The Magic of Christmas (27 page)

He slammed the phone down, but strode into my kitchen not ten minutes later, carrying an insulated box cradled in his arms like a baby.

‘This one’s perfect!’ he said, the light of battle in his eyes and his dark hair sticking up in an angry crest. ‘I defy you to find fault with it!’

‘Look, I’m up to the elbows in this, I can’t sit down and eat,’ I protested, so he followed after me around the kitchen, feeding me teaspoons of granita as if I were a stubborn toddler. Much though I would have liked to find fault, however, I couldn’t. The colour, taste and texture were all pure perfection.

When I said as much he tossed the spoon into the Belfast sink with a clatter, grabbed me and planted a triumphantly emphatic kiss on my lips before I could fend him off with the ladle.

‘Mmm … you taste of the perfect coffee granita!’ he murmured, half-closing his eyes.

‘I don’t know what else you’d expect, when you’ve been force-feeding me the stuff for the last ten minutes,’ I snapped, taking a step back. We unpeeled rather stickily.

‘You’re a very messy jam maker,’ he said severely.

‘And you are a very messy cook, full stop. I’ve never seen anyone use so much equipment to make even the simplest dish.’

‘Like my apple pie?’ he said, a gleam in his eyes. ‘Come on, Lizzy, you know there was nothing wrong with it last Sunday.’

‘It wasn’t bad,’ I conceded, then I smiled at him innocently and asked, ‘That granita … just what did you add to make it taste like that?’

‘Wouldn’t you like to know!’ he said tantalisingly. ‘Well, see you at the play rehearsal later, Eve!’ Then, picking up his cold box, he walked out.

He was still being exasperating at the rehearsal — and so were the Nine Angels, who kept gurning at each other when they thought I wasn’t looking.

I didn’t go to the pub afterwards, because I simply wasn’t in the mood, but sneaked out of the side door and dashed home. Anyway, the kitchen was still a sticky mess and I wanted to clear that up and then, while still in quince mode, make some wine.

Friday was Jasper’s last day at the dig and he returned smelling of real ale and with some kind of excavation certificate, with which he was highly pleased. I knew he’d been feeding Ginny pork scratchings at the pub after the dig, because she threw most of them up behind the kitchen door.

Jasper went straight off after dinner to stay for a couple of days with his friend Stu, whose family lived in Ormskirk, and although I wanted to spend every precious moment left with him before the start of his first university term, I didn’t try to persuade him not to go. Instead, I drove him there and dropped him off myself, hoping Stu’s mum was expecting Ginny, too — and thank heaven she came ready-house-trained.

I also hoped Jasper would behave himself, though frankly there are not many dens of iniquity in the lovely old market town of Ormskirk. But before he left home Unks gave him a
huge
amount of spending money. He must have had a win on the horses, to have so much cash about him.

‘You’ll be sensible, won’t you, Jasper?’ I said, hugging him before he got out of the Land Rover, which he suffered me to do in a resigned sort of way.

‘It’s not
me
who needs to be sensible, when that Rainford man’s forever dropping in and hanging out with you, or chatting you up in pubs,’ he protested. ‘Not to mention phoning you up and asking you to go round to his house all the time!’

‘He’s just being friendly, Jasper, and I only go round to his house to look after the dog.’

‘I don’t see why he can’t look after his own dog.’

‘Well, neither do I, really — or get one of his many girlfriends to do it.’

‘So you
do
know about all the girls he takes back there, then?’ He sounded relieved.

‘Honestly, Jasper! I’d have to be deaf, dumb and blind not to, even if Dora Tombs didn’t tell me. The whole village is talking about him, which at least means they’ve moved on from going over what your dad got up to with Leila and Polly, and taking bets on who the father of Ophelia’s baby is,’ I said tartly. ‘Now, you stop worrying about me, because anyone would think I was some naive innocent out of a Victorian melodrama, about to be taken advantage of by the villain of the piece!’

‘He does do that all the time in
Cotton Common
.’

‘But not in real life,’ I said firmly. ‘And I’m not interested in Ritch that way — or any other man. I just want to be left alone with my hens, my garden and my recipes.’

