‘My apologies,’ said Vicky. ‘It’s odd though, right?’ She looked around the table.
Norman gave a Gallic shrug. ‘I assume he had family there.’
‘I’ve got family in Stockport,’ said Phyllis. ‘That’s near Manchester.’
‘But you’ll not be buried there will you?’ asked Vicky.
‘No, I’ve got my plot booked in the churchyard,’ said Phyllis proudly.
‘Do we need to do that?’ asked Arthur, looking concerned.
‘Always wise to book ahead,’ said Leonora, who was a staunch forward planner of the obsessive kind. ‘But I think we’re going off at a tangent. Can we focus—’
‘Are we expecting anyone else?’ asked Phyllis, checking her notes.
‘Sarvan said he’d try to get away but the pub car park was full so he might not make it,’ said Leonora, as Vicky’s hand crept towards the cakes. ‘But I’m hoping Mr Ashton will be joining us.’
Blythe’s head shot up. When she’d asked Sam whether he liked Christmas he’d replied with a passionate rant about why he hated it. She’d meant to break it to him about Holly Cross’s special association with the festive season but with the hassle of having to track down who had inherited Murray’s property, the fact that Sam was buying a house in the most Christmassy village in the country had slipped her mind. The last thing he would want to be a member of was the Holly Cross Christmas Committee. Most of the members who were on the committee were only there because they were mildly terrified of Leonora, so nobody who hated Christmas was going to voluntarily sign up.
‘Who’s Mr Ashton?’ asked Phyllis.
‘New owner of Murray’s old place,’ said Leonora. ‘He’s in the film industry apparently,’ she added.
‘Ooh, is he someone famous?’ asked Phyllis, who had been hoping for some time that Holly Cross would get its very own celebrity.
‘I heard he was that chap off the telly with all the animals,’ said Norman.
‘I heard Mr Ashton was in films,’ said Leonora with authority.
‘Ashton? Wasn’t he married to Demi Moore?’ asked Norman, offering the last éclair to Phyllis much to everyone else’s chagrin.
‘That’s Ashton Kutcher. The new resident is Sam Ashton,’ explained Blythe.
‘You never said he was famous,’ said Vicky, looking accusatorially at Blythe whilst helping herself to an iced bun.
‘He’s not. He supplies props for film sets.’ There was a collective sigh of disappointment.
‘Does he know anyone famous?’ asked Leonora. ‘That might be useful for the lights switch-on.’ She jotted down some notes.
‘Ooh, Ryan Reynolds. I love him,’ said Vicky.
‘Or Sean Connery,’ said Phyllis, clapping her hands.
‘Did he say he was coming to the meeting?’ Blythe asked Leonora.
‘Sean Connery?’ asked Phyllis excitedly.
‘I think he’s dead,’ said Vicky. Heads around the table nodded. Phyllis looked shocked.
‘No, Sam. Is Sam Ashton coming to the meeting?’ Blythe felt that sometimes committee meetings were harder than they needed to be.
‘I’ve not managed to catch him but I put a note through his door. It’ll be nice to get some fresh blood on the committee and some new ideas.’ There were murmurs of agreement around the table. Most likely because the more people Leonora had to boss around the easier it was for everyone else.
‘I quite like to keep with tradition,’ said Arthur, nibbling on an iced bun.
‘But if we don’t move forward we move backwards,’ said Leonora forcefully. Leonora had two focuses in life: her prize-winning roses and the committee.
Vicky was frowning. ‘Wouldn’t we just stay where we were?’
