Magic Under the Mistletoe

by Lucy Coleman

  Worryingly, the snowflakes are getting bigger by the second. Drawing the hood around my head tighter with both hands, I keep blinking away what now feels like icy missiles being fired directly into my face.

  Our driver turns the vehicle around and we head away from the terminal. All we can see is a few feet of the white landscape ahead of us, against the curtain of night. Visibility is deteriorating quickly and it’s just us, a lone vehicle on a deserted road – the boundaries of which can’t even be seen, so we follow the quickly fading tracks in the snow to lead us out of the airport.

  I half-turn to take a quick glimpse behind me; already the airport terminal is just a massive blur; mere pinpricks of light shining out into the hazy darkness. There is nothing at all in the sky other than the battering snow as it falls relentlessly. It will be hours before anyone is going anywhere. It feels like the heavy, dark-grey sky above is going to engulf us and my heart begins to race as the chill takes a hold.

  I’m not feeling at ease anyway, what with being whisked off to Cary Anderson’s family home. I hardly know the man and he’s already made it abundantly clear he’s not happy about it. But I fleetingly wonder how many people will end up sleeping on the floor at the airport tonight. I’m beginning to realise how lucky I am, even if I would have preferred the anonymity of a room at one of the hotel chains in the area.

  It’s a bumpy ride and at one point we slow while the shovel-like apparatus on the front of the vehicle is lowered to clear a section of the road. The drift is way above the bonnet of the open vehicle. We smash into it and the wind quickly sends a spray of powdery snow swirling in all directions. I’ve heard of the term whiteout but never in my wildest dreams thought I’d ever experience one here, in the UK. It’s even more daunting with the pervading darkness all around us. It seems to accentuate every little sound, as if we’re travelling in a tank and not a vehicle stripped down to the minimum. But those chunky tyres are doing their job and the grip, for the most part, is reassuringly firm.

  With the obstacle removed we continue, albeit at a slower pace now, along what looks like a main road to the rear of the airport. We travel along parallel to the link perimeter fencing, beyond which is a large snow-covered bank extending up and obscuring any view of the airport itself. To our left I can only make out the odd swathe of skeletal winter trees. They are interspersed with evergreens that are now weighed down by their heavy white coats.

  Beyond that the landscape falls away slightly, disappearing into the darkness as if it’s been swallowed up. Abandoned cars litter what I assume is a grass verge at the side of the road. They stick out at differing angles like some weird parking configuration. After being unable to gain any traction on the slippery surface they only came to a halt when something solid prevented them from sliding any further. Often, that was another car and in one case, a wall.

  We pass the outline of a very grand house with a collection of stone buildings nestling behind an impressive gateway. Travelling onwards, the jeep takes a left turn into a single-track country lane. After a few hundred yards of ploughing through crisp, virgin snow I spot where we’re heading. My jaw would have dropped if I wasn’t already cradling my entire face. It’s a constant battle to avoid the sting of icy white missiles coming at me from every angle. This isn’t a house, it’s a huge Victorian country manor.

  The vehicle pulls to a halt and Cary literally heaves me out and bundles me under an open, extended porch. It’s flanked by two enormous stone lions that now look more like polar bears. Small, red Christmas lights, like glowing berries, hang from the canopy turning this little haven into a colourful grotto. He lowers his collar, glancing at me in earnest.

  ‘Are you okay? I’ll get the bags.’

  It’s actually a relief to hear his voice and my shoulders sag a little, grateful to have made it here in one piece. At the same time the large door behind me is flung open.

  Suddenly I’m hurried inside by a gentleman who looks most concerned as he escorts me over the doorstep.

  Seconds later Cary, me, our very competent driver, and a pile of damp luggage are all creating a puddle on a very old and beautifully tiled floor. A woman steps forward to greet us. Her smile is warm and her demeanour one of graceful elegance. Long, silver-grey hair is coiled up into a perfect French twist and her face is beaming, clearly delighted by Cary’s arrival. Behind her the man who helped me inside is standing attentively awaiting her command. I’m rather surprised, as I thought butlers were a thing of the past.

