‘It certainly is,’ said Duncan with bloodthirsty enthusiasm as he handed her the tumbler of whisky. ‘Used at the battle of Culloden, it was. Lots of blood on the steel.’
Izzy gave him a quick glance, realising he’d stepped into the role of old castle retainer.
Hattie’s eyes widened. ‘Next you’ll be telling me the castle is haunted.’
‘Funny you should say that…’ Xanthe started.
‘There are no ghosts,’ said Izzy firmly, giving her mother a quelling glance.
Xanthe huffed out a sigh, muttering to Alicia, ‘She’s no fun,’ and then the two of them decamped to the living room.
‘So, Hattie, are you the Carter-Joneses’ daughter?’
‘God no! I’m nothing like Gabby. We’re the poor relations.’ Then she realised that perhaps she was being indiscreet. ‘I’m the niece. Alexander is my dad’s brother.’ She smiled but there was a touch of misery in her eyes as she added, ‘They took pity on me and invited me because … because I was going to be on my own for Christmas,’ she finished with a brittle smile. ‘I’d better text them, find out where they are.’
The unease crept back and Izzy took a slug of whisky, feeling it burn down her gullet. At least she had Fliss and Jason on her team now, although where she was going to put them, she had no idea. They might have to share a twin room up in one of the turrets that had seen better days and wasn’t that well heated. Jason she wasn’t so worried about, he was a rough diamond, but Fliss … well, she was used to the finer things. From her cut-glass accent, Izzy had always suspected she came from quite a wealthy background. She probably had more in common with the Carter-Jones clan than anyone else here.
‘Why don’t I show you to your room?’ suggested Izzy, ‘and then you can get yourself settled.’
Jim had left Hattie’s suitcase at the bottom of the stairs and reappeared as if by magic.
‘Can you take Hattie’s case up to the Rose room?’ she said, deciding that Hattie deserved one of the better rooms.
Chapter Twenty-Three
‘What are we going to do?’ Xanthe wailed, rushing into the kitchen. ‘We don’t have enough room around the table for everyone. There are only sixteen chairs, even if I could squeeze in a few extra place settings. But that will ruin the look because there’s only enough matching china for sixteen.’
‘We’ll manage,’ said Izzy, ever more grateful that the cooking cavalry had arrived.
‘I was thinking, your new friends and Jeanette and Jim and Duncan can eat in here.’
Izzy, already stressed by trying to work out where she could put everyone, whirled on her mother. ‘Youinvited Alicia and Graham. They’re not paying guests. Why should they take precedence?’
‘You can’t expect someone like Alicia to eat in the kitchen. Besides, Ross is paying and he’d expect his mother and father to be seated with him.’
‘I don’t believe you,’ said Izzy, irritation losing the battle over her normal diplomacy. ‘Fliss and Jason are my friends and they’ve come to help, so they will be sitting down in the dining room, as will Jeanette, Jim and Duncan because they live here.’
‘Don’t be difficult, darling.’
‘I’m not being difficult.’
‘Yes, you are.’
‘No, I’m not.’ Izzy threw the tea towel down and threw open the fridge door. ‘You’re impossible, Mum. Inviting all these people. The Carter-Joneses were supposed to be four people, then it was six and then it was eight and now it’s ten or possibly eleven, I’m not sure where Hattie fits in. Then you invited Alicia and Graham. I’m surprised you haven’t invited Mrs McPherson. Tell you what, why not the whole flaming village?’
‘Oooh, keep your hair on. I think you’re getting a little bit tired and testy, Isabel McBride.’ And before Izzy could say another word, her mother had stalked out, quivering with indignation.
Izzy sank into one of the chairs, putting her head in her hands. It was very rare for her to blow up at Xanthe, usually because it was a pointless exercise, but she really had had enough. As well as tonight’s meal to cook, she still had all the stocking presents to wrap. She’d decided that she would leave them all beneath the Christmas tree in the sitting room, so that the Carter-Joneses could sit in there after breakfast. In her head she went over what she’d bought, trying to reallocate some of the gifts to the newcomers so that everyone had a little something. Luckily she had plenty of stockings; her mother had bought her a new one every year when she was a child and they’d hung the old ones around the flat as decorations.
‘Everything all right?’
Izzy looked up into Ross’s sympathetic face.
‘I heard shouting.’
Izzy screwed up her face, hoping he hadn’t heard what she’d said. She didn’t want him to think that his parents were unwelcome. ‘Sorry. I needed to vent. My mother is the absolute end sometimes. She ignores whatever she doesn’t want to hear.’
‘I can relate to that. My mother is exactly the same. Do you think they were separated at birth?’