Especially
the search for the perfect apple pie and coffee granita …

‘Try not to fall out with Uncle Nick while I’m away,’ was his final admonishment as he removed his holdall and slammed the door. He must have been reading my mind — and bossiness seems to run in the Pharamond blood, just like cooking.

I didn’t get a chance to fall out with Nick, since it turned out that he had left for London and was then going on to Cornwall in search of fish recipes for some forthcoming article.

I felt a bit … piqued, I think is the word. I’d sort of got used to having him around again, annoying though he is, because he’s someone to bounce food ideas off and argue with. Annie’s interested in food, but I wouldn’t call her a creative cook, and she’s so even-tempered I couldn’t pick a quarrel with her even if I tried.

Mind you, since every second word she utters these days is ‘Gareth’, exasperation might eventually lead me to smother her to death, probably with a hassock.

Ritch was off in London too, shooting some cameo role for a film, so Dora Tombs and I were taking care of Flo between us. On Sunday I joined the depleted party up at the Hall for lunch and Mimi and Juno were full of talk of their holiday and deep in planning the installation of a water feature in the walled garden, while Unks was happily doing his own thing, as usual, mainly involving studying racing form.

I was still extremely busy myself, perpetually preserving, storing, gardening and pet-sitting, but it gave me a foretaste of what it was going to be like once Jasper went off to university …

I suspected Nick wouldn’t give up his flat in London after all, but go back to dividing his time between there and the Hall. Eventually, once the divorce was finalised, he’d marry someone young and beautiful and start a family. I was quite convinced this would happen, because even I had to admit he was wildly attractive, except when he was annoying me … so it was just as well he annoyed me most of the time, wasn’t it? And clearly he had no great interest in me, whatever my misguided relatives thought, since he couldn’t even be bothered sending me postcards any more!

Anyway, I liked being on my own, and Jasper wouldn’t be a million miles away, so I couldn’t imagine why I was feeling suddenly so depressed.

But of course I wasn’t totally alone, for I still had my friends in the Christmas Pudding Circle, and at the next Monday meeting Miss Pym gave us all a surprise gift of candied angelica. Marian had brought me her giant round two-part metal Christmas pudding mould, too, so the following afternoon I abandoned everything else and made a huge spiced fruit cannonball instead. The smell of the ingredients took me right back to happy times at the vicarage with Annie’s family, and was
very
comforting.

Stirring, I made a wish.

The most
dreadful
thing! Gareth called to tell me that Tom’s mother and stepfather had just arrived in the UK and were on their way down to pay their respects at Tom’s grave!

‘What? But why didn’t they call me?’ I asked, stunned. ‘I haven’t heard a word since the funeral — and it’s
years
since they saw Jasper, too, and he’s away at the moment. If only they’d let me know they were coming!’

‘I don’t know, but I thought I’d check to see if you knew about it, because they didn’t mention you and you ought to be there. I gave Mr Barillos directions to the graveyard. They’ve hired a car and were only about an hour away when he rang.’

I ran a distracted hand through my tangled hair. ‘Well, thanks for telling me, Gareth. They’re such odd people that I suppose them behaving like this shouldn’t surprise me, but you’re right and I’d better meet you at the graveyard.’

I hoped they wouldn’t be too disappointed that the stone has not yet been erected. It’s ordered, but these things do take time.

Quickly I changed into something clean, though equally unsuitable for the occasion, and set off, collecting Annie on the way for moral support.

Gareth was standing by the grave, which did indeed look forlorn, especially on such a grey, cold October day as this one: a grassy mound in the Pharamond corner. I intended planting spring bulbs there, once it had its stone, and possibly a bit of lavender. I don’t much like cut flowers left dying on graves, or in those little stone urns.

I wasn’t sure I would have recognised the Barilloses if I’d met them in the street, but on a gravel path in an old country graveyard, they stood out like sore thumbs. For a start, there was something glossily expensive about their clothes and, although it was not a sunny day, they both wore huge, wraparound reflective sunglasses.

The skin visible on Tom’s mother’s face looked stretched, smooth and peachily tinted, while her skittish curls were a rich brassy blond. Her husband looked positively withered and prune-like in comparison, apart from having a head of hair like black Astroturf.