  I glance upwards to see that above our heads isn’t just the customary token piece of mistletoe – oh no! It’s a massive orb, no doubt lifted by a cherry picker from the top of a very stout tree. It’s suspended some forty-plus feet in the air. As my eyes continue to take in the surroundings, I note the grand sweep of the staircase and the wide, galleried landing. Above that is a beautifully detailed ceiling with ornate plaster coving. I’ve stepped into the film set of a Christmas film and they are about to begin shooting.

  ‘Cary, my darling boy; it’s so good to have you home. And welcome, my dear, I had no idea… but I simply love surprises and this one was well worth the wait!’ Her eyes dart between both Cary and myself and before he can introduce me properly she begins talking again. ‘You must both be exhausted. Nicholas, can you kindly grab their coats and take them to dry off? Robert, I insist you stay for a drink, you extremely brave man,’ she continues, turning to face our driver as he pulls off his woolen ski mask. ‘Thank you so much for saving the day and rescuing Cary and his young lady.’

  4

  The Introduction

  His young lady? I don’t know whose head jerks back the furthest – mine or Cary’s. He casts me a warning glance, but does that mean I should jump in and correct her or not? To be honest, I don’t care. She can call me anything she wants as long as there’s a spare bed upstairs.

  The house is warm enough that my hands and face begin to sting as the heat starts to permeate into my freezing flesh. A pair of soft hazel-green eyes flicker over me and I feel a little embarrassed under her scrutiny.

  ‘Ah, you’re half-frozen, my dear. Welcome, I’m Cary’s grandmother. We have a roaring fire. Let’s get you warmed up.’

  She is very charming and reminds me of someone, or maybe a composite someone. You know that cosy, motherly individual who is always putting her guests first and making sure they have everything they need. In fact, she looks vaguely familiar. Maybe she has a doppelgänger, as they say, and it’s someone I’ve seen on TV, or in a magazine.

  As I turn, there’s an enormous Christmas tree that is probably twenty feet high standing proudly on display, dripping with a collection of silver and white baubles. It’s a work of art and I can’t take my eyes off it. Topped with a glinting silver star, it couldn’t be more perfect. This really is like something out of a film. Lavish, romantic, country-style Christmas decorations, tastefully arranged. The sort of thing you only usually glimpse in expensive magazines while you’re waiting to see the dentist.

  Walking through the immense hallway we follow her through an oversized, oak door into a spacious room with very tall, and deep, box sash windows denoting the proportions of the room. It looks like the wooden shutters are original and have been painstakingly returned to their former glory. I think this is what would be referred to as a drawing room. Our hostess hurries us across to a large log-burning stove surrounded by an oversized, Victorian feature fireplace with inset ceramic tiles. Delicate lilies adorn the tiles which are in pristine condition.

  A realistic, although it’s not fresh, garland graces the mantelpiece. In the centre is a large vase full of burgundy-red roses, with sprigs of blue spruce sending out a gloriously festive smell. As my eyes travel around the room it’s obvious that this country house has been lovingly restored and money was no object at all.

  Before his grandmother turns around to face us, I look at Cary and shrug my shoulders to indicate it’s about time he said something. He frowns and I wonder why he feels this is a
real dilemma. Cary clears his throat, nervously.

  ‘Grandma, this is… um… Leesa Oliver, the owner of Dynamic Videography. We’ve been working together out in Australia.’ Cary emphasises the last sentence. It draws a halt to my casual gaze around the room and I turn to offer my hand.

  ‘How lovely to meet you, Leesa. I’m Cressida. What a terrible experience for you both, tonight. You were in safe hands with Robert, though.’

  Cressida’s handshake is surprisingly firm and as we exchange eye contact there’s a genuinely warm smile reflected in those hazel eyes of hers. They are so like her grandson’s it’s easy to spot the family resemblance between them.

