The Magic of Christmas - Trisha Ashley 6 стр.

I looked at his closed, dark face again and suddenly wondered if he suspected that Tom and Leila had something going on. Surely not. It would be totally ridiculous! I knew that Tom had been having a serious affair for the last few years, of course, but not who it was with, although I assumed it was someone down in Cornwall where he spent so much time. It couldnt be Leila could it?

My mind working furiously, I took the offered bill and glanced down at it, then gasped, distracted by the staggering sum. You must be absolutely rolling in it, charging these prices!

Not me Leila. And the prices arent anything out of the ordinary for a restaurant of that standard. Shes just got a Michelin star.

Congratulations, I said absently, staring at the bill, the total of which would have fed the average family of four for about a year. More, if they grew most of their food themselves, like I do. But Im sorry, I dont have that kind of money on the proceeds of my produce sales and in case you havent noticed, Ive scaled that side of things down drastically in the last eighteen months.

Come on, you must get good advances for your how I tried to be self-sufficient and failed dismally books. You cant plead poverty, he looked distastefully down at the mess he was standing in, whatever it looks like here!

You should have looked before you got out of the car, I said coldly. The ducks have been up. And one small book every two or three years doesnt exactly rake in the cash. I only get a couple of thousand for them. Im lucky to still have a publisher! My agent says its only because my faithful band of readers cant wait to see what else goes pear-shaped every time. And they like all the recipes.

Ah yes, the Queen of Puddings! He wrinkled his nose slightly.

What? I said indignantly. Just because its wholesome, everyday stuff, it doesnt mean it isnt good food! At least my recipes dont need ninety-six exotic ingredients, four servile minions and a catering-sized oven to produce.

He grinned, as though glad to have got a rise out of me, and I began to remember why our boy-girl romance never got off the ground: an interest in food is the only thing weve ever had in common, whatever Annie says, and he never tires of reminding me that mine is not gourmet, and its largely focused on sweets and desserts.

And this is not my bill, so youll have to come back and speak to Tom about it later, I added, sincerely hoping that that was all he wanted to talk to Tom about. Clearly he was harbouring suspicions But no, whoever Tom was having an affair with, it couldnt be Leila, his own cousins brittle little acid drop of a wife, however strange the circumstances might look!

If I can catch him, Nick said, the grin vanishing. He abruptly changed the subject. Jasper had his results yet?

Oh, yes! I said, happily diverted. Yesterday and they were just what he needed for Liverpool University, to read Archaeology and History. Hes having breakfast at the moment why dont you come in and talk to him? He hasnt thanked you for that Roman cookery book you sent him, yet.

Jaspers keenly interested in food and drink too, but only from a purely historical perspective. Delving about in medieval cesspits and middens, which was what he seemed to be spending his days doing at the dig, suited him down to the ground.

Nick looked at his watch. I havent time today, so congratulate him for me, wont you? Id better be off. Im doing some articles on eating out in the North-West out-of-the-way restaurants and hotels so I need to drop my stuff off up at the Hall and get on with it. Breakfast awaits, then lunch and dinner

Lucky you, I said politely, though sitting in restaurants isnt my favourite thing. Id rather pig out at home than eat prettily arranged tiny portions consisting of a splat, a dribble and a leaf, in public.

He was frowning down at me again. You know, Lizzy, two thousand is peanuts compared to what I get for my books. No wonder youre living in a hovel especially with Tom spending his earnings as fast as he makes them. He gestured at the giant satellite dish, incongruously attached to the side of the cottage.

We dont need a huge amount of money and Perseverance Cottage is not a hovel, I began crossly. Uncle Roly had all the mod cons installed before we moved in, and its exactly how I like it. Ive got everything I want.

Have you? Or perhaps youve got more than you bargained for, he said drily, his eyes again resting speculatively on my bruised cheek.

I hoped he didnt think Tom had taken to physical violence or that I would have stayed to be a punchbag if he had! I was just about to disabuse his mind of any suspicions in that quarter when he turned round to survey my domain and remarked suavely: I wouldnt say the family have come a long way from the heady days of Pharamonds Butterflake Biscuits, but they have certainly diverged in their interests.

