‘Please don’t go,’ her mother begged her in tears at the station. ‘You have to stay for Christmas lunch at least. Stanley, tell her.’
But her dad said nothing, just looked at her miserably.
Caroline hugged her parents. ‘I love you both,’ she told them, choking with tears herself, ‘but I must go back to the farm. Have a wonderful Christmas! Think of me …’ She trailed off, and hurried away through whirling snow to board her train, numb with cold and grief.
At Penzance Station, Caroline climbed wearily out of the carriage, dragging her heavy case after her, and found herself looking into Grace’s smiling face.
‘What on earth …?’
‘Mrs Postbridge got your letter, so I decided to come and meet you at the station,’ Grace explained, laughing at her expression. ‘Only, I’ve been waiting for hours, as I wasn’t sure which train.’
‘Oh, Grace …’ Overjoyed, Caroline gave her a tight hug, her voice thick with emotion. ‘Thank you, thank you.’
‘There’s only one problem.’ Grace gave her a lopsided smile. ‘They’ve cancelled the bus back to Porthcurno, haven’t they? So it looks like we’ll be stuck in Penzance for Christmas.’ She bit her lip, her eyes twinkling. ‘Do you think Violet’s daughter might put us up for a day or two?’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Selina had given Mrs Hawley a few days off over Christmas to spend with her own family, and so found herself helping Nancy prepare the large Christmas lunch. The two women worked side by side to produce an excellent meal. The main event was a real turkey – at last, after years of making do with meat substitutes – served along with fresh, albeit mushy, vegetables dug out of the snow from their own garden, and a vast jug of delicious gravy. At least, William pronounced their efforts to be ‘excellent’, pushing aside his plate afterwards with a contented sigh.
Selina had rather daringly asked the solicitor to join her and the children for Christmas lunch, half expecting him to refuse. But he’d accepted with pleasure, and indeed she was very glad now. It was a joy to have an intelligent, personable man about the house at Christmas. They had Peter, of course. But at fourteen he was still a boy, and his conversation was hardly in the same league as Mr MacGregor’s, especially in his current surly state.
Having a male guest had also given her an excuse to bringup an expensive bottle of champagne from her sister’s cellar for the occasion. It would have been a waste to open a bottle just for herself, as Nancy was not drinking alcohol and Peter disliked wine.
‘Yes, excellent,’ William repeated, and leant back in his chair to smile down the table at Selina. Behind him, the fragrant Christmas tree glittered with wreaths of tinsel and bright, tiny ornaments, the snowy lawns outside the window creating a perfect festive backdrop. ‘Thank you for inviting me to share Christmas with you and your charming family, Miss Tiptree.’
Finishing her own meal, she shook her head at his formality. ‘I told you, you should call me Selina,’ she insisted, and saw Nancy look down with a secret smile, while Peter glanced wonderingly at them both. Embarrassed, she got up, plate in hand. ‘Christmas pudding, anyone? Our marvellous Mrs Hawley made it weeks ago with the help of Jemima and Faith, so it should be ripe for eating now. Just don’t swallow the sixpence!’
Peter said nothing, playing with his cutlery in a despondent way.
‘I’ll help you with the pudding,’ Jemima declared, and jumped up happily to collect the plates.
Nancy turned to help Faith with her party hat, which had slipped over one eye, and Selina threw William a meaningful look, glancing towards Peter.
It had been at the back of her mind that he might be able to speak to the boy during this visit, and now was as good a time as any.
‘I say, Peter,’ William remarked, touching his linen napkin to his lips, ‘I seem to recall you were interested in learning how to drive a car, is that right?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Since your aunt’s going to be busy in the kitchen for a spell, how about you and I nip out to my Wolseley for a quick first lesson?’ When Peter sat up, surprised, he added swiftly, ‘I’m not saying you can drive her, of course. But we can turn the engine over, and I’ll show you what the pedals are for and even how to change gear, if there’s time. What do you say?’
Peter brightened. ‘I’d like that, sir.’
Selina took her time in the kitchen, wanting to give William a lengthy opportunity to speak to her nephew. Eventually, though, there were no more plates to scrape and wash, and the pudding had been thoroughly steamed and was ready to be doused with brandy and set alight.
Having recalled everyone to the dining room, she carried in the Christmas pudding, brandy flaming fiercely atop, and everyone cheered and applauded.
‘I’ll tell Mrs Hawley how much you appreciated the spectacle,’ she told them, placing the pudding in the centre of the table, its dark gleaming dome still licked with a ribbon of flame.
Faith, her eyes wide with astonishment, asked if the Christmas pudding was ‘perfickly’ safe to eat.
‘Of course,’ Selina told her fondly. ‘And don’t worry about the brandy … It will have burned away by now.’
‘More’s the pity,’ William murmured, and everyone laughed.
After lunch, they played a noisy, energetic game of charades around the table, reminiscent of her days at Postbridge Farm. At last, the game over, Selina rose to put on the light, as the room was growing gloomy and the fire in the hearth had burned low.
‘Oh, fiddle!’ she exclaimed, flicking the light switch back and forth without response. ‘Not another power cut? What a nuisance. I’d better fetch some candles.’
