“Nonsense,” Linden says, fondling the ears of one of them. “They just recognise friends.” He throws himself down on a couch and the dog follows him, hoping for more fuss. I claim an armchair near the fire and stretch my feet out, letting the heat thaw my toes. Within a few minutes the door opens and a couple of the staff enter carrying trays that they place down on a dresser set to one side of the room. When they leave, Gabriel checks out the trays.
“We have coffee, hot chocolate, and mulled wine. And of course we have spirits in the cupboard. Still want that beer, Linden?”
Linden opts for coffee, as do I, and Gabriel brings me a large mug and a plate with a small pastry pie on it.
“What’s this?” I ask once I’ve thanked Gabriel for the drink.
“You’ve never eaten a mince pie before?” Linden grins.
“I have no idea what that is.” I eye the small pie with suspicion.
“You should try it, but I warn you, Monkswood has the best mince pies, so you’ll be ruined for anyone else’s.”
I pick it up and I realise they’re both watching me intently.
“Why do I feel like this is some kind of test?”
“Because it is.” Linden shrugs. “What do you say, Gabe? Do we kick him out if he doesn’t like them?”
“Considering how much I need him, I think that might be going too far. I already need to find a way of making sure he stays through the winter. But there might be other consequences.” Gabriel looks serious, but I can see the laughter in his eyes and I join in.
“Before I commit to this, are there any other conditions of employment you neglected to tell me? Am I going to have to renegotiate?”
Gabriel goes quiet for a minute as if he’s genuinely considering my question. “I don’t think so, but then that could be because I’ve forgotten them. Let’s just say we’ll figure it out as we go along.”
“Okay, here goes nothing,” I say, as I know we have a good contract in place and he’s joking. I take a bite of the pie. Oh my, it’s sweet but sharp and I taste fruit and spices. I’ve never had anything like it in my life. “That’s incredible!”
“Told you!” Linden yells just as the door opens. Imogen and Oliver enter, followed by Miriam, Gabriel’s mother, a gracious and elegant woman who I met on my second day when she came to my cottage to see if there was anything I needed.
“What’s so funny?” Imogen asks going over to the trays and lifting the lids to discover what there is before pouring some into cups.
“Andrés just tried his first mince pie,” Linden says, before taking a bite of his own.
“And what did you think?” Miriam asks, settling herself into a chair on the opposite side of the fire and taking the cup Imogen hands her.
“They’re very nice, ma’am,” I say.
“Please call me Miriam, and I’m glad. I’ll have Burns make you some to take with you.”
“Thank you, Miriam,” I say and she gives me a kindly smile. They fall into talking about people I don’t know and I let it wash over me. Imogen and Oliver make a handsome couple. Clearly Imogen has the Barclay-Sinclair genes, and Oliver is tall and perfectly tanned with light brown hair. They met at university and now run a holiday business in Spain, where they coordinate holiday letting for people who own villas over there but don’t use them all the time so they let them out. They also own several properties themselves over there. It sounds like an exclusive version of Airbnb.
The exertions of the morning and the warmth of the fire start to have a soporific effect on me, not to mention how late I’ve been staying up messaging Simon once he’s finished work. One of Gabriel’s hounds lies down and rests her head over my crossed ankles. As I drift off, I can’t help thinking about how nice it would be to have a dog.
I can’t have been out of it for too long as they’re still discussing the party when I wake up. My coffee’s still warm, well almost, certainly still drinkable. I decide to go back to my house, otherwise I will definitely fall asleep here.
“I ought to go,” I say, extricating my feet from under the dog’s heavy head.
“Would you like to stay for supper?” Miriam says.
“Thank you, but no, I’ll be fine.”
“Alright, but you are coming tomorrow for Christmas dinner.” I can tell it wasn’t posed as a question, and so I thank her. It’ll be good to not be alone, as this year couldn’t be a bigger contrast to last Christmas if I tried. Last year I was at home—no, not my home anymore—and my father was alive. We spent the morning discussing the breeding plans for the next year. It was a relaxed day, and I felt the future was full of possibility. Now I’m alone in the English countryside with miserable weather.
“Let me arrange those mince pies for you.” Miriam rises and goes over to a small screen on the wall. I hadn’t noticed it before as it was disguised to look like a picture—a Monet. She taps it a couple of times and I hear a voice answer.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Can you make up a food basket for Andrés please?” The voice answers in the affirmative and Miriam turns round with a wide smile. “So much more efficient than the old bell pulls we used to have,” she explains.
