Christmas At Thrush Green (34 page)

‘Can we pull the crackers now?’ asked Paul, who was seated in the hall - in the same room as the Burwells, but thankfully not next to either.

‘Certainly not,’ laughed his mother. ‘That comes much later.’

Harold, sitting on one side of Ella who was seated at a stout chair at the head of the table, noticed that poor Charles had drawn the short straw and was seated next to Jean Burwell and opposite Derek.

Molly and Ben handed round the bowls of soup, a swirl of cream and a scattering of green on top of each.

Harold bent forward and sniffed appreciatively. ‘Goodness, that smells good. What’s in it?’

‘It’s tomato and mascarpone cheese,’ said Joan. ‘I got it off one of the cooking shows on the television. Do you ever watch them?’

Harold laughed. ‘No fear, but Isobel does and I’m more than happy to help test her efforts. I don’t think we’ve had this. What are the green bits?’

‘That’s basil. There’s already some pesto whizzed into the soup. Now, do have some of these,’ and she passed a pretty china bowl brimming with little golden croutons.

‘Can I give you some, Ella?’ asked Harold.

‘Yes, lots, please, Harold,’ Ella replied. ‘I can never be bothered to make the fiddly things, but am always willing to eat other people’s.’

Little Agnes Fogerty was sitting between Paul and Derek Burwell. For a while she talked to Paul, who had been one of her pupils at Thrush Green School, asking him about how he was getting on at boarding school, then she turned to her other neighbour.

‘Now tell me exactly where you live,’ she said. ‘You arrived in the village after we had left.’

Joan looked down the table and was relieved that Agnes and the Burwells seemed to have plenty to chat about. Charles and Dulcie were deep in conversation nearby.

In his domain in the dining-room, Edward reckoned everyone was getting on well with their neighbours. He was worried for a moment that Jeremy was a little out of his depth since Dorothy seemed to be grilling him, but he relaxed when he heard Jeremy say quite firmly, ‘I’m afraid I have to disagree, Miss Watson. I don’t see any point in forcing a person to continue with, say, maths and physics when all they want to do when they are older is to be a journalist.’

‘Sorry to break up your conversation,’ Edward said a little later. ‘Jeremy, could you be very kind and help take the plates out to the kitchen.’

The boy leapt to his feet, and collected the plates as bidden.

Edward picked a couple of bottles of claret off the sideboard and took them into the hall. ‘Harold, can I put you in charge of wine in here? Ben will bring some white through in a moment. We’re eating chicken.’

And so the party went on. The wine circulated, plates were filled and emptied. Some of the men had more.

After the main course plates were cleared away, Edward suggested people should change places so they were sitting next to someone new, including some moving rooms as well as seats. There was a General Post - that is, apart from the Burwells who refused to budge. Joan saw that Dulcie was struggling with the dreary pair, whose conversation appeared to have dried up, so she indicated the young woman should move into her seat, opposite Robert who had come in from the dining-room. She was confident that Ella, still in her big chair at the top of the table, would keep the young couple well entertained. Frank had come to take Charles’s place next to Jean Burwell but Joan didn’t see why he should have to suffer the stuttering burbles either, so she moved him up and sat down beside Jean.

After making sure everyone at her table was settled, Joan took a deep breath and turned to Jean Burwell. ‘I thought the flowers in St Andrew’s over Christmas were lovely. Which arrangement were you responsible for?’

She was rewarded with a glassy stare, and then a hiccup.

Oh, Lord, thought Joan, she’s pooped. After a moment, she tried again. ‘I believe you often go into Oxford. Don’t you find the parking very difficult?’

‘Spark-an’-ride,’ mumbled Jean, desperately trying to focus on her hostess.

‘How interesting,’ Joan muttered, and inwardly cursed her son for getting them into this situation.

At that moment, Molly and Ben appeared at her side.

‘Ah, pudding,’ said Joan, thankful for the diversion. ‘Which would you like, Jean? Chocolate soufflé or caramelized oranges - or, perhaps a bit of both?’

Jean swung her head unsteadily towards Molly. ‘Shlots of shocolate.’

Derek Burwell stared at his wife. Then he waved Molly and the food away and leaned across the corner of the table to whisper in Jean’s ear. A moment later, he pushed back his chair and said rather loudly, ‘Sorry to break things up. Got to get Jean home. She’s not well.’

He pulled Jean out of her chair and pointed her towards the front door.

Joan quickly got to her feet, and put a hand onto Derek’s arm. ‘Hang on a moment, and I’ll get your coats.’

The Burwells just stood there, seemingly oblivious to the spectacle they were creating. Jeremy’s young eyes were as big as saucers as he gazed at the apparition in mauve who was being firmly gripped by her husband. Those at the hall table were now totally silent and Edward, sensing from the dining-room that something was amiss, appeared in the doorway in time to witness the Burwells’ stumbling exit. Joan shut the front door behind them, leaned against it and said, ‘I’m so sorry about that, everyone. I think it’s time to pull the crackers. Let battle commence!’

It was just what was needed to get everyone back into the swing of the party, and after bangs and oohs and aahs, and ‘oh, it’s not fair, you’ve won again,’ all the guests seemed to sport a splendid paper hat on their heads and were soon tucking into the puddings.

It was when the cheese was on the table, and the decanters of port were being passed round, that Robert moved his chair a little closer to Ella.

