Trisha Ashley - Twelve Days of Christmas

‘Apart from being stunningly beautiful, she can also be fun, believe it or not,’ he said dispassionately. ‘But she’s shallow as a puddle and totally self-centred.’

‘You have lots in common then,’ Tilda said tartly. ‘I can’t think why you broke up.’

‘I think you are tired, m’dear,’ Noël said gently. ‘Wouldn’t you like to go to bed and I will bring you a hot drink up?’

‘Perhaps that would be a good idea,’ Tilda conceded. ‘The child could do with an early night, too.’

‘I’m not a child,’ Jess protested, ‘and I want to finish making the last present before I go up.’

‘Half an hour, then,’ Tilda said firmly.

The others went into the sitting room and I took the coffee tray through and then retired to the kitchen to clear away and look over tomorrow’s menu, sincerely hoping that I wouldn’t have two extra mouths to feed after breakfast!

Guy brought the tray back. ‘Still at it? Only everyone else has called it a day and gone to bed. What are you doing?’

‘Putting the jelly layer on this trifle and then I’m going to let Merlin out for a last run and check on the horses before I go to bed.’

And I would take the journal back upstairs with me too, because, however weary I felt, I was sure I could manage to read another page or two. It kept drawing me like a moth to the flame — I’d been dipping into it at every opportunity.

The light flickered off and then, with extreme reluctance, back on again.

‘The horses will be fine. Put Merlin out and then come and have a nightcap with me,’ he suggested.

‘No, thank you.’

‘Pity. Still, we’ll have lots of time to get to know each other so much better over Christmas.’

‘I hope not — I’m expecting you and Coco to leave in the morning.’

‘Well, Coco’s certainly going, even if I have to bribe one of the farmer’s boys to take her all the way to London in the tractor. But I’m staying.’

‘That’s very unchivalrous of you!’

‘Not entirely: she’s such a crap driver I certainly wouldn’t let her drive herself back to London in these conditions, even if they do get her car out of the ditch.’

‘I still think you should take her yourself,’ I said. ‘Jude won’t want you staying here and I would much prefer it if you left, too.’

‘You don’t mean that really,’ he said, but finally, getting no response to his flirting, he took himself and his amazingly effulgent aftershave off to bed.

I put the trifle in the fridge and then, accompanied by Merlin, went through and banked up the fire in the sitting room, set the guard safely round it and tidied up. Apart from the usual creakings and sighing of an old house all was quiet and peaceful.

‘Last run, Merlin?’ I asked, shrugging into my down-filled jacket and picking up my big, rubber-cased torch, because whatever Guy said, I knew my duty. But we’d only just got to the back door when the lights went out — and this time stayed out.

The generator and I were about to get better acquainted.

When I opened the back door the snow was still falling in big, fluffy flakes, and had banked up so I had to wade through it practically up to the top of my wellingtons.

Merlin turned around almost immediately and asked to go back in, which I couldn’t blame him for in the least, even if I would have preferred his company.

I don’t think I’d quite appreciated how pitch black it would be out there without the yard lights on and the moon hidden behind clouds. The wind was clanking something against the metal gate, but otherwise the snow seemed to have a deadening effect on the usual country night noises. It’s lucky I’m not of a nervous disposition.

I switched on my torch and trudged across to the barn, with its sweet smell of hay and warm horse. Nutkin was hanging his head drowsily and barely flickered his ears at me when I shone the beam at him, but I couldn’t see Lady at first. This threw me into a panic until I found her lying down very comfortably in the warm straw, with Billy next to her.

I went quietly out again and bolted the door, then made my way across to the generator room and into the silent darkness. It was just as cold in there as it was outside, since the back wall was slatted for ventilation.

It all looked subtly different in the dim light but, according to Henry, all I had to do was flick a couple of switches to turn the generator on manually — and then, if that had no effect, startle the machine with a quick and underhand thump to a vital bit of its anatomy.

This, he’d assured me, never failed.

I’d just pressed down the switches (with no discernible result) when I sensed rather than heard a slight movement in the doorway behind me and knew I was no longer alone.

‘What the hell are you doing in here?’ demanded a deep, rumbling and ominously familiar voice, which then added more urgently, ‘And don’t touch that—’

But he was too late, because after the first heart-stopping second, logic had told me I was in no danger from that quarter — so I’d ignored him and dealt the generator a sudden blow. This had the desired result: it burst instantly into roaring, throbbing noise.

Then I turned round and said calmly, ‘Why don’t you put on the light now it’s working again, and introduce yourself?’

But unfortunately, when he did, I decided I’d liked him much better in the dark. To say he was a large man was like saying that grizzlies are quite big bears, for he was not only extremely tall, but broad across the shoulders too. A pair of red-rimmed, deep-set dark eyes looked out of a face that only the words ‘grim’ and ‘rugged’ seemed to describe, framed by the fur-edged hood of a giant parka.

‘My God, it’s the abominable snowman!’ I heard my voice say rudely, though in my defence it has to be admitted that I’d had a long and very trying day. ‘That’s all we need!’

He covered the expanse of floor between us in two quick strides, pushing back the hood to reveal a lot of short dark hair, all standing on end, and looked down at me (which was not something I was used to) with a heavy frown furrowing his forehead.

Those new theories about us all having a bit of Neanderthal DNA might be true, then.

‘Holly Brown, I presume?’

