Hugh and Spencer slapped backs. Helen gave them a pained smile.
‘There she is!’ Malcolm boomed, as he entered the room. ‘Merry Christmas, princess.’
Issy flashed her best smile. ‘Hi, Daddy.’ She kissed him, leaving a bright red mark on his rough cheek. ‘Oops, I’ve marked you!’
‘Better my cheek than my collar!’ he said with a grin, rubbing at the mark. He beckoned the waitress. ‘Sweetheart, could you get this gorgeous creature a drink? Champagne, Issy?’
‘Bubbles would be lovely, thank you.’
‘Hugh, what’ll you have?’
He ordered a beer and the waitress disappeared.
The doorbell rang and moments later, Felix stepped into the kitchen with a waifish woman by his side.
‘Sorry we’re late.’
Heather glanced at her Cartier watch. ‘Only half an hour. We consider that on time for you, Felix.’
He ignored the barbed comment. ‘This is Polly. Polly, this is … everyone.’
Issy extended a hand, admiring her effortless style. Even in flats, Polly was at least half a foot taller than her. ‘I’m Isobel,’ she said. ‘Pleasure to meet you.’
‘So nice to meet you in person,’ Polly said. ‘I’m a big fan. I follow you on Instagram.’
‘Oh, lovely,’ Issy said.
‘We’ll do the presents now that everyone’s here.’ Heather’s voice bounced off the marble. ‘Everyone into the lounge!’
Issy took the bag with their gifts from Hugh and went through an archway to the formal lounge, which was dominated by an enormous tree twinkling with thousands of tiny lights. The star on top almost touched the ornate three-metre ceiling. She snapped a photo to post later, then surveyed the paltry collection of gifts. It looked quite pathetic this year, due to Heather’s environmentally friendly secret Santa initiative.
Issy placed the two gifts she’d ordered online—one from her, one from Hugh—with the others and sat down beside Hugh.
‘My goodness!’ Polly exclaimed as she sat down opposite, next to Felix. ‘What a stunning tree!’
‘Thank you, sweetheart,’ Heather said. ‘Sweetheart’ was a term she reserved exclusively for Felix’s girlfriends—a deliberate strategy, Issy suspected, to avoid mixing up their names. Or learning them in the first place. ‘I had to have it shipped here from America! It takes two men to erect it!’
Felix looked at Issy, raising his eyebrows. Last year, he’d shared his theory that their mother’s obsession with her enormous Christmas tree was some warped version of penis envy. Issy stifled a giggle and looked away, draining the rest of her Champagne. Beside her, Hugh looked around until he located the waitress, who stood discreetly by the door.
‘Can we get the glasses topped up?’ There was a hint of irritation in his voice, as though the waitress should have noticed the need for another round without him having to ask. He raised his empty Peroni bottle. ‘And another one of these?’
‘Please,’ Issy added, feeling like the apologetic mother of a rude child.
Once everyone was assembled, Heather reached for the first gift and read the tag. ‘Merry Christmas, Hugh!’
She passed him a gold box and he unwrapped a bottle of whisky.
He let out a low whistle. ‘Glenfiddich Grande single malt whisky.’
Heather clicked her tongue. ‘I take it someone broke the spending limit.’
‘Have you tried cheap whisky?’ Malcolm said.
‘I’m not much of a whisky drinker myself, but I take your point.’
‘Well, thank you, whoever you are,’ Hugh said. ‘You know me well!’
‘Now you deliver the next one, Hugh,’ Heather directed.
