Page 37 of The Christmas Retreat
Bea and Maudie pumped her for information as they walked back down the drive, but all she would say was that Mark was very exhausted by his journey but glad to be home, and it would be some time before he would be up to receiving even his oldest friends.
They went on like this until I had eaten practically all the food and got up to go and put away my paints and Papa’s old knapsack, which I had left in the hall, by which time I had had quite enough. Then I escaped to my bedroom to spend a happy hour writing this letter to you.
Your postcard depicting the beach and cliffs at Lamorna arrived on Wednesday. It looks wonderfully scenic, even more so than the area around Seren Bach, which is as limited as if I lived on a little island.
I am dying to read all about the cottage and the village, so I hope your promised letter will soon arrive.
Life here might have proved more varied and interesting than I had envisaged, but I still miss you and Edwin and all our friends, and think I will soon start to feel rather confined in this remote spot. I hope, by the time you both visit in the late summer, to be on such terms with Cosmo that he will agree to my going back to Cornwall with you.
I will give this to Efa, if I get the chance. She returns to her home in St Melangell every evening and will post it for me there. I have struck up a bit of a friendship with her, so clearly I am, like the unknown Effie Parker, quite a common woman too!
Your loving friend,
Arwen
11
Picture Perfect
I’d braced myself to treat Rhys in a friendly but totally casual manner, but I needn’t have bothered because he wasn’t there at breakfast, and nor was Cariad, although everyone else but Timon was. Apparently Timon usually breakfasted early and then went down to the pottery.
A lavish buffet-style breakfast was laid out on the side table, along with tea and coffee. There was also a pot of porridge on a hot plate. I noticed that the twins, who had stated clearly that they were vegans, ignoring the tub of plant-based spread and other such options, were helping themselves to butter and cheese! Perhaps dairy didn’t count.
Today they were dressed in identical short Lincoln-green tunics and tights, with long boots, and looked like emaciated extras from a Robin Hood film.
I sat down in an empty chair next to Nerys and opposite Verity, who gave me a smile and said good morning, adding: ‘This seems to be the artists’ end of the table.’
‘Ginny’s a writerandillustrator, so has a foot in both camps,’ Nerys pointed out. ‘You could say we represent threebranches of the arts: myself, fine art; you, Verity, commercial art; and Ginny, graphic art. And, of course, the twins should be included with their performance art.’
The twins, further up the table, didn’t hear this. I thought perhaps they weren’t early morning people, since they were only talking to each other, in a desultory way.
Verity, looking hurt, said, ‘Just because my work sells very well, Nerys, you can hardly call it commercial!’
‘Of course – that’s what I meant: a commercial success,’ Nerys assured her.
At the other end of the table, Kate was already wolfing down toast spread an inch thick with butter and marmalade, an empty cereal bowl in front of her, while Evie, gesturing with her toast and Marmite, was talking quietly to Toby. My mother enjoys the company of men, she just doesn’t want one around all the time. Toby seemed perfectly happy to talk to her and I remembered he’d mentioned at dinner, in response to something Verity had said to him, that he’d lived with his invalid mother until her recent death and so perhaps felt relaxed in the company of older women, even one as unmaternal as Evie! And she could be very interesting on any subject. I suspected she was drawing him out about his work.
When we had all finished – even Kate, who had given herself a total carbohydrate overload by going back to the buffet for a croissant – Nerys said, ‘We’re a small party this morning, with Timon already down at the pottery. He will welcome anyone who wants to see over it at eleven this morning. And Rhys has taken Cariad to Castle Newydd, because her friend Mel’s mother, Emma Prynne, who runs a riding school, is taking the girls with her to collect a new pony. They’ve set outearly so will be back in plenty of time for dinner and then the ceremony tonight.’
‘I’m really looking forward to the Winter Solstice celebration,’ I said. ‘I’ve never really heard of anything like it before, except at Stonehenge, of course.’
‘Not a lot happens really,’ Verity said. ‘I mean, everyone just follows a group of people in weird costumes up the hill and gathers around a bonfire.’
‘Well, you needn’t go,’ pointed out Nerys, slightly tartly. ‘And it has meaning for us. I think we take it a bit for granted here, however, since it has always gone on, even during the wars, but without the bonfire, of course. It’s mostly only local people who come, apart from a handful of modern Druids. It’s not some spectacular mystery play or anything like that, which would attract crowds of outsiders, thank goodness.’
‘It’s obviously a privilege to join in and I wouldn’t miss it for the world,’ said Evie. She smiled blandly at Kate. ‘What about you, Kate? Will you join in?’
‘It looks a very steep climb,’ said Kate dubiously.
‘The path zigzags a lot, so it isn’t as bad as it looks,’ Nerys assured her. ‘Now, if you’ve all finished, who would like the tour of the moated grange?’
It seemed everyone did, even Verity, who had visited the house several times before, and Kate Komodo. She said she would skip the pottery tour after it and get on with her edits, especially as last night’s talk had sparked the germ of an idea for a new book in her head and she wanted to get that down before it vanished. ‘Death at the Masque,’ she murmured.
‘Tonight’s event isn’t a masque, although I suppose the mumming or guising – from the word “disguise” – share elements in common,’ said Nerys.
‘I hope to discuss my ideas with Rhys when he returns,’ said Kate.
‘I’m afraid you will have to postpone that. He intends crashing out in his room for a few hours to catch up with his jet lag.’
