‘I have a monthly allowance. But this place belongs to Cameron. He could turn me out of doors any time he likes.’
‘I’m sure he would never do that.’ Though Selina knew it was more than possible. She recalled a dinner party at the hall soon after she’d arrived there, attended by the Bournes, and wracked her brain for the names of some of the other guests. ‘Look, why don’t you go and stay with the Knowleses in Bodmin? I’m sure John and Deirdre would be delighted to have you as a guest.’ Seeing Helen’s lip curl at this suggestion, she stammered, ‘Or … Or those two elderly sisters who were friends of Bella’s? What were their names?’
‘I’m happy here,’ Helen said flatly.
Selina didn’t know what else to say. She felt perhaps she ought to invite the woman to stay with them at the hall. But the thought filled her with horror.
‘Well, do walk over to us if you need anything. Even just a chat.’ She smiled awkwardly. ‘I could do with some advice about Peter. He’s been rather difficult lately.’
‘Hardly surprising. This is his first Christmas without his mother,’ Helen pointed out.
Selina was taken aback by this crisp appraisal. Could she be right? Was Peter’s bad behaviour purely down to grief? ‘Come to dinner tonight, at least,’ she said guiltily, before she could change her mind. ‘Or lunch tomorrow? You can hardly survive out here on your own.’
With a shrug, Helen showed her out. ‘I’ll be fine. The butcher and greengrocer vans still call occasionally. And I’ve lived here all my life, remember? This is my home.’ A flicker of malice returned as she added cattily, ‘Besides, you’ve got your hands full at the hall, haven’t you? All Bella’s noisy brats underfoot, and now an illegitimate one on the way …’
And she shut the door in Selina’s face.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Sheila thoroughly enjoyed Christmas Day at Postbridge Farm, which was as raucous as ever, despite Grace and Caroline being ‘missing in action’, as Joe insisted on putting it, his face dour as he and poor Tilly were forced to undertake all the usual jobs on their own, and in such bitter weather too.
Given the cold, the family decided not to venture down into the village for the Christmas Day service, which was a disappointment, as Sheila had grown to enjoy singing hymns and rather missed it. She would have liked Bernie to come calling, as she’d knitted a soft red scarf for him. But Violet pulled a face at this suggestion, so Sheila arranged for them to have lunch together on Boxing Day instead, weather permitting.
Christmas Day lunch went well, and the four of them played cards together in the snug afterwards, gambling with dried beans instead of coins, just for fun. Since they’d already had a glass of wine with their lunch, Sheila brought out her home-made sloe gin, and after they’d all enjoyed a tipple, she fell into a light doze beside the fire.
When she woke up, it was nearly dusk and the fire in the snug had burned low. Tilly was reading a magazine with Sarah Jane cuddled on her lap, but Joe and Violet had disappeared.
‘You been stuck with the kiddy?’ Sheila asked the girl, surprised.
‘Mr and Mrs Postbridge asked me to look after her while they had a nap,’ Tilly told her innocently. ‘They were both feeling tired.’
Having carried the bottle of gin and the dirty glasses out to the kitchen, Sheila had just begun scraping dirty dishes into the pigswill pail when she heard a creak from upstairs. Violet and Joe in their bedroom, presumably.
Gone for a nap?
With a chuckle, she ran the tap and began to wash up the pots and pans as noisily as she could, singing an old Christmas carol at the top of her voice for good measure.
It seemed the Postbridges were having a very merry Christmas, and good luck to them, she thought with a grin.
On Boxing Day, Sheila persuaded Joe to take her to Bernie’s house on the tractor, since it was too icy to drive an ordinary vehicle down the steep track from the farm. Her son-in-law agreed, saying he needed to speak to the vet about the shire horse, who’d developed what Joe felt might be equine influenza. ‘Most likely not serious,’ Joe insisted, pulling on his gloves, ‘but I’d prefer to have the vet’s advice, all the same. Pity the GPO haven’t installed that telephone line yet … That would have saved me the trip. But I suppose the snow’s held them up.’
Sheila felt a tug of concern for the old shire horse, but Joehad already assured Tilly that most horses pulled through flu unscathed, so she tried not to worry. ‘I’m sure the GPO will be up here as soon as the roads are clear again,’ she told him reassuringly.
‘Merry Christmas!’ Bernie greeted her on the doorstep, smart in a suit and tie, as though they were going out for lunch somewhere posh, not staying in. ‘Am I allowed to say that on Boxing Day? It’s past Christmas now.’
‘I don’t think there are any rules, and even if there are, stuff ’em,’ Sheila said. ‘Merry Christmas, Bernie.’
He raised a hand to Joe, who was turning his tractor in the narrow lane. ‘Good of Joe to drop you off, but I could have driven up to fetch you.’
‘Don’t be daft,’ Sheila told him affectionately, taking off her hat and coat in his hallway. ‘You’d only have got that lovely car of yours stranded in a ditch.’
‘I hope my driving’s a little better than that,’ he said mildly, closing the front door. Then he turned and kissed her on the lips, which left her a little breathless.
‘Cheeky!’
Bernie chuckled. ‘A chap needs to take his chances where he can. Besides, I’ve no time to waste on asking permission. Lunch is ready.’
The dining table was set with gleaming silver and glassware, the white linen cloth topped with a red runner, a Christmas log as its centrepiece, bristling with holly and red berries.