  ‘And this gallant man who came to our rescue is Robert Jones, my grandmother’s neighbour,’ Cary jumps in and I can’t help wondering why her initial reaction was to assume I was Cary’s young lady. If he was seeing someone surely his grandmother would be aware of that fact?

  Actually, Cary does look rather nervous and flustered, which is unthinkable and so out of character. I’m beginning to find this rather funny seeing him floundering and clearly worrying about what she’s going to say next. Is that a little mean of me, or is this karmic payback time? No, that’s unfair. The man has been stressed and this is in such sharp contrast to the last couple of weeks.

  Glancing at Robert, I can see that he’s much older than I assumed him to be. Probably around Cressida’s age, which I would put at seventy-something. It might even be closer to eighty. The old army jeep struck me as being a bit of a… boy’s toy, I suppose, because you don’t often see them around. But it most certainly has its practical side and maybe you need something like that when you live in such a rural area. A handy acquisition for a gentleman farmer.

  From the little I’ve seen of the area there don’t appear to be many properties in this location. I should imagine that not only are they expensive properties to buy, but they also come with acres of land.

  I extend a hand towards him and offer a sincere and very grateful smile.

  ‘Thank you so much, Robert. That was some journey and not for the faint-hearted.’

  He tips his head back and laughs, a hint of embarrassment flashing over his face. ‘A bit of snow is nothing. It’s just the fools who insist on having a go at driving when they are in the wrong type of vehicle, who cause the problems. They aren’t suitably equipped for the conditions, which makes them a danger to other people. You only have to look at the number of abandoned cars along the main road. Each one was a potential accident in the making.’

  As I take a step back, Cary moves in to grasp Robert’s hand and give it a firm shake. But I am a little surprised that it all looks rather perfunctory.

  ‘Good to have you back, Cary,’ Robert adds before pulling away. His tone might be matter-of-fact, but his smile can’t hide how pleased he is to see him. Cary seems oblivious, almost dismissive as he turns away.

  ‘Don’t I get a hug?’ Cressida moves forward, and Cary immediately throws his arms out towards her with genuine enthusiasm.

  ‘You see what I have to put up with, Leesa? But then, I expect he is much more thoughtful when he’s in your company. I haven’t seen my grandson for what, four months? And then I have to ask for a hug. He’s just like his grandfather!’

  ‘Yes, but Grandma—’

  She almost knocks the breath out of him as she launches herself into his arms.

  Cary glances at me over his grandma’s shoulder with a grimace on his face. Clearly, he’s very fond of her, so it must be the reference to his grandfather that has annoyed him. Suddenly I feel distinctly uncomfortable being thrust upon his family like this with hardly any notice. Cressida doesn’t seem to have grasped the fact that I’m not Cary’s girlfriend and we know nothing about each other beyond our working arrangement. And that hasn’t been smooth running.

  Fortunately for me, Robert asks when the family are arriving and Cressida is distracted. Cary looks a little relieved.

  ‘Laurence and Sally arrive with their brood tomorrow lunchtime. It’s going to be bedlam as usual. It will be so nice for them to meet Leesa for the first time. I knew this was going to be a special Christmas but I didn’t quite appreciate how special.’

  Cary opens his mouth to speak at the exact same time as I’m just about to jump in to correct her. A split-second of hesitation and it’s too late.

  ‘Remind me of their ages,’ Robert asks. ‘It doesn’t seem that long since Jackson arrived and here he is, one of three.’

  Cressida’s eyes gleam. ‘Well, he’s eight now. Daisy has just turned six and little Chloe is a very determined little three-year-old. She still doesn’t sleep through the night, though, and poor Sally doesn’t get much help from Laurence. Both of my grandsons work way too hard and are obsessed with their careers to an unhealthy extent. One of them is too busy to even think about settling down, or so I thought.’ There’s a wicked gleam in her eye.

  She casts an amused look in Cary’s direction and I steal a quick glance to check out his reaction. He looks exasperated and mightily embarrassed. While now is the moment to come clean, it is rather fun watching him squirm and I’m rather enjoying this.

  ‘Grandma, I lead a busy life at the moment, what can I say?

