Читать книгу After the Snow: A gorgeous Christmas story to curl up with this winter 2018! - Susannah Constantine, Susannah Constantine - Страница 9

The journey to Bonnyton Church was a precarious one at the best of times. Narrow, windy lanes bordered by thick thorn hedges made it impossible to see any cars coming in the opposite direction. Today, Esme’s father drove at the pace of a tortoise through the treacle-like snow. He sat rigid, hands clasping the steering wheel, cigarette hanging from his lips, his face getting redder and redder as he became more and more agitated.

He doesn’t want to be late, thought Esme, because he doesn’t want anyone else sitting near the Culcairn family. But Esme knew they weren’t important enough to get the front pews on Christmas Day.

Sophia nudged Esme and wiggled a gloved finger. Esme stifled a giggle. The simple gesture always managed to close the five years between them. A wiggling finger meant a wiggling willy. Esme wiggled hers in response. Sophia then flicked a series of V-signs at her father’s back. Esme copied her. She felt protected by her sister once again and knew her earlier meanness about the tinsel halo was only because of the bad atmosphere at the breakfast table.

When they finally arrived at Bonnyton the bells had just stopped pealing, which meant they were late. The congregation would be preparing to stand for the arrival of Father Kinley and the choir. The parking space where the family normally left their car had been filled, but her father’s stress levels gave him permission to double-park, blocking the back entrance to the graveyard.

‘Not their bloody space, anyway,’ he muttered, his dead cigarette still attached to his mouth.

The snow along the church path had been compacted into an icy carpet by earlier arrivals and the large oak door to the entrance was already shut. When her father lifted the latch the noise sounded like a gunshot in the hushed silence inside the church.

As the family stood in the doorway, Esme breathed in the familiar smell of pine but quickly hid behind her sister as everyone turned, their disapproving faces dampening her relief of having arrived just in time. The church was completely full, every pew jammed with people, buttocks spilling over into the aisle. Henry and Lucia, the Earl and Contessa of Culcairn, sat at the front and only the Earl gave them a smile. Lexi waved at Esme furiously, despite her movements being restricted by a horrible tweed coat. She pointed to her matching beret, crossing her eyes and sticking out her tongue in disgust. There was nothing pretty about what she was wearing; it was just prim and frumpy and Esme knew how Lexi hated being made to dress like an ‘old lady’.

Mrs Hornbuckle, the hunt secretary, had already sprung up from her chair and was tipping hymnbooks into her father’s arms. She led the family to a pew at the back, hidden in the shadows. Esme could see disappointment etched on her father’s face. Her mother seemed less concerned, her head still up in the snowy clouds.

Standing on tiptoes on her hassock, Esme saw that Lord William and Lady Mary-Rose Findlay were sitting behind the Culcairns. Lord William was a very important man, with whom she had never had a proper conversation, but Lady Mary-Rose was one of the funniest women Esme had ever met. She swore all the time and told very naughty jokes. Esme thought she ought to have her own comedy show on TV. She looked back at Lexi, sat next to her older brother, Rollo, and sister, Bella. Esme loved Bella but didn’t know Rollo as well because he was the same age as Sophia so spent more time with her. Esme and Lexi thought they fancied each other. Sophia always blushed when Rollo’s name was mentioned and they always seemed to go missing at the same time when Esme’s family visited the castle. Next to them were their parents, the Earl and Contessa. Everybody else was rubbing shoulders, squashed up on the short benches, but the Contessa had lots of room around her. Even her husband sat a few inches away. If Esme were next to Lexi’s mother, she would avoid sitting too close to her as well, just in case touching her brought bad luck. She never opened umbrellas indoors either and always crossed herself if she saw a single magpie. The Contessa worshipped Rollo but never seemed very interested in her daughters, which made going to Culcairn Castle lots of fun for Esme as she and Lexi could do whatever they wanted – once they got past Nanny Patch and the nursery maid.