‘Yes — and you don’t have to tell me who you are, because it’s obvious now I can see you better: Jude Martland. I thought you were in America?’

‘I was,’ he said shortly. ‘But the last I heard from Noël was that Tilda had had an accident and been rushed off to hospital, so I didn’t know what the hell was happening! I’ve been travelling ever since.’

Well, that would account for the red-rimmed eyes and the dark stubble, at least, though the bad-tempered expression was probably a permanent feature on a face that could only be described, even by his loved ones, as rugged rather than handsome.

‘You were so concerned you came straight back?’

I must have sounded incredulous, because a spark of anger glowed in his eyes and he snapped back, ‘Of course I did! With a mercenary witch in charge of my house, I didn’t hold out much hope that anyone would be rallying round.’

‘Thanks. If I sounded surprised, it’s because you didn’t strike me as someone who would care enough about any of your family to fly back straight away.’

‘I can’t imagine where you got that idea. .’ He paused, still glaring at me. ‘Do I know you from somewhere?’

‘No, I’m glad to say I’ve never met you before in my life.’ I rather wished it had stayed that way.

‘You look vaguely familiar. But never mind that — where are Noël and Tilda? There was no sign of life at the lodge.’

‘Here, of course! They moved in with Jess on the afternoon after the accident, and your Aunt Becca came the next day, so she’s here too. I did try and call your mobile to tell you what was happening.’

‘I was probably over the Atlantic by then.’ He looked at me thoughtfully. ‘So, who else had you already invited to stay with you, some friend or other? There were two cars by the gate, though the snow’s drifted over them.’

‘Of course I didn’t invite a visitor!’ I snapped. ‘I wouldn’t dream of doing such a thing while looking after a house, unless I had prior permission from the owner.’

‘Then whose is the second car?’

‘The small one is mine, but the other—’

‘A plaintive voice from the cold outer darkness broke in. ‘Excuse m-me,’ it said through chattering teeth, ‘d-do you think you c-could p-possibly c-continue this c-conversation indoors? Only I th-think I’ve got hypothermia.’

Jude Martland moved to one side, revealing his companion to be a smaller, fair man. He seemed to have several layers of clothes on, though going by the outer one, a light raincoat, none of them was terribly suitable for trekking through snowdrifts in arctic conditions.

‘I’d forgotten about you!’ Jude said, then turned to me: ‘Look, I’m going to bring the Land Rover into the shelter of the yard. You take him into the kitchen and thaw him out.’

‘Yeah, and what did your last one die of?’ I muttered, but he was running his hands over the gently throbbing generator and didn’t hear me. Honestly, men and their toys!

‘It’s fine,’ I assured him. ‘Henry showed me what to do if it wouldn’t start automatically. There’s no mechanical skill involved that I can see.’

‘There is if it goes wrong,’ he said, then turned and strode off.

‘Well, do come into the house,’ I invited the shivering stranger and he followed me in gratefully. I made him take his soggy shoes and outer layers off in the passage and put them in the utility room to dry off, along with mine.

Now I could see him better, he was very handsome, in a thin, fair way — chilled but perfectly preserved. ‘I’m M-Michael Whiston,’ he said, holding out a hand like a frozen blue fish.

‘Holly Brown — come on through, it’s warmer in the kitchen. And never mind the dog, Merlin is harmless.’

Merlin didn’t seem terribly interested in the stranger, except in a polite sort of way, but at the roar of the Land Rover’s engine outside and then a pair of heavy thuds — presumably as baggage was tossed through the back door — he uttered a low bark and began to wag his tail.

‘Just as well someone’s glad to see him,’ I muttered. I pulled up a chair next to the Aga for Michael and then fetched a picnic rug from the utility room and draped it around him. He smiled gratefully.

I’d put the kettle on and was making tea by the time Jude came in, in stockinged feet and drying his hair on Merlin’s towel. He tossed it aside and bent to fondle the old dog’s ears.

‘I looked in on Lady — she seems fine,’ he said grudgingly.

‘Of course she’s fine, I kept telling you she was. And Becca’s keeping an eye on her now, too.’ I handed him a mug. ‘Give your friend this, he’s got hypothermia. I’ve put brandy in it.’

‘Not the good brandy from the dining room, I trust?’

‘No, I used that up in the cake. This is some cheap stuff I got from the pub.’

‘You put my Armagnac in the cake?’ he asked with disbelief.

‘I had to make a Christmas cake in a hurry and I assumed it wasn’t much good or you would have locked it in the cellar with the rest of the booze. Mo and Jim wouldn’t have touched it anyway and neither would I — all the Homebodies staff are vetted for honesty, soberness and reliability.’

‘I forgot about it until too late, but it was Sharon I didn’t trust, not Mo and Jim.’ He stared at me. ‘I’d never have thought of anyone putting the last of my father’s good brandy in a cake, though!’

‘It’s not the last, Noël found another bottle in the cellar. And anyway, the cake is for your family and it smells delicious. Now, for goodness sake, give the tea to your friend before it goes cold!’

‘Michael isn’t my friend, I’d never met him before tonight. He’s just another fool who got his car stuck on the lower road trying to take a shortcut.’

‘The SatNav sent me down there,’ the man said, gratefully clamping both shaking hands around the mug, though at least his teeth seemed to have stopped chattering. ‘But the snow got too bad and I couldn’t go any further.’