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The sprawling luxury hotel Panton House was only five miles away from Chilcot. Built from beautiful honey-coloured stone, it boasted architecture by Robert Adam, grounds by Capability Brown and a kitchen managed by a more modern-day genius, Raymond Sancerre, the irascible Michelin-starred French chef. Rich Londoners often made the journey to dine there, but for most Chilcot locals it was gener ally off limits due to its prohibitive prices. So when Emma had decided to throw a big Milford Christmas dinner dance as a thank you for the hard work put in by her employees, Panton House was a natural venue to make the whole evening feel like a real treat. It was two days before Christmas Eve and the huge restaurant looked fabulous; it had been decorated with pine boughs and holly from the Chilcot woods and the staff were aglow with the spirit of the season.
‘So, exactly how much is this setting the company back?’ asked Roger, dabbing the last of his date and pecan pudding from the corner of his mouth with a napkin. Emma sighed inwardly; she had been expecting this all night. She had deliberately arranged the seating plan so she was seated next to Roger on the top table. It was a peace gesture and so far he had been polite, almost charming.
‘We got a good deal,’ she smiled. She explained how she had ruthlessly negotiated with Jocelyn Bentham, the owner of Panton House, by playing on his weakness for beautiful things. Emma had offered Jocelyn a brand new, entirely handmade bespoke set of luggage in return for an assurance that they could bring their own wine to the restaurant and not be charged corkage – a move that had saved them thousands of pounds.
‘I’ve also paid for a third of the catering charges myself,’ said Emma. ‘Julia is also in the process of selling several pieces of art from the Winterfold collection that I hope will pay for necessary corporate expenses like this party.’ Emma knew she was playing on Roger’s weakness: his reluctance to look at the company accounts, because despite the discounts, the party had still been incredibly expensive to host, especially for a company that was only just moving into the black.
Roger nodded slowly, swirling his claret around in its glass.
‘I know we’ve had our differences this year,’ he began awkwardly, ‘and I still don’t agree with some of your decisions. But…’ he hesitated, ‘we’re finally getting results. And as the head of the family I would like to thank you for that.’
Despite herself, Emma felt a warm glow course through her. She knew how painful that must have been for Roger to say, but she was grateful for his words.
‘Thanks Roger. I only ever wanted to do the best for everybody.’
‘Well, you know we all want you to come to Gstaad,’ he said referring to the annual Milford family trip to Switzerland. As Roger had been gifted the chalet in Saul’s will, the duty of being Christmas host had fallen to him. ‘Let’s think of it as a new start, eh?’
Emma smiled and nodded, but inside she wa
s groaning. While Emma was glad of the thaw between her and the family, the prospect of five days with Roger, Rebecca, her mother and God forbid, Cassandra, seemed too much to bear.
‘Well thanks so much for the invitation, Roger, but I’m not sure I’ll be able to make it. After all, it’s Christmas Eve the day after tomorrow and I haven’t booked a flight. Besides, I’ve already stocked the fridge for Christmas dinner.’
‘Rebecca has already looked into flights,’ replied Roger generously. ‘There’s still business class flights available from Heathrow to Geneva. We have a wonderful chef at the chalet and I know how much you like to ski. Surely that’s preferable to spending Christmas alone in the Stables?’
‘Oh don’t worry, I won’t be alone. I’ve been invited to lots of Christmas drinks and Len’s threatening to have a lock-in at the Feathers. Anyway, I’ve mentally prepared myself for staying at home,’ she smiled. She touched his hand. ‘Honestly Roger, thanks so much for thinking of me, but I think I’d better get to my feet and say a few words of thanks to the staff.’
After coffee, the Milford employees dispersed from their tables and filtered through into Panton House’s giant conservatory, where a jazz band had just begun a Cole Porter medley. Emma had been walking through to join the dancing herself when she’d spotted Rob Holland hovering by the door, conspicuous in his jeans and a navy sweater in the sea of suits and cocktail dresses.
He came over and kissed her on the cheek.
‘Emma.’
‘Rob? What are you doing here?’ she asked, feeling unnaturally irritated. Since their showdown in the woods, she’d spent the last month determinedly avoiding him and trying to put him out of her mind. It had been easier than she’d expected. She hadn’t seen him around the village all month and the whole Somerset episode and his brush-off at the Winterfold lake had just left her feeling angry and used.
He shrugged and motioned with his thumb towards the other side of the hotel.
‘I was having a drink in Panton’s bar with a friend. There’s a big notice-board in the lobby saying that the Milford dinner dance was in the Gainsborough restaurant and, well, I just wanted to come and say hi.’
‘Well, hi,’ she said curtly, unconsciously smoothing down the thin black velvet of her cocktail dress, then stopping herself.
‘So how’ve you been?’ said Rob after a pause.
‘Busy.’
‘I’m sure,’ said Rob with a nervous laugh. ‘Me too, I haven’t even been to Chilcot for a couple of weeks.’
‘Yes, the Christmas party season must be hectic,’ she said, unable to stop it coming out like a barb. Rob looked like he was about to reply, then thought better of it. Instead, he said, ‘I’ve been in New York quite a lot. It was Polly’s birthday among other things.’
Emma did not want him to spoil her night and she was cross with both Rob and herself that his presence at the party was doing just that.
‘Look, I’d better go,’ said Emma, looking across the dance floor.
‘OK, sure. Listen, I heard you were staying in Chilcot for Christmas. I’m off to Courchevel on Boxing Day but I’m around on Christmas Day if you fancied a festive drink at the Feathers?’
‘I really don’t know what my plans are yet,’ she lied, wondering who he was going to Courchevel with. Another glamorous blonde, no doubt.