Christmas at Strand House Page 3

  ‘Yes, yes we have,’ Janey said.

  Lissy gave Janey another, quick, hug.

  ‘It gets better. I know it’s hard in the beginning. Very hard. You don’t know which way to turn and there’s no one there at night when the curtains are closed, to talk to about things. But you can always ring me, you know. And before I forget, that card you painted for me with the birds and the flowers and the clouds, well, it helped me more than you’d believe. I kept it by the front door and looked at it every time I went out and remembered to look at them all. Every day.’

  ‘Did you?’ Janey said.

  ‘Yes,’ Lissy said, a lump in her throat now. All sorts of memories of her split from Cooper were flooding back but Janey didn’t need to know that. Janey needed her support now – Lissy’s turn to return the favour. ‘So, what’s it going to be? Room first, or coffee first?’

  ‘Coffee, I think. Please.’

  ‘Coffee it is, then. That’s about all I’ve got in the house at the moment until the Waitrose delivery arrives. I think I’ve ordered just about everything we need to get us through four days of merrymaking, but if I haven’t then there are a couple of small supermarkets within walking distance up on the main road to Torquay. Follow me.’

  ‘The house is a lot bigger than I thought it would be,’ Janey said, once they were in the kitchen and seated at the island on high, black leather, bar stools. ‘I mean, the hall is vast, like something from a Dutch painting with the black and white tiles. We could play chess or draughts on those tiles.’

  ‘Now there’s an idea!’ Lissy said. ‘If only I could find an outdoor chess set to play it with!’

  ‘And this kitchen, Lissy. Words fail me almost.’

  ‘A bit big for one, isn’t it?’ Lissy laughed. ‘When Vonny was alive we used to joke that we needed a map to get from the larder to the kitchen sink! And there’s a bit of an echo when I’m in here on my own.’

  She was finding the conversation, if not stilted, then hardish work. As hostess she felt the onus was on her to make her guest happy, make her laugh, and Janey most definitely wasn’t happy in Lissy’s view, and neither was she laughing. They had a shared history, if a very small one, and one that Lissy hoped they could expand on because she liked Janey. The words ‘timid’ and ‘mouse’ sprang to mind and Lissy was cross for herself for thinking them because she couldn’t know what had happened in Janey’s life – apart from the split from her husband but she didn’t know the reasons for that, not yet and she’d wait for Janey to tell her. Hopefully Christmas and a few drinks with the others, and some good food inside her – how had Janey got so thin? – would change the dynamic of their friendship, of all their friendships. Janey had taken off her coat and it had been all Lissy could do not to gasp when she saw how thin her friend was; how her collar bones stuck out making it look as though the navy jumper she was wearing was still on its hanger. She didn’t remember her being that thin.

  ‘An echo? Ooooh,’ Janey said, with a shiver. ‘I’d find that a bit creepy. I’ll have to remember never to be in here on my own.’

  The kettle came to the boil and Lissy poured water onto the coffee grounds in the cafétière, depressed the plunger and filled two mugs that had shells and pebbles and seaweed fronds painted on them.

  ‘Here we go, then,’ Lissy said. ‘Once we’ve drunk this – no biscuits yet, I’m afraid – you can come and choose the room you’d like and then we’ll go into town and see if we can hunt down some Christmas decorations.’

  ‘Okay. Fine,’ Janey said. She sipped tentatively at her hot drink.

  ‘If I haven’t left it a bit too late to be thinking about Christmas decorations. I mean, how rubbish am I? Christmas Eve tomorrow and not a bauble up yet.’

  ‘You’re not rubbish, Lissy,’ Janey said in a very quiet voice. ‘I couldn’t quite believe it when you asked me to spend Christmas with you. It’s more than generous of you and I … I can’t contribute much. Towards the food and drink or anything. I did say.’

  Janey looked as though she was on the verge of tears so Lissy slid off her bar stool and stood beside her friend, putting an arm around her shoulders and squeezing firmly.

  ‘And I did say the whole Christmas period is on me because I’ve been left this very generous gift of this very wonderful house, and enough money for us to have a very lovely time. And that is what we’re going to do. I’m not saying a bit of help setting the table and filling the dishwasher wouldn’t go amiss but other than that all I want of you is that you have a happy time. Deal?’

