What happened to tweedy jacketed men with elbow patches? Wasn’t that what professors were supposed to look like? Not like Thor on a day off.
‘His money more than covered the painting and plastering.’ Xanthe tipped her nose in the air with snooty superiority. Izzy was surprised she didn’t add a sniff to punctuate her point. ‘And there’s more coming.’
Izzy closed her eyes. She dreaded to think how little her mother had asked for rent. She didn’t have a clue about money; it slipped through her fingers faster than water. Knowing Xanthe, it probably wouldn’t cover the cost of heating his room. Which was all the more reason to ask him to leave. They’d be losing money.
‘How much have you charged him?’ she asked, as if she were only mildly interested instead of fearing the answer.
‘Five hundred pounds.’
‘Five hundred pounds for three months?’
‘Don’t be silly, darling. What do think I am? Stupid? That’s for a week.’
‘What!’ Izzy squeaked, her eyes widening in shock.
‘Yes, two thousand up front for the first month. I thought that was fair. To have a castle to yourself. And,’ Xanthe preened for a moment, ‘we need the money, remember? And I’ve also—’
‘But we’re not even feeding him!’ Izzy’s blood heated in sudden mortification.
Xanthe shrugged. ‘He doesn’t seem to mind. As long as he gets his peace and quiet. He was most insistent about that, which is why I’ve stuck him at the end of the west corridor. You know, the room with that awful painting of rutting stags.’
Izzy’s mouth stopped working for a moment and then she started to laugh. Her mother never failed to surprise her and if the man had agreed to pay that much, she wasn’t currently in a position to turn it down. Damn, she was going to have to apologise to him and let him stay at least until the end of this month. She had too much to do to let him stay any longer than that. He’d get in the way and there was no way there would be peace and quiet with all the building work going on.
‘Honestly, Izzy, I don’t know why you think I’m so hopeless.’ The feather in her fascinator moved back and forth, mirroring her outrage.
Izzy linked her arm through her mother’s. ‘I think you’re brilliant and this room looks amazing. Where do you think we should start next?’
‘Ah,’ she said with a sly, smug smile. ‘Come see the dining room. I have something else to show you. I got rid of that awful stuffed weasel.’
‘Wow, just wow,’ said Izzy staring around at the magnificence of the newly decorated dining room a little later.
Xanthe grinned and preened with the smug satisfaction of a peacock displaying its glorious feathers. ‘Good, isn’t it?’
Xanthe had not only brought together a fine selection of polished, glossy furniture but had also set the long table with twenty place settings featuring an array of sparkling crystal, shiny silver cutlery and delicate china, along with crisp damask napkins and a matching tablecloth. Bold green drapes framed the big casement windows and Xanthe had made new window seat cushions for each of them.
In the centre of the table, she’d created a garland of golden fir cones and candles that wove its way down the middle, culminating at each end with two enormous golden stag candelabras, small white candles placed in their antlers.
‘Wow, Xanthe, it looks amazing. Christmas has come early.’
‘I know, I’ve had so many likes on my Instagram page. We’re all set for Christmas bookings.’
Izzy nodded. ‘Next year, maybe. It’s far too soon this year. There’s so much to do. Think of how many bedrooms we need to prepare.’
‘Isabel Margaret Mary McBride! I sometimes think you inherited too many genes from my granny, she was a crabbit old bat.’
‘Or perhaps she had some common sense,’ said Izzy, rolling her eyes.
‘Where’s your sense of adventure?’
‘Xanthe, we’re not ready to host a Christmas party; not unless they’re prepared to pay a ridiculous sum of money.’
Xanthe flounced across the room and fiddled with one of the candles in the stag candelabra before lighting it and then proceeded to light all the candles in the votives hidden amongst the trail of ivy and greenery lining the centre of the table. ‘What if they were going to pay twenty-five?’
‘Twenty-five what?’
‘Thousand,’ spat Xanthe with haughty exasperation.
‘I’d say they were barking mad.’ For that sort of money people would expect Cordon Bleu standard catering and expensive booze.
