‘He’s a venerable Santa,’ I said, touched, ‘and he’s earned his place. And actually, I think if I leaned over the balcony I could put him on top of the tree from there.’

I managed to put quite a lot of small baubles on the top of the tree that way and helped drape the long string of fairy lights around it, so at least when I went out I knew Jess wouldn’t be teetering about too high up on the ladder.

‘You will be careful while I’m out, won’t you?’

‘Of course — we’re a team, aren’t we, Jess?’ Noël said. ‘The sitting room will be a picture by the time you get back!’

‘I’m sure it will,’ I said and left them to it while I made a few preparations in the kitchen and then got wrapped up for the walk. (I didn’t fancy my chances of getting the car back up the hill this time.)

Merlin was beginning to look anxious, but when I went back into the sitting room Jess stopped unravelling a garland and made a fuss of him.

‘I’m just off, but I’ve left soup in the pan on the back of the stove and sandwiches in the fridge for lunch. There’s carrot cake or mince pies for after. You don’t need to save anything for me, because I’ll have bread and cheese in the pub.’

‘I’ll sort that out and from the sound of it, I don’t think we’ll starve while you’re gone,’ Becca said cheerfully. ‘And if you don’t come back, we’ll send out search parties!’

‘If I gave you the keys, could you possibly pop into the lodge and just make sure everything is all right?’ asked Noël. ‘No burst pipes — always a worry at this time of the year.’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘And if you need anything from the kitchen, just help yourself,’ Tilda said graciously from the easy chair where she had placed herself to direct the decorating proceedings.

‘Thanks — that would be very useful, especially if you have almond and vanilla essences?’

‘I’m sure there are. Bring back what you need.’

‘I don’t like to ask for yet another favour,’ Noël said, ‘but if I gave you Jude’s mobile phone number, could you try calling him while you are down there, and tell him where we are?’

‘I’ll give it a go,’ I said dubiously, since I’m not in the habit of making transatlantic calls.

‘And go and make sure Old Nan and Richard are all right while you are down in the village, too,’ ordered Tilda autocratically, though it did show a caring and thoughtful side to her.

‘Actually, I’ve wrapped up half a dozen mince pies each for them already.’

‘Good idea.’

‘Wine gums,’ said Jess suddenly. ‘Can you bring me back a big bag?’

‘You’ll rot your teeth,’ said Tilda.

I left Jess hanging onto Merlin’s collar and set out, feeling just like one of those tiny figures in a vast snowy Breughel landscape painting. I followed the ploughed track down the driveway (I thought I’d heard the roar of the tractor earlier), slipping and sliding a bit on the fresh snow that had half-filled it. It was easier going under the pine trees by the river, where the ground was free of snow, and on impulse I turned up the wide path off it to where I knew Jude’s mill studio was.

It was only a few yards until the trees opened out to reveal a tall, narrow building with the remains of a mill race and dark, deep-looking pool below it. I peered through the window and saw that it was open right up to the rafters and full of all kinds of mysterious shapes, most vaguely equine.

It was pretty freezing so I didn’t linger, but went on to the lodge, where everything looked fine. The kitchen cupboards didn’t reveal much that I hadn’t got already, apart from a few flavourings, spices and ground almonds, which I put in my rucksack in case I forgot them on the way back.

The lane down to Little Mumming had been cleared and grit spread on the worst part of the slope, but it was still slippery, so I was grateful when George stopped his long-wheelbase Land Rover and offered me a lift. I had to share the front seat with his slightly smelly sheepdog, but to be honest, by then I was just glad of the warmth.

‘You must have been out really early, George! How is the road down beyond the village?’

‘Liam was the one out first thing and he said you could still get a four-wheel drive up and down to the main road, but anything else would be in trouble,’ he said. ‘My lad and Ben from Weasel’s Pot are friends, so one ploughs up and the other down and it gives them a chance to meet in the middle and waste time, like.’

I smiled. ‘You all seem to work really hard already — you must have plenty to do without all this road clearing.’

‘Ah, but farmers have to diversify to make the money these days, and the council pays well for road clearing. Then Jude and one or two others pay me for clearing their drives too, so it all helps.’

‘Yes, I suppose it must.’

‘And in the summer I hitch up this dinky little trailer with bench seats behind the tractor and take the tourists up the track to the beacon and back. Pays better than the sheep, that does.’

‘That’s very enterprising,’ I said and, as we came down past the church, added, ‘you know, I hadn’t thought to ask if the shop would even be open today!’

‘Oh, Orrie will only close Christmas and Boxing Day and she’ll always open in an emergency — she lives above the shop. Yes. . very obliging, is Orrie,’ he added thoughtfully — I could see I had an established love rival!

‘She certainly seems to have a wide-ranging stock, doesn’t she?’

‘Yes, well, she’s a general store and gift shop rolled into one, you see — caters for the tourist trade in summer and opens that café of hers for cream teas. Were you wanting anything in particular?’

‘Not really, just a few bits and pieces I thought we might run out of, and Tilda wanted me to check up on Old Nan and the Vicar — do you think you could drop me by the almshouses? I’ve been wondering how they’ll get up to Old Place for Christmas dinner. At a push, I expect I could drive them home again in my car, but I’m sure it won’t go up this hill. I’d have to leave it down there.’

‘Nay, that little car of yours won’t be much good on ice! It’s a pity Jude took his old Land Rover with him, or you could’ve used that.’

‘But I couldn’t use someone else’s car and I’ve never driven a Land Rover before.’