Then, before I could point out that he at least was still vaguely in the bakery line, he got back into his car and reversed away in a cloud of dust. A lot of gritted chickens shot out from under it.

Wasnt that Uncle Nick? Jasper asked, coming out ready for the off.

Yes, but he couldnt stay. He had an urgent appointment with breakfast, though he did send you his congratulations on the exam results. Get in. Ill just wash my hands and well go.

Can I drive? he asked hopefully. Hed recently passed his test, lessons courtesy of a lucky win on the gees at Haydock by Great-uncle Roly.

OK. Turn it round while I get ready.

Hed left the cottage door open, and one of the hens had made a small deposit on the rag rug.

Chapter 3: Bittersweet

All the way to the dig, while the loud music chosen by Jasper drowned out even the possibility of conversation, I wondered whether it could possibly be Leila that Tom had been having an affair with for the last couple of years or the main one, because Im sure he still scattered his favours pretty widely.

Was Nick really hinting that he suspected that, or had I imagined it? But things certainly didnt sound too friendly between him and Leila, even by their semidetached, sweet-and-sour standards!

And what would I say to Tom when he returned? While saying nothing would probably be the most sensible option until my plans to leave were in place, I couldnt let what hed done pass, even if I didnt really think he was trying to hurt me physically.

Maybe I should have left before, even if it did mean disrupting Jaspers schooling? The situation had certainly been affecting him he seemed practically to have given up going out with his friends in the evening when Tom was home. Instead, he lurked in his room with the laptop Unks bought him, only suddenly looming silently up between us whenever voices were raised.

So now was probably the moment to clear the air and tell Tom straight that I was not prepared to put up with his behaviour any more, so I was leaving him. I was convinced this was what hed been angling for, so he could play the hurt innocent party to everyone and, perhaps, install someone else here in my place

I found that a particularly horrid thought, but Perseverance Cottage belonged to his uncle Roly, so obviously if anyone were moving out it would have to be me. And I simply wouldnt ask Roly to help me, for not only did I not want to disillusion him about Tom, whom he had treated like another grandson, but hed already been so kind and generous to us all these years by letting us have the cottage rent free.

I expected I could find new homes for the hens and quail, but finding a new home for me would be the major problem. While the recent influx of newcomers into the area (especially the Cotton Common crowd) might mean that Annies Posh Pet-sitters could expand enough to employ me part-time, on the downside, it also meant property rentals had soared out of my reach.

It was all depressingly difficult! Oh, why couldnt Tom just vanish into thin air, never to be seen again, like those mysterious disappearances you read about in the newspapers?

In need of comfort, I stopped off at Annies cottage on the way home from dropping Jasper at the dig. It was still early, but shed already made a chicken casserole and popped it in the slow cooker for later.

She seemed to have learned a lot more practical stuff than I ever did on that French cookery course we did in London after we left school, where volatile Madame Fresnet screamed at us all day long in French, the language in which we were supposed to learn to cook, thus killing two birds with one stone. At the end of the six months we all emerged with shattered eardrums, shattered French and the ability to whip up tartelettes au fromage at the drop of a whisk.

Trinity skipped up to greet me, and Susannah, Annies deaf white cat, regarded me with self-satisfied disinterest from the top of the Rayburn.

All right? Annie asked anxiously, scrutinising my face.

Fine. Toms not back yet and Jaspers at the dig I just dropped him.

Its great he got his first choice university, isnt it? she said, getting down another mug from the rack and pouring me some coffee. Do you want a chocolate croissant? Theyre hot from the oven and I dont think I can eat the last one, Ive had two already.

Your eyes are bigger than your belly, I said vulgarly, accepting the plate, and sat down at the kitchen table, keeping my eyes firmly away from Trinnys pleading dark ones, because the last thing a dog with three legs needs is to be overweight.

I saw Nick this morning, I told her, dunking the croissant into my coffee so the bittersweet dark chocolate began to melt into it. This makes a change, because I usually do it the other way round and dip my food into melted chocolate, especially strawberries. Its amazing what you can coat in chocolate and Im not talking about that revolting body paint, because I prefer to keep the two greatest pleasures life can hold completely and unmessily separate or at any rate, I did. I think I have forgotten how to do one of them.