Page 54 of The Secret Christmas Library
He went to the old, spotted mirror above the butler sink, then smiled and shook his head upside down, gently, letting the spider land in his hand. Then he popped it out of the door.
‘See,’ he said. ‘Spider-free. For now.’ He turned back. ‘This is not really a house you want to be in if you’re frightened of spiders.’
Mirren winced.
‘Spiders are great,’ he went on, suddenly enthused. ‘They eat bugs and keep flies away. What have you got against spiders?’
‘Their terrifyingness?’ said Mirren.
‘Oh,’ he said, looking a little saddened.
This is a man who wouldn’t kill a spider, thought Mirren. Interesting.
‘I wouldn’t kill them, though,’ she said, quickly, not adding that this was only because she would be running too fast in the other direction. But he wasn’t listening, instead bringing out, from a large wicker basket he had hauled down, something that Mirren at first took for tennis racquets.
‘What the hell?’ said Esme. ‘Oh, no way.’
‘Come on, Ess,’ said Jamie. ‘They’re fun, remember?’
And he pulled out old, slightly busted snowshoes – wooden frames, with large leather buckles, designed to go over their shoes.
‘They’re not fun, they’re ridiculous,’ said Esme.
‘Can you think of a better plan?’
‘Yes,’ said Esme. ‘Live in a city and go back in time and stop our stupid family squandering all our money.’
Jamie smiled. There was no light in the boot room at all; the window was completely filled up with snow. It looked as if he was right: there was no better option.
‘I’ll have a shot,’ said Mirren, surprisingly anxious to get back in his good books after revealing herself to be a spider-hater.
Jamie smiled. ‘Come on, then. You won’t need both jackets, I promise.’
Esme smirked. ‘Oh, it’s quite the workout.’
‘This is basically a north of Scotland striptease,’ commented Theo, as Mirren unbuttoned the cagoule.
‘Shut up, Theo!’ said Mirren, smiling, but as ever he looked totally undaunted, and swished his cape behind him as he bent down to pick up his pair of snowshoes as if he’d been doing it all his life.
Bonnie was at the door as they left, carrying a scuffed silver tray. ‘Thought you’d . . . ’
‘Oh, Bonnie!’ said Jamie. ‘I think I love being snowed in with you.’
And Mirren wondered, once again, what exactly was going on between those two. Because she couldn’t for the life of her understand why else Bonnie would stay in this tumbledown place, looking after it as best she could. There must be a million better jobs out there for a young woman, with lots of life and fun, and instead she had sequestered herself here like a nun. There must be a reason for it. Mirren found herself very curiousas to whether that reason had sandy hair and a worried expression and an aversion to killing insects unusual in a gardener.
There were four mismatched small glasses on Bonnie’s salver, filled with a reddish-brown liquid and steaming gently. Jamie, Theo and Esme took one immediately and knocked it back. Not wanting to feel left out, Mirren did exactly the same thing.
It was like getting punched in the gut; the strange, hot drink went straight to her veins, making her shake and tingle.
‘Bloody hell,’ she said.
‘Well, quite,’ said Jamie, grinning at her.
‘What isinthat?’
‘Venison stock, vodka, Worcestershire sauce, chilli . . . ’
‘I feel like I’ve just been punched in the face by a hot Bloody Mary.’