  Lissy placed a hand under Janey’s chin and turned her face so she was looking at her.

  ‘Deal,’ Janey said, her powder blue eyes glassy with unshed tears.

  Chapter 4

  Bobbie

  God, but this journey was taking forever. Not the taxi driver’s fault, of course. Coming out of London he’d known every shortcut known to man but still they hadn’t been able to avoid the standstill that was the M25 much of the time. Okay, so it was an indulgence taking a taxi all the way from London to Devon. But Bobbie had done the costings, and with price of the train fare both ways, first class – because Bobbie had so much luggage that would have been her only option – there’d only been a few pounds difference between that and the taxi fare. She’d paid for the taxi in advance. How she was going to get back home again she’d sort later. Anything could happen between now and 27th December, couldn’t it?

  ‘Are we nearly there yet?’ Bobbie asked leaning forward and opening the communication window.

  The taxi driver laughed, a deep and full-throated laugh, to go with the size of him. The boxer Anthony Joshua came to mind the second Bobbie had set eyes on him – big and black and handsome with a smile on his face.

  ‘What are you, madam, six? My kids ask that all the time even when I’m taking them to school and they know exactly where the school is and how long the journey takes!’

  They’d spoken little on the journey – just the way Bobbie liked her journeys. Bobbie liked to catnap, something she’d learned to do early in her career as a model when there were often long hauls to exotic locations to shoot bathing costumes or high-end dresses, or shampoo even. Mercifully she still had that career although there were fewer exotic locations these days.

  ‘So, are we? Nearly there yet?’

  Bobbie checked the time on her watch. And that, Bobbie reminded herself, showed her age – sixty-two should anyone ask although she did her level best, often at huge expense, to make herself look at least five years younger than that.

  ‘Twenty minutes or so now.’

  ‘We should be there by one o’clock, then?’

  Bobbie checked the time again – just after twenty-five to one. All the young things these days only ever checked the time on their mobiles, didn’t they? Bobbie couldn’t understand the logic in that because you had to find the thing in your pocket or your bag, switch it on if it wasn’t already and then remember to switch it off afterwards and put it away again. All so, well, time-consuming. Bobbie liked a good watch – designer for preference. Modelling spoiled a girl, that was for sure. It wasn’t enough to wear a designer dress or jacket or shoes – accessories had to be designer too or it could spoil the whole look. The journey had taken just over five hours now. The last twenty minutes couldn’t go quickly enough for Bobbie. She was getting more than a little stiff. Only idiots decided to travel the day before Christmas Eve. So that made her an idiot then, Bobbie chided herself. Lissy’s invite had come out of the blue. She’d seen a Facebook post Bobbie had put up of a designer-clad woman sitting in an otherwise empty high-end restaurant, a glass of champagne in her hand, and a doleful expression on her beautiful face – an image Bobbie had captioned ‘Me on Christmas Day’.

  And so, here she was, just minutes away from seeing Lissy again. And Janey, too. She’d only ever met both of them in person twice, the first time when they’d come, with Lissy’s friend Claire, to the life-drawing art weekend at Dartington at which Bobbie had been
the life model, and the second when they’d all attended Claire’s funeral. What a sad waste that was. Claire had been a stunner. Fun, too. She’d had them in stitches each morning of that weekend, when they’d met up in Claire’s room for an impromptu exercise class – Claire’s toned body evidence that she practised what she preached as a fitness instructor. Claire had dusky skin, eyes like chocolate Minstrels, and a head of shoulder-length café au lait curls. Bobbie remembered asking Claire if she’d ever considered modelling because she had such unique looks. Times had changed, Bobbie had told her, and there was a call for older models these days, not just sixteen-year-olds. Claire had laughed and said that at thirty-four she was hardly old and that no, she hadn’t ever considered modelling, but she might now. But with clothes on, not life-modelling as Bobbie had been doing that weekend. A lump lodged in Bobbie’s throat remembering Claire and what a great weekend they’d all had together and how surprisingly quickly they’d all bonded as a group – the four Musketeers, Claire had joked – despite their differing ages and life styles … just one of those happy, serendipitous moments in life that happen sometimes. How Claire’s husband, Xander, must miss her, Bobbie thought. How almost unbearably sad he’d been at Claire’s funeral. And how sad it was that the first time of meeting someone it should be at a funeral. Bobbie didn’t think she’d ever be able to rid herself of the image of him, standing with his hand on Claire’s coffin as though it was glued to it, and he couldn’t bear to let his wife go, after the service as everyone filed out. One of the funeral attendants had had to prise Xander’s hand away, and Bobbie – who almost never cried – cried then. Xander would be at Strand House too.

