene that has all the jerky elegance of a zombie apocalypse. Ryan is whirring around the room taking multiple shots from different perspectives, and I can only hope that he’ll manage to get something we can use. If not, I tell myself, it isn’t a disaster – we have enough. Everyone has been so willing and worked so hard that I don’t have the heart to direct them any differently.
After maybe half an hour, Ryan finally signals to me that he’s got what he needs – or, I suspect, his shrug means he’s got as much as he’s likely to get. I walk over to Georgie and the musicians and tell them to wind things up, as Charles joins me by the piano.
‘Everybody, hello!’ he shouts, waiting for a few of the more enthusiastic feet to notice the music has stopped.
‘I’m told we have everything we need, ladies and gentlemen – that it’s a wrap! I can’t thank you all enough for your help today. It’s been humbling, it’s been hard work, but most of all it’s been an absolute hoot – so again, thank you! Now, Cormac tells me that against all odds, there is still some Champagne left, so please, feel free to stay for a while and simply enjoy yourselves! If I had a glass to hand, I’d raise it, and make a toast to us – to the Bancroft Estate, to the residents of Campton St George, and to a long and prosperous partnership!’
A round of cheers goes up as he finishes, and the musicians immediately switch tempos to something much livelier and more appropriate for a jig. The waltz holds are abandoned, along with all pretence at formality.
I breathe out with relief as I watch them, seeing Ryan jump right in, Georgie shrieking with delight as she joins him. Within minutes everybody else floods into the room, and pretty soon it’s booming to the sound of both the music and the dancing. Some people are dressed in ballgowns, some in jeans, but everyone looks happy.
I sag a little inside as I realise it’s done. It’s really done – we put together this whole amazing thing in a week. I can’t quite believe it, and I feel exhilarated by what we’ve managed.
I also feel suddenly very, very tired – I had a rough night, and today has been hard work, and now the relief of it all being over and done is finishing me off. It’s as though now I know I can stop, I’ve run out of all energy at once.
I slip outside into the night, welcoming the chill of the cold air against my cheeks – it was roasting in there by the end.
I walk down the terrace steps, and stand at the edge of the long, landscaped grounds. I gaze around – snow, stars, and serenity in one direction, madness in the other. I look up at the ballroom, now full of light and life, and smile. We did it. We really did it.
In the big scheme of things, it’s not much – it’s taking some pretty pictures to convince millionaires to part with money – but it still feels like a win, not just for me, but for everyone. I can’t remember the last time I felt like I had a win, and I know that it’s not just Bancroft Manor that’s been brought back to life – it’s me as well.
TWENTY-TWO
The next day, Ryan and I return to the estate to do a final walk through. The snow stopped last night and the forecast says we’re now heading into the land of rain, so he wants to get a few more pictures of it white and untouched.
We call into the house, and find Roberts busy at work in the kitchen, frying up bacon and brewing tea.
‘Good morning!’ he says brightly, apparently completely untouched by the night before. ‘Help yourselves – I just need to take a mug through to Martin Byrne. He seems to have spent the night sleeping beneath the piano, and he tells me he’s got a bad case of “the fear”, whatever that might be.’
Ryan laughs. ‘It means he has a terrible hangover, with a side helping of remorse! I’d add a slug of whiskey to that, Roberts, then start making loud noises – he’ll soon clear off.’
‘I see. Perhaps I’ll play the piano to encourage his recovery then. Charles is upstairs in his office if you need him, and Georgie is… missing in action. I suspect she’s trying to avoid the clean-up, and as Jasper is gone as well, she’ll be on the grounds somewhere. If you see her, please remind her she has an appointment in an hour’s time.’
We promise that we will, and head on out to enjoy what might be the last crisp, clear day we have for a while. The sun is sparkling on the snow, and the sky is so blue it looks like it’s been painted on. Birds are chirruping and fluttering, and everything feels peaceful as we stroll.
Ryan takes pictures, and I snap some shots of my own on my phone to send to June and the folks back home, and we chat about our upcoming trip to Cork City.
He’s flying back in a few days, and I’m going with him. I’ve booked a hotel despite the offer of staying at his sister’s place, because I want to have my independence. Eileen’s cousin Moira has come up with some information about Nanna Nora’s life before she moved to the US, and I’m excited to see the place she came from. My dad is even more excited.
