Page 134 of Meet Me Under the Mistletoe
“Not at all.”
Her parents were already out when Nory came downstairs feeling very much like she’d done twenty minutes in a tumble dryer on the super-dry cycle. Mugwort was sat in a cushioned cat bed next to the range, repeatedly licking his nose, an empty food bowl beside him. He gave her a smug look. A large frying pan with a lid sat on the hot plate, and Nory felt instantly better when she discovered it was full of sausages. In the pan behind it was bacon. Her mum’s homemade baked beans blipped gently in a saucepan, and in the oven there was tray of potato rostis. Nory smiled. “Thanks, Mama,” she said out loud. This was the perfect hangover cure.
She sat alone at the table eating her breakfast of kings and thinking about Isaac. The pain still spiked when she conjured up his face, but she had learned not to wince on the outside. Shewas caught between hoping to see him and hoping not to see him. She wished she’d never meddled. If only she hadn’t been cursed with the need to fix things, she would never have ruined things with Isaac. They might even be spending Christmas together, instead of her being down here with a brother who could barely stand her, and Isaac up there alone... or not; maybe he’d moved on already. The thought winded her.
Why did love have to be so painful? Surely this was love; nothing else would hurt this much. Nory briefly considered leaving the rest of her breakfast for dramatic effect but then thought,Who am I kidding!and finished her plate, wiping the last bits of bean sauce up with a thick slice of buttery toast.
Forty-two
Last night’s snow made the village look like a Christmas card. Thom had parked his car, and Nory began to carefully transport the fresh floral table centers to the boot. The color scheme was the same for all—red, gold, green, and burned orange, with touches of gold and glitter in the ribbons and delicate porcelain fruits. But each arrangement was slightly different. Some were arranged in stubby clay pots, like vases of flowers, while others were more traditional with candles and hurricane lamps at their centers.
She could see the outline of her mum working in the hothouse, but her dad remained hidden so far, probably out back somewhere turning compost, she thought. The plants would all be given an extra good watering and some TLC, and then work would stop at 2:00 p.m. and the nursery would have to look after itself until the twenty-seventh.
Nory pushed a large arrangement to one side—pricking herself on a particularly spiteful holly sprig and swearing loudly—to make room for a rather grand centerpiece. Swags of ivy, holly, and bendy pine sprigs cascaded down from a long-necked gold punch bowl. Deep burgundy hydrangea heads exploded up from the center alongside fuchsia pink heathers, impossibly fat creamroses, eucalyptus, and rose hips. It was bloody heavy; she knew that much, and she wondered idly if the punch bowl was made of actual gold. She pushed it gingerly into place and tested the boot lid to make sure it wouldn’t crush the arrangement, before carefully pulling the lid down and locking it.
She was just about to climb into the car when Thomas came striding across the car park toward her from the direction of the village.Now what?she thought grumpily.
“I thought you might have left already,” he said breathlessly.
“Just about to. What do you need?”
“I wanted to give you this,” he said, thrusting a copy of theObserverinto her hand.
“Okay.” Nory looked down at the newspaper, nonplussed. “Do you want me to deliver this to Lord Abercrombie? Are we offering a postal service now?”
Thomas held up his hands. “Nory, can you just... can you just listen to me for a minute?”
Nory closed her mouth and made a locking motion at her lips before throwing away the imaginary key.
Thomas’s face cracked momentarily into a smile before becoming serious again. He looked uncomfortable. “About your feelings for Isaac. I didn’t realize. And what you wanted to do for him, well, that was...”
Nory opened her mouth to speak, but Thomas held his hand up for her to be quiet.
“You were right, I’ve been hanging on to old stuff for so long, that I got stuck in a kind of rut. I couldn’t seem to let it go. I know it wasn’t always easy for you. But it was easier for me to blame you than face my own failings. The thing is, Nory, no matter what, you’re my baby sister, and I love you. Despite what it often looks like, I only ever want you to be happy.”
He bent down and kissed her cheek then straightened.
“Anyway, that’s it. That’s what I wanted to say.” He nodded to the paper in Nory’s hand. “Center spread,” he said. “Read it before you go. I’ll see you at supper.” And with that he strode away into the maze of greenhouses and polytunnels.
Nory watched him go.Brothers!she thought.Complicated creatures.Laying the paper out flat on the bonnet of the car, she flicked to the middle pages.
Revered Botanical Artist Found To Be Plagiarist
read the headline. Nory couldn’t quite believe what she was reading. There was a picture of Isaac looking uncomfortable holding Heba’s sketchbooks and, below it, a personal interview. She could hardly take it in. Aside from Isaac’s own evidence, there were testimonials from the families of officers and soldiers who had served in India, diary entries, appraisals from experts, and a statement from a solicitor’s firm in London that specialized in art law. The De-Veer family were quoted as being shocked and saddened by the wrong that had been done to Heba and her family. And they were cooperating fully with the Scotland Yard art fraud department to have Heba’s name restored to her work and the books repatriated to Heba’s great-great-grandson.
Snow was coming down in flurries, dusting onto the newsprint like confetti. Nory shook it off and folded the paper. This had thrown her. The butterflies in her stomach didn’t know whether to make her jump up and down or faint. Isaac had given an interview to Guy! Was there a chance that Isaac had forgiven her?
“Nory!”
Nory jumped and saw her dad over by the dahlia sheds. He tapped his watch and made a shooing motion at her.
“Right! Yes, sorry! On it now,” she called.
The snow was fast enough to warrant the windscreen wipers. The farmers had been out salting the roads, so the lanes up to the castle were pretty clear, but she was still glad of the snow chains. She hugged the steering wheel as she drove—she only ever drove when she was home, and not very often at that.
She decided that she would seek Isaac out when she got to the castle, and once she had made the decision, she couldn’t get there fast enough. It was frustrating, therefore, when a group of pheasants took to sauntering along the middle of the lane like it was their own private highway. She beeped at them impatiently, but they only panicked, rose into the air, and landed back down on the road rather than seeking the safety of the fields beyond the hedgerows.
“You really are the stupidest of all birds,” she called out the window at them. “Get out of the road! No wonder so many of you get killed.” But they only ran faster three feet in front of the car, looking back at it every few seconds as though wondering why it was still chasing them.
