Izzy nodded.
‘Although it wasn’t as bad as the Christmas I forgot to put the turkey in the oven.’ Xanthe hooted with laughter. ‘What a disaster. We had to have baked beans on toast and after that Izzy took over the cooking.’
Izzy giggled and shook her head at the memory. At the time her mother had roared with laughter at her own stupidity and none of them had minded what they ate, they were just happy to be together. She’d always remember sitting by the Christmas tree in the warm glow of the open fire with Mum and Gran, their plates on their knees. It was a good memory. Her mother might be a little bit unconventional, utterly self-absorbed and a lot scatty, but Izzy knew despite everything she was loved.
As Xanthe unpacked the treasures from the box, along with nuggets of family history, she directed Izzy and Jeanette as to where they should go on the tree.
‘No, Jeanette, dear. Higher up.’
Duncan and Jim were enjoying the show, mock chiding her by teasing, ‘Jeanette! What were you thinking?’
Each time they hung a bauble on the tree, Xanthe would inch forward, peer over their shoulders before picking it up and saying, ‘Perhaps here would be better, don’t you think, darling?’
Ross had grown quieter and quieter, receding into the background with a puzzled expression on his face. There were no more sparkly smiles or discreet glances between them. Izzy wondered what was troubling him.
‘Turn out the lights,’ said Xanthe when the tree was finally completed. ‘Ross, you’re nearest.’
He dutifully rose to his feet and snapped off the wall lights.
In the corner of the room the tree shimmered and sparkled, making Izzy smile. It was perfect. Christmas had started. This was the beginning of the real countdown and she didn’t have long before the Carter-Jones family arrived. Six days to get the last of the rooms ready and to finalise her Christmas plans.
‘Time to crack open the Prosecco,’ cried Xanthe, her voice hitting the high notes with her enthusiasm. ‘I officially declare this Christmas open. Ross, you can do the honours. Glasses are over there.’
With a polite smile, Ross popped open the cork on the Prosecco and poured Jeanette and Xanthe a glass each with his usual calm, good grace but Izzy could tell from the set of his jaw that her mother’s high-pitched squeals and dramatic declarations were grating. It wasn’t anything Izzy hadn’t seen before. Xanthe was an acquired taste; even Izzy found her boundless enthusiasm and high-octane delivery wearing at times and she was used to it. For someone like Ross, who relished peace and quiet, it must be quite jarring. Over the years Izzy had become adept at acting as an intermediary, and soothing situations when Xanthe rubbed others the wrong way because she knew her mother wasn’t unkind, malicious or mean spirited. She might be loud but she was essentially harmless and Izzy loved her.
‘Good job, Mum,’ said Izzy, lifting her glass and going over to give her a hug. The tree really did look fantastic and was quite the centrepiece of the panelled hall. It exuded cosiness with the burnished leather chairs glowing in the light of the fire, the flames leaping and dancing in the big grate and the garland of cinnamon sticks and dried orange slices strung along the mantelpiece.
‘It’s a super tree and it’s the heart of our Christmas castle. May all who stay here be merry and bright, enjoying health and happiness for the whole of the festive season.’
‘That’s a lovely sentiment, Mrs McBride,’ said Jeanette, holding up her glass, the light refracted through the pale golden liquid.
‘Oooh, lovely, don’t call me that. I sound like I’m a hundred and three and a crabbit old bat. That’s why I never let Izzy call me “Mum”. It’s terribly aging and I was a child bride, you know. I’m nowhere near old enough to have a daughter in her mid-twenties.’
Izzy regarded her mother with a rueful smile. Mid-twenties. Ha! If only. She was far closer to thirty than Xanthe cared to be reminded. Izzy glanced over at Ross. He was looking thoughtful as he mouthed the word.Mum.
Had he really not known? She thought of all the times Xanthe had come up in conversation and the time when he’d asked if she worked for Xanthe. She realised she’d never answered him. Had he really thought Izzy was her business manager?
As Xanthe cooed over her tree, Izzy cleared up the empty decoration boxes and piles of abandoned tissue paper and bubble wrap, putting them all neatly in one crate. Duncan was busy stoking the fire and adding a couple more logs and, as was their habit, Jim and Jeanette had vanished down one of the corridors, although Izzy could hear the echo of a faint giggle. She scooped up her box and put it on the wide bottom stair, ready to take up later. Ross was holding the newel post staring thoughtfully into the fire.
‘Ready for dinner?’ asked Izzy.
He started and looked at her briefly before returning his gaze to the flames licking at the logs in the grate.
‘I didn’t realise Xanthe was your mother. Not sure how I missed that.’ He gave a rueful smile.
Izzy frowned, surprised he really hadn’t realised. ‘Well, who did you think she was?’
‘I thought she was your employer and that you acted as her housekeeper cum business manager. You never specifically said she was your mother.’
‘I never said she wasn’t either.’ Izzy lifted her shoulders in a quick shrug.
‘But you call her Xanthe. How was I supposed to know she was your mother?’
Izzy shook her head, trying to clear the cloud of confusion fogging her brain. ‘It’s not a secret. She doesn’t like being called “Mum” and when I was a teenager I thought it was quite cool to call her by her name. It’s stuck ever since.’ Now, if she were honest, Izzy thought it was a terrible affectation that spoke of ridiculous vanity on her mother’s part, but she wasn’t going to admit this to Ross, who was being a bit weird right now.
‘So you’re her daughter.’
‘That’s usually the relationship when someone is your mother,’ said Izzy.