‘Well, don’t you fret about Christmas Day: our Liam can plough the road to the village and your drive first thing and then one of us will go down and fetch the old folks up for you.’

‘Surely you won’t be out on the roads on Christmas morning?’

‘We’re farmers: we’ll be out tending the livestock anyway, Christmas morning or not.’

‘You’re very kind,’ I said gratefully.

‘My pleasure,’ he said, with a quick sideways glance accompanied by his engaging grin.

Some children were making a snowman near the church and it all looked picturebook with its coating of snow. . until I saw where the children had chosen to stick the carrot.

‘Little bleeders,’ George said amiably, glancing at them as we passed and circled the green.

‘Noël’s told me a bit about the Revels. He said there would be a ring of twelve fire braziers as well as the bonfire.’

‘That’s right. Originally there were twelve small bonfires and one big one, but Jude made some wrought-iron basketwork braziers that spike into the ground, so we use those instead now. It’s the same idea, just easier and safer.’

He gave me another sideways look from his sky-blue eyes as he pulled up outside the almshouses. ‘Noël doesn’t usually say much to strangers about the Revels: none of us do. He must have taken an uncommon shine to you.’

‘I think it’s because he keeps forgetting I’m not one of the family, since I’m tall and dark, which seems to be usual with Martlands.’

‘Yes, the dark side does seem to win out, and you do have a Martland look — I thought so from the first.’

I wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or not!

‘I’m starting to be sorry I’ll miss the Revels. Do you take part in them?’

‘Oh yes, there’ve always been Rappers from Hill Farm,’ he said mysteriously as I got out, and added that he was going to see his sister, who lived on the far side of the village, but would look out for me on the way back.

Although Henry was out (I left his foil-wrapped package on a little shelf inside the porch and hoped it would be all right), the other two both seemed pleased to see me and accepted as a matter of course the news that someone from Hill Farm would pick them up and bring them to Old Place on Christmas Day. In fact, Old Nan told me that George wouldn’t need to bother, since Jude would come himself, he always did. Clearly she had lost the plot again.

Richard had also lost it, since he addressed me as Miss Martland and told me to inform the family that he would take a midnight carol service on Christmas Eve, since the vicar from Great Mumming was unlikely to make it. ‘He usually does an early service here, then goes on to the church in Great Mumming.’

‘Won’t you be exhausted taking a late service — and in the cold?’ I asked.

‘I don’t sleep much these days, anyway. And there are paraffin heaters in the church, you know — we have to keep the damp out.’

I didn’t go in either cottage, or keep them lingering in the cold: I wanted to get on and get my errands done so I could have a quiet lunch. . and I had Gran’s latest journal in the pocket of my rucksack. I had a feeling I was going to be too busy after this to spend much time relaxing.

There was a call box in the village, but it was out of order and goodness knows how much change I would have needed to call a mobile phone in the USA, anyway! I stayed in there out of the cold while I tried the number Noël had given me on my phone, but a disembodied voice told me it was unavailable.

Well, at least I had tried. . and, since I’d been braced to deal with Jude’s brusqueness (especially when I told him I’d be billing him for the call), I now felt strangely deflated!

Mrs Comfort, who was sitting behind the shop counter knitting, perked up and greeted me with enthusiasm, especially when I said I needed a few last-minute presents.

‘Gifts are mostly through in the Merry Kettle,’ she said, pointing through the open door into the café where the overflow of her goods was displayed, probably to tempt the visitors in summer while they consumed their cream teas.

I could feel her eager, beady eyes boring into my back as I looked around at the limited selection of toys, games and novelties. There was also a large wooden display stand of everything from mugs to dishcloths printed with inspirational thoughts and labelled ‘The Words of Comfort Range from Oriel Comfort’.

I was curious more than anything, because I’d already decided to make my emergency gifts myself: I’d noticed a cache of old, clean jam jars, wax discs, labels and cellophane lids in the scullery at Old Place and I intended filling them with sweets.

So I bought lots of the brightly coloured shiny ones that Jess liked, along with wine gums, humbugs, Liquorice Allsorts, mint imperials and coconut mushrooms, then added Sellotape, Christmas tags and a big roll of flimsy, cheerfully garish gift-wrap. I even found some red gingham paper napkins that could be cut into circles to make covers for the jars, too, and a bag of elastic bands to secure them.

As my pile of purchases mounted up on the counter, Mrs Comfort looked cheerier and cheerier and began to make helpful suggestions.

‘Noël likes Turkish Delight,’ she confided, ‘and his missis likes Milk Tray chocolates — he often buys her some. This is the last of the Turkish Delight, you’re in luck. And what about these chocolate tree decorations?’

Unbidden, she added them to the heap and then cast her eyes over her stock, obviously wondering what else she could offload onto me.

I whisked out my shopping list. ‘There are a few things I need, if you have them, like cocoa powder, icing sugar, jelly. .’

In fact, there weren’t many things she didn’t have. It felt a bit like watching a magician producing endless doves from a top hat.

‘And you’ll want the last tins of squirty cream,’ she urged me. ‘We’ve already got tons of the stuff!’

‘Love it, they do, at the lodge,’ she assured me. ‘Can’t get enough of it.’

I ticked the last thing off (more matches) with a sigh: I was wondering how I would get everything up the hill again, unless George spotted me.

Oriel took a new tack: ‘Old Nan, she likes chocolate mints and the vicar is partial to humbugs. Henry’s more of an Uncle Joe’s Mint Ball man.’