Esme jumped as the Contessa suddenly turned around and fixed her with a stare that hit Esme like a slap, her cheeks smarting and flushing in response. The Contessa looked like an Italian movie star with her scarlet lips, high cheekbones and dark glossy hair pulled into a sleek chignon, but despite such beauty, her cold, coal-black eyes always made Esme feel unsettled.

Everyone stood for the first carol, ‘Once in Royal David’s City’. A young boy had taken centre stage at the altar. His angelic voice rang through the church, alone and pure. The organ cranked air into its pipes, coming to life. Esme’s mother, who had been on her knees praying since they arrived, stood and swayed, although not in time to the music. She must be praying very hard, thought Esme, as her eyes were red and watery. Luckily Esme’s father knew the words to the carol by heart because he was staring at her mother and not the hymnbook. Esme looked past him to Sophia, who gave her a knowing look.

Esme loved the Bonnyton choir. The Munroes never went to church in London; her father said that was for ‘commoners’ who had nothing better to do than pray. The only choir she had to compare it to was the one at her school in Kensington and it seemed to her that country choristers were much better than city ones – probably because the air was cleaner. She looked out for her favourite singer, a large woman who, even in her vestal robes, appeared magnificent. Esme loved watching as her mouth opened wide like a frog to let loose a surprisingly exquisite voice. She always made a great effort with her make-up, today wearing turquoise eye shadow, black eyeliner, vibrant pink lipstick and a bold swipe of blusher on each cheek. Esme’s mother rarely went to such lengths with her face, wearing only a soft pink lipstick and pearlescent powder. Mrs Bee maintained that Diana’s beauty came from within and she didn’t need anything smothered over her freckles to bring it out.

Esme’s thoughts were interrupted at the sound of her father’s deep, booming voice, now drowning out those of the rest of the congregation. He was proud of his singing and loved to show it off, much to her and Sophia’s embarrassment. Tilting his head back, his nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply in readiness for the next verse. On this Christmas morning, his left nostril held a large bogey in its depths. Esme took the handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to him, poking a finger up her own nose to indicate the need for extraction. The carol ended and her father blew his nose, checking the handkerchief’s contents before returning the crumpled cotton to his pocket.

‘Let us pray,’ commanded Father Kinley.

A grumbling sound spread through the church as the congregation pulled out their hassocks from under the pews and dropped to their knees. Esme’s mother was the first to kneel, her dark curls falling forward like a curtain. She was being terribly pious today, Esme thought, wondering whom she was praying so hard for. Or maybe she was having a little nap. Her mother found it so easy to sleep anywhere; watching TV, having lunch and even once when she was driving. Luckily, she had been on her own and hadn’t been going too fast when she hit the tree as she was coming back from the village shop. Lexi’s father had found her and brought her back home, her white face even paler than usual. She hadn’t driven for a long time now.

The congregation rose as the organ sounded the first note to the next hymn, and her father’s singing began in earnest. Her mother was definitely asleep because she didn’t stand up and suddenly, as if struck by lightning, this made Esme very angry. She kicked her mother hard on the calf and, like a new-born foal, she scrambled confusedly to her feet before starting ‘Once in Royal David’s City’ once more.

‘Mummy,’ Esme breathed, ashamed of herself for hurting her mother. She pointed to her hymnbook. ‘That’s the wrong hymn. We are singing this one now.’

Her mother looked at Esme with an empty expression, then slowly turned the pages to the right carol, picked up the chorus and sung in perfect pitch along with her fellow worshippers. She rocked back and forth to the music, like a swing in the breeze. Esme saw her father’s hand stretching past her sister, searching for her mother’s arm. Discretely, he tugged his wife past his daughter to position her next to him.

‘You’re on my foot. Get off!’ Sophia whispered, shoving her mother angrily.

‘For God’s sake, Diana,’ Esme’s father hissed. ‘Pull yourself together.’

