Last Christmas (4 page)

“Huh?” she said distractedly turning back to face her friends.

“Your New Year’s Eve party is themed,” Harry confirmed in his low unassuming voice.

“Oh yes, yes it is themed. Arabian Nights. It’ll bring some warmth to London! Don’t forget. You don’t want to be running around London trying to pull a belly dancing costume together in that awfully miserable time between Christmas and New Year. I hate those days after Boxing Day, don’t you?” Ella asked.

“Absolutely,
they’re
so dreary. I’m
going
as
Jasmine obviously. What are
you
going
as
?” Lara had a peculiar tendency to emphasize all the wrong words in a sentence. Ella thought it must stem from the time Lara had spent floating in and out of different international schools in her early teens as her parents jobs had taken them across the globe. It took a while to get used to but it was endearing.

The boys started to discuss how much they disdained fancy dress just as Ella pulled herself from out of Charlie’s heavy grip. Flustered, she moved towards Lara.

“I’m so hot, are you? It’s like an oven in here,” Ella complained.

“
I
know. It so hot
because
there are
so
many people in here and because the
Aga’s
on. And Beth keeps insisting
William
tops up the fire
in
the drawing room with
logs
every
three
minutes!” The two girls chuckled and commented on William’s devotion to his wife. Elisabeth was clearly the boss of the Crosley household but everybody knew that William secretly loved being told what to do after years of commanding others in the Army.

“Have you
met
Jessica yet?” Lara asked changing the subject. “She’s my new best
friend
! I need
to
go and tell her
the
name of my brother’s company. We were talking about it
earlier
as they are both in the
same
field; I forgot earlier but I’ve remembered
now
. Come
through
with me,” Lara said as she moved towards the drawing room.

Turning to Harry and Charlie, Ella said, “Boys I must go and say hello to Toby and Emily.” She picked up a few entrees from the table, filled up her glass and followed Lara into the drawing room hoping to find Toby and his pregnant wife. She spotted them on a scarlet sofa in the corner of the large drawing room and sat down next to them.

Ella hadn’t seen Toby since he had come back from his latest tour in Afghanistan and she hadn’t seen Emily since she had fallen pregnant; after such a long time they had lots to talk about and they somehow managed to condense a year’s worth of gossip, war anecdotes, painting disasters and baby anxieties into a lively twenty minute chat. Ella learnt that they were having a girl and she was due on Christmas Day. Toby and Emily were oscillating between the name Holly or Ivy for the yuletide baby.

Ella couldn’t help but think that it was a bit quaint to give the child such an obviously festive name but she soon realised she was being too cynical and that actually, both names were lovely. She welcomed a new glass of champagne that was presented to her on an ornate silver tray by one of the waiters that the Crosley’s had hired for the party.

“Ivy.” She tested out the name, with her head tilted in deliberation. “
Ivy
. I think you should name her Ivy; it’s more rare and somehow more feminine. And less linked to Christmas, I think.” Ella couldn’t help but add the last bit. Emily began to nod in agreement when Charlie and Harry joined them at the sofa. Ella tried to squeeze up but with the heavily pregnant Emily and broad muscular Toby, there wasn’t room for all five of them on the sofa. She stood up and offered the boys the place which they took, but not without pulling Ella down onto their laps.

“Oh Harry, Charlie, I can stand!” Ella protested as she tried to force her way to her feet.

“No,” Charlie said cheekily. “If there’s no room for us on the sofa, there’s no room for you to stand!”

Ella rolled her eyes and pouted at the boys in feigned anger. She shifted herself over to Charlie’s lap so she could lean against the arm of the sofa for support. The conversation darted between the Migrant Crisis,
Strictly
Come
Dancing
and the quality of snow in Val-d’Isère this season as the waiters brought them trays and trays of hors d’oeurves. Ella observed that Emily was having some strong pregnancy cravings as she looked ready to gag when the salmon entrees were wafted around, but greedily grabbed a whole platter of the cocktail sausages when they were passed her way. She balanced the large tray on her lap which made the sofa seem even smaller.

Ella was starting to feel the effects of the champagne she had been drinking. She had hardly been at the party an hour but had managed to drink four glasses already. She couldn’t tell if it was just the alcohol she had consumed or if it was also the room, but she was incredibly hot.

She stood up, excused herself and went to the large window at the back of the drawing room. She took it off the latch and opened it. It was a large bay window with a cushion built into it. She opened the window even wider and sat as close to the frame as she could with her cheek touching the cold glass. Once she had cooled down, Ella surveyed the room. She could see the beautiful Spencers, the rather dull Posenbys, the wild Cuthberts, the apologetic Brandons and her favourite of them all, the infectiously happy Brewers. Then there was Charlie, Harry, Lara, Libby, Toby, Emily, Marcus and his girlfriend Jessica and Fergus … he was talking to all of her friends and had taken her spot. He must have walked over just after she had left.

Does he not like me?
she thought as she watched him. She crossed her legs and signaled to a waiter, asked for some sparking water and rested her hand on her chin.

Who is this man?
He was incredibly well dressed yet he looked nothing like the people at this party. His suede jacket was out of place amongst all the pink coloured chinos and dusty blue blazers. He was wearing a black poloneck. Not only did he look like he didn’t belonged at this party, but he looked like he didn’t belong in this era. Ella looked at his deep brown hair and red-flecked silvery beard. She thought of James Dean again. A brunette James Dean …

“He’s called Fergus.”

Mrs Crosley sat down next to Ella and the surprise and force of Mrs Crosley’s voluptuous body meeting the cushion beside her almost made her spill her drink.

