Page 26 of Christmas All the Way

‘Not at all,’ she reassured him. ‘But I’m sure your dad will come round. Why don’t you keep your eyes open for opportunities and speak to him again once you’ve found something that catches your eye?’

‘Yeah, that sounds like a plan,’ Jack said, sounding more positive. ‘What have you been up to? How’s your new job going?’

They chatted for several minutes more. Grace made him laugh with tales of Christmas excess at Santa’s Secret and details of her mother’s pretend feud with a rival knitting group. By the time he rang off, with promises to call again soon, she felt simultaneously buoyed up at having spoken to him and filled with the ache of missing him. It helped that he was obviously having a great time, even if all the pieces hadn’t quite fallen into place yet. She would simply have to console herself with that.

Grace eyed the wreath on the table in front of her with deep misgivings. Adding dried grass stems had been a mistake, she felt; rather than blending in with the brown acorns and russet leaves she had added so far, the stalks simply stuck out at strange angles, ruining the symmetry she’d been going for. She glanced over at Keeley’s effort, which was a riot of earthy colours and topped with speckled grouse feathers, and then gazed around the room at the women clustered around the other tables in the light and airy workroom at Ruffles. She sighed. ‘Why does mine look like something a five-year-old would make?’

Keeley looked up in surprise. ‘It doesn’t. It’s rustic, that’s all.’

‘Rustic,’ Grace sniffed. ‘That’s a polite way of saying rubbish. Whereas yours wouldn’t look out of place on the cover of Good Housekeeping. Have you done this before?’

Her friend frowned. ‘Only at Christmas but the principle is exactly the same – we’re just using different materials. And why are you comparing yours to mine, anyway. Just enjoy the process. Comparison is the thief of joy, remember?’

The fact that she had a point didn’t make Grace feel any better. ‘Working with greenery feels easier, for some reason. I was planning on hanging this one on my front door but at this rate I might hide it in the shed,’ she said, tugging at a grass stem in an effort to straighten it. ‘What are you going to do with yours?’

Keeley bent her head, concentrating on threading another feather into a gap. ‘It’s going on the front door of Juniper Cottage. Xander wants some autumn content for our social media. He’s coming down on Wednesday evening.’

Grace nodded in approval. She could see the Instagram posts now. The wreath would contrast beautifully with the yellow theme of the cottage. ‘It’s a shame the trees haven’t started shedding their leaves yet. The gardens always look stunning in October.’

‘He’s thought of that,’ Keeley said wryly. ‘Apparently, he’s bringing a sack of dried leaves to spread around and create an autumnal vibe. I hope the rain has stopped by then.’

Grace glanced towards the window, where a steady drizzle continued to fall. ‘I hope so too.’ She turned back to study her friend once more. ‘How are you feeling towards him now? Do you still want to push him into the duck pond?’

‘Of course,’ Keeley said, grimacing. ‘But I have to admit he’s good at what he does. Visitor numbers have ticked upwards since he took over managing our social media – not by quite the same amount as our Instagram followers but we’ve definitely had more people through the door compared with this time last September. And he’s increased our newsletter reach too.’ She puffed out a sigh that made the feathers on her wreath ripple. ‘It pains me to admit it but it seems Malcolm and the other trustees were right to bring him in.’

‘Wow,’ Grace said, forcing another grass stem into the mossy base of her own wreath. ‘He must be good if he’s persuaded you to change your mind. Have the Christmas tours been announced yet?’

Her friend nodded. ‘We’ve had a flurry of booking enquiries on the back of Xander’s teaser posts and it’s only the third week of September. Obviously, both of us are thinking ahead to Christmas – it’s your job and the plans for this year’s decorations around Freezy Tye are well under way – but most people aren’t really into festive mode yet. Xander is confident the tours will sell out once the booking system goes live and word gets round.’

He was undoubtedly right, Grace mused. She’d tried more than once in the past to book tickets to visit Delores Semple’s house in December and been disappointed to discover that even in October, she had left it too late. Freezy Tye might not be as conveniently situated as Spitalfields but she suspected that wouldn’t matter once Xander worked his magic. ‘And how’s the tour guide recruitment going? Have you picked out your team?’

