Jane Linfoot - A Cosy Christmas in Cornwall

I shrug and try to look less shocked than I feel. ‘Another bit of small print you should have checked before you grabbed the cash. It’s too late now, they’re coming, you’ll have to upgrade accordingly.’ If he’s a dog hater and a child hater, I can’t imagine how this will ever work out. No wonder the place is so bare and lacking in any traces of emotional warmth. Whatever I picked up on all those years ago, I got him totally wrong. The man obviously has no empathy at all.

But at the same time I’ve made two unexpected leaps forward. There’s actually no need for Bill to hide anywhere, because how many of Libby’s friends will have their own dedicated wood delivery person? I’m wondering how Bill would feel about smartening up a bit so we could pass him off as a butler in a few of the photos.

Now I’m sensing I’ve got the upper hand, I’m throwing it all out there. ‘So what about the deccies, then?’

This time his groan’s louder still. ‘I’m a straight guy, I struggle garnishing a cocktail. Ask me to tinsel up a castle, I haven’t got the foggiest where to begin.’ Which proves he knows one twinkly word, so he’s not quite as clueless as he’s claiming.

‘There are always attics rammed with cast-offs in the houses by the sea in Enid Blyton books.’ The more I think about it, the more it goes with the territory. And if we’re stuck with an arrogant arse like Bill, who’s so far failing miserably with this let, we might as well make the most of whatever trappings we can get our hands on. ‘Don’t you have a loft we could plunder?’

‘You know the top floor’s full of bedrooms.’ That’s it. Then he takes a deep breath and wrinkles his nose. ‘There is some of the old tat we pulled out of the castle – that’s over in the coach house, but I swear none of it’s usable.’

I sit up straighter. ‘You’ll be surprised what you can make use of when the going gets tough. And Christmas trees would make a huge difference too. It’s my job to make things look pretty, if you’d stop channelling your inner Scrooge, I’m sure we could sort this. Believe me, anything that stops Libby having a meltdown will be more than worth the effort. She and the kids are arriving late Sunday. If we work our socks off from now until then, we can turn this around.’

Bill rolls his eyes, then does another shudder at the mention of the children. ‘When you put it like that, what are you waiting for?’

Time for me to drop my very own bombshell. ‘I can only stay if Merwyn does.’

‘Why did I ever start this?’ Bill’s growling through gritted teeth. ‘You’ll have to keep him out of the distillery. The kids too.’

‘Obviously. Merwyn hates distilleries anyway.’ I’m not going to admit that yet again I have no idea what the hell he’s talking about. What distillery?

Bill looks as if he’s close to having smoke coming out of his nostrils and his ears. ‘Fine.’ It’s obviously nothing of the kind, but this is his bed, he made it, he has to lie in it, or however the saying goes. ‘I’m not happy, but you’ve got me over a barrel here – Merwyn can stay.’

And finally, a result! ‘Did you hear that Merwyn, you got your invitation to Christmas at the castle!’ I let him snaffle his chocolate drop, and he’s so ecstatic that he leaps up on the sofa, jumps straight onto my knee and smothers me in sloppy doggy kisses.

Bill’s face is crumpling in distaste. ‘Two conditions – no dogs on the sofas and definitely no dogs on the beds.’

It’s not that we aren’t going to be respectful. But Merwyn and I both know, Bill’s in no position to make rules here. And the faster he realises that, the better we’ll all get on.

As for me, there was a train wreck roaring towards me at a hundred miles an hour and somehow I’ve managed to avert it. It’s not that I care about this for myself, it’s more that I want to make things perfect for Fliss and Libby and everyone else who’s coming down. It’s going to be a huge challenge to keep this on track. It’s going to be hideous doing this with Bill around. But right now, with three days ahead of me, an empty castle, and carte blanche to fill it with Christmas, I couldn’t feel any more focussed on the job in hand.

I whistle Merwyn, then beam across at Bill. ‘So where’s this coach house then?’

Merwyn and I are following Bill around the front of the castle, and when my phone rings it’s such a surprise, I almost drop it. When I see who’s calling, I wish I had.

‘Libby! Lovely to chat, how can I …?’ I notice Bill slow to a halt ahead of me.

Libby cuts me off in mid sentence. ‘There are packages on their way as we speak!!’ Forget EE, her booming voice is loud enough to have carried all the way from London on the wind. ‘I’ve been trying to get you all morning, have you had your phone switched off?’

‘Great news on the parcels, the signal’s patchy, that’s all.’ My bad luck to hit a hot spot now. If she’s going to ask about the castle, I have no idea what I’m going to say.

‘So how’s the castle?’

My stomach drops. ‘Practically on the beach, can you hear the sound of the waves?’ I push my phone high in the air.

Whatever surf splashes she’s picking up, she’s shouting over them. ‘How about inside, is it gorgeous?’

Yards ahead Bill turns and raises an expectant eyebrow.

What can I say? She won’t want to hear the truth, I don’t want to lie, so there’s only one option. ‘You’re breaking up … sorry … I’ve lost you …’ I press the red circle on my screen, then switch the phone off completely.

Bill sends me a disbelieving frown. ‘You find signal and then end the call, what’s that about?’

I’d call it a survival tactic. ‘I’ll talk to her when I know what there is to work with.’

He pulls a face. ‘Don’t hold your breath.’

We have a couple more false starts before we make our way along the path through the shrubbery beyond the side of the castle. Twice more we set off and both times we’re stopped by van drivers with clipboards and sheafs of papers and parcels to add to the pile in the castle hallway.

As we finally head off Merwyn’s skipping along at my side, his tail waving like a flag, it’s as if he’s decided that now he’s officially on the guest list he might as well look like he owns the place. I pull my hat down more securely to keep out the freezing wind gusts, and get a first glimpse of the coach house buildings through the foliage. They’re long, low and barn-like, but with their dark slate roofs rimy with salt and the late afternoon sunlight reflecting off the shimmering silver of the sea, they make a dramatic group against the fading sky. By the time Bill’s pushing open the wide door at the end of the longest building, he’s still chuntering.

In Chamonix Will was good tempered, and in my head that’s how he stayed. I can’t help being taken aback by how grouchy the passing years have made him.

As he flicks on the lights, he lets out a sigh. ‘Okay, knock yourself out.’

I’m staring around a wide space lit by the flat glare of strip lights, up to the rafters of a high slanting roof, taking in shelves full of boxes and lumpy tarpaulins. ‘Go on then, show me what’s under the dust sheets.’

He sniffs as he lifts up a corner. ‘Bits of furniture, general rubbish, they’re hardly going to satisfy a high end customer are they?’ His eyes flash. ‘And there’s definitely no child equipment either.’

As I swoop in on an ancient leather armchair, I can’t believe what I’m looking at. ‘How many of these have you got?’ I’m holding my breath, hoping there might be a pair to go either side of one of the fireplaces, or to tuck away to make a cosy corner in one of the tower alcoves.