Esme hoped no one around them could see what was going on. Diana stopped singing and stared ahead, emptied of life once more.

Father Kinley began his address and Esme tried to listen but found herself looking instead at the other mothers in the congregation, wondering if they were empty or full of life. She didn’t have any good friends at school because she didn’t invite any of them to her house for fear her mother might behave strangely. But she had been to Lucinda Burgess’s house and she wished that they could swap mothers. Lucinda’s mother wasn’t a beauty like hers but she made up for it with colourful clothes and big earrings. She fussed over her children; kissing and cuddling them, making them laugh.

Snatches of tales about the poor and needy, the homeless, soldiers fighting in unpronounceable countries, the Prime Minister and Her Majesty the Queen, drifted past her. Then, as he always did when he neared the end of his sermon, Father Kinley began to list the local villagers who had gone on to the next life, saying how much the community would miss them. Once, Father Kinley had come to The Lodge. Her father had stood awkwardly at the front door while he had asked how Mrs Munroe was getting on. It was only when Mrs Bee asked him to come inside that her father remembered his manners and offered him a cup of tea. He hadn’t stayed long and Esme had been made to come into the drawing room and play him a piece on the piano. Her father hadn’t said much and her mother had been upstairs resting. Father Kinley had not come back to visit since then.

‘Pray for their families, dear friends,’ he was saying now, ‘at this time when family is everything and the loneliness that their dearly departed has left becomes all the more painful.’

The blood of shame rose into Esme’s cheeks. Wanting another mother was like wanting your own dead. And she didn’t want that. Father Kinley was referring to the butcher’s daughter, Karen, whose mother had died of cancer. That was sad enough but then Karen had been sent away because the shock had broken her father’s heart and he had died too. Esme’s mother was like a yoyo but at least, she thought, she had a father who could take care of them. With Mrs Bee’s help, of course.

She looked over to her father. He was holding on to her mother as if he was about to haul her off to jail. She tried hard not to be cross with her mother because between her father and Sophia she got quite enough crossness already; it was important that she and Mrs Bee topped her up with kindness.

Outside the church, Esme tried to spot Lexi as the Culcairn family left through a side door – like they were a famous pop group leaving the stage, she thought, smiling. Sophia went off to find Rollo like a starstruck groupie.

‘Merry Christmas,’ came a familiar voice.

Esme looked up. It was Jimmy, a mound of freshly fallen snow collecting on his cap. Her mother brightened and smiled at him.

‘Jimmy! Happy Christmas. How are you?’ Diana said.

‘Well, I’d be a lot bleeding happier if it weren’t for this bloody snow. I had to come here by sleigh, didn’t I? And how are you, Mr Munroe? Broke, I’d imagine. How many diamonds did Diana get this year?’ He roared with laughter at his own joke. Esme’s mother smiled, too. She loved Jimmy because he made her laugh. Somehow he managed to be rude to everyone then get away with it. Esme wondered if it was because he didn’t care what people thought of him.

‘Jimmy!’ said Esme. ‘Guess what? Father Christmas gave Homer the smartest brand new dandy brush.’

‘Like we don’t have a thousand of those already,’ said Jimmy. ‘But at least yours won’t have most of its bristles missing.’ He ruffled her hair. ‘You looking forward to the Boxing Day meet? Homer’s going to buck like a randy whore when you get on his back – he’s practically jumping out of his skin in his stable.’

Jimmy had made an effort with his appearance this morning, thought Esme. His thinning hair, which he cut himself with horse clippers, was smeared across his bald patch. The few strands left stuck to his scalp in lines like a cattle grid. His tweed jacket hung off his narrow shoulders and the top button of his shirt was missing, a mishap he had tried to disguise with a pony club tie that hung like a bow around his neck.

