Wickham Hall: Part Four - White Christmas (9 page)

My hands were trembling. ‘You've actually spoken to him?'

He nodded. ‘Then he wrote back again. This time the letter was addressed to you. I asked Sheila to hold onto it until I came back.'

Ben took a letter and a package wrapped in Christmas paper out of his bag and held them out.

The hairs at the nape of my neck prickled. ‘I can't believe you actually found my father,' I whispered gruffly.

I took the envelope out of his hands and stared, absorbing every detail. It was exactly like the one I remembered seeing that morning in November: the red and blue airmail stripes, the Italia postage stamp. But this one was from Antonio Biancardi to me, his daughter. I blew out a shaky breath and carefully tore the edge of the airmail envelope to reveal two sheets of paper inside it.

I swallowed as the inside of my mouth dried and my hands shook as I opened the letter. What would he say to the daughter he'd never even known about?

Dear Holly,

What a beautiful name! I hope that you will forgive me writing to you directly. When Mr Fortescue contacted me to see if I was the Signor Biancardi who had been at the festival at Wickham Hall in the 1980s I almost jumped straight on a plane to come and find you. Luckily my wife Etta is more sensible and advised me to proceed slowly.

The news that I have a daughter has brought such joy into my life and I hope that one day we will meet. I am married, as I have said, and I have three sons, two of whom work in my leather business. The other is a chef. But Etta and I have no daughters and she is just as excited as I am to learn of your existence.

I have never forgotten your mother, Lucy, and for a long time after that summer I thought about her often, wondering why she hadn't come to say goodbye as we'd arranged. Wondering if I had done something wrong.

But shortly after the end of the festival my father became seriously ill and sadly died. It was my duty as his only child to take over the running of the business and I must confess that with so many responsibilities thrust upon my young shoulders, I consigned that summer and your mother to the past and began a new life with Etta, building the leather business and raising a family.

However, the time Lucy and I spent together was a very happy one and I even incorporated a pearl into some of my leather designs to remind me of the bracelet we found in the gardens. Does she still have it, I wonder?

I wish you and your family a very happy Christmas and I look forward to the possibility of meeting you next year if you wish.

Warm wishes

Antonio Biancardi

PS I have sent you one of my bags as a Christmas gift. It's our most popular style. I hope you like it.

I lowered the letter and stared at Ben through eyes blurred with tears, momentarily lost for words.

Ben pulled me towards him in a bear hug and I tucked my head under his chin.

‘Happy tears?' he murmured into my hair.

I nodded.

‘He sounds genuinely pleased to have a daughter; he even wants to meet me.' I swallowed. ‘He sounds lovely.'

My father
, I realized, my father sounded like a lovely man. The letter answered so many questions, and asked as many new ones too, but that was OK. We would have plenty of time to get to know each other in the future.

My eyes sparkled with tears as I lifted my gaze to Ben. ‘Thank you for doing this for me. I will remember this moment, reading this letter, for the rest of my life.'

‘Phew, I've done the right thing, finally?' he said.

‘Yes.' I laughed, brushing away my tears. ‘This is the best Christmas present I could have wished for.'

‘Ah, now
here's
the present he sent you.' He grinned and handed me an exquisitely wrapped parcel the size of a small shoe box.

I slid off a silver ribbon and tore the ornate wrapping paper open to reveal a box containing the most beautiful clutch bag I'd ever seen. It was the shape of an envelope made of bronze leather so soft that it felt like velvet in my fingers. And the flap of the bag was fastened with an oversized pearl button.

‘Pearl,' I murmured, stroking it with my fingertip. ‘My middle name, the bracelet that Mum and Antonio found, your mum's pearls.'

‘I guess that means we're indelibly linked?' He grinned.

‘I guess.' I smiled at him, my heart beating so wildly against my ribs that I wouldn't have been surprised if he could feel it too. It was all I could do not to bury my head in the soft part between his collarbone and his neck and inhale the irresistible scent of him.

‘So if I'm forgiven, I have a favour to ask . . .'

My eyes locked onto his and I nodded. ‘Fire away.'