She stayed her hand that was halfway to her mouth with a piece of cheese carefully balanced on a biscuit. ‘I’m a bit blind, Robert, not deaf!’

‘I know, Ella, forgive me, but I didn’t want to shout this out.’

‘Shout what out?’ asked Ella, crunching on the biscuit.

‘I just wondered . . . Dulcie and I wondered . . .’

Ella turned her head towards him. ‘What did you wonder?’

‘If you get all the necessary permissions from the planning department and the Church Commissioners to turn those rooms at the vicarage into an apartment so you live permanently with Charles and Dimity, we, er, wondered . . . would you then be selling your cottage?’

‘Have to, wouldn’t I? Got to have the cash to pay for the alterations and to pay my rent to Charles and Dim. Why?’ But before either Robert or Dulcie could answer, Ella continued, ‘Ah, is it because you two would like to buy it?’

They both nodded intensely.

‘Why?’ Ella repeated in her forthright manner.

‘As you may know, we sold my house in the Lake District a couple of years ago but I have to admit that I miss the country more than I thought I would. Then, with junior on the way, we would very much like to have a foot in the country again. That’s one of the reasons why we came down here now - to have a drive and look round. The estate agents won’t be open tomorrow, of course, but we might see a board or two. But nothing, nothing,’ Robert repeated vehemently, ‘would give us more pleasure than to bring our child up in the village where his or her great-great-grandfather was born.’

Ella gazed from one to the other. For once her vision was quite clear, and she could see the passion shining in their eyes.

‘Well, I have to say that it would please me, too, to know that someone I liked was going to live in the cottage that has meant so much to me all these years. I was only thinking earlier this evening how awful it would be if those excruciating Burwells, or someone like them, bought the place.’

‘So do you think it would be possible?’ asked Dulcie, leaning forward excitedly.

But before Ella could answer, Edward appeared in the doorway of the dining-room, calling out, ‘It’s very close to midnight. Come on, everyone into the hall. Molly, can you turn the kitchen radio to full volume so we can hear the chimes of Big Ben.’

With a great deal of chatter and laughter, the eighteen good friends gathered round the table in the hall and crossed hands. Seeing not only Molly and Ben standing near the door into the kitchen, but Winnie’s Jenny as well, Joan broke the circle of hands and called to them to join in. As the chimes of Big Ben echoed through the hall from the kitchen and then the first of twelve booms to indicate the New Year, Frank, in his fine voice, started everyone off on ‘Auld Lang Syne’.

And as they rather raggedly reached this point, the circle broke up and in a moment everyone was hugging their neighbour. ‘Happy New Year!’ they called out. Husbands kissed wives and mothers kissed their sons, the men shook each other by the hand. Winnie embraced Jenny saying, ‘I had quite forgotten that I was supposed to be going home early. We’ve been having such a good time.’

Robert took Dulcie’s face in his hands. ‘Happy New Year, darling. It’s hard to think that this time next year we’ll be three. You’re going to make a wonderful mother.’ He kissed her gently on the lips.

The two of them then turned towards Ella. The large woman held out her good arm towards them. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘if everything goes to plan, I think my little cottage would like to have you living there.’

‘Oh, Ella, how simply wonderful,’ Dulcie cried, and flung her arms round Robert. Over her shoulder, he mouthed those simple but such important words to Ella, ‘Thank you.’

When the two disentangled themselves, they both embraced Ella, being careful not to squash her bad arm.

It had been agreed at Lulling Vicarage before the start of the evening that it would be wise not to discuss the Grand Plan and Ella had parried enquiries about her future all evening, as had Charles and Dimity.

‘Remember,’ Ella now said, shaking herself like an old spaniel, ‘not a word about this to anyone. There will be plenty of time in due course.’

 

The party continued unabated. The port decanter circulated, plates of walnuts and tangerines were placed on the table, and those who had been in the dining-room brought their chairs through to the hall. But, as always, good things have to come to an end.

The first to leave were John and Ruth Lovell since John was on call the following morning.

‘I’ll come round after breakfast,’ Ruth said to her sister, ‘and help you clear up. Thanks for a wonderful evening.’

Winnie was the next to leave, walking the short distance home with Jenny, her friend and companion. She stood for a moment outside the house where she had lived for so many years, and lifted her face to the almost full moon above. ‘It smells to me as though it’s going to be a very good new year,’ she said, her breath pluming out into the cold air.

An owl, flitting through the chestnut trees on the green, hooted in response.

‘Come along in,’ said Jenny. ‘I think a mug of warm cocoa will settle you nicely for the night.’

 

Harold and Isobel, with Dorothy Watson and little Agnes Fogerty, made their farewells shortly afterwards.

‘It’s at times like this that I really miss Thrush Green,’ said Dorothy, pulling her coat tightly round her as they set off across the green to the Shoosmiths’ house.

‘But we’re very happy in Barton,’ chimed in Agnes.

A voice called out through the dim light round the green. ‘Goodnight. An’ a very happy New Year to you all.’ It was Nelly Piggott, making her way home, having been relieved from baby-sitting duties by Ben and Molly.

‘Goodnight, Nelly,’ they all chorused. ‘And a happy New Year to you, too.’

As Harold closed the garden gate, he turned and leaned on it for a moment. Moonlight was shining down directly onto the statue of Nathaniel Patten a few yards away on the green.

‘And you, too, old chap. A happy New Year!’ he said, then turned and followed the others into the house.