Jules Wake - From Paris With Love This Christmas

The bathroom, with its Victorian styled sink and bath, had a damp used-not-so-long-ago taint to it but there was no sign of Laurie.

Siena’s eager tour of the downstairs of the house had taken precisely eight minutes. She almost checked the walls to make sure she hadn’t missed a secret passageway or a door leading to another wing. Nope. The hallway of the Chateau had more furniture than this whole house.

Where was Laurie though? Siena figured she must have gone out to get some groceries as the fridge was almost bare apart from something called shepherd’s pie, although it didn’t look like any pie she’d ever come across, and a tiny bit of milk in the oddest glass bottle she’d ever seen.

Conscious of the dryness of her mouth, she squeezed past the pine table big enough to seat four, stopping to take a closer look at the cheerful place mats covered in jaunty chickens in reds, yellows and oranges before switching on the enamel red kettle. The cosy country kitchen made you want to stay awhile, sit at the table and chat. It was easy to picture evenings in here, sitting in the spindle-backed chairs, sipping wine at the table with her sister. She sighed. She couldn’t wait to see Laurie. They were going to have so much fun and hopefully she wouldn’t mind her staying a bit longer.

Reaching above into the distressed cream-painted wooden cupboard, she found an assortment of china mugs, each patterned with different flowers. Making herself a cup of tea, she leant against the counter and studied the eclectic collection of china egg cups and pottery jugs which lined the shelves of the wooden dresser on the other side of the room.

Taking her tea, and crossing the terracotta tiled floor which felt cold under her feet, she went through to the tiny, tiny lounge. The whole room was smaller than her dressing room in the Paris apartment but despite that, the cottage style sofa with its floral print purple wisteria trailing across the plump feather-cushioned sofa strewn with perfectly co-ordinated fat cushions in muted colours, was charming. The room even had a proper open cast-iron fireplace with a surround of flower painted ceramic tiles and a clutch of brass fire-tools in a stand beside it. Twists of newspaper piled with coal sat in the grate waiting to be lit. Feeling a little bit like Goldilocks but sure that Laurie wouldn’t mind, she picked up the box of matches from the crowded wooden mantle. There were several framed pictures including one of Laurie and her boyfriend Cam laughing their heads off at something out of the shot and a faded black and white photo of an older man. Siena studied it for a moment and put it back hurriedly.

The flames had caught. Nice going on the fire making front. With a happy sigh, she snuggled down and picked up her magazine, one of a collection she’d bought at Charles de Gaulle. It was hardly a taxing prospect, whiling away the time waiting for Laurie by flicking through the pages of party themed sequinned dresses, shimmering eye shadows and gorgeous clutch bags and listening to the snap and crackle of the fire. She turned another page. So, she’d miss Claude’s Christmas soirée at the Musée d’Orsay. Possibly the best event in Paris and the only thing she’d miss. With a moue of acceptance she shrugged. No matter. She’d have fun with Laurie.

And as if she conjured her up, her mobile phone vibrated into life.

‘Hi Sien … son texted me … picked you up OK.’ Laurie’s Dalek voice snapped in and out of range.

‘I can hardly hear you.’ Siena winced at the plaintive whine in her voice. It sounded so pathetic and needy, not the image she wanted to portray. ‘Are you still in Yorkshire?’

‘Yes. Sorry. Really bad line. At …pital. How’s the room? Do you … Can’t leave N … hospital at least … Don’t worry Jason will—’ The signal died leaving a long buzzing tone.

Her heart bumped a little uncomfortably and she worried at her lip. So who had used the bathroom this morning? And when was she going to get the chance to explain properly to Laurie how long she planned to stay? Laurie probably assumed Siena finally had a free weekend and had taken up the invitation originally extended over two years ago.

She winced. That sounded crap. It was crap. One hundred and four weekends that she’d failed to come and see her sister; she should have managed at least one. She glanced back at her phone, now registering all the missed calls and voicemails. She could go through and delete them but keeping them was like keeping a wasp in a jar. Safely contained and fine as long as it stayed in there.

Nestled in her hand the phone felt like a time bomb ticking.

‘Time to finish up, Ben.’

As if someone had pulled the plug on the power, Ben dropped the hose he was using to wash down the concrete floor and pulled off his beanie hat, stuffing it into his pocket. The hose flailed wildly for a second, hitting Jason’s trousers before Ben managed to get to the tap to switch it off. Jason stared down at the dark wet patch running from crotch to knee. Yup, looked exactly like he’d wet himself. He shook his head and rolled his eyes behind Ben’s back. No point bawling the boy out. He only had himself to blame. By now he should know full well that Ben took everything quite literally.

Jason sighed out loud. The plus point meant you could be incredibly direct, the downside was that you had to be extremely careful what you said.

‘If you wash out the pipes on the bottling line, then you can finish.’ He took a quick look around the small barn area, feeling that familiar sense of pride. The gleaming fermentation tanks, the bottling line and the stores of grain lined up in the old stable area. The high roof of the barn made it a cold, but light and airy environment to work in, one that he had never failed to want to arrive at every morning.

‘Good work today. Now that lot’s bottled, we can start again next week.’

They’d worked like stink today, so hard neither of them had felt the cold of the barn, until he’d got soaked. Now the cold stung and the chill seeped below his layers. They could wrap up for the day. Today’s backbreaking pace had paid off. Back on schedule, all ready to start brewing tomorrow. Ben had managed to fix the miller, so that they could grind down the malt barley and get it together with the water into the mash tun. Brewing was a magical process. It never ceased to amaze him that you could get so many infinite flavours from the simple combination of water and grain

He rolled his stiff neck. A satisfying day, which would be all the better for a long hot shower, an instant meal and bed. All he had to do was finish up in the office, nip over the courtyard to see Will, enjoy a quick post work pint and head home. It was handy having his business partner running the pub next door and of course owning a convenient barn that was perfect for a micro-brewery.

‘Jason, what you having? Busman’s holiday?’ Will slid off the bar stool, lifted the wooden flap and went round to the other side of the bar. Ben was already ensconced comfortably at the bar, halfway down a pint.

‘Corona, please.’

‘Seriously …’ Will rolled his eyes at Ben. ‘Young Ben here is loyal to the cause. Drinking a pint of Chiltern Glory. It’s your money. If you buy a pint of your own, it’s win win.’

Ben raised his glass. ‘Tastes good, boss.’

Jason laughed. ‘Go on then.’ He had just wanted to neck something cold. ‘I’ll have a half.’

‘Ironed out all the problems?’ Will was the perfect business partner, silent when he needed to be and hugely supportive and enthusiastic at all other times. They’d known each other since university when they’d played rugby together but they had more in common than their shared passion for beer. Both of them had lost their fathers in recent years which had strengthened their bond of friendship, although unlike his, Will’s relationship with his father had always been strained, which Will put down to the fact that he suspected they weren’t actually related by blood at all.