Stiffly, Miles and his father shook hands at the door of Ashford Park. All around them was the rich smell of cinnamon and pine cones, and the happy sound of four hundred party guests enjoying themselves at someone else’s expense. The huge entrance hall was dominated by a twenty-foot Christmas tree festooned with Austrian crystal baubles and banners hanging from the ceiling declared ‘Seasons Greetings!’ and ‘Goodwill to all Men!’ And yet despit
e not having seen one another in almost twelve months, the atmosphere between father and son was sub-zero.
‘Not pleased to see me?’ said Miles.
‘On the contrary, Miles,’ said Robert, ‘I was beginning to think I would have to go to the expense and inconvenience of sending a search party. Your turning up out of the blue is something of a boon in that department.’
Miles’ instinct was to turn around and leave straight away, but with Chrissy there he couldn’t, not without losing face.
‘Yes, I know I said I was coming back in February,’ he said in a more even tone. ‘But, well, there was a change of plan.’
‘Did the full-moon party scene finally lose its appeal?’ said Robert. He turned to Chrissy, holding out a hand. ‘I don’t believe we’ve met,’ he smiled.
‘Christine Devine,’ she said with a deferential nod. ‘Call me Chrissy. Pleased to meet you.’
Miles watched his father quickly size up his wife.
‘Judging from the tan,’ said Robert, ‘I’d say you two met abroad.’
‘Thailand,’ replied Chrissy.
‘Wonderful,’ he replied with little enthusiasm. ‘And were you travelling too?’
‘Working.’
‘Really? Whereabouts?’
‘In Phuket. I worked in a hotel.’
Miles smiled inwardly, grateful for the lie.
‘Oh, which one?’ asked Robert. ‘I was in Patong last summer looking at resort sites.’
Chrissy answered without hesitation. ‘The Coral Cay, lovely place ...’
‘Miles! I don’t believe it!’ said an excited voice, breaking the interrogation. It was Connie Ashford, and Miles gratefully embraced his mother. Always a beautiful woman, she looked especially chic in a long midnight-blue silk gown which fell to the floor. Her blond hair was swept off her face in a chignon, her delicate features enhanced by soft sweeps of colour to her cheeks and eyelids. Her extreme beauty often made people think she was haughty, but when she smiled, which was often, her Grace Kelly froideur softened, giving her a warmth that her husband lacked.
‘Happy birthday, Mum,’ said Miles, kissing her cheek.
‘I couldn’t have asked for a better present.’ She smiled.
‘Mum, this is Chrissy,’ he said, quickly manoeuvring her away from his father.
‘Lovely to meet you,’ said Connie, shaking her hand.
‘Well, I’m glad we have both of you here,’ said Miles quickly; he wanted to get this over with. ‘We have some news.’
‘Tell me you’re staying for New Year?’ said Connie, looking from Miles to Chrissy expectantly.
Miles shook his head.
‘We’re married.’
There was a stunned pause as both parents blinked at him, not quite sure if they had heard him correctly.
‘Married?’ said Connie, nervously tucking a curl of hair behind her ear.‘My word . . . that certainly is news.’ Regaining her characteristic poise, she stepped forward and embraced her son and his new bride. ‘Congratulations to both of you,’ she said, her eyes glazing with tears. ‘I’m bowled over. But it’s wonderful. Isn’t it, Robert?’
‘You never stop surprising us, Miles,’ said Robert, his smile thin and tight. ‘I’ll give you that much.’