“Ohh he he he,” she laughed. “I didn’t mean to startle you Ella. It’s just I thought I’d bring you a napkin. I could see you dribbling from the other side of the room.”

Ella regained her composure, embarrassed that Elisabeth had caught her mid hypnosis. “Oh gosh, was I really that obvious? Subtlety has never been my strong point.” She paused. “He’s absolutely gorgeous.”

“I know Ella. Sadly, I’m not looking for a lover right now – naturally he was very disappointed when I told him.”

Mrs Crosley had a wicked wit.

“How do you know him? Is he a friend of Toby’s? From school?” she inquired.

“Army friend, my dear.”

“Really?” Ella replied, shocked that this delicate and artistic looking man could be the product of military training.

“Oh quite so. They are very good friends. Obviously, they are nothing like each other, but doesn’t that make the best of friendships sometimes?”

Ella reflected upon what Elisabeth had said.

“Right, now it’s time I introduced you! You will get on like a house on fire, I don’t know why I haven’t thought of it before!” Elisabeth exclaimed while getting up.

“Oh, we did meet earlier very briefly, so you don’t need to introduce.”

But Elisabeth was already at the sofa crammed full of Ella’s friends. By the time Ella had got to the sofa, it seemed as if Elisabeth was giving a treatise on all Ella’s merits. Elisabeth gestured to Ella introducing her to her best friends as if it was the first time they had all met her. She felt like her cheeks were reaching an unnatural shade of purple. Her alcohol consumption and the ungodly heat of the room were not helping her embarrassment dissipate.

“I’ve pulled her away from the window because we want her company! It’s not a party without Ella around,” Mrs Crosley said with a knowing smile and tilt of the head.

“Thanks Beth,” Ella said with a slight hint of sarcasm.

“Well, we were just talking
about
the new exhibition
at
the V
and
A,” Lara stated. “I
would
love to go but it seems no one
is
interested.”

“I am,” Fergus and Ella replied simultaneously.

There was a slight chuckle from the group and Ella felt like she was back in the school playground where everybody was dying with laughter because a boy had touched a girl’s hand. ‘Accidentally’ of course.

“Are you interested in art Ella?” Fergus asked. Aha! Here was a question she could answer, a chance for a proper conversation devoid of awkward silences, regrettable eavesdropping and clumsiness.

“Ye—”

“Of course she is! She’s a painter,” Mrs Crosley cried. Fergus’ face lit up and Ella noticed.

“A marvelous one. I want to get her to do a family portrait of us but then that’s not your type of art is it darling Ella?” Elisabeth’s voice bellowed around the whole room and made Ella feel like she had to address the entire room’s guests in return. She coughed slightly and paused briefly to reflect on the Crosley’s love of volume.

“Yes, I’d happily paint you a family portrait but it wouldn’t be any good and you’d be incredibly disappointed, because, as you say, I am not a portrait painter,” Ella replied modestly with a smile. Elisabeth, distracted by the waiter and the new flavour of canopees he offered her, turned her attention from Ella.

Hoping that Fergus’ slightly raised eyebrows were a show of his interest in art or
her
art, Ella addressed him alone.

“I am more of an abstract artist. I help run a gallery in London but I am also an artist too.”

“Oh great. Have you always painted? What sort of thing to you paint?” Fergus asked coolly.

The rest of the group had resumed their own conversations and Fergus stepped closer to Ella at the edge of the sofa, waiting for her reply.

“Yes, I’ve always been a painter. I studied fine art at university and went on to work in advertising for a few years. But after realising it was not in the least bit satisfying, I took up painting professionally and plunged into the art world again. I mainly paint natural scenes but abstract stuff.”
Abstract stuff? Did I really just say that? Years of studying art, its terminology and movements and all you can muster to describe your style is ‘abstract stuff’.

Fergus nodded with what looked like enthusiasm. Was he genuinely interested in art or was he feigning politeness? Ella wasn’t sure but she continued anyway.

“I use oils on canvas and occasionally I work with clay and sculpt. Do you paint?” she asked.

“Oh no no. I would love to be able to draw but sadly I’ve never acquired the skill or the patience.” His voice was hoarser than before, perhaps because he had had a few drinks since they had talked in the doorway. His sultry tones were so inviting.

“Ah I see. Not very creative then?”

“Well I am a photographer,” he said, running his hands through his rich hair.

“Oh really?” Ella couldn’t contain her surprise. “Amateur?”

“No. Professional.”

“Oh,” Ella said.

“Is that disappointing?” he asked grinning a little.

“Nooo not at all. It’s just I thought you were in the Army – Elisabeth told me you met Toby in the Army.”

“Well she isn’t wrong. I did meet Toby in the Army. But I am a war photographer, a photo journalist. We were stationed at the same base – I was there to document while he was fighting. I’ve never had any military training.” He had moved his hands from his hair and was now brushing a patch of his stubble under his chin.

“Ah, I see. That makes a little bit more sense. I didn’t think you looked like you were in the Army.” As soon as Ella had spoken she knew that her words had come out wrong. She hadn’t meant to cause offense, but by the reaction on Fergus’ face she saw that he wasn’t going to let her remark slide. He leant back on the sofa as if to settle in to enjoy this moment. A devilish smile appeared on his face.

“Oh I don’t look manly enough for the Army – is that what you mean? Not strong enough?” he teased.

“Oh gosh, that’s not what I meant at all!” she said, placing her hand on his arm. “I just meant that you looked more artistic, a little more sensitive than that.” Fergus’ eyes dazzled with mischief. Ella gently pulled away her hand when she realised it was still lingering on his arm.

“Well you’re right. I don’t think there is anyone on earth more sensitive than a photographer.” They both chuckled and took a sip of their champagne.