Trisha Ashley - Twelve Days of Christmas

‘Yes, I’m fine, thank you,’ I said, though I knew my eyes must be red, a dead giveaway. ‘I’d better do something about lunch, because it’s practically dinner time and everyone must be starving.’

‘I’ll do that,’ Jude said.

‘No, I can manage.’

‘Then manage me : you sit next to the Aga and boss me about — you’re good at that.’

‘It takes one to know one,’ I snapped back and he grinned.

‘There you are, you’re feeling better already!’

I gave in and sat down — by now the whisky seemed to have gone to my legs anyway. ‘It was only going to be Gentleman’s Relish sandwiches and cups of soup, followed by mincemeat flapjacks or the last of the mince pies — I took those out of the freezer earlier.’

‘I think even I can manage that. And actually, I’m not a totally hopeless cook, whatever you might think.’

‘Don’t forget that I’ve seen the extent of your ready meal supplies in the freezer.’

We were surprisingly amicable in our bickering, now that the awkwardness of an embrace which had taken both of us by surprise had worn off. But though we might have acknowledged a mutual physical attraction, I expect he was now remembering all the reasons why taking it any further would be a really bad idea, just as I was.

I wondered what on earth he had been going to ask me when Becca came in: maybe if I was a secret pretender to the throne of Old Place?

I felt absolutely fine later and insisted on cooking dinner myself, though I ended up with Michael and Jude, in slightly wary alliance, as assistants. Tilda and Jess made another potato-hedgehog starter with cheese and small pickled onions on cocktail sticks.

But at least Jess and I were excused the final play rehearsal and could loll about watching the others, until ordered off early to bed with hot water bottles by Jude. When I protested that I had things to do in the kitchen first, he said there was nothing that couldn’t keep until the morning and also that he was perfectly capable of locking up and all the rest of it himself, pointing out that he had managed to survive perfectly well before my arrival, so I gave in.

He’d been giving me very searching looks all evening, but since they weren’t dissimilar to the ones he sent my way when he was drawing me, he was probably just sizing me up for another sculpture: given my watery performance, a Little Mermaid, perhaps?

I was quite happy to go off to bed, really, because I was starting to feel exhausted and strangely light-headed, though calm in an odd sort of way: I suppose the whole experience on the ice had been a very cathartic one, when I came to think about it.

Now I’d accepted that Alan couldn’t help the actions that had led to his death, I could finally forgive him, letting go of the anger that had burdened me for the last eight years and enabling me to remember him, quite simply, with love.

And Gran? According to her journal, she seemed to have determined to do much the same:

Yesterday I packed my bags and departed from my lodgings without fuss, and was married that afternoon by special licence, a friend of my husband’s in a nearby town officiating. It all seemed like a strange dream, but I now mean to put out of my head all memories of what went before, and make Joseph the best possible wife, even though our relationship will always be only that of loving friends.

Jude was downstairs early and back to being quietly helpful, though there was still some awkwardness between us — in my case largely because that passionate kiss had featured largely and rather feverishly in my dreams last night. I knew he was thinking about it too — our eyes kept meeting and then we’d both immediately look away.

I felt absolutely fine, with no ill after-effects, as I assured him when he asked, accompanying the question with one of those searching stares from his deep-set dark eyes.

I was glad that we seemed to be friends again and he seemed cheerful enough (probably, in the light of day, deeply relieved that I hadn’t taken the kiss seriously!).

He even fell in with Coco’s suggestion that we have a quick run-through of our play scenes after breakfast, before he went to the studio, since it was New Year’s Eve (which, what with everything else happening, I had managed to forget!) and the final performance was to be later today, in front of an invited audience of Old Nan and Richard.

We played our Twelfth Night roles straight and serious, no hamming this time, and then off Jude went, commanding me to bring his lunch to the studio later, so we were back to normal again — or what passed for it.

‘Okay,’ I agreed, ‘but I won’t be able to stay long because I’ve got way too much to do. I want to turn the ham bone into pea and ham soup for tomorrow, for a start, and then I thought I might make some soda bread.’

‘Sounds good to me,’ he said. ‘By the way, Guy, one of us will need to drive down and pick up Old Nan and Richard this afternoon.’

‘I’ll do that if you like, then,’ he offered and then gave me a glinting, flirtatious smile. ‘Holly can come with me.’

‘Holly will be too busy cooking dinner for eleven people,’ I replied pointedly.

‘We’ve discussed the menu: it’s all very straightforward,’ Tilda said. ‘Smoked mackerel mousse on toast triangles — my very own recipe — roast lamb with rosemary and then treacle tart and custard.’

‘Lovely,’ Becca said. ‘I’m not going to want to go home when the roads have thawed. Maybe I could ask Richard to pray for more snow?’

Merlin had stayed with me this morning, but accompanied me down to the studio when I took Jude’s lunch.

He was welding, totally absorbed in his work, so I put on the spare visor and sat in my usual place on the dais to watch him until he finally switched off the torch.

‘It’s coming along, don’t you think?’ he asked, examining his handiwork critically. Already, what had started out looking like a few linked metal leaves had begun to elongate and swirl into the interlinked forms of horse and woman. It was turning out a bit like one of the maquettes he’d made, so I could see roughly where it was heading.

‘Yes, and I believe you now when you say you get paid good money for your sculptures,’ I teased him and he grinned.

‘You’re very good at dampening my pretensions, but my work is much in demand, I’ll have you know! “Some are born great, some achieve greatness and some have greatness thrust upon them.”’

‘Is that from the play? I don’t remember that bit.’

‘It’s in one of the scenes we’re not doing,’ he said, sitting down next to me. Merlin came out from under the dais and nudged his way between us, leaning his weight affectionately against Jude’s shoulder; though that might have been just a keen interest in the sandwiches.

Jude was silent while he ate, his mind clearly on his work rather than anything else, but when he’d finished and I was packing the remains back into the basket, he suddenly said, ‘Holly, we need to talk about yesterday, when I—’

‘Oh, let’s forget all that,’ I said brightly. ‘We’d both had a shock and it makes you do the strangest things. I feel much better now.’

‘Yes, but Holly, you—’

I picked up the basket and headed for the door. ‘I must go — see you later. I’ll be so glad to get this wretched play over with!’