Читать книгу Christmas at the Dancing Duck - Daisy James - Страница 14

Chapter 6

Kirstie woke up the next morning to a sound she couldn’t quite place. Had someone left the radio on? If so, who? It took her a few moments to calm her raging heartbeat and realize that it was birdsong and her feathered friends were well into their second chorus. Splinters of ivory light sliced through the gap in the rosebud-adorned curtains her sister had hand-stitched when she decided to redecorate the guest bedroom at the same time as creating a nursery for Ethan.

Kirstie knew what a heartbreaking task that had been for Olivia, painting over the wallpaper she had chosen as a teenager – with the help, no, more like hindrance, of their mother – and adding a funky border depicting a traffic jam of trains, planes, and lorries.

As she pushed herself out of bed, regret surged through her veins that she hadn’t made the trip down to Cranbury to lend a hand with a paintbrush. She should have been there to support her sister in the last month of her pregnancy, to reminisce about the time their father had turned up with the most hideous brown and orange lampshade that he’d acquired at one of the ubiquitous auctions he frequented and the look of genuine surprise on his face when it had been summarily rejected.

She would bet her favourite Bijoux Baubles earrings on the fact that the same lampshade would still be lurking around somewhere in the loft. Her parents had stoically refused to part with any of their treasure, and neither she nor Olivia had been able to face the task of sorting through everything since their deaths.

She set the kettle to boil to make a cafetière of coffee and recalled what Olivia had said to her on the phone. Her sister expected her to have a rummage through that same treasure and decide if there was anything she wanted to keep – otherwise it was destined for Miles Morgan’s skip. A skip! As though it was all useless rubbish. Okay, her parents had been self-confessed hoarders, and yes, some of the things they collected – well, most of the things – could be classified as junk.

Yet, every item had been carefully selected and their preference for ‘previously loved items’ was an integral part of their characters, of their history, and therefore also part of Kirstie’s and Olivia’s lives. She couldn’t allow it all to be chucked away so carelessly by a stranger. But conversely, she couldn’t contemplate dredging up the courage to go through the cornucopia of cast-offs she knew loitered in every available closet and cabinet, every bookcase, shelf, and cupboard in the property her parents had lived happily in for over thirty years. No, she just couldn’t do it. And certainly not without Olivia by her side.

A familiar spasm of guilt shot into Kirstie’s chest. As she had not been there for Olivia during her decorating spree, it seemed only fair that she should step up to the challenge this time. She had to do this for her sister, and she had to do it before Olivia returned from Ireland.

She treated herself to a long, hot shower and some of Olivia’s Molton Brown shower cream. She washed her hair and left it to dry naturally into its signature corkscrew curls that she insisted were never tamed, even for her TV show. It might be the current trend to have locks that flowed like liquid silk, but no matter how hard she tried, or how much product she smeared onto her tresses, her hair had a mind of its own and refused to be controlled.

Kirstie refilled her mug from the cafetière and drifted over to look out of the kitchen window at the Old Barn across the cobbled car park, wondering what to do with the rest of the day. The weak December sunshine bathed the whole bucolic scene with a golden glow. In the distance, beyond the patchwork of fields that encircled the village, a light breeze tickled the canopy of oak trees to the rear of the Anderson farm. The farm’s surrounding outbuildings had been sold off and converted into homes, except for one, the largest, which Angus Anderson used as his business premises.

She smiled ruefully – she had Angus to blame for encouraging and prolonging her parents’ obsession with collecting useless bric-a-brac – for he was not only the local farmer but also the local auctioneer. Whenever he stumbled across a painting or a mirror or even an old-fashioned bicycle that he thought his old friend Don Harrison would like, he would tip him off so he could bid for it at the auction. That was why the Dancing Duck looked more like an auction room that Angus’s barn did!

A kernel of an idea curled into Kirstie’s mind, but she immediately discarded it as much too painful an option. But perhaps it was a solution. Maybe she should approach Angus to ask him to help out his best friend’s daughters by removing the paraphernalia of his friends’ lives and holding a huge auction in their honour. Perhaps she could look into donating a percentage of the monies to a charity that supported hoarders to declutter their lives. She knew Angus would agree readily, but could she do it? The answer was, at the moment, a resounding no.

She didn’t want to think about it, so she decided to go down to the bar and help out with the morning cleaning routine, then she would ask Leon if there was anything she could do for him in the kitchen. She would do what she always did whenever she was faced with difficult emotional issues – throw herself into a whirlwind of activity to chase away the demons. It was one of the reasons she lived such a frenetic life in the capital.

