Page 93 of The Secret Mistletoe Promise
‘Come along Catherine,’ Birdie said. ‘Let’s start getting into character. No swears for Jane Austen heroines.’
They walked into the hall where the fire was crackling, a couple of children playing in front of it, well back from the fire guard that Sophie and Harry had installed. The tree shimmered in the corner, and the soft, soothing tones of ‘Silent Night’ seemed to come from all around them,played through hidden speakers. Imogen took off her wellies and put on her ballet pumps, her toes starting to thaw out immediately.
In the lounge, the chairs were all set up, and a holly garland ran along the front of the low stage. Tables were laid out down the side of the room, plates piled high with mince pies and brandy snap biscuits, individual yule logs that looked like little bonbons with their snowy dusting of sugar, sausage rolls and pigs in blankets. Natasha, the landlady of the Blossom Bough, was serving mulled wine, lemonade and hot chocolate.
Imogen asked for a lemonade. She couldn’t face the mulled wine or hot chocolate until afterwards.
‘Here you are.’ Natasha handed her a glass. ‘I’d much rather be doing this than getting up there. I couldn’t perform in a million years.’ Imogen wanted to agree with her, but it was far too late to back out: she couldn’t betray Dexteragain.
‘Tried a battered Brussels sprout?’ Jazz asked from behind her.
Imogen jumped. ‘No.What?’
‘They’re crispy and delicious and wonderful.’ She held one up, then popped it in her mouth.
‘Later.’
Jazz narrowed her eyes. ‘You’re not nervous, are you? You’re brilliant at our storytelling sessions. You never get stage fright.’
‘This is different.’ Imogen gestured to the room, already filling up with people. ‘And Dexter and I are so …’
‘Crap?’ Jazz suggested.
Imogen glared at her. ‘Veryhelpful. Thank you so much.’
‘You’re not,’ Jazz said, laughing. ‘And you’re the sexiest couple up there, so people probably won’t be listening anyway. They’ll be too distracted by thesmoulder.’
‘Jazz!’
‘You love me really.’
‘I do not!’ Imogen tried to sound cross, but her lips twitched traitorously.
‘Anyway, Mistingham events wouldn’t be Mistingham events without a bit of chaos thrown in for good measure.’
‘That’s so reassuring,’ Imogen murmured, as she scanned the crowd. She saw Lucy sitting next to Birdie, Artichoke in her arms, the puppy wearing a red velvet bow on her collar. Her stomach somersaulted.
‘Come on,’ Jazz said. ‘Everyone’s sitting down, and we’re at the front because we have to get to the stage.’
Imogen trailed Jazz to the front of the room, saw two seats free at the end of a row and then, her heart sinking, realized Dexter was at the opposite end, next to the aisle, and that there were no spaces near him. It would seem churlish to ask people to move just because they were performing together. She was about to sit down when he looked her way. He was in a navy suit and black shirt, his silver tie shimmering under the lights in the opulent lounge. Somehow, they had dressed to match.
He gave her a small smile, then raised a hand and ran it through his curls. They were unruly, as if he’d been doing that all day.
‘Hey,’ Imogen mouthed, lifting her own hand in greeting.
He gave her another tight smile, then looked away, and Imogen’s heart dropped into her ballet pumps. He was over her. She wasstillgetting everything wrong. She hadn’t beencareful enough with his feelings, hadn’t told him soon enough that she was staying, and she’d lost him. Now she had to get up on stage and perform with him, knowing that it was over, and it was all her fault.
She sank into her seat next to Jazz and raised her eyes to the ceiling, willing herself not to cry. And then she saw it – hanging all the way along the walls on either side, a bit higher than head height so she hadn’t noticed it earlier: sprigs and sprigs of plump, healthy mistletoe.
‘Where did all that come from?’
‘Dunno,’ Jazz said. ‘Maybe Harry’s got a taste for it now, and wanted some more for Christmas Day.’
‘Somany kisses.’ Imogen glanced along their row, but she could only see Dexter’s arm.
The murmuring died down and Fiona, wearing a green silk dress and red heels, strode onto the stage.
‘Happy Christmas Eve Eve, Mistingham,’ she said into the microphone.‘It’s wonderful to see so many of you here tonight. Thank you for coming to our Snow Show, a very apt name for our replacement for the Oak Fest which, I think we can all agree, would have been a white-out, if not a wash-out. Thank you to Harry and Sophie Anderly for hosting us, and to Dexter at Mistingham Bakery and Natasha from the Blossom Bough for the wonderful refreshments. We have such a treat for you tonight: festive scenes and romantic moments, poems and skits that go from funny to sizzling to emotional. I hope you all see something you enjoy, and please applaud our performers generously; they have worked hard for tonight. Without further ado, let’s welcome Frank and Valerie to the stage.They’re performing a scene from one of the most famous Christmas books – one I hope you’ll recognize.’
