Christmas at Strand House: A gorgeously uplifting festive romance!. Linda Mitchelmore
up.
‘Which was at Claire’s funeral. So, now we’ve got that word out of the way as well.’ Xander smiled gently at her. ‘And that was three years ago. It’s a myth, you know, that men only ever want to talk about themselves. I know you’re good at art because Claire was full of how good you are when she got back from the workshop, or whatever it was.’
‘Was she?’
‘She was, indeed. And it must have been fulsome praise if I’ve remembered. So, how’s that going? I’d like to buy something but you’ll never sell me anything. Any reason?’
Because Stuart says it’s no better than a six-year-old could do. Because stupidly I let myself believe that. Because to go against his wishes would have meant another tirade of abusive words and possibly some fists thrown in as well.
Janey couldn’t tell Xander any of that, could she? And neither should she. She blinked back tears, but one escaped and she brushed it away hastily with the back of her hand.
But Xander saw.
‘Hey, it’s okay. You don’t have to tell me a thing. I must be right out of practice at talking to women if I’m making you cry. I’m sorry. Here, have a top-up.’
Xander reached for the bottle and topped up her glass.
And then Bobbie came breezing in, filling the room with her vibrant clothes and her even more vibrant personality and Janey had never been so pleased to see anyone in her life. She felt herself relax. For now.
Lissy
Lissy was thrilled with the way the house was looking. Everything had been left to the last minute – the buying of decorations and the catering – but it was all coming together now, looking Christmassy. Janey was at one end of the kitchen island making a wreath for the front door, and she was at the other. Xander and Bobbie were in the sitting room doing a catch-up. She could hear Bobbie laughing now and then at whatever it was Xander had said.
‘We ought to have bought a wreath from the greengrocer in Parkside when we were in town, Janey,’ Lissy had said when they got back and she realised that although they’d bought bags and bags of baubles and four packs of lights, six bunches of white roses that she’d put in one huge vase on the dresser in the hall, there was nothing with which to dress the door.
‘They’d have been too small anyway. Your front door’s huge – only Westminster Abbey’s got a larger door.’ And she’d giggled, and with that giggle Lissy hoped that a little of the Janey she’d got to know three years ago was coming back.
‘I could make one,’ Janey said. ‘If there’s any greenery in the garden. But you can make a wreath out of anything really.’
‘Really? Scarves?’ Lissy asked. She’d cleared a lot of Vonny’s old clothes, keeping just a few classic, designer pieces, and all her scarves, pressed and neatly folded in the bottom of the chest of drawers in the room that was now hers. ‘Costume jewellery?’
‘Perfect,’ Janey had said.
‘How’s it going?’ Lissy asked now. She had her hands in a large aluminium bowl rubbing fat into flour – a huge labour of love because Lissy hated the feel of it under her fingernails. It was the only part of cooking she didn’t like because the rest of it she absolutely loved … the smell of fresh ginger never failed to lift her spirits, and the fresh green of basil leaves made her think of sunny afternoons lying in Hyde Park on lush grass when she’d been a student in London; the texture of orange and lemon peel, like some sort of aromatic skin eruption; the lush softness of roasted sweet potatoes. After Cooper left she didn’t cook much for a few months because she had no personal appetite and no one to cook for. But then she began experimenting and eventually it had led to putting up photos of what she’d cooked on Facebook and Instagram – experimenting with foods that Cooper had never liked and refused to eat, like Jerusalem artichokes and anchovies and pineapple rings dipped in batter, fried and sprinkled with sugar. It had been cathartic then, but it had opened her mind to the fact there were other things in life apart from running her accountancy business – such as making pastry for savoury whirls she intended to serve as nibbles before dinner.
‘It’s going fine,’ Janey said, dragging Lissy’s thoughts back to the present, to the room she was in with her friend, with two other friends in the sitting room and making food for them she hoped they’d like but which she knew they’d appreciate for the effort she’d put into it for them. ‘You?’
‘Getting there,’ Lissy said.
She had the filling to make – sundried tomatoes, mozzarella, and spinach – but she could do that while the pastry was resting in the fridge. Once she’d made it! She was running late with dinner – salmon she’d already cooked, with new potatoes she’d yet to cook and salad that would only take five minutes to put together – but it didn’t matter much. None of them had a time schedule, after all. And besides, she hadn’t said what time she’d be serving dinner so none of them would know it was late anyway, would they?
‘There!’ Janey said, picking up the huge wreath she was working on and turning it this way and that.
‘That is so good, Janey,’ Lissy said. ‘That’s not going to go out with the Christmas rubbish … you know the ripped apart crackers and the festive napkins and so on.
‘It’s not finished yet,’ Janey said. ‘Another ten minutes should do it and then I’ll ask Xander to help me hang it. Anyway, what are you going to do with all this jewellery?’
Lissy looked up as Janey wound an amber necklace around a plaited red and gold scarf, the whole thing glinting under the overhead downlighters.
‘I haven’t given it a thought, to be honest. Not my thing any of it but it seemed too good to take to the tip. Charity shop? That’s where I took most of her books and some ornaments, not that Vonny had much of either.’
And what a horrid job that had been, throwing Vonny’s shoes and most of her bags, and clothes that had seen better days into the relevant skips at the community tip. She shivered, remembering how she’d felt a traitor almost doing it.
‘Well, let me know which charity shop you take them to and I’ll go and buy some back. These scarves are gorgeous. Fabulous colours. I’ve picked out all the scarves that are Christmassy … anything with red in it, or green, with a bit of gold thrown in.’
‘Good. Lovely,’ Lissy said, awed at how deftly Janey had plaited and twisted and woven the scarves around old wire coat-hangers she’d cut to shape with some pliers Lissy had found in a drawer in the kitchen. How talented she was. ‘But take what you want once Christmas is over. You’re welcome.’
The two women carried on working at their respective tasks in silence. How peaceful it was, Lissy thought.
‘You like cooking, don’t you?’ Janey said in her gentle voice as though, perhaps, she’d been reluctant to break the silence.
‘I do.’
‘Did Coo …’ Janey began but then didn’t seem to know how to go on. Lissy saw a flush on the side of Janey’s neck.
‘Did Cooper like my cooking? Is that what you were going to say?’
‘Mmm’ Janey said, nodding. ‘Oh, God, sorry. I shouldn’t have even thought it.’ Janey began twisting another string of beads around the scarves as though her life depended on it.
‘Yes, you should. We’re friends. Friends can say things to one another that sometimes even family can’t say. And besides, it’s said the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach and all that. But to answer your unasked question,’ Lissy said, ‘yes, he did like my cooking. In the beginning. But if he didn’t like it enough to stop him going off to exchange it for third-rate,