The Christmas Surprise
Page 47

Upstairs were three cheerless bedrooms, the master bedroom getting the full benefit of the noise from the road, with a street lamp shining through the window.
It was horrible.
‘So,’ said Rosie. ‘Um.’
‘The thing is,’ said Lance, ‘in your price bracket … there’s not a lot about. If you want a house … I mean, I’ve got a few flats …’
Rosie shook her head firmly.
‘No,’ she said. ‘We need a bit of garden. We do.’
On Sunday morning Rosie sat with Lilian after Mass, drinking tea and pretending to play bezique.
The home had been decorated beautifully, as it always was at Christmas time. Residents were encouraged to bring an old decoration from home, or something that meant a lot to them, so that the place was full of exquisite treasures: a little carousel of dancing reindeer that went round and round and had hypnotised Meridian the year before; a beautiful collection of hand-painted Victorian baubles hanging high on the tree; silver and glass bells that shimmered and tinkled every time somebody opened a door; and cards hung on lines, so many cards. The generation, Rosie thought with alarm, that still wrote and sent cards at Christmas. She hadn’t done any. She could do all her shopping for her family in Australia online, but there was nothing quite like getting a real card. She’d suggested to Stephen that they should dress Apostil and Mr Dog up in reindeer antlers and Santa hats, and he’d looked at her as if she’d gone stark staring mad and asked if she was kidding, and she’d immediately said yes, she was totally kidding, and hidden the antlers behind the mantelpiece.
‘What we need is a bit of blackmail,’ Lilian said. ‘Not much. Mild. What have we got on Roy Blaine?’
‘Um … occasional overcharging?’ said Rosie. ‘That’s not very impressive.’
‘He must do something bad.’
‘He does loads of things bad. Tragically, he doesn’t care and he does them all in plain sight.’
Lilian wrinkled her brow.
‘Maybe appeal to his softer side?’
They both gazed into the fire for a moment, then burst out laughing.
‘You look tired,’ observed Lilian.
‘Thank you! I’m supposed to be a bride at some point!’
‘I know. Probably wait until you don’t look so tired.’
‘I am tired,’ said Rosie. ‘And all sorts of things are going wrong. Christmas is going to be a disaster, with Pamela and Lady Lipton shouting at each other, and us with nowhere to live, and everyone else living it up in Australia, and I’m going to have an employee with a ruined wedding on her hands, being sad all over the place, not that I blame her, but she blames me a bit, I think, and—’
Lilian laid her soft old hand on Rosie’s arm.
‘I think it will be a wonderful Christmas,’ she said. ‘With all the family.’ And she looked fondly at Apostil and smiled.
‘Ooh,’ said Rosie suddenly. ‘Do you think we could come here? We’ll pay for lunch.’
The catering at the home was of an exceptionally high standard. So many relatives had taken to popping in around Christmas time for a mince pie or a smoked salmon blini that Cathryn had decided to charge and allow anyone to come for Christmas lunch. It had been an enormous success. It meant no worrying for the families about taking their old – and in some cases confused and incontinent – relatives home, while for the residents themselves, the presence of noise and children’s happy voices had made the entire day much jollier. Anyone who could bang a tune out of the piano or sing a song took a turn, the rooms were large enough for the children to build railway tracks, and if it wasn’t wet, they could happily charge about the grounds on their new sleds and bicycles and, ill-advisedly, rollerskates.
Lilian beamed.
‘Are you sure? I was rather looking forward to Hetty and Pamela throwing crockery up at the big house.’
‘You can get that any day,’ said Rosie.
‘What about the christening?’
Rosie made a face.
‘It will be a blessing, not a christening. Oh that bloody vicar. He’s a pest.’
‘He’s a PEST,’ agreed Lilian vehemently. ‘That is a man who will take the last Minstrel, every time, even if you’re patently only offering out of politeness.’
‘Stop offering, then.’
‘I never offer anyone sweets,’ said Lilian peevishly. ‘Sets a very bad example in business. Do you think Lord Sugar offers people free computing telephones?’
‘He probably tries,’ said Rosie.
‘Anyway,’ Lilian went on, ‘that doesn’t mean that you should deny the village a good party. It’s the first Lipton baby in thirty years, and it would be the first one not to be welcomed in that church for three hundred.’
‘I never thought of it like that,’ said Rosie. ‘Mind you, if Lady Lipton is anything to go by, he’s probably the first bastard.’
Lilian coughed.
‘I wouldn’t be too sure about that.’
Rosie smiled.
‘Oh, but all that fuss.’ Her face grew serious. ‘Will I have to put him in a dress?’ Henrietta had dropped round an extraordinary cream lace christening gown, yellowing at the edges. Rosie had stared at it in disbelief. Apostil would look utterly ridiculous.
‘Probably,’ said Lilian serenely. ‘He’ll probably like it. And he looks good in white. Goes with his lovely eyes, and he might have teeth by then.’
Rosie smiled at him fondly, watching him reaching out his little arm towards the spangled heights of the Christmas tree.
‘You’re going to kiss that baby to death,’ warned Lilian. ‘He’s got lipstick all over his head. So. Christening, sorry, blessing, back to Hetty’s for champagne and a fight, then come here,’ she went on. ‘That sounds about right.’
‘Hmm. We’ll see. It’s pretty frosty between everyone at the moment. And am I going to have to stand up in front of everyone?’ grumbled Rosie. ‘They all know I’m a total heathen.’
‘And God forgives you for that,’ said Lilian. ‘But he doesn’t forgive you for understocking the rainbow pips.’
‘I’ve had a lot on.’
‘The rainbow pip people haven’t.’
‘Anyway,’ said Rosie, changing the subject. ‘Roy?’