Kirstie was looking forward to spending time with Leon, chatting about the world of food. She loved the volatile French chef who had come to their rescue on the back of a Harley Davidson in those dark, dreadful months after her parents’ deaths. However, the Dancing Duck had Josh to thank for the serendipitous arrival of the potential Michelin-starred maestro. Josh had met Leon Blanchard in a seedy back street restaurant whilst backpacking around Thailand and they had hit it off straight away over copious samplings of Singha beer.

Leon had told Josh all about graduating from Le Cordon Bleu cookery school in Paris and his decision to broaden his culinary horizons by taking a tour of Southeast Asia before settling down to a real job. Unfortunately, the chef had only got as far as Pattaya when he had been robbed at knife-point and was biding his time until his Embassy had sorted out his replacement passport and he could return home.

Ever the food obsessive, he had turned a negative into a positive and offered to work in a local café to learn about Thai cuisine. He had loved it so had stayed on. However, when he met Josh he had confessed that the novelty was beginning to wear off and he planned on working in the UK. Josh suggested he contact Olivia and Harry and the rest, as they say, was history. The food at the Dancing Duck’s brasserie was the best that French cuisine had to offer for miles around and trade flourished – just not enough to keep the rest of the business afloat.

Kirstie knew Leon would find a job without any difficulty when the pub was sold, but there was one thing stopping him from jumping from the deck of a sinking ship before absolutely necessary and that was a certain quirky, jewellery-obsessed barmaid by the name of Emma Finch.

When Kirstie thought of Emma her spirits lifted. She slotted her feet into a pair of Olivia’s sparkly flip-flops, resisting a sudden urge to snap a picture for Instagram – why would anyone be interested? She selected a pair of bronze earrings Emma had donated to her sister so she could show them off to the patrons of the Dancing Duck, and rushed down the stairs. It was only when she reached the bar that it hit her with a force she wasn’t expecting, whipping away the joyous mood and the anticipation of spending a blissful morning talking culinary gossip with Leon.

Piled high in the middle of the floor were six huge cardboard boxes, their flaps open and three little words scrawled in her father’s handwriting – Christmas Tree Decorations. Garlands of lurid pink and green tinsel hung like feather boas over the backs of the chairs next to the fireplace, along with tangles of multi-coloured tree lights waiting to be unravelled, and a miniature Christmas tree made out of silver tinsel – so beloved of the 1970s and adored by her mother.

God, no! It was the Christmas Tree Debut Day! No way was she getting sucked into that agonizing scenario. She couldn’t cope with the inevitable reminiscing, especially after what had happened on Kirstie’s Kitchen two days previously. Clearly, she still had deep-seated issues she needed to deal with, and as she didn’t have the time or the inclination to focus on those now, she would just have to employ her usual avoidance tactics.

She spun on her heels to creep stealthily back up the stairs but she hadn’t moved swiftly enough because she had only taken two steps before she came face to face with Josh.

‘Going somewhere, Harrison?’

His dark eyes bore into hers. She felt like he was scouring her soul and didn’t like what he saw there. His dark hair had been gelled into a quiff at his forehead and his jaw reflected the shadow of a beard. But the thing that caused her emotions to lurch back into the past was that familiar spicy cologne he favoured. No matter where she was in the world, whenever she caught a whiff of the same brand, a crystal-clear image of the man standing before her, his right eyebrow raised in question, swept into her mind and caused a sharp spasm of longing. That morning was no exception.

Before she could compose a believable excuse for not helping out with the tree, the front door crashed open and in walked Emma, her arm linked through the elbow of an attractive dark-haired girl carrying a huge white confectioner’s box.

‘Rachel!’

Kirstie rushed forward to hug her.

‘Hi, Kirstie. Heard you’d come back for Christmas. Sorry about what happened with the show on Monday. It must have been a complete nightmare for you.’ Rachel deposited the box of goodies on the bar and shoved her black-framed glasses up to the bridge of her nose. ‘Dad thought these might cheer you up. He knows they’re your absolute favourite.’

Kirstie peeked into the box, inhaled the satisfying aroma of sugary sweetness, and smiled.

‘Thanks, Rach,’ she mumbled, suddenly overcome with emotion at the kindness shown to her by everyone she had met since she got back to Cranbury. There had been no revelling in her embarrassment, no celebrating her stupidity, except maybe for the man watching her from the fireplace, a home-made paper chain hanging from his arm.

Kirstie lifted one of the most wonderful Red Velvet cupcakes, iced in thick, white chocolate buttercream with edible rose petals as decoration and a generous sprinkle of mini silver dragées, from the box. ‘Tell your dad I said thank you. He’s a real culinary genius.’

