Page 20 of Meet Me Under the Mistletoe
The gardener’s cottage was reached via a wooden door set into the wall at the farthest point of the Winter Garden, flanked by two long Victorian glass cold frames. To the casual observer, the door looked as though it would lead to a potting shed or something equally banal. But the reality was quite different.
A thin, winding path led through a densely wooded area, which Nory knew to be bright with bluebells in the spring and liberally strewn with pink rhododendron flowers until early summer. Now, lit by the yellow gleam of Isaac’s torch, she could see clumps of ruby-red holly berries, glittering like jewels in the frosty air.
“So, what finds you out prowling the grounds at this time of night?” Nory asked, trying to make conversation.
“I always do a lap, last thing, to make sure everything’s in order.” And then he added, “You never know when you’re going to find some DFL wandering lost around the grounds half-drunk and half-dressed.”
“DFL?”
“Down From London.”
Nory balked. “I hardly count as a DFL, and I was not lost!” she said indignantly.
“Why were you going to the folly anyway? A clandestine meeting?”
“If you must know, I was trying to avoid someone. I thought I could hole up in the folly for a while and go back to the castle when he’d gone to bed... or passed out.”
Isaac didn’t answer.
“And also, I am not half-drunk. At the very most, I am a quarter-drunk; the cold is very sobering. And this is a whole dress! Or at least it was, before you made me rip it.”
Isaac laughed quietly. “You’re still as mouthy as I remember,” he said.
Nory couldn’t argue with that.
The path opened out into a perfect English country garden, complete with a carved stone birdfeeder and wrought iron picnic set on the patio. An arbor was wound around with the skeleton of a rambling rose. Wisteria climbed the stone walls of the cottage. In the center of the lawn stood an ancient yew tree, its trunk twisted with age, arthritic branches stretched beseechingly toward the stars while keeping a tight hold of its needles. The fruit trees that ran along the garden walls had long since shed their leaves, their frames shivering in the breeze.
At the back of the house, the wall was lower on one side, and it was from here that Isaac’s dad used to shout at them to “get back to school!” as Nory and her friends crept out from Robins Wood in search of adventure. Robins Wood marked the boundary between the school grounds and the castle and served as a perfect cut-through for truanting students.
One of the leaded windows of the house glowed golden, as did the little stained-glass panes above the front door. Nory felt the thrill of anticipation. All those years of wondering what theinside of the enchanted cottage at the edge of the woods would look like were about to be satisfied.
Inside the front door was a small hallway, with rooms going off left and right and a staircase in the middle. Isaac pulled off his boots and Nory bent down to undo her very muddy—and one and only pair—of stilettos; she smiled inwardly that she now had the excuse to downgrade to her more sensibly heeled Mary Jane shoes—of which she had two pairs—for the duration of the week.
As she shrugged out of Isaac’s thick coat, the warmth of the cozy cottage seemed to enliven the scent of cow pats clinging to her dress.
“Would you mind waiting in the hall while I get you some fresh clothes?” Isaac asked. “I don’t want to sound precious, but you kind of stink and I’d rather we kept it contained.”
“I think that is absolutely fair,” Nory replied.
From the room to her left there was a snuffling sound, and a long nose squeezed through the gap in the door and nudged it open. An elderly lurcher padded into the hall and proceeded to give Nory a good sniffing.
“Oh, hello. You’re lovely.” Nory cooed, despite the hound nosing around her bottom rather enthusiastically.
“Come on, Lettuce, leave our guest alone,” said Isaac. Lettuce looked up at Nory with big soft eyes before turning to follow her master through the door to the right.
Left alone in the hallway, Nory glanced around. Beneath her own powerful aroma, she could smell woodsmoke and oud. The uneven walls were roughly plastered and whitewashed. A barometer hung below a bookshelf. She checked his books—she always checked the books—a nature almanac, an encyclopediaof trees, and several pocket handbooks on foraging and woodland plants. Her bookish self approved.
Isaac came back into the hall with Lettuce at his side, holding a pair of tracksuit bottoms—she quietly gave thanks for the generous elastic waist—and an oversized hoody with a thick fleece lining.
“I’d offer you the use of my shower, but is that too weird? I don’t know. It’s too weird, right? I’m not sure what the etiquette is for dealing with women you’ve rescued from a wheelbarrow full of cow crap.” He said all this without giving her a chance to speak, and then seemed to have made his decision because he handed her the clothes and said, “I’ll just”—he pushed open the door to a small sitting room with a large fireplace and a fire crackling within it—“give you some privacy,” he said, going through the door and closing it.
The clothes smelled newly washed and warm from the radiator; too bad she was about to stink them up. Checking that the sitting room door was firmly closed, Nory began the process of peeling herself out of her silly cocktail dress. She had expected to have Ameerah on hand for tugging and yanking duties. She reasoned that if things got too desperate, she’d just rip herself out of the damn thing, but as it turned out, being frozen into a human ice pop meant the satin slipped off easily. She would have liked to keep her bra on, but it had suffered the same level of manure marinading as her dress and was therefore discarded along with her Spanx—oh, the sweet relief—and finally her tights, before she immersed herself into the soft leisure wear. She felt instantly refreshed. Nory pulled her clothes into a bundle, opened the front door, and left them in a pathetic pile on the doorstep, next to a potted bay tree.
Nory hesitated outside the sitting room door. Then sheknocked and gingerly crept in. Lettuce was sprawled out on a rug in front of the fire; she looked briefly up at Nory and then let her head drop back onto the thick rug. Isaac was seated on one of the two sofas on either side of the fire, a book in his hand:The War of the Worlds, she noted, and added another mental tick beside his name. He smiled when he saw her.
“Better?” he asked.
“Much,” she said. “Thank you.”
