Christmas at Rosewood

‘And Aiden,’ Caro piped up. She’d switched seats so she was sitting next to him, I realised, and he was still holding baby Nicolette. He looked quite the family man.

Utterly unlike the boy I remembered.

‘And Aiden,’ Saskia agreed. ‘Although honestly, he’s been here so long I almost count him as family already.’

‘Is that a hint that I’ve outstayed my welcome?’ He made it sound like a joke, but underneath I could hear a slight hint of worry in Aiden’s voice.

From his other side, Isabelle patted his arm. ‘Never, my dear boy. You are always welcome at Rosewood. Even if you leave us, you can always come back.’

But she wasn’t looking at Aiden as she said it. She was looking at me.

A strange feeling settled over me as I met Isabelle’s gaze. Edward had told me that Rosewood had a way of drawing out secrets, but suddenly I realised it wasn’t the house that had the power. It was the people.

Once again, I couldn’t help but ask myself if Aiden had fallen prey to that. Just because he hadn’t told Edward, didn’t mean he hadn’t told anybody.

I was going to have to ask him, I realised. Even if that meant giving him the opportunity to ask me questions I’d been trying to avoid.

But that was definitely a conversation to have in private, which meant waiting until the family dinner was over.

I settled back in my chair, still feeling unnerved, and tried to listen to Saskia’s reading of Nathaniel’s story. She had a great voice for storytelling – resonant and expressive. I found myself paying more attention to her than to the story, which, given that it was a Drury story, was saying something.

Saskia tucked her dark hair behind her ear as she leant forward, her voice lowering as the story reached a dramatic patch. It was an allegorical story, more like a traditional folktale than a short story, and every word of it was filled with festive magic. I found myself holding my breath as it seemed like Christmas might never happen again for the village, and Saskia paused for just a moment too long. I glanced around me and realised that every one of us was leaning in, waiting for the happy ever after…

‘But then, in the distance, a bell rang,’ Saskia said, and I breathed out at last. ‘A tiny, silver bell, almost impossible to hear over the sounds of misery and unhappiness in the village. But it wasn’t alone. At the sound of its chime, another bell heard and answered it. Then another, and another, until every bell for miles around rang out loud through the village. And with that sound, the village woke up to Christmas morning, after all.’

Smiling, I listened as Saskia described the return of Christmas to the village, using her grandfather’s words. I liked her more than I’d expected to, somehow. Edward was my little brother, after all, and I’d always felt rather protective towards him – and after he’d been screwed over by his last fiancée, I hadn’t imagined he’d be in a huge rush to jump into a relationship again.

But Saskia was good for him, I decided. I’d watched them, absently, as the evening had gone on – noticing subconsciously how they were always aware of where the other was, how they checked in with each other regularly through the night. How when Saskia laughed, Edward turned to watch her happiness, even if he was on the other side of the room.

I was no judge of love, I knew that, but already I’d seen more affection and connection between them than I’d ever felt with Darren. That had to be a good sign, right?

The room burst into applause and cheering, and I realised I’d missed the very end of the story. I joined in, clapping along, and wondered if I’d be able to steal a read of the short story later. Now that I knew my Nathaniel Drury reading list was incomplete, I couldn’t rest until I’d read it myself.

‘And now, you all get to help with the clear up,’ Tony announced. I smiled, standing as I gathered in the plates nearest to me.

This, at least, was something I knew how to do. Clearing up the physical mess was easy.

It was clearing up the emotional mess I found myself in that seemed impossible.

Chapter Five

After the clear up, everyone retired to the drawing room again. The big fireplace had been lit, and the room was cosy and warm with just the firelight and candlelight to see by. Flickers of light sparkled off the brandy glasses Isabelle brought out, and even I accepted an Irish coffee before settling into a wingback chair by the fire.

‘So, what happens now?’ Max asked Caro, as they perched on the small chaise longue opposite me. He hadn’t spoken loudly, obviously still a little intimidated by his surroundings. I didn’t blame him.