‘I still want to go to the meet, though, Jimmy,’ Esme said, eagerly. ‘We can do what we did last time it snowed and put butter on his hooves to make sure it slips right off. I asked Father Christmas for a sheepskin numnah. That would have stopped him bucking but I don’t think I was good enough last year.’

‘No you bloody wasn’t,’ he cackled. An explosion of spittle blew out of his mouth in a great wheeze, some of it landing on Esme’s cheek, which she quickly wiped away with her glove.

‘You’ll believe anything, Esme. Maybe pigs really can fly. If a rug stops that horrid pony bucking, I’ll give you ten pence. You should have seen him this morning when I put him out. His tail went up and he farted his way around the field like a rocket. When you get on him tomorrow it won’t be the doctor you’ll be wanting, it’ll be the bloody undertaker!’

It was her father’s turn to guffaw at Jimmy’s outburst this time, which surprised Esme.

‘Oh come on, Jimmy,’ he said, patting him on the back. ‘Give the damn pony a lunge or get on his back to wear him out before Esme rides him. Look at you, you’re probably only a stone heavier than her.’

‘Oh, right,’ Jimmy said, annoyed. ‘So it’s fine for me to end up in a bloody coffin?’

‘Come now, my lad,’ said her father, like he was talking to a disobedient but beloved gun dog. ‘It is what we pay you for.’

‘I’d like to see you sit on the monster. You wouldn’t last five seconds before you were in a heap on the floor, crying for your old nanny.’

‘Jimmy, I’ll have you know that I was a fine rider as a boy. I galloped faster than the wind when I was on the hunting field.’

‘And now the only wind you have is the hurricane that flies from your arse!’ said Jimmy, laughing.

Esme’s mother started giggling. She was becoming a little too animated in Jimmy’s company. Her mood was starting to fizz beyond normal jollity and Esme could tell that her father wanted to get her away from Jimmy before words started to spill from her mouth.

‘Esme, darling, why don’t you go and find your sister so we can get going to the castle? We don’t want to miss out on the mince pies.’

‘Jimmy ought to come with us,’ said her mother. ‘Or at the very least join us back at The Lodge for…’

‘Time to go, darling. We’ll see you tomorrow, Jimmy,’ her father said, pulling his wife away before she could invite Jimmy for lunch.

The back road up to the castle was always difficult – riddled with potholes it was impossibly steep and windy – but because it was Christmas it hadn’t been gritted so was even harder to navigate. At first, the Munroes’ car crunched through the snow with little complaint, but as soon as they started uphill, the weak motor began to protest. It was used to smooth tarmac and wasn’t happy trying to adjust to conditions that were better suited to a tractor. Like a spoiled child digging its heels in the snow, it ground to a halt. Esme’s father cranked on the handbrake but it was no use on the icy surface and the car began to slip backwards.

‘Shit,’ her father muttered, gripping the steering wheel hard.

Esme looked out the back window as the car slid into the deep ditch at the side of the road, the final crunch of the bumper as it hit the bank forcing her onto her sister’s lap.

‘Ouch, Esme, get off,’ Sophia said, pushing her sister back onto her seat. She hadn’t found Rollo after the service and was impatient to get to the castle.

None of them was remotely hurt or even surprised. Her mother was facing forwards as if nothing had happened and her father still held the steering wheel in a vice-like grip. Taking the back road up to the castle had been a stupid idea, but on days like today, when a wide circle of the Earl and Contessa’s friends made the trip, Colin preferred to use the private gates like the Culcairn family.

‘Shit, shit, shit,’ Colin said.

Sophia started laughing into her scarf, quickly bending her head down so that their father couldn’t see her in the rear-view mirror. Esme started sniggering too. A great fog of nauseating fumes from the exhaust pipe was now seeping into the car.

‘Turn off the ignition, Daddy,’ said Sophia, regaining some sort of control.

‘Oh, right. Yes. Well I suppose there’s only one thing for it now; we’ll have to walk.’

