Magic Under the Mistletoe

by Lucy Coleman

  ‘Just between us, my big fear is that he feels he can put his personal life on hold as if it’s something he will be able to pick back up when he’s good and ready. What you said was classic, simply classic and it wouldn’t have gone over his head. Of course, he no longer listens to what I have to say, but that doesn’t matter now. This is all so exciting!’

  I immediately go into panic mode as my foggy brain decides how to answer that.

  ‘We’ve just been together in Australia filming the promotional video. It’s no big deal, really.’ Well, that is the honest truth.

  ‘I understand and this is a bit like being thrown in at the deep end. Anyway, you know by now that he’s married to his work and we need to change that. And I’m sure we will.’

  Her response is distinctly worrying and her eyes are firmly fixed on my face as if she’s expecting me to confirm that. I try to remain impassive and ignore the reference to ‘we’. But I’m feeling so drained that none of this is making sense any more.

  Cressida ends up squeezing my arm affectionately. She’s desperately looking for some support to chivvy Cary along but that’s not a role I can take on, so I maintain my silence.

  ‘Oh,’ she sighs, ‘I’m so looking forward to chatting with you properly as I appreciate how tired you are. Breakfast is at ten to allow you both to get a good few hours’ sleep. I am sorry your own holiday plans will be delayed, my dear. However, your company is much appreciated, and I want you to know that. It’s a pity it took a snowstorm to engineer it, but everything happens for a reason! Maybe it was just the prompt that my darling Cary needed. I’m sure my grandson will seek you out to apologise for my behaviour. He thinks I’m a rather scandalous embarrassment because he doesn’t talk about emotions and I do. One day I will succeed in making him realise it’s not a weakness.’ She winks at me. ‘And I don’t intend to give up until that day has arrived.’

  5

  A Startling Revelation

  Cressida is right and before I can even begin to unpack, there’s a tap on the door. I shout out ‘come in’, half-wondering if Cressida has an entourage of servants and she’s sent someone to help me. But I needn’t have worried, because when the door swings open its only Cary. He looks shamefaced.

  ‘Look, I’m really sorry about that and the awkward bedroom arrangement thing. My grandma means well and she’s very liberal. But sometimes she doesn’t really listen, or let people explain. The moment she set eyes on you I could see that she immediately jumped to the wrong conclusion. I wasn’t quite sure how to get out of it. I… um… well, I didn’t have the heart to disillusion her after that as she was clearly delighted. Particularly as I’ve been away for quite a while and I don’t want to start off my visit by upsetting her.’

  ‘It’s fine. I understand it was awkward. I tried too, but I blame the tiredness; I’m surprised either of us can string a sentence together, let alone cope with that level of conversation.’

  He looks relieved, although his body language is awkward. The fact that I’ve seen another side to him has dented his armour.

  ‘Do you fancy a nightcap? I need something alcoholic, I don’t know about you.’ Cary’s offer implies he’d like some company.

  I give him a little smile.

  ‘It was an onslaught, wasn’t it?’ he admits. ‘It’s part of the reason I wasn’t keen to bring you here. Grandma is a gem, just a little unusual let’s say. Quirky, is probably the kindest word to use. And she dotes on me. When I’m here I feel like a small boy again and it’s partly because I admire her; she’s one strong woman for sure. But also because… ugh… a part of me is desperate to please her. Right, I think everyone else is in bed, so it’s safe to sneak down.’

  That makes me smile. No one has to sneak anywhere in a house this size.

  I follow Cary out onto the landing and we lower our voices, although I’m not quite sure why we’re bothering. It reminds me of being a kid and sneaking downstairs to check if Santa has been.

  ‘Anyway, you’re stuck with us until I have transport tomorrow, I’m afraid. Do you think you can cope?’ he asks, as we wend our way down the beautifully curved staircase.

