Page 83 of A December to Remember
“You’re an expert,” said Star.
Duncan looked bashful. “I’m more of a general practitioner of antiques. I’m not an art specialist. But I would be very surprised if it wasn’t a Hilliard.”
“Is it too early for wine?” asked Simone. “I feel like I need a drink after that revelation.”
“Me too,” Maggie agreed.
“It’s half past ten,” Star replied.
“Yeah, but it’s nearly Christmas,” Maggie countered.
“Patrick says wine makes you stupid, Mama,” said Verity, having finished her inspection of all the crafts on offer.
“Patrick needs a smacked bottom,” Simone replied dryly.
“What didIdo?” Patrick stepped in through the canvas door, grinning.
“You’re supposed to be helping Joe out over at the shop—what am I paying you for?” asked Maggie.
“Technically I’m out on a delivery,” he answered, holding aloft the bag he’d been swinging at his side. “Kat’s making nut roasts, and she’s run out of mushrooms.”
“Ooh, we should definitely do nut roasts for the banquet,” said Star. “That’s very in keeping with the wholesome vibe.”
“Agreed,” said Maggie. “Can you ask Kat how far in advance we can make nut roasts, please, darling, and also if she’ll help us make them?”
“You see,thisis what you’re paying me for,” said Patrick. “I’m your nut roast dealer.”
“I know how to make nut roasts,” piped up Star. “I used to help in the kitchen tent when Mum took me to live in that commune in Dorset.”
“I’m not sure we’ll find a recipe more authentic than one from a genuine commune,” said Maggie. “You are now our official nut roast guru, Star.”
Star beamed.
Patrick grabbed a handful of popcorn and stuffed half of it in his mouth before screwing his face up in disgust. “Plain?” he complained.
“Birds and squirrels aren’t as keen on sweet and salty popcorn as you are,” said Star.
“Have you asked them?”
“Yes, of course,” she replied without a hint of sarcasm.
“Oh, I also brought you this.” He pulled a small Bluetooth speaker out of the mushroom bag. “Thought you might like some festive music while you work.”
“Oh, thanks, darling, that’s a great idea. How do I do it?” She turned the oblong speaker in her hands.
Patrick smiled, shaking his head. “Give it here,” he said, taking her phone too, and after a couple of swipes, Bing Crosby began to croon“I’m dreaming of a white Christmas”out of the speaker.
As Patrick left, the crafters, young and old, began to trickle in and take their seats. Thoughts of Elizabethan heirlooms and day drinking were pushed to the side as the sisters walked up and down the tables assisting.
Doreen arrived with her husband and eldest grandson in tow. “Suet mix!” she hollered. Each of them carried a catering-sized stainless steel stockpot, which they dumped heavily down onto the tables.
“Brilliant!” said Maggie, looking over into the pans. “It actually looks quite tasty.”
“Lard, nuts, birdseed, berries, oats, and peanut butter. Different variations in each pot. Some heavier on the seed, some on the berries. All heavy on the lard. This one’s got mealworms in it, fancy a taste?” Doreen gave a wink.
“Umm, I think I’ll pass. Would you like me to talk them through the process or...”
“I’ve got it,” she said.