It was easier said than done. The car had fallen into the ditch at an angle that made the doors feel extremely heavy. Sophia managed to push hers open with her feet, scramble onto the snow and then pull Esme out after her. Together, they opened their mother’s door and held it while she and their father dragged themselves out. Esme watched as her mother’s expensive navy heels disappeared into the powder like hot rods through wax. Her stockinged legs now had a cast of snow that rendered her totally immobile. Esme didn’t know how her mother could stand it; the cold was so intense that her own legs had begun to ache.

‘Well, Daddy, you’ve really done it this time,’ Sophia exclaimed. ‘Not only have you chosen to crash on the back drive, which no one will be travelling up because they aren’t stupid, you’ve also managed to pick a spot that is still miles from the castle and just as far from The Lodge. By the time anyone finds us we’ll have frozen to death.’

‘Sophia, don’t exaggerate. It will only take us twenty minutes to walk to the castle,’ her father said.

‘Maybe on a normal day. You seem to have forgotten the three feet of snow we’ll be wading through and our lack of huskies and a sledge.’

‘Darling, there isn’t three feet of snow and anyway we haven’t got a choice. Either we get a move on or we stay in the car until tomorrow when the newspapers get delivered.’

‘Tomorrow?’ Esme gasped. ‘But we’ll miss Mrs Bee’s Christmas lunch!’

‘Exactly, darling. So let’s start walking.’

Esme took her mother’s hand, which was stiff with cold. ‘It’s all right Mummy, I know the way. Follow me.’

Sophia and her father strode off ahead, carving great tracks into the snow with their confident strides. Every time she looked they seemed further away, disappearing like ghosts into the fuzzy whiteness. Suddenly it didn’t feel like an adventure any more. She wished that her mother would just speed up a little bit so that they could catch up, but with every step it felt as if they were going even slower.

Esme tugged on her mother’s hand. ‘Come on, Mummy, we need to walk a bit faster or we’re going to lose them.’

It was bitterly cold. The sort of cold that penetrated deep into your bones and made you feel as if you would never be warm again. She thanked God for not allowing heating in churches, otherwise she wouldn’t have been wearing so many clothes. Even so, her legs and feet were going numb from wading through the snow. Snowflakes were beginning to clump together on her mother’s mink coat like the fur of a great polar bear.

‘Mummy, are you warm enough?’ she asked, shivering.

‘It is very cold,’ her mother replied, her voice muffled through her scarf.

‘I know. My feet are like ice cubes. Just think – you can wriggle them in front of the fire when we get to the castle. We must get there, Mummy.’

‘But I’ve lost my shoe, darling.’

‘Your shoe? When?’ Esme turned around, surprised. ‘Why didn’t you say anything?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Stay here, Mummy,’ she sighed. ‘I’ll go back and get it.’

Releasing her mother’s hand, Esme followed their steps back down the road. But the further she went, the shallower the footprints became. New snow filled the freshly made holes, covering any trace of her mother’s navy heel. Walking into the wind now, the snowflakes hit her face like a thousand tiny needles. It was hard to see anything; all the trees marking the side of the drive had disappeared and everything looked unfamiliar and eerie. Esme bowed her head and tucked her chin into her coat, not knowing what to do. Looking back, she couldn’t even see the shape of her mother the snow was falling so heavily.

‘Mummy!’ she called. ‘Mummy!’

She began to run back up the hill as best she could, trying not to panic. Even with her eyes closed, she’d be able to find her way to the vast gates that marked the private entrance to the castle, but she wasn’t sure her mother could do the same.

Maybe she couldn’t wait any longer with only one shoe, thought Esme and as she trudged up the hill she comforted herself by imagining her mother already standing by the fire in the drawing room with a big blanket around her shoulders, sending someone out to find her.

After what felt like miles of walking, the castle finally rose into the sky before her and she soon reached the drive. There were already a lot of cars there and she could hear the party in full swing. As she pushed open the front door she wasn’t sure whether it was a blast of warm air or a sense of relief that washed over her.

