Christmas at the Dancing Duck. Daisy James
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golden corn.
Kirstie groaned and dropped her head into her hands. The next two weeks were going to be harder than she thought. She had hoped to find a staunch ally in Emma, her friend since junior school, her sidekick in every adventure, her partner in every escapade. She needed Emma on her side, especially when she suspected she would be sparring with Josh too.
A sudden shaft of loneliness shot through her and she craved the reassuring presence of Olivia and Harry to soothe her aching heart. But, of course, they had much more important things to worry about than her concerns about getting to the end of December with her friendships intact. She had lost Josh eighteen months ago, and she couldn’t bear the thought of losing Emma too.
She texted Olivia to ask how George was and dashed up the stairs to the flat to get changed before Leon emerged from the kitchen brandishing a carving knife with a murderous look in his dark eyes.
She only had the strength to deal with one drama at a time!
If Kirstie had put a bet on what type of car Miles drove she would have won the jackpot. The sleek silver BMW Roadster glided noiselessly down the narrow country roads leading to Craiglea Hall, the aroma of tannin from the cream leather seats filling the air. Miles had selected a CD compilation of Christmas songs and she hummed happily along to an acoustic version of ‘White Christmas’.
It wasn’t long before the handsome stone façade of the country manor hotel came into view, its architectural symmetry so pleasing to the eye. Miles parked in the gravel car park at the rear and they made their way round to the front. The arched main door was flung open in a gesture of welcome through which Kirstie could see the magnificent staircase and the glossy banister she and Olivia had dreamed of sliding down when they were youngsters.
The whole property screamed opulence, elegance, and good taste – a complete contrast to the shabby chic comfort of the Dancing Duck. Yet, for the first time in her life, Kirstie found the boutique hotel somehow soulless, instilling in her a nervous tension in case she left a fingerprint on the shining glass doors and brass handles or knocked a vase from a pedestal.
The heels of her stilettos click-clacked on the parquet flooring as they made their way to the Camilla lounge. A cauldron of emotions swirled in her chest – the restaurant had been her mum and dad’s favourite place to celebrate birthdays and anniversaries – but she pulled the shutters down on the part of her brain that housed her memories of happier times and forced herself to concentrate solely on the present.
A pale-faced restaurant manager greeted them, his demeanour more akin to a funeral director than a maître d’. She had eaten in many expensive restaurants during her time in London, and she had expected to experience a welcome surge of familiarity when they were guided into the lounge. However, her reaction surprised her. She yearned to be back at Leon’s friendly buzzing brasserie for a bowl brimming with his hearty French fayre.
They were shown to what her mum would have described as the best seat in the house, a white-linen-bedecked table in the bay window looking out over the pristine lawns, sadly not at their best in December, but softened by the projection of the mellow amber light of the street lamps melting into the darkness at the edge of the grounds.
Miles proved to be great company. He regaled her with a constant flow of hilarious anecdotes about the exploits his rugby comrades got up to when not busy with their stressful careers, particularly a recent stag night in Brighton when they had left the groom-to-be chained to a railing outside the police station dressed in a Pink Panther onesie.
He also spoke of his love of Japanese art, offering to take her to an exhibition at the British Museum. If he had seen the live TV debacle she had recently starred in, he had the grace not to mention it, for which she was grateful. Maybe he was as busy with work as she was and never watched the television – or caught up on YouTube – in which case he genuinely had no idea and that made her feel even more comfortable in his company.
They ordered their meal and Kirstie’s spirits rose even further when Miles ordered a bottle of her favourite Chianti without asking her preference – a very positive sign. When their starters arrived, the conversation moved on to plays they had seen and they even found they had a mutual acquaintance – Chris Coulson, one-time cameraman on FMTV but now playing rugby professionally for a French club in Bordeaux.
‘How long have you been a lawyer?’ asked Kirstie devouring her smoked salmon starter as though she hadn’t eaten all day.
‘Ten years next summer. I love my job. I love the pressure, the thrill of the chase you get when negotiating a big deal, even the crazily demanding clients. I like that every day is different and that I get to stretch my brain to breaking point, especially when appearing in front of a High Court judge who’s glaring at me from the bench as though I’m a slug crawling out from under a stone. Gets the old heartbeat racing, I can tell you.’
Miles sipped his wine, eyeing Kirstie over the rim. He waited until the waiter had removed their plates before continuing. ‘But you’ll know all about the adrenaline rush of speaking in a public arena, when the stakes are high to achieve accuracy and present perfection. If anything goes wrong, it’s impossible to put right.’
She tried to see if Miles was referring to her recent debacle, but his face reflected innocence itself so she decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.
‘I love my job too. When I was a teenager, one week I would dream of being a famous actress, the next it would be a chef at a Michelin-starred restaurant, so I alternated my spare time between rehearsals for drama school and whipping up increasingly exotic recipes. I would badger my mother to acquire the weirdest of ingredients for me to try out, some of which are still festering on the spice rack in the kitchen to this day. Mum never threw anything out! I used to love spending time at my friend Rachel’s family bakery learning techniques from her father, which have stayed with me ever since.’
‘But you decided to pursue the acting side of your dream?’
‘Yes. When I left school I studied Dramatic Arts and Film Studies at university and loved every minute of it. I knew that was where my heart lay. When Emma and I were in the sixth form we got the chance to be extras in a detective series that was being filmed here at Craiglea Hall and that sealed the dream for me.’
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