After the Snow. Susannah Constantine
out. Esme nuzzled his nose with hers, his warm, sweet-smelling breath thawing the red spots of cold on her cheeks. Stiff whiskers, newly clipped and spiky, prickled her skin. His pretty honey-brown muzzle shone gold against his copper coat.
‘Too big for you, huh?’ she said. ‘Here, let me take a bite for you to make it easier.’ Esme put the slimy apple to her lips and took as large a bite as she could. Juice spurted out as her teeth pierced the taut skin.
‘There you go, boy. That’s better, isn’t it? Who’s my darling boy?’
Homer had disgusting manners, she thought. He ate with his mouth open, turning the apple sap to foam as he chomped away, making loud sucking, squelching sounds and bubbles. Round and round went his jaw in methodical turns to reduce the flesh to pulp.
‘Good boy. I’ll come back and say goodbye.’ Esme patted her pony and walked away.
Back in the farmhouse it seemed a party had kicked off. The Earl had joined in the merriment and was sitting on the sofa with Esme’s mother nestled in the crook of his arm, shoeless feet curled up underneath her. Jimmy sat on his ‘throne’ with Mumfie on his lap. His face was red and his eyes were creased with joy.
Esme went to sit on the footstool by the coal fire. Too big to be a lap dog, the lercher jumped down and lay beside her, his head and half his body on her knees.
She looked at the scene before her. Every time her mother turned to the Earl her eyes seemed to come alive. It was almost shocking in contrast to the detached, milky gaze reserved for her father.
‘Oh, and I’ll tell you another thing, Your Lordship,’ Jimmy was saying, ‘the next time you come to the meet, don’t go fannying around on your feet. It’s about time you got on a bloody horse. I tell you, if the Prince of bleeding Wales can stay on, you can too. Stop being such a prissy little girl and get your arse in the saddle.’
‘Jimmy, you’re a nightmare; my hunting days are over. Diana, tell him to stop bullying me,’ said the Earl, smiling. He flicked his wrist from his sleeve and looked at his watch. ‘Goodness, it’s nearly two o’clock. We’d better be off.’
‘C’mon, Your Lordship. Don’t go yet. One more for the road.’
‘No, Jimmy, you are very kind but I must get Mrs Munroe and Esme back home. We’re already very late.’
‘Oh, Henry, just one more, then we’ll go. Come on, how often do we get time like this? Esme, darling, be a love and call home. Tell Mrs Bee we are on our way.’
Esme was torn between the prospect of lunch and presents and the fun of this little group. She felt like one of the grown-ups now, especially as Sophia wasn’t there to enjoy their secret party, and it was a relief to see her mother full of life and humour again so she went out to the hall to the phone, its disc whirring after her small finger dialled each number.
‘Mrs Bee? It’s me, Esme. We’re leaving now. I’m with Mummy. Lexi’s father is going to drive us home.’
‘Esme! Is your mother all right? Where did you find her?’
‘It’s a long story, Mrs Bee. I’ve had a real-life adventure.’
‘Adventure or not, lunch is going to be ruined! Your father and Sophia are already back; Mr Miller dropped them off an hour ago. They’ll be relieved to hear you’ve found your mother. Will she be needing a hot bath?’
‘No thank you, Mrs Bee. She seems very warm,’ said Esme. ‘We’ve been having such fun. Oh, and I told Homer about his presents – he whinnied with happiness.’
‘He was probably telling you that you’re late for lunch!’
‘Don’t worry, we’ll be back soon. Tell Daddy. Bye, Mrs Bee,’ she said, before hanging up.
Esme put on her coat again and ran outside. Jimmy and the Earl were already helping her mother into the Land Rover. She was singing ‘Roll Me Over in the Clover’ far too loudly, Esme thought.
Jumping into her seat, she turned and waved goodbye to Jimmy as the Earl drove out of the stable yard.
‘Mummy, are you drunk?’ she asked.
‘Oh darling, I’m not drunk. I’m just happy it’s Christmas. Darling Henry, I do love you so.’
Maybe she was a bit tipsy but Esme knew something else was not right. Her mother had been so sad this morning and was now very, very happy. When she had two moods so close together it was only a matter of time before she sank into a deep sleep, a lifeless stranger unable to recognize her own children. It was always the same. Esme’s excitement about Christmas lunch and presents around the tree evaporated; her mother was about to ruin it all.
Arriving at The Lodge, Esme and the Earl helped Diana to the front door, where Mrs Bee was waiting to let them in.
‘Mrs Bee, I’m sorry we’re late. Such a relief that Diana has been found safe and well. Now you can all enjoy your delicious lunch…’ The Earl’s apology stopped mid-flow as he took in the sight of Colin, veins on the sides of his neck pulsating; he was clearly struggling to control his rage.
‘Henry, what in God’s name happened? I’ve been worried sick, and with good reason. Look at her!’
Esme took in the sight of her mother and all at once wanted to protect her and the Earl from her father’s anger. She stood next to her and put her hand in hers.
‘If you hadn’t left us, Daddy, Mummy would have been OK. And if Lexi’s papa hadn’t gone to look for her we might not have found her,’ Esme said.
‘Yes. Yes, of course. I am grateful to you, Henry,’ said Esme’s father, guiding the Earl towards the door. ‘Diana… She’s not faring too well at the moment so I think it’s best you stay away from her. For the time being…’
‘Whatever is best for her,’ said the Earl.
‘Now, Mr and Mrs Munroe,’ said Mrs Bee, stepping in. ‘I suggest you go to the drawing room with a glass of champagne and wait for me and the girls to bring the food.’
This simple order and the housekeeper’s calm delivery put everything back to normality. It was Christmas. They would have lunch and open their presents. The day would continue as it had always done. Or at least that’s what Esme hoped, given that she never really knew from one moment to the next what mood her mother would be in and how the next few hours would play out.
The sisters sat around the kitchen table while Mrs Bee busied herself making the final preparations to the meal. The whirring sound of the cooker turned into that of a Force 5 gale when the oven door was opened to remove the picture-perfect turkey.
‘Och, that weighs the same as an eighteen-month-old baby!’ exclaimed Mrs Bee, grunting as she heaved the bird from the roasting tin onto a large white Wedgewood platter on the table.
‘Why was Daddy so horrible to the Earl?’ asked Esme, still preoccupied with the adults’ terse exchange. ‘At least he tried to find Mummy. Poor thing; she could have died and been buried in the snow and we wouldn’t have found her ’til the spring. It’s only because of Jimmy that she isn’t a human icicle.’
Sophia peeled a strip of crisp skin off the plump turkey before her and curled it around her extended tongue. ‘Mmm…’ She licked her fingers. ‘You always try to protect Mummy, Es. She wanted to go to Jimmy’s instead of the castle. She wanted the Earl to rescue her. And now she’s made us all late for lunch and Daddy is pissed off. End of story.’
It was true. Esme