  ‘Strand House!’ the taxi driver called out, reaching to open up the communication window. He pointed at a large, flat-roofed, house at the top of a steep drive. ‘I’ll pull up as close to the front door as I can, madam.’

  ‘Oh, just up my street,’ Bobbie said. ‘It looks wonderful. My friend didn’t say it was quite so grand.’

  Lissy had told Bobbie she’d inherited Strand House but no other details, except there’d be plenty of room for all of them to stop for Christmas. Bobbie could hardly wait now.

  The driver carried all Bobbie’s luggage – in three trips – to the front door, while Bobbie stood and sucked in the view. She hadn’t expected Strand House to be quite so close to the sea although, had she thought about it, the clue was in the name, wasn’t it?

  ‘Right then, madam, I’m off,’ the driver said. ‘My kids will be driving their mother mad, modifying their Christmas want list a thousand times and expecting her to get it all by the day after tomorrow. Christmas is for kids, eh? You got children, madam?’

  Bobbie hadn’t been expecting that question.

  ‘No!’ she snapped.

  It was what she told everyone who asked that question. It was easier that way. How could you say to anyone, especially, a stranger that you’d had a child – a boy; a child you’d washed and dressed and fed, and held close, and watched in sleep as he snuffled and sighed, if only for a short while – before you’d given him away? But every time that question got her, made her heart beat faster and often she would also feel a little faint with the holding of such a secret. It had got to her now. This perfectly nice and kind taxi driver, who had children of his own he hadn’t had to give away, had asked the simplest of questions, a question one might expect to get at Christmas because Christmas was all about children, wasn’t it?

  It was her secret. The only person still alive who knew her secret was her cousin, Pamela, and her cousin’s husband, Charles. And they were in Australia, half a world away; half a world away where they’d taken Bobbie’s baby, Oliver, never to return with him. In her bag, safe inside the zipped section, was a letter. It had an Australian postmark. Bobbie had received it in with a letter from her own solicitor in London just a week ago now; just a short note to say he was passing it on as instructed by a colleague in Sydney. Bobbie had been afraid to open it, fearful of what she might read. Was it from Pamela and Charles to say something had happened to Oliver? Was it a letter from him filled with hate for abandoning him? Perhaps, here at Strand House, with friends around her she’d have the courage to open it? Perhaps.

  Chapter 5

  Lissy

  ‘So, Bobbie, will this room be all right for you? It’s the last one free that’s facing the sea – Janey and I have bagged the other two, I’m afraid. En suite.’ She hurried across the room and flung wide the door to the en suite, and immediately felt stupid and gauche because Bobbie would sure as eggs are eggs know what an en suite was. ‘Help yourself to toiletries. Shout if you need more towels. There are bigger rooms at the back of the house. Views out over the town to the moors if you prefer. If it’s windy it’ll be less noisy at the back, and warmer. And there’ll be more room for your luggage in any of those. Xander’s not here yet but I doubt he’ll be fussed which room he has.’

  And I am sounding like a landlady or a chambermaid or something, so bloody formal. This is my friend for goodness’ sake. Relax, for pity’s sake. This was your idea to invite everyone. No one was holding a gun to your head.

  What had taken Lissy by surprise was how utterly glamorous, how very London, Bobbie was. She’d stepped from the taxi, fresh as a daisy, her long silver hair barely moving in the breeze off the sea, and wearing a calf-length scarlet coat over an ankle-length paisley dress, the background of which was an identical shade of red. A floral bag – mostly shades of red – was hooked over one shoulder. Claret-coloured heels completed the look.

  Standing in the hall in faded jeans and a blue-and-white striped shirt with her ancient but comfy Ugg-boot slippers on, she’d been hanging Christmas decorations with Janey when Bobbie rang the bell. Janey had excused herself and rushed upstairs saying she’d leave Lissy to welcome her guest. Lissy had never felt so frumpy in her life.