‘Would you be my date for my parents' dinner party tonight?'

A dinner party in the Great Hall . . . What would Lady Fortescue say about me turning up?

‘Isn't that just for your parents' friends?' I said, chewing my lip.

‘And mine,' he added. ‘And it'll be much more fun if you're there. Please?'

I pictured the room shimmering with Andy's white and silver Christmas decorations, the soft glow of hundreds of candles and the crystal glasses sparkling in the light. It would be magical and I would be there on Ben's arm . . .

My whole body felt as though it was glowing with happiness as I nodded my head slowly; today was just getting better and better. I'd found my father, Ben was home and now this.

‘I'd be honoured to be your date,' I breathed.

The last few inches of space between us melted away and I felt his lips brush against mine.

And then my arms were around his neck pulling him closer until I could feel the beat of his heart through his thin jacket. I thought my own heart might burst as the kiss that I'd been dreaming about since the summer was really, nearly happening and—

‘Mummy, what's the elf doing with that man?'

Ben and I sprang apart and turned round to see a family of four staring at us agog. I blushed furiously, although thankfully my elf make-up disguised it from our new audience, while Ben rubbed a hand through his hair and laughed.

‘Sorry about that, folks.' Ben smiled apologetically at the parents.

It seemed our tea break was over and the next Santa session had begun.

‘Who's ready to come and tell Santa what they want for Christmas?' Jim boomed, doing his best to block my and Ben's clinch from prying eyes. The two children began bouncing on the spot, shouting, ‘Me, me!'

‘My elf is just getting her Christmas wish a bit early, that's all.'

He ushered the children and their parents into his room and turned to me with a twinkly smile. ‘Santa officially gives his favourite elf the rest of the afternoon off.'

‘Thank you, Santa,' I giggled.

I was going to need it; I'd have to fit in a trip home to change my outfit – my ordinary work clothes would not cut the mustard for Lady Fortescue's dinner party.

‘Have you no elf-respect, you naughty girl?' murmured Ben close to my ear as soon as the door was shut.

‘Maybe not, but that kiss did wonders for my elf-esteem,' I retorted with a giggle. I stepped back up to Ben's chest but he checked his watch and groaned.

‘Much as I'd love to stay, I'd better dash. Got stuff to do before the big Christmas at Home thing. I'll see you there, will I?' He stroked my cheek with his fingertip and my insides fluttered instantly.

‘Sure,' I said, pressing a swift kiss to his cheek. ‘And thank you. For everything.'

I waved him off and watched him disappear into the deepening snow. I stood there for a moment enjoying the muffled silence and the velvety beauty of the snowy evening landscape and then shook myself into action.

I left the list of children still due to visit for Santa and then, taking Jim at his word, donned my green cloak, picked up my new bag and letter from my father and opened the door of the cosy cabin. As I began to close it behind me, the small posy of mistletoe that Andy had given me caught my eye on the ceiling directly above where Ben and I had been standing and I pressed my lips together in a secret smile.

A kiss under the mistletoe with Ben Fortescue, a Christmas gift from my dad . . . This Christmas was shaping up to be the best of my life.

I set off for the hall, tiptoeing along the snowy paths and trying to tread in Ben's footprints to protect my elf shoes. I got as far as the courtyard and I bumped into Jenny, dressed in her motorbike leathers with her helmet under her arm.

‘Jenny,' I squealed, ‘isn't this snow beautiful! It makes you want to build a snowman, doesn't it, or have a snowball fight?'

I scooped up a handful of snow and threw it up in the air and Jenny yelled as she dodged the falling flakes.

‘I think that elf costume has gone to your head.' She laughed. ‘Or is there some Christmas magic in the air?'

‘Magic, definitely,' I said, grabbing her hands and twirling her round in the snow. ‘My life feels like it's falling into place, Jenny. I'm so happy I feel like dancing.'

‘Well, chick, you've changed your tune since Monday, when everything seemed impossible,' she gasped, out of breath. ‘Does this have anything to do with Benedict, by any chance?'

My eyes sparkled as I nodded.