Pulling off her own sodden boots, she noticed her sister’s coat had fallen off its hook and landed in a dark pool of water on the rush matting.

Serves her right for not waiting for us, Esme thought, although she still picked it up and placed it alongside her own coat on the cast iron radiator.

The sound of laughter and clinking glasses trickled down the hallway from upstairs. She knew all her family would be safe and warm in the drawing room, probably each already on their third mince pie. She ran up the corridor and bound up the staircase, two steps at a time. At a drinks table on the landing stood the Culcairns’ butler, Mr Cribben. He was taking a deep swig from a crystal decanter, which he hurriedly put down. He wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his tailcoat.

‘Esme! Merry Christmas. Would you care for a drink?’

‘Yes please, Mr Cribben. A bitter lemon please. Have you seen my family?’

The butler snapped the lid off a small Britvic bottle with a silver opener disguised as a duck’s head.

‘Yes,’ he hiccupped. ‘I believe they are in there already.’

‘Thanks, Mr Cribben, and happy Christmas to you too.’ Esme took a gulp of her drink, the bubbles getting up her nose and making her cough.

Entering the warm glow of the drawing room, she peered through the throng of guests, trying to find her family. This was the grandest reception room in the private side of the castle and Esme’s favourite. It was so big that it had two marble fireplaces and not one but two enormous Christmas trees. Both were festooned with silken bows and golden baubles, real candles flickering dangerously close to the thick boas of tinsel. Piles of extravagantly wrapped presents lay beneath them.

Esme saw Sophia and Rollo talking under some mistletoe and wondered if they might be about to kiss. Cheerful faces, many of whom she recognized, occupied ornately carved sofas and chairs upholstered in pale-blue silk. She caught sight of the Earl talking to Father Kinley, Lord Findlay in conversation with Lord and Lady Robert Fraser, then her father appeared, breaking away from the crowd, gripping a steaming cup of mulled wine.

‘Darling, there you are. What took you so long?’ he asked, crossing the carpet and ruffling her hair.

‘Why didn’t you wait for us, Daddy? Mummy lost her shoe and I couldn’t find it. Is she here?’

‘Oh, I’m sure she’s here somewhere,’ said her father, gesturing his hand around the room. ‘Probably powdering her nose after being out in the snow for so long. Why don’t you go and find Lexi?’

Yes, Lexi, Esme thought, excitedly. She squeezed into the crowd, parting ladies’ skirts with her hands as she tried to get to the back of the room where the children usually played. Lexi was her best and only real friend. Unlike the girls at her London school, Lexi liked to do the same things as her. They weren’t interested in pop stars or boys and didn’t give a monkey’s about how they looked. As long as they had each other and their ponies, they were happy.

‘Rraaaah!’

Esme jumped as two hands covered her eyes.

‘Lexi!’ Esme squealed, spinning round and putting her arms around her friend. ‘Oh Lexi, happy Christmas! Isn’t the snow amazing?’

‘I know! But are you OK? Sophia said your car crashed into a ditch and you had to walk all the way to the castle.’

‘Yes, it was a terrific adventure, Lexi, and most of it I had to do on my own because Mummy went missing! But Daddy says she’s probably powdering her nose now – have you seen her?’

‘No, not yet,’ said Lexi.

‘Oh look!’ It was Bella. ‘Sausage rolls.’

Bella was born hilarious, wise – and thalidomide. Esme’s mother had told her that thalidomide was a pill that some women had taken to stop feeling sick when they were pregnant because the doctors hadn’t known it was dangerous or that it would make babies’ arms stop growing. Esme was amazed how well Bella managed without arms. She had even stopped noticing sometimes.

‘Happy Christmas, Bella,’ said Esme. ‘Do you want me to get you one?’

‘Not one, stupid. Ten – at least!’