  ‘Darling, do relax,’ Bobbie laughed. ‘It’s only me. This room will be more than fine. I’m just glad to be here, to be honest. Christmas almost always is a solo affair for me.’

  ‘Oh, any reason?’ Lissy asked.

  ‘A few,’ Bobbie said, the smile sliding from her face. ‘But you don’t want to hear them. I promise to be full of ho-ho-ho and good cheer, and – hopefully – a few glasses of something seeing as it’s Christmas. But before you even think about getting the violins out and feeling sorry for me, the reason I’m usually alone at Christmas is choice, mostly. Work sometimes. That is all!’

  ‘Okay,’ Lissy said. ‘Violin is back in its case.’

  Bobbie was being so very Bobbie, able to take control of a situation in the blink of an eye. Lissy had a feeling there was another reason Bobbie chose to spend Christmas alone but she wasn’t going to ask.

  ‘Good. And lose the bow!’ Bobbie said with a giggle.

  ‘Already have,’ Lissy joked back. ‘But if, you know, there’s something you want or need to say then … well, you can guess the rest and …’

  ‘I’ll keep you posted.’ Bobbie shrugged herself out of her coat, and Lissy marvelled at how even that was a glamourous, catwalk sort of gesture. ‘This room really is fine and I don’t expect to be fighting Xander for it when he turns up because you are absolutely right – men usually aren’t fussed about what room they have or the view.’ She lifted the smallest case onto the bed. ‘I have brought rather a lot of luggage, haven’t I?’ Bobbie laughed. ‘But you did say to stop for four nights so I’ve packed accordingly. I hope it didn’t give that rather scrumptious taxi driver a hernia carrying it all in.’

  ‘Oh God,’ Lissy said. ‘I ought to have invited him in for a cup of tea or something before he started on the return journey.’

  ‘He had a couple of flasks of tea and a packet of sandwiches. We stopped a couple of times for comfort breaks as well, so don’t worry. He was keen to get back to his kids.’

  ‘Yeah, Christmas is for kids really, isn’t it? Anyway, we haven’t got any, have we? None of us has, you or me, Janey or Xander. We’ll have to play
at being big kids for a few days, won’t we? So if this room is okay, I’ll leave you to unpack. Join Janey and me when you’re ready. Ah, is that the gentle tones of my Waitrose delivery arriving?’ Lissy went to the window and peered down onto the drive. ‘It is so. So now we’ll all be able to eat!’

  And in a minute I should have relaxed a bit and begun to sound more like me and not someone out of a film out of the Fifties – all perfect diction and political correctness. It’s only Christmas for heaven’s sake and you’ve cooked enough Christmas dinners and made enough mince pies and poured enough cocktails to know how to do it properly.

  ‘I’m glad you like the room, Bobbie. Really glad.’ She was glad now she’d taken the trouble to pick a few bits and pieces from the garden that had berries on and add a white rose bud from the bunches she and Janey had bought in town. In a rush of affection for her friend she enveloped her in a big hug, a hug Bobbie returned with rather less pressure than Lissy. And when Lissy pulled back and looked at her friend there was something about the guarded look in her eyes, and the way she nodded instead of answering her question – as though she couldn’t trust herself to speak at that moment – that told Lissy she had said the wrong thing. But what?

  Chapter 6

  Xander

  ‘Christmas, Felix, who’d have it? It’s a woman’s thing. Claire loved Christmas, didn’t she?’

  Xander reached to fondle the soft fur of Felix’s head, smoothing the palm of his hand over it, gently circling the cat’s ears with his fingers. Sometimes Xander wondered how he would have managed after Claire’s death if he hadn’t had Felix around – another body to touch, someone to talk to.

  ‘Not a very original name I gave you, is it?’

  But Felix had seemed appropriate at the time when Claire had come home with him. One of her students – Sandy, if Xander’s memory served him well – in the fitness classes she ran had come in with a kitten that her father said he would put down if no one wanted it because they already had too many cats in the house. Sandy had begged someone to give it a home. So Claire had. She’d arrived home with it in a cardboard box sealed with masking tape, and some holes punched in it so the cat could breathe, that old Arthur from the newsagent on Manor Corner had given her.