Gareth stepped forward and clasped their hands in turn, murmuring a few earnest words. Then, since they were pointedly ignoring me, he gestured and said, ‘And here’s your daughter-in-law, Lizzy, come to meet you and her friend, Annie Vane, whom I don’t think you’ve met.’

‘Well, Elizabeth, I didn’t expect to see
you
here,’ Jacqueline Barillos said coolly.

‘My wife did not wish to see her — you should not have told her we were coming,’ argued her husband.

‘But she’s Tom’s widow,’ began poor Gareth, baffled. ‘Who better to offer comfort and—’

‘But we know she did not care about him and was a bad wife,’ interrupted Jaime Barillos. ‘We have had many beautiful letters from the woman he
did
love, whom he wanted to marry. We know how grieved he was when he found out about his wife’s affair and realised that even his own son was fathered by his cousin!’

‘Now, just a minute!’ I broke in angrily. ‘I think I can guess who’s been telling you this pack of lies, but it most definitely is
not
true!’

‘Certainly not!’ Annie defended me stoutly. ‘It was Tom who was the unfaithful one, not Lizzy, and Jasper
is
Tom’s son.’

‘And you, of all people, must know why my son looks so like a Pharamond!’ I added pointedly to Mrs Barillos.

She gave me a dirty look, then threw a dramatic hand towards the grassy mound and cried, ‘Here’s the proof — does
this
look like the tomb of a loved husband?’ Clearly she’d missed her calling and should have been on the stage.

‘The stone is ordered. These things take time,’ I explained.

‘Not even any flowers …’ she sobbed, turning to her husband, who put his arm around her and glared at me.

‘Please,’ began Gareth, ‘
please
don’t distress yourself, Mrs Barillos! Look, why don’t we all go back to the vicarage and talk this through? I fear you’re letting the natural grief of a mother lead you to unwarranted conclusions—’

‘No!’ she declared, lifting her head and turning her dark lenses in my direction like an inimical ant. ‘I would like you all to go away so I can pay my respects to my son —
alone.
’

‘Then afterwards, perhaps …’ suggested Gareth tentatively.

‘No. Leave us in peace,’ she said implacably.

I turned and walked off before I could say something I would regret, and Annie followed me, though Gareth paused to speak to them before catching us up.

‘This has been a bit of a shock, Lizzy. Why don’t you come back to the vicarage for a cup of tea anyway?’ he suggested kindly, but I insisted I was fine and, despite their protests, set off for home. I didn’t even want Annie’s company just then.

That ugly little scene had seemed too melodramatic to be true at the time, especially with the Barilloses resembling nothing so much as a pair of Thunderbirds puppets, but now, suddenly, my legs began to feel trembly and I realised it had affected me more than I’d thought.

So when a sleek dark red sports car slid to a purring stop next to me and Ritch offered to run me home, it was a relief to get in. I didn’t have to talk, either, because he was full of what he’d been doing.

In fact, it’s sometimes pleasantly relaxing being with a man who notices nothing much other than himself, though it was kind of him to take me home when he’d just driven all the way up from London.

When we got to Perseverance Cottage I pulled myself together and thanked him for the lift, then added firmly that I knew he wouldn’t mind if I didn’t ask him in, since I had lots to do before the Mystery Play rehearsal.

‘That’s OK. I’ll see you later, after it,’ he said, and I managed to smile at him before climbing out of the car and waving him off.

Turning, I spotted Caz through the open door of the barn, doing chin-ups on a crossbeam, like a very strange clockwork toy. Hadn’t he got a beam of his own to swing from?

Without Nick, that night’s rehearsals were a bit … flat, I suppose is the only word to describe them.

The only highlight was when I overheard the new Moses, in answer to God telling him that he’d written down Ten Commandments on tablets of stone, reply testily, ‘Could thee not find something lighter? I’m no spring chicken, tha knows! Just as well I hadn’t t’carry ’em up t’mountain as well as down!’

I felt hugely tired and unusually down, which was probably reaction from that horrible scene in the graveyard, so I might have just sneaked straight home again rather than on to the pub with the others, except that home was empty without Jasper.