Twelve Days of Christmas: A bestselling Christmas read to devour in one sitting!. Trisha Ashley
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they’re booked onto the first flight out. They phoned me just before they left – and so they should, too, because they’ve dropped me right in it!’
‘It doesn’t sound as if they could help it, Ellen – it’s just one of those things. I hope the baby is all right.’
‘Which baby?’
‘Their daughter’s baby.’
‘I have no idea,’ she said dismissively, which wasn’t any surprise, since where business is concerned she’s totally single-minded.
‘Look, could you help me out by taking the job on? It should be two people really, because it’s a large manor house in its own grounds, and a bit remote and there are a couple of pets to look after, too. Only there’s no-one else free on the books apart from you. Could you possibly go? Tomorrow? I’ll make sure you get double pay,’ she wheedled.
‘If there are pets, who’s looking after them at the moment?’
‘The owner’s elderly aunt and uncle live in the lodge and say they will keep an eye on things until you get there, but I don’t think they can really be up to it, or presumably Mr Martland wouldn’t have needed Homebodies in the first place.’
‘Martland?’ I interrupted.
‘Yes, Jude Martland. Have you heard of him? He’s quite a well-known sculptor – he did the Iron Horse next to the motorway near Manchester, all welded strips of metal – very modern.’
‘Oh yes, I think I have. But actually, I heard that surname recently in another context and it’s unusual, that’s why I was surprised.’
‘Just a coincidence, then – truth is stranger than fiction,’ she said, disinterestedly rustling some papers.
‘That’s true,’ I agreed, and of course these Martlands could have no relationship to the Ned Martland Gran had mentioned (assuming I’d even heard the name right): she was a working-class girl and wouldn’t have mixed in the same circles as minor gentry from moorland manor houses.
‘Anyway, he inherited the pile, which is called Old Place, about a year ago and he’s abroad somewhere, but so far we haven’t managed to get hold of him to tell him what’s happening. He isn’t coming back until Twelfth Night.’
I’d turned away from Laura’s disappointed face, though I could feel her eyes boring accusingly into my back. I was starting to suspect she’d hastily invited her cousin Sam for Christmas as soon as I’d told her my Christmas job had fallen through – the idea had probably never crossed her mind until then.
‘It doesn’t sound too arduous,’ I said to Ellen. ‘I’ve looked after quite big houses before single-handedly. What are the pets you mentioned?’
‘One dog and … a horse.’
‘A horse? You call a horse a pet? Ellen, I don’t do horses!’
‘It’s very elderly and you do know a bit about horses, because you went to that riding school with Laura, remember.’
‘I only watched her, that hardly qualifies me to look after someone’s horse, does it?’
‘I expect you picked up more information than you think you did. Mo said she was very easy to look after and all the instructions were written down.’
‘Yes, but—’
‘I expect the elderly couple in the lodge can advise you if there’s any difficulty. And there’s a cleaner and a small village nearby with a shop, so it isn’t totally isolated. What do you say?’
‘Well … I suppose I could. But I’m a bit worried about the horse. I—’
‘Oh, that’s wonderful!’ she broke in quickly. ‘I’m sure the horse won’t be a problem, it’s probably in a field and you only have to look at it once a day, or something. And the good news is, Mo and Jim felt so awful at landing the job on someone else at such short notice that they left all their supplies for Christmas behind for whoever took it on. Though actually, I suppose they could hardly take a turkey and all the trimmings out to Dubai with them!’
‘No, but it was a kind thought. Where exactly is this place, did you say?’
‘I didn’t, but I’ll email you directions and all the details now. It’s a bit off the beaten track, but you usually like that.’
‘Yes, especially over Christmas. That aspect of it is perfect.’
‘I don’t know what you’ll do up there, because apparently the TV reception is lousy and there’s no broadband.’
‘I’ll be fine – I’ll take my radio and lots of books.’
Clicking off the connection, I turned to find Laura looking at me reproachfully. ‘Oh, Holly, it would have been such fun to have you here for Christmas!’
‘Believe me, it wouldn’t: it would have been like having the Grinch. And I’ll enjoy myself in my own way. There are only two animals to look after, so I’ll have lots of time to experiment with recipes and write that last section of the book. If I’m going to go ahead with the baby idea, I need to get it finished and find a publisher!’
Laura sighed and cast her eyes up in mock resignation, but she knew me too well to try and persuade me out of it.
‘Now, what can you remember about horse management?’ I asked hopefully.
I printed out Ellen’s instructions as soon as I got home and she was right – it was in a remote, upland spot, near a small village I’d never even heard of.
Getting ready that night was all a bit of a scramble, though I couldn’t resist continuing my nightly reading of a page or two of Gran’s journal, which was getting more interesting again now she wasn’t talking about the past, but engrossed by the present. By November of 1944, she was evidently well enough to go back to work:
Now I have recovered I have been sent to Ormskirk hospital, which pleases me because it is nearer home and also Tom’s widowed father, a sweet, kindly man, is the minister at the Strange Baptist chapel here. But my lodgings are very poor, in a nearby house run by a dour, disagreeable woman. The food is scanty and bad and we sleep dormitory-style, so there is little privacy. The treat of a fresh egg, which was a parting gift from my mother, I gave to my landlady to boil for my breakfast – but it never appeared and my enquiries about it met only with surly grunts.
I read on a little further as she made new friends and settled in, but really I was way too tired to keep my eyes open and there would be lots of time to read the journals over Christmas – in fact, I would take the whole trunk of papers with me to sort out.
Early next morning I loaded the tin trunk into my car along with everything else I usually take with me on assignments – boxes of herbs, spices and other basic ingredients, general food supplies, a cool box of perishable stuff, vital utensils, cookery books, laptop, house-party recipe book notes and my portable radio … It was pretty full even before I added a suitcase, holdall and my wellies.
Laura, resigned now to my decision, had driven over to give me my Christmas present (she’s the only person who ever gives me one). In return I gave her a bag of little gifts for the family, some of them home-made and edible.
She also gave me strict instructions to call her daily, too. ‘Tell me all about it. Old Place sounds terribly posh, somehow, and I’ve never even heard of the village – what did you call it again?’
‘Little Mumming. It’s near Great Mumming, apparently. I’d never heard of it either, but I’ve found it on the map.’
‘It’s all been such a rush – are you sure you’ve got everything you need?’
‘Yes, I think so – most of it was still packed up ready to go. And I’ve put in my wellies, jeans, dog-walking anorak …’
‘A