Page 34 of Meet Me Under the Mistletoe
“You heard from your parents?”
“An email, this morning. They would have loved to spendChristmas with me, but unfortunately they completely forgot what time of year it was and are booked on a luxury cruise throughout the whole of December.”
“I take it that means you’ll be taking up my mum’s offer of Christmas with the Noel family. Fights and dodgy cocktails guaranteed. You know it wouldn’t be the same without you.”
Ameerah smiled. “To be honest, I wasn’t too sad my parents blew me off. I mean, it would be nice to see them, but it’s only a proper Christmas with your family.”
“It’s just as well we bloody love you, then, isn’t it?”
“You are lucky, you know. Even if Thomas does behave like a tit.”
“I know.”
“You ready to go back in a minute? I left Jenna screaming over the phone at an Italian pâtissier about ganache.”
Nory raised her eyebrows. “I thought Pippa was in charge of all that sort of thing.”
“She is. Pippa was threatening to gag Jenna when I left.”
“I’ve only been gone a couple of hours and Jenna’s become a bridezilla.”
“I think she woke up this morning and realized this is actually happening; she’s getting married on Saturday.”
“Ahh, the reality check! Okay, let’s go smooth some troubled waters.”
Eleven
It was decided that the best way to soothe the tensions beginning to simmer within the group was to have some timeout. Guy took Camille out for a walk in the grounds, and Charles and Jenna went off to their room. Jeremy had calmed down after finally being able to contact Katie. Thankfully today was her last day at the monkey sanctuary, and tomorrow she would begin the arduous journey back to England. Ameerah, Dev, and Nory had ensconced themselves in the library, where a hearty fire crackled in the hearth and the tartan sherpa blankets were plentiful.
This was the library where Nory would hide out when she was little while her mum was working. It was where she first discovered her love of botanical art, in Lord Abercrombie’s collection of old botany and horticulture books. She would leaf through the pages, the musty, slightly vanilla scent of old paper filling her nostrils. The edges of the pages were browning with age, yet the plants seemed real, almost as though they’d been pressed into the pages, breathed into life by the brushstrokes and ink-pen notes from botanists long since dead. It was like falling into history.
In this library, too, Nory had discovered the works of artists like Jan Davidsz. de Heem and Rachel Ruysch. Books too largefor her to carry filled with still lifes of twisting foliage, flowers curling around one another like lovers, and petals so lifelike you felt you could reach into the page and brush their velvety frills. If her natural interest in plants grew out of her family’s business, then her love of art was born in this library. The botanical artist Serena De-Veer had once lived in this house. The family had rented it for a short time after they moved back from India, while they waited for their house in Surrey to be renovated. Nory wondered if that was how Isaac had come to have one of her prints in his sitting room. A retirement gift to his father from the marquis, perhaps.
She checked her watch. It was nearly six o’clock. Pulling the sherpa blanket around her shoulders, Nory slipped out into the entrance hall and called Andrew. The log fire was doing its best, but this was still the chilliest place in the house.
“You’ve been gone a day, Nory. One day. What do you think is going to have happened in one day?”
“All right, shirty! I’m just ringing to see how everything is. That’s what good shopkeepers do; they check in with their staff.”
“Everything is fine. We sold two of the books in the window...”
“NotThe Snow Queen?”
“You really are the worst bookseller in London.”
“But was itThe Snow Queen? I really wanted one more look at the pictures before I had to part with it.”
“You need to marry a rich man so that you can curate a library and never part with any books again.”
“Obviously.”
“The Snow Queenis safe... for now. It was the 1940s edition ofThe Night Before Christmaswith illustrations by Leonard Weisgard and the vintageHow the Grinch Stole Christmas!”
“Oh, come on! Not the Leonard Weisgard! That was one of my favorites.”
“They’re all your favorites, Nory.”
“Yeah, but that was a proper classic.”