  ‘Life is all about balance, my dear boy. You can’t continue to put work ahead of your relationships; don’t you agree Leesa?’

  I swallow hard as all eyes are suddenly trained on me. Why I’m letting myself get pulled into this, I have absolutely no idea. I should clear up the misunderstanding now but as soon as her eyes alight on mine, I’m sunk. She’s just so lovely and besides, it’s not my job to point out she’s made a mistake. That’s down to Cary.

  ‘Um… well, yes, I suppose so but it’s seldom that simple, is it? I mean fate comes into play, too, and sometimes it’s a bit of an uphill battle. But when things do fall into place I suppose that you have to grab…’ I’m wittering on and decide it’s best to simply shut up.

  Cressida claps her hands to her mouth. ‘At last, someone under my roof who understands what I’m talking about.’

  I was merely trying to point out that things can’t be forced and unwittingly Cressida now thinks I agree with her. It’s easy to see that this larger-than-life character has a big heart, so how can anyone possibly take offence when she means well?

  I can see that both Robert and Cary are wearing polite yet distinctly forgiving smiles, so maybe this is their normal banter. I make a concerted effort to appear relaxed, so Cary thinks all of this is going over my head as it’s none of my business. My growing concern is that I don’t want to unwittingly say the wrong thing when a question is levelled directly at me.

  Cressida is a woman driven by her love for the people she cares about and, coupled with that formidable energy she exudes, it’s an overpowering combination. It’s easy to see where Cary gets at least some of his traits from.

  ‘We’ve been travelling for hours, Grandma, and I think we both simply want to drop into bed.’

  The moment Cary stops speaking he looks horrified, instantly realising he didn’t quite phrase that correctly.

  ‘Fortunately, the blue room is made up if you’d like to take that one?’ Cressida offers and Cary’s jaw drops a little. Now she thinks we’re sleeping together. I might be mistaken, but is that a flash of embarrassment he’s trying to fend off?

  ‘There… there’s no need, Grandma. I’ll use my old room and perhaps Leesa would be comfortable in the second guest room.’ His face is set into a deep frown that isn’t very flattering but thank goodness he put her right on that one.

  ‘Well, that’s a pity, but it’s up to you. In my opinion it has the best view of the garden.’

  Cressida gives him a truly wicked smile and Cary looks appalled, then flustered. I have to stop myself from laughing out loud.

  Robert jumps in to fill the uneasy silence.

  ‘Right, I’d better get off. The men are due in shortly. We’re going to plough the lane and then hook up the gritter. Hopefully,
that will mean everyone will be able to get out in the morning. I doubt your company will be too impressed if they have to walk down from the top road with their cases. And the milk tanker will need to get through, so the quicker I make a start, the better.’

  Cressida leans in to place her hand on Robert’s arm.

  ‘Thank you for thinking of us all, Robert. We’re so lucky to have you around to get things sorted. I bet a lot of small communities are cut off right now. The children will love the snow, of course, but this fall was a lot heavier than I think any of us could have anticipated.’

  She pulls back, and he gives her a friendly nod. As their eyes meet, I can see there’s a real connection between them. Suddenly Cressida turns her head in my direction and catches me watching them.

  ‘Right, it’s very late and everyone is tired,’ she declares. ‘I’ll show Leesa to her room so she can get some sleep now she’s warmed up a little. Cary, can you ask Nicholas to bring up Leesa’s luggage, please?’

  A look of relief flashes over his face and he nods, as Cressida takes my arm, walking me off in the direction of the hallway.

  Once we are out of earshot she leans into me, speaking in a conspiratorial tone.

  ‘It’s so good to have another woman around, Leesa. And aside from a week at Easter and two at Christmas, I only get a rare visit from Cary these days. But it’s all work and no play, from what I can see. It’s not that I want my grandson to be constantly running back home to me, but that I’m the only person to remind him life is much shorter than we think. It makes me happy to think he’s been having some fun while he’s been away.’

  Fun? It was a lot of things, but fun isn’t one of the words I’d use to describe the experience.