Page 49 of The Twelve Dates of Christmas
Kate thought back.
“A couple of years ago there was Callie,” said Kate. “She was nice. Professional tennis player; they met at a charity tennis match up at themanor. Matt was doing the catering. She traveled a lot and Matt was too busy to follow her around. I think it came to an amicable end, so I don’t think she’s your ghost either.”
“No,” said Sarah. “He’s mentioned Callie before. What about Nadia?”
“Ah,” said Kate. “Now Nadia was a bit more long-term. We—that is, the collective Blexfordwe—thought she might be the next Mrs. Matt Wells. But it wasn’t to be.”
“So it could be Nadia,” Sarah mused.
“Could be,” said Kate. “She cheated on Matt with her boss. I think she dented his pride more than his heart. His wife apparently cheated on him too, so I think Nadia was a double kick in the balls. And beyond that, I’m afraid, I can’t help you. Matt and I lost contact for a long time, though I don’t think he’s been exactly prolific in the relationship department.”
“Hmmm,” Sarah mused. “That would explain his reticence, I suppose. Two cheating partners is enough to make anyone hold back a bit.”
“I suppose so,” said Kate. “But I don’t think you’ve got anything to worry about. He’s really into you, Sarah, I can tell.”
Sarah smiled; she looked pleased, and Kate was suddenly engulfed by an inexplicable sadness. She swallowed thickly and pushed the sensation away.
“That whole marriage thing was a bit weird, though, wasn’t it?” said Sarah.
Kate shook herself mentally.
“Bloody weird!” she agreed.
“Did you really have sex on the beach the other night?” asked Sarah.
And they both laughed. The kind of laughing that once you start you can’t stop and which makes it very difficult to drive.
•••••
The pub was one of those fairly-newly-built-but-built-to-look-old buildings, with ample parking and a pergola that ran the length of the front, dripping with ivy and fairy lights. Weather-beaten tables with wonky benches sat beneath it. Each table was adorned with a flickering tea light in a jam jar and a sprig of holly in a bottle.
Kate and Sarah walked through the gabled entrance with its crooked, knotty door frame, and the smell of wood smoke and hops enveloped them. Pinned to a large board by the inner door was a seating plan, the kind you find at weddings. Across from it was a fresh Christmas tree, clearly decorated by someone with control issues.
They scoured the seating plan for Kate’s and Laura’s names, finding them on a table at the far end of the pub, off to the right, near the kitchens.
They pushed through another set of doors and into the pub proper. It was a vast room but sectioned off into smaller, more intimate spaces by gnarled timber columns and half-structured frames. There were three enormous Tudor-style brick fireplaces, one at either end of the pub and one in the middle, which separated the bar area from the restaurant. Each hearth danced with crackling, snapping flames that could be heard above the Christmas music and the din of voices. Swags of rich juniper-green pine branches and ivy festooned the brickwork above the fireplaces and draped down from the ceiling above the bar.
“Drink?” asked Kate.
“Absolutely,” replied Sarah.
They found a table close by and settled into cracked leather armchairs. Sarah admired the reclaimed floorboards while Kate surreptitiously took photographs of the garlands for her sketchbook. A nervousvoice trembled out from the PA system for them to take their places at their allotted tables in ten minutes.
Kate and Sarah were playing a game of “who’s going to pair off with who” by watching the mating dances of the men and women at the bar, when Sarah stiffened and all the color drained out of her face. Kate reached her hand out and touched her arm.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“Don’t look round,” said Sarah through gritted teeth.
“Okay,” said Kate. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
Sarah shifted herself down in her chair so that she was hidden from the bar by the high back of Kate’s armchair. She beckoned Kate toward her and Kate dutifully leaned in.
“There was this guy,” said Sarah. Kate noticed that Sarah’s eyes had gone glassy. “Theguy, actually. We were going to get married,” she went on. “And then I got offered the head teacher position at Great Blexley Primary. I couldn’t turn it down! I’d worked so hard. I’d been a deputy head for four years; this was my big chance to run a school the way I wanted it run.”
She stopped and grappled a tissue out of her handbag.
“So, what happened?” asked Kate.