Lifting up her wreath to head height, Keeley surveyed it critically. ‘Not yet,’ she said, pulling a face. ‘Isobel and Elspeth have resubmitted their proposals, so I’m hopeful at least one of them will make the grade. If I can persuade Elspeth to be a bit less Jilly Cooper, then she might be okay.’

Grace stopped fiddling with an ear of barley to stare at her. ‘Jilly Cooper? Really?’

‘Really,’ Keeley sighed. ‘She’s got it into her head that Eliza was an incorrigible flirt – a secret love-them-and-leave-them type who left a trail of broken hearts in her wake – and I can’t seem to convince her that there’s no evidence to support her ideas.’

It was certainly true that Eliza had disappointed more than her fair share of admirers, Grace conceded; her diaries were peppered with descriptions of marriage proposals she had refused and suitors she had declined to even entertain. But Keeley was right – there was nothing to support the idea that Eliza had actively encouraged men to fall in love with her. She had declared in her early twenties that she would never marry and had stayed true to her word, dying a spinster at the ripe old age of seventy-eight. It seemed very much as though Elspeth was trying too hard to spice up her tour, which Grace found all the more astonishing given Elspeth was well into her sixties and generally very prim in demeanour. Looks could be deceiving, it seemed. ‘It sounds as though she’s got quite an imagination,’ Grace ventured. ‘Maybe she should write a novel of her own.’

‘Maybe,’ Keeley agreed, her gaze twinkling. ‘Sex sells, after all, and never goes out of style.’

That was a truism Grace could definitely confirm; before her redundancy, she’d created a special display at the library to highlight a variety of steamy romances and borrowing rates had shot up. The books had been read and returned quickly too – she’d had to expand the display to keep up with reader demand.

A loud burst of laughter near the door of the workroom caused Grace to look up. The florist who had been leading the workshop was talking animatedly to a sandy-haired man in a crisp white polo shirt and chinos. A pair of sunglasses were pushed up onto his head and a chunky gold watch flashed under the lights as he gestured congenially at the room. The florist nodded and turned to the assemble wreath-makers. ‘Ladies, I’d like to introduce Jesse Bairstow, whose father owns Ruggles. It’s thanks to their generosity that we’re able to use this wonderful space for our classes throughout the year, and I’m very grateful to them for their support, as well as everything they do for the wider community.’

Exchanging a look with Keeley, Grace eyed the newcomer with more interest. He had moved to the nearest table and was chatting easily with the three women clustered there, pointing at their wreaths in obvious admiration. ‘He’s the one who’s recently come back to Ruggles,’ Keeley whispered. ‘I’ve heard he’s already upset some of the workers by commissioning an efficiency review across the whole business.’

Although it was exactly such a review that had led to Grace losing her job in the library, she found it hard to condemn Jesse for trying to make savings. ‘Maybe his dad has let things slip,’ she said, thinking of the old-world charm with which Ruggles operated.

Keeley appeared unconvinced. ‘He’s also made it known that he intends to win Britain’s Most Christmassy Village this year and has been throwing money at it like there’s no tomorrow. He’s brought in a team of electricians to lay cabling so he can light up Flaxwood’s village green.’

Grace felt a slight frown crease her forehead. ‘Didn’t you do that last year? I thought you said the committee had improved the cabling to the green in Freezy Tye.’

‘Yes, we did,’ her friend admitted. ‘But that was done out of necessity because the existing system wasn’t fit for purpose. I get the impression there’s an altogether more commercial intention behind the improvements Jesse is demanding in Flaxwood.’

Grace was about to reply, then realised the florist and Jesse were heading their way. ‘Sssshh,’ she hissed, dipping her head to focus on her wreath. Was it possible to turn it into something less mortifying before the pair reached their table? She didn’t think so and settled for hiding the worst of her incompetence beneath a handful of hastily grabbed barley.

‘Hello,’ Jesse said, firing a wide smile first at Keeley and then at Grace. ‘How are you enjoying the workshop? Is this your first visit to Ruggles?’