But his uncle obviously overheard, because he answered before Caro could. ‘Next, we hang our stockings by the fire – although not too close. I learned that lesson two years ago.’ We all laughed, but I couldn’t help but think how strange it was that Edward was part of Rosewood’s traditions now, not ours. I wasn’t sure I liked it. ‘Then some of us will be walking down to the church for Midnight Mass, I expect.’

Max pulled a face, making Edward chuckle. ‘Don’t worry, it’s not compulsory.’

‘Besides, you’ll probably want to get to bed to make sure you’re asleep before Father Christmas comes,’ Mum added.

Max shot me an is she actually serious? look, and I shrugged. It was Mum’s Christmas, too. If she wanted to believe that Max was still six, more power to her.

Max, bless him, didn’t say anything either, and Caro gave him a small, secret smile.

‘I think I’ll give it a miss too, this year,’ Greg said, raising his coffee cup to his mouth. I wondered if his was as alcoholic as mine. I could barely feel my lips already.

‘After last year, I think that’s probably for the best,’ Isabelle said, her tone barbed.

‘What happened last year?’ I asked, unable to help myself.

‘Greg fell asleep halfway through “Once In Royal David’s City”,’ Ellie explained. ‘And now the whole village appreciates what I mean when I say that his snoring keeps me awake at night.’

Greg turned a little red at that, but since it was getting him out of church he didn’t look too upset.

‘Sounds like I’d better not risk it either, then,’ Aiden said. ‘I mean, I’m not exactly renowned for sleeping silently, and it has been a long day.’

Was it my imagination, or did half the room look to me for confirmation as he said that? I took another sip of my coffee flavoured whiskey and ignored them. I wasn’t about to explain that by the time we’d finally given in to sleep each night I’d been too damn exhausted for anything to keep me awake.

Of course, they might already know that too. Who knew how much gossip Aiden had spilled?

God, now I was getting paranoid. Well, if everyone else was at church, that would give me the perfect chance to quiz Aiden on exactly who he’d told what to. Then, maybe I stood half a chance of sleeping that night.

Possibly.

I sighed. At least I wouldn’t have anyone’s snoring to contend with.

Before too long, most of the family were bundled up in coats and making their way out of the front door to walk down to the church in the village. The snow still fell lightly, coating the ground in a shimmering white. It wasn’t too far a walk, as I understood it, but I was very glad that none of them had planned on driving, given the amount of alcohol consumed over Christmas Eve dinner. I had a feeling that, if nothing else, Rosewood might leave me with a permanent hangover for the festive season.

Ellie and Greg headed up to their room with the baby more or less immediately, and it only took a small amount of chiding to convince Max to go to bed too. Caro was already yawning and heading up, which made things easier.

Mum had gone to church with the others, presumably missing the usual midnight service she attended at home. And suddenly, I looked back and realised that Aiden and I were alone in the drawing room. Just like I’d wanted.

I swallowed, and tried to crush the urge to run after the others and attend a church service for the first time in years, rather than have to talk

to Aiden about ancient history.

‘Another coffee?’ he asked, reaching for the pot. He didn’t seem in the slightest bit bothered to be alone with me, I noticed. Except, when I looked closer, I realised his knuckles were white as he gripped the coffee pot. Maybe he wasn’t quite as unaffected as I’d thought.

‘I’m not sure my last one had any actual coffee in it,’ I joked. Humour was always good for getting through difficult conversations. When Dad died, Edward and I had developed a whole range of terrible, terrible jokes to see us through. Mum hated it, but it worked for us. ‘It tasted more like whiskey that had once read a book about coffee beans.’

‘They like their drink in this place.’ He poured me a coffee anyway, but held back from adding any more alcohol, which I appreciated. I wasn’t sure this conversation would be any easier if I were any drunker.

‘I’d noticed.’ I took the cup and saucer without touching his hands at all, and curled back up into my wingback chair, as he settled onto the chaise longue where Caro and Max had been sitting.

‘So,’ he said, after a moment. ‘Alone at last.’

‘You make it sound like you’ve been waiting for that.’