The girls pushed their way over to Mr Cribben, who was swaying through the room carrying a precariously balanced silver try laden with the shortcrust pastry parcels. Grabbing a handful, half of which Esme gave to Bella, she and Lexi then retreated under the grand piano so that they could talk properly.

‘What did Father Christmas bring you, Lexi?’ Esme asked, through a mouthful of crumbly pastry.

‘Well, the best present was a stable rug for Jupiter, embroidered with his name! Oh, and I was given a subscription for Horse and Hound so we can see where all the pony club events are in the summer.’

‘Amazing!’ Esme grinned. ‘Let’s try and get our pictures taken jumping a huge hedge when we go hunting. Didn’t you say they were sending a photographer up here for the New Year’s Eve meet?’

‘Yes, definitely. Papa will be attending so at the very least we’ll get a photo if we stand next to him. Homer and Jupiter will be famous!’

‘Oh and I almost forgot! Lexi, Father Christmas gave me a dandy brush just like yours! Homer will look so handsome in the photos.’

Lexi smiled back at her and said in a deep voice, ‘Lady Alexa Culcairn on Jupiter and Miss Esme Munroe on Homer taking their own line at Smythe Thorns.’

‘We’ll be the talk of the town!’ Esme said, gleefully.

Stuffing another sausage roll into her mouth, she peered out from under the piano, half expecting and vaguely hoping to see her mother drying out by the fire. She heard her father’s bellowing laugh from across the room. If he didn’t seem worried about her mother, then everything must be all right.

Lexi and Esme continued their unspoken mission to finish off all the sausage rolls, sipping their bottles of bitter lemon between bites.

‘Did you see Rollo and Sophia under the mistletoe? Maybe they’ll fall in love and get married?’ said Esme.

‘And then we really will be proper sisters! Perhaps we can be bridesmaids together. Let’s go and draw our dream dresses,’ said Lexi. ‘I got some new Caran d’Ache in my stocking.’

After riding horses, drawing made-up outfits with Caran d’Ache colouring pencils was Esme’s favourite thing in the world to do and she was saving her pocket money for a new tin.

Just then, the other conversations in the room fell away at the sound of the Earl’s voice booming out, and Esme looked up, startled.

‘What do you mean you left her in the snow? How could you be so bloody irresponsible, Colin?’

‘Esme was with her and I assumed she was already here and powdering her nose,’ Esme heard her father reply.

‘You’ve already been here for nearly an hour! Diana would never spend that much time on her appearance, so where the hell is she?’

Esme froze. Where was her mother? It was her fault, she should have looked harder – until she found her.

‘Stop shouting, Henry,’ said the Contessa. Then, in a quieter tone, ‘Colin, I can’t believe you left Diana like that, especially with her being the way she is right now.’

‘It’s not as though she hasn’t been here before!’ said her father. ‘And like I said, Esme was with her. Sophia and I were only just ahead. Never crossed my mind that she might get lost and I don’t suppose she is now.’

‘No, Colin,’ replied Henry, his voice hard. ‘She might have frozen to death out there. I will go and search for her myself.’

‘Oh Henry,’ said the Contessa. ‘Don’t be so utterly ridiculous. We have all these guests here. Just send Miller.’

Esme crawled out from her hiding place and rushed to her father’s side. She wished Sophia was with her but she was probably somewhere with Rollo and his friends, smoking or doing whatever it was they did in her smoochy novels.

‘Daddy! We should go and find her. It’s all my fault. I lost her like the shoe.’ She looked up at her father, holding her breath and tears.

‘Esme, you lovely girl,’ said the Earl. ‘Why don’t you and I go and find your mother together? Colin, Lucia, you stay here and enjoy yourselves.’

And without giving anyone a chance to say anything more, the Earl took Esme by the hand and walked out of the drawing room, leaving her father, the Contessa and many of the other guests open-mouthed.