Izzy pursed her mouth. She ought to be disapproving – after all he was talking about her mother – but she was biting back a smile because he’d nailed it. Xanthe’s enthusiasm and excitement for the project were likely to reach delirium levels until it came to the actual hard work.
‘I’ll understand if you want to leave.’ As she said it, she realised that she really didn’t want him to.
‘I’ll think about it. Like I said, I haven’t made any plans for Christmas.’
‘Haven’t you got any family?’ she blurted.
He stared at her for a moment before nodding. ‘Yes, I’ve got family. Mum, Dad, two sisters.’
‘Won’t you see them over Christmas?’ Now she was bordering on nosy but she wanted to keep him talking, his presence calmed her and also delayed the moment she actually had to start addressing her lists.
He shrugged. ‘Not sure yet. I wouldn’t mind staying here.’
‘What aren’t you sure about?’ Xanthe strolled into the room still looking extraordinarily pleased with herself.
‘We were talking about Ross’s plans for Christmas.’
‘Aren’t you going to stay with your family?’ asked Xanthe with a frown.
‘I hadn’t planned to,’ said Ross.
‘Do they live a long way away?’ Xanthe gave him a kind smile.
‘No. Callandar.’
‘Well, you should go and see them— Oh my goodness. Callandar. You’re not related to Alicia Strathallan, are you?’
Ross’s face froze. ‘Yes,’ he said, his voice full of wary distrust.
‘Oh. My. God!’ Xanthe clapped her hands and began dancing around the table. ‘Alicia Strathallan. Hear that, Izzy? Remember that gorgeous glass exhibition we went to at the Dovecot in Edinburgh, where I drooled for a full day?’
Izzy nodded.
‘That was Alicia Strathallan! Is she really, really, really your mother?’ Xanthe hopped up and down on the spot, quite overcome.
Ross nodded. ‘One and the same.’
Xanthe fanned herself. ‘She. Is. My. Absolute. Favourite. Artist. Isn’t she, Izzy? I’m not just saying it, am I? I simply adore her work. Her use of colour is extraordinary.’ She stopped and laughed before adding, with her usual tact, ‘Imagine. You’re her son. That’s so funny. You don’t seem very creative at all.’
Izzy was relieved to see that rather than take offence, a small flicker of mischief lit Ross’s eyes. He nodded gravely. ‘No. Not a creative bone in my body. It’s a sore trial to my mother.’
Across the table, he gave Izzy a crooked smile.
‘We can’t all be creative, I suppose,’ said Xanthe, throwing her arms wide as if to demonstrate her own creative genius. ‘Izzy’s very practical. It’s quite disappointing.’
‘Thanks.’ Izzy’s voice was dry. She’d long since stopped taking umbrage at her mother’s blunt assessments.
‘You know what I mean. Now…’ With her usual lightning change of direction, she turned to Izzy. ‘I’m thinking of inviting a friend to come and stay.’
‘A friend?’ asked Izzy, wrong-footed by the sudden about turn of the conversation. ‘Who?’
‘No one you know.’ Xanthe waved an airy hand. ‘An old friend.’
Izzy narrowed her eyes with suspicion. ‘What old friend?’
‘I told you, no one you know. You don’t mind, do you?’
The pointed question was Xanthe’s way of taking a dig at the fact that Izzy had been left the castle instead of her, and the unspoken accusation, that Xanthe wasn’t allowed to invite her friends, stung.
