Trisha Ashley - Twelve Days of Christmas

‘Revel Cakes,’ I explained, ‘They’re a sort of lightly-fruited spiced bread, really, so the yeast needs to work for two or three hours at least, before I make them.’

I dropped the yeasty yellow mass into the bowl, covered it in cling film and set it near the Aga to rise.

‘Sorry I got the wrong end of the stick yesterday,’ he apologised, putting the kettle on and making more coffee without being asked, one of his main early morning assets, while I started on my next task, a hearty winter casserole of venison for dinner tonight, which we would have with jacket potatoes from Henry’s store, followed by a baked custard. This was apparently Noël’s favourite dessert, just as it had been my Gran’s.

‘You certainly jumped to some strange conclusions about me — but then, you’re always doing that!’

‘You’re right,’ he admitted. ‘I’ve misjudged you all along. But this time the truth is even weirder! Holly, I can’t believe you’re seriously going to go it alone and have a baby by AI! You can’t have thought—’

‘I’ve thought of everything ,’ I interrupted. ‘I have it all planned — and it’s none of your business anyway, is it?’

He sighed and ran his fingers through his dark hair, which was starting to curl, being in need of cutting. ‘It feels like it is — but we can discuss it later.’

‘No, we can’t: I’m going to be busy all day and then I’ll have to pack.’

‘But, Holly, you don’t really intend to dash off tomorrow morning if the roads are cleared, do you? Why not stay for the Revels? It seems silly to miss them now and the family will be really disappointed if you aren’t there. You could stay one extra night, couldn’t you?’

I looked at him and weakened slightly, because I so desperately wanted to see them now I’d heard so much about them. . especially Jude as Saint George!

‘I suppose I could . . But I don’t have to stay on, I can pack my car and leave right after it’s over, like Michael’s doing.’

‘But he’s only driving as far as his friend’s place near Leeds tomorrow night, and you’ll have a much longer drive. Anyway, if you leave immediately, you’ll miss all the fun.’

‘What kind of fun?’ I asked suspiciously, remembering Sharon’s hints of some kind of Wicker Woman sacrifice.

‘Well, the wassail, for a start.’

‘Wassail?’

‘A sort of hot apple and ale punch that Nancy brews up.’

‘Oh yes, I think she did mention that.’

‘And Old Nan, Richard and Henry will all expect you to be there too, right to the end with the rest of the family. So you see, you might as well stay over that night.’

That brief but wonderful smile flashed across his face like a rare comet and I felt my willpower dissolving faster than sugar in hot water. .

One more night couldn’t hurt, could it?

‘Okay,’ I heard myself say.

‘Good.’ He looked pleased, but that was possibly because he knew he was going to get one extra well-cooked dinner before he was forced back onto his usual diet of convenience foods.

He started off cooking bacon for breakfast while I finished the casserole and put it in the slow oven. The pot custard could go in later, when I baked the Revel Cakes, and possibly a carrot cake — goodness knows, we had enough of those, since Henry was clearly the Carrot King.

For once, everyone else came down for breakfast at more or less the same time, except Coco, who arrived late demanding black coffee — though I made her eat an omelette too — and then went back up to finish her packing. You’d have thought she’d already have done it, if she was so desperate to leave!

Guy set off in his big Chelsea tractor right after breakfast with Coco, her white coat a testament to my laundering skills, but her hat still a trifle manky. She’d made it so unendearingly plain that she couldn’t wait to shake the dust of the place off her stilettos that we all gathered outside, prepared to wave her off with huge enthusiasm.

‘Goodbye, Horlicks!’ Jess called gaily, but she pretended she hadn’t heard.

Guy kissed everyone goodbye before he got in, including me, and wished me good luck, though I don’t know why he thought I would need it more than anyone else.

‘And by the way, I forgive you for doing the last bit of jigsaw!’ he added.

‘It was too tempting and I didn’t think you’d have time this morning. But now Jude can take it back to Oriel’s shop and get half the price refunded.’

‘Thrift is clearly your middle name,’ Jude said to me with amusement as we waved goodbye to the vanishing people-carrier. ‘Are you going to come down to the studio later?’

‘I could walk down with your lunch early, but I won’t be able to stop — I’ll need to get back and start making fifty fiddly little spiral Revel Cakes. The dough will have risen by then.’

Or at least, I hoped it would.

I made my pot custards and the carrot cake, went out to have a long talk over the fence with Lady, then gave Merlin a good brushing in the tackroom, which would be his last before I left.

That thought made me feel sad: I’d become so attached to him that I would be lost without my faithful shadow following me about. I’d miss Lady, too, and even Billy. .

We had an early lunch, which Jess didn’t eat a lot of, due to her having searched out and devoured every last remaining chocolate decoration on the tree while everyone else was occupied. The older members of the party had been closeted in the morning room with Road to Rio and Michael, who is house-trained, had washed, dried and pressed his laundry in the utility room.

I was so busy I should have asked Jess or Michael to take Jude’s lunch down to the studio for me, but instead found myself drawn down there one last time, like iron filings to a magnet.

And I was glad I had, because the sculpture was really taking shape! It looked a bit as though a tornado had whirled huge metal leaves into the semblance of a horse and woman, rather than having been purposely constructed: I suppose that was what Jude intended?

He was deeply absorbed in what he was doing and I put the basket down where he would spot it when he returned to Earth and tiptoed away — or as much as you can tiptoe when wearing wellies.

Rolling dough into fifty small sausages, winding them into tight spirals and sprinkling them with chopped candied peel and sugar took forever .

Just as I was transferring the last lot from an oiled muffin tin to the cooling rack, Noël popped in to tell me that their housekeeper, Edwina, had managed to get through in her small estate car, bringing fresh groceries for both them and Becca, so I made a tray of tea and some of the carrot cake and took it through to the sitting room.

Edwina was a spare, middle-aged woman with severely scraped-back sandy hair and the expression of a martial marmoset. She seemed to have them all organised for their own good, even Tilda, and I could see she was very efficient.

‘I found Jude in his studio and he told me what happened and that you were all up here,’ she said. ‘I’ve filled your fridge and freezer, Becca, and you owe me fifty-seven pounds and eighty-five pence — the receipt’s on the worktop by the microwave.’

‘Oh, thank you, Edwina,’ Becca said gratefully. ‘I’ll ride Nutkin home after breakfast tomorrow, and then perhaps someone could drop my bags off later?’

‘I expect Jude will,’ Noël said.

‘Jude suggested you and Tilda stay here tonight and come home in the morning and I said it was a good idea,’ Edwina said. ‘It’ll give me a chance to take down the decorations and have a good clean through.’

‘Oh, good,’ Noël said. ‘Holly’s made a custard tart for tonight and I was looking forward to it.’