‘He's contacted my father for me, how sweet is that?' I changed my twirling to on-the-spot bouncing. ‘And he's asked me to be his date for the dinner party tonight!'

Jenny widened her eyes and whistled. ‘Wow! Now, please stop making me bounce, I'm supposed to look cool dressed like this; you're doing my street cred no good at all.'

‘You're not going anywhere on your Harley in this weather, are you?' I frowned, coming to a standstill.

‘Sure.' She shrugged. ‘It's built like a tank. Besides, the roads are clear, it's the pavements that are lethal.'

I grinned at her. ‘In that case, can you give me a lift?'

If anyone in the village of Wickham spotted an elf clinging on to a leather-clad chef riding pillion on a Harley-Davidson through the snowy night, they might have thought they'd overdone the mulled wine. But after the succession of surprises I'd had this afternoon, it felt curiously appropriate and the short journey in the freezing-cold air heightened the sense of adventure for me even more.

‘Sweet cottage,' said Jenny, as we peeled our helmets off at the doorstep.

My heart stopped for a moment and I blinked at her; something amazing had just dawned on me. I was bringing someone home, a work colleague, and for the first time in . . . at least a decade . . . I didn't have to feel embarrassed about it, or try to explain the piles of clutter in the hallway or make excuses about why it looked like we'd just moved in. Because Mum and I were free of her hoarding, she'd put that part of her life behind her and we were both moving on.

I turned the key in the lock and opened the front door. ‘Thanks.' I beamed. ‘Welcome to Weaver's Cottage.'

Mum was still out at work and I left Jenny in our tiny living room with a cup of tea and instructions on how to light the fire while I dashed upstairs to beautify myself.

I shivered as I stripped out of my elf tunic and tights and dived into my dressing gown while I mulled over what to wear. Normally at this point I'd phone Esme for her professional input, but she would be busy getting herself ready for this evening and I didn't want to bother her.

A million different thoughts span around in my head, making it difficult to focus: what would Mum make of my letter from Antonio? I'd never imagined that we would get such a lovely response from – let's face it – a complete stranger. My heart melted at the image of him and his wife – what was her name? – Etta, talking about his English daughter and her kindness at being so accepting of my existence.

The clock by the side of my bed beeped to signal the hour and I let out a panicky squeak. One hour until the guests began arriving for the Christmas at Home event and I was still at home, dithering in my underwear.

Right. Hair. Make-up. Dress. Shoes.

I'd start with hair.

I sat down at my dressing table and dragged a brush through my windblown, motorcycle-helmet-flattened hair . . .

‘Jenny, are you any good at hair?' I yelled down the stairs.

Ten minutes later Jenny stood up straight and swivelled me towards the mirror.

‘Not bad for my first ever up-do.' She smirked.

I turned my head this way and that. ‘Wow! Jenny Plum, you're wasted in the kitchen. I'm impressed. I love it!'

She had braided the front of my hair so that it lifted away from my face and loosely rolled up the back. It was casual but at the same time sophisticated – well, for me anyway – and emphasized my neck.

‘Who knew strudel-plaiting skills would be so useful,' she said, plonking herself down on my bed. I picked up my make-up bag and started applying foundation.

‘Hey, cool painting,' said Jenny, pointing to Ben's canvas on my bedroom wall.

A package had arrived at the end of November containing
Secret Sunrise
and a note from Miles Leith, the gallery owner, advising me to have it insured for an eye-wateringly large sum. I'd gingerly hung it on the wall above my bed so that it would be the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes. Now I started every morning with a smile.

‘Present from Ben,' I said, choosing a gold eyeshadow from my meagre selection.

‘Well, if tonight goes well, maybe this time next year it'll be hanging in Wickham Hall,' she said slyly.

‘This is our second date, Jenny.' I laughed. ‘Besides, I've got other plans for it.'

I waggled my eyebrows mysteriously but wouldn't divulge any more; I had a proposal to put to the Fortescues but I wanted to run it past Ben first . . .

‘How are we doing for time?' I asked, regretting my decision to try flicky-out eyeliner for the first time; my hands had gone slightly shaky.