Rachel laughed, tucking an escaped tendril of hair behind her ear. ‘Well, I should hope so. He has been running the village bakery for the last thirty years. People travel for miles for his lavender macarons, not to mention his cream horns.’

‘I’ll go ask Leon for some plates. And maybe a cafetière of coffee. We deserve a coffee boost before Josh works us into the ground!’

A smile played on Emma’s lips as she disappeared into the brasserie kitchen next door to flirt with the chef who had adored her from a distance since he had arrived in Cranbury. It seemed to Kirstie that Emma was the only person not to have noticed. But then she did tend to inhabit a completely different universe than other mere mortals.

That morning Emma was showcasing a pair of earrings more akin to bangles in a gorgeous copper-coloured metal with tiny snowflakes dangling at jaw level, and a matching necklace with a row of larger snowflakes hanging from a curved wire. The effect against her plain white T-shirt was stunning, yet the colour clashed somewhat with the pink streak in her fringe.

‘How’s the fledgling wedding cake business?’ Kirstie asked Rachel, eager to put off the tree decoration ceremony for as long as possible.

‘It’s early days, but I’ve just secured an order from a couple who are getting married up at Craiglea Hall in January. We’ve agreed on the design and I’ve spent the last few weeks experimenting with sugar paste and food colouring. If this doesn’t work out, I think I could easily embark on a career as a watercolour artist!’

‘That cake is going to be amazing,’ interrupted Emma, arriving back with a pile of dessert plates and a wedge of pink-and-white dotted paper napkins. ‘It’s this cute conical design covered with delicate flowers and butterflies all made out of pastel-coloured sugar paste. It’s adorable. Show Kirstie the photo, Rach.’

Rachel dug into her denim duffel bag to locate her phone. Her hair, the colour of liquid coal, now completely tumbled from the clip that was supposed to hold it in an up-do and she flicked it irritably over her shoulder. Standing a head shorter than Kirstie and Emma, Rachel possessed a more curvaceous shape – along with the waist of a mannequin – but the force of her personality made up for her lack of stature. She scrolled through a long reel of photographs until she arrived at the wedding cake. Her cheeks glowed with pride as she held the phone out to Kirstie.

‘Wow, that’s gorgeous, and so different from anything out there.’

‘Dad will help me sculpt the actual cake, but every one of the flowers and butterflies are designed, modelled, and painted by Yours Truly.’

‘Hey, you three! This isn’t a reunion coffee morning, you know. We have work to do,’ called Josh, his head emerging from the depths of a huge brown cardboard box next to the fireplace where the tree would stand. A sprinkle of golden glitz had somehow ended up on the end of his nose as he held up an overdressed fairy that would adorn the top of the tree.

‘Ah, Josh! Didn’t see you there. Loving your choice of make-up this morning!’ Rachel giggled and stepped forward to rub the glitter away, and then gave him a welcoming hug whilst she was there. ‘If you want some styling advice, I think silver would suit you better with your hair colouring!’

‘Funny!’ Josh rolled his eyes and handed Rachel a bunch of Christmas tree lights to untangle. ‘Here, make yourself useful.’

Kirstie stared at their exchange, shocked at the effect their friendly banter was having on her. For the briefest of seconds, she wanted to push Rachel to one side and take her place, yearning to experience the feeling of being wrapped in Josh’s arms once again, protected from every grenade life tossed in her path. Thankfully, the moment passed and the more familiar feeling of awkwardness took its place. However, the episode made it clear that Josh Turner’s return to the village, and his position as manager of The Dancing Duck, had been greeted with affectionate delight by everyone – apart from her.

‘Kirstie? Earth to Kirstie? Can you start unpacking that box over there marked “Ornaments”? Just choose a few, though. I think less is definitely going to be more this year. Then can you grab a couple of strings of that thick gold tinsel for around the picture frames? When you’ve done that, I’ll take you up to Angus’s farm to pick out the tree.’

‘Oh, no, I’m sure you don’t need me …’

‘You’re coming. End of.’

Kirstie opened her mouth to argue, but Leon had arrived to give them a hand and she didn’t want to have a disagreement with Josh in front of an audience – especially one that had taken Josh back into their hearts so quickly after his lengthy absence. She slid her fingernail along the Sellotape on the cardboard box Josh had indicated, filled with trepidation at the imminent reacquaintance with her past.

Why did Josh have to be so irritating? But she knew why. She would have been exactly the same if the tables had been switched.