What Happens At Christmas.... T Williams A
Читать онлайн книгу.
whose glass eyes stared out blindly from his moth-eaten face hanging over the middle of the fireplace. A token bunch of mistletoe suspended at the far end of the room was low enough to graze the heads of most people who walked past.
Holly checked the menu, looking for something light like Parma ham or some sushi, but most of the food on offer was traditional rural English; pies, pasties and sausage and mash. After a few minutes’ thought, she decided to go for River Teign mussels. After placing her order, she sat down to reflect on the day and wonder whether the dog was chewing up anything of value in her absence. She had had a long drive that morning and an emotionally wearing afternoon and, before long, she felt her eyelids droop. As her chin touched her chest, she jerked her head up guiltily and glanced round to see if she was being observed.
She was.
Standing at the bar was a tall figure she remembered. He detected recognition in her expression and crossed the room to greet her, ducking as he passed under the main beam.
‘Good evening. I didn’t know you were a local.’
Holly had a good memory for names. ‘Good evening, Mr Grosvenor. I wondered if I might meet you here.’ This sounded a bit too flirty, so she hastily qualified it. ‘I saw from your card that you live here in Brookford.’
‘It’s Justin, please. And I’m afraid I don’t know your name.’
‘My name’s Holly, Holly Brice. My father used to live here.’
Justin Grosvenor’s face broke into an even broader smile. ‘So you’re George’s daughter. Well I never. He talked an awful lot about you, you know?’
Holly nodded. ‘I’m beginning to get the picture. He was well-known in the village.’
‘Well-known and well-loved. He and my father were very close and he often came round to our house.’ Justin Grosvenor caught her eye. ‘He was very generous and always ready to help out. Why, there’s even the George Brice pavilion down at the cricket field. He put up the money to build that.’
‘There’s a cricket field? I only just learnt today that there are tennis courts. I wouldn’t have thought there’d be a flat enough field for cricket.’ Underneath the bland conversation, Holly found herself yet again having to come to terms with the fact that the awful man who had blighted her mother’s life as well as her own maybe wasn’t the foul monster she had been led to believe.
‘I’ve got the only court worth playing on up at my house. You’d be very welcome any time if you fancy a game. Mind you, if you’re even half as good as your father, the rest of us wouldn’t stand a chance.’ Holly could sense his eyes on her, checking her out. She was glad she had chosen to put on a smart top, recently purchased in the pre-Christmas sales. He was more casually dressed than the last time she had seen him, wearing a check shirt and heavy green jumper, a tweed outdoor jacket hanging over his arm. He looked more like a member of the landed gentry than a financial adviser. A very good-looking member of the landed gentry. In many ways he reminded her of a number of the men she had dated over the past few years; good-looking, well-heeled and well-spoken. Somehow she always seemed to gravitate towards alpha males. It was just a pity that none of them had turned out to be as alpha as she had hoped so far; indeed, some falling far short of the definition. What about Justin Grosvenor, she wondered to herself, but then noticed a heavy gold ring on his finger. She was unsurprised. Now that she had reached her thirties, she was increasingly finding that the good ones were already taken.
He glanced down at her half-empty glass. ‘Can I get you a drink?’ He cocked his head to one side. ‘What is that you’re drinking? It looks a bit suspicious to me. Sure they haven’t watered it down?’
She grinned. ‘It’s rather nice, actually. It’s a Pinot Grigio; they’re always very pale. Anyway, thanks for the offer, but I’ve had a long drive and a pretty stressful day today, so I think I’ll go onto water when I finish this or I’ll fall over. And, besides, I’ve got a guest back at the house waiting for me and I’d better stay sober in case he causes trouble.’ Seeing the expression on Justin’s face, she explained about Stirling the dog. He, too, was a well-known local character.
‘You should have brought him. It’s funny; your dad always used to sit at this table, too, and Stirling would sprawl out in front of the fire. Next time, do bring him. Well, if you’re sure, I’ll just get you a glass of mineral water.’
‘Tap water’s fine. I imagine it’s rather good out here, not like the stuff that comes out of the taps where I live.’
While he went off to get her water, a girl arrived with her mussels in a big enamel pot. She lifted off the lid and placed it, upside down, on the table top alongside the pot to take the discarded shells. It was all steaming like a geyser. ‘Be careful. It’s all very hot.’ To Holly’s surprise, she also set down a bowl of chips. The mussels smelt wonderful and Holly realised she was feeling very hungry. The last food she had eaten had been an apple in the car on the way down the A303.
‘That smells terrific.’ Justin put a glass of water down beside her and commented. ‘I must buy you a drink more often. You’re very cheap to run.’
Holly shook her head. ‘You’d be wrong there. I have a very expensive habit when it comes to wine normally. Sancerre, Menetou Salon, Chablis; I love them all, and if they’re a premier cru or, even better, a grand cru, then I’m in heaven.’
Justin looked impressed. ‘That settles it then. You’ll have to come over to my place some time soon. I’ve got some excellent whites for you to taste. Mind you, your dad was the expert on wines. He and my father used to vie with each other to see who could come up with the best one every Christmas. He would have appreciated your shared interest.’
Holly nodded. There was so much she had to learn about her dad and it felt rather good to discover something they had in common. She wondered whether he had shared her interest in classic cars and found herself smiling; finding he had stashed an old Bentley in a garage somewhere would be nice.
Justin smiled back at her and then glanced at his watch. ‘Well, don’t let your mussels get cold. I must dash. I look forward to seeing you again, Holly.’
‘Me, too.’ He gave her a little wave, turned and left the bar.
Holly reached into the pot and pulled out the first mussel. It was excellent. As she ate, she found herself mulling over the events of the last week, from the unbelievable news that she was now a millionaire, to the unexpected discovery that she was responsible for a dog, and a particularly large one. She took another mouthful of wine and remembered what the solicitor had said the previous week. She had inherited her father’s house and the contents of his cellar. Her dad had been in the wine business and Justin had said that her father was a wine expert, so she really would have to seek out the cellar. Maybe there might be a few bottles of good Sancerre in there.
And what about Justin? Was he married or was he available? And, if he was available, was she interested? And, if so, would he last the test of time? Julia had been right about the way all Holly’s men tended to disappear after only a few dates. And she knew that this was down to her. Was it just because her standards were too high, or was there more to it than that? In a moment of honest self-analysis, she had to accept that the one thing lacking in all of the brief relationships she had had up till now had been love. With one or two, she had believed she had found it, but it hadn’t lasted. She found herself smiling weakly as she considered that the way she had hugged the Labrador on her father’s bedroom floor had been the closest she had come to a spontaneous expression of love for years. She found herself wondering, if Justin was available and if he became another of her men, how long would he last?
Having resisted the temptation to have a pudding, Holly returned home soon after finishing her meal, vaguely worried about what the dog might be doing in her absence. There were stars in the sky and it felt like the temperature had already dropped below freezing. She was grateful she didn’t need to drive anywhere for a few days. The Porsche was a lovely car, but on icy roads, she had long since discovered, it was lethal; slipping and sliding about at the lightest touch of the throttle.