  ‘It’s fine, but I’ve just realised I forgot to thank Cressida for accommodating me. I feel like a zombie at the moment but that’s no excuse to forget my manners.’

  ‘I don’t think she noticed, Leesa, her thoughts were – unfortunately – going off in another direction, entirely.’

  He shakes his head, indicating that I shouldn’t worry myself about it, as we head across the vast open-plan area and past the enormous tree, in front of which I’d love to linger in awe. He leads me through into a rather cosy room, given that the proportions are still magnificent. But it feels less formal, somehow.

  He immediately taps a panel on the wall to turn on two table lamps and some twinkly lights on yet another Christmas tree, which nestles – not so inconspicuously – in the corner. The embers of what’s left of a log fire are still glowing in the fire grate and instinctively I make my way over to it. Who can ignore even the dying heat from a real fire. That satisfying smell of woodsmoke, combined with the woodiness of cut logs sitting in the basket ready for tomorrow’s fire, is magnificent.

  ‘Brandy, whisky – what’s your preference? We have most things here,’ Cary asks.

  ‘I’ll have a small one of whatever you’re having, thank you.’ I’d prefer a good old Southern Comfort, but I know that’s a blend and Cary is talking about aged, malt whiskies and the finest of brandies. I wouldn’t have a clue what to ask for.

  ‘When I can get a quiet moment alone with her I will explain, so please accept my apologies for not handling this better. It’s rather embarrassing for me, actually, as that’s the biggest welcome home I’ve had in years.’ Is that a hint of amusement I detect in his voice now?

  I laugh softly. Then disparate thoughts whirling around inside my head begin to slot together and my mouth falls open as I turn away from the fire to face Cary.

  ‘Your grandmother is the Cressida Anderson, isn’t she? I thought she looked familiar. She must think I’m a total idiot not recognising her instantly. Why on earth didn’t you warn me?’

  He hunches his shoulders as he walks towards me, proffering a glass.

  ‘I rather hoped it wouldn’t come up.’

  ‘What? The fact that I’m staying in the home of an internationally bestselling, award-winning author? Your grandmother is beyond famous; she is the Grande Dame of contemporary romance.’

  He looks suitably ashamed of himself as he raises his glass in a mock toast and takes a slug. Now this is all beginning to make a lot more sense. Romance runs through her veins and she’s ended up with a grandson who apparently won’t even give it a passing nod. It’s like they live in two very different worlds.

  ‘Having never read any of her books it doesn’t really do anything for me, although I am very proud of what she has achieved, of course. And she is also one astute businesswoman, but Grandma can’t separate fiction from real life and that’s why the men in her life end up disappointing her. And maybe why my mother became so disillusioned with her own marriage.’

  Now I’m shocked. That’s quite a statement to make about a loved one when you are talking to someone you don’t know that well. Cressida isn’t just his grandmother, she’s an institution.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, placing an unrealistic expectation on anyone is bound to end in disaster.’

  ‘Hoping you will one day find someone to settle down with is an unrealistic expectation? I’d say every mother and grandmother in the world has that aspiration for their offspring.’

  ‘It’s not that simple. We are a dysfunctional family. All I can do is apologise in advance for anything further she says before I can deliver you back into the hands of normal people. Which I will do, as soon as my brother, Laurence, arrives tomorrow. He has a four-wheel drive and it shouldn’t be a problem. In the meantime, if you can just play along with whatever happens, in ca
se I can’t sideline her, I’d be very grateful. I’d rather not kick off my arrival by putting a dampener on her Christmas spirit.’

  He can be nice when he wants something but that sounds like one big favour, to me. Time to change the subject maybe, so I scan the room. It’s stunningly beautiful, as old, expensively furnished houses tend to be.

  ‘The decorations are beyond wonderful,’ I comment, reaching out to touch the shiny silver stars nestling in the festive garland gracing the mantlepiece. There are also little silver stags and I’m surprised when I touch one to feel how heavy it is, until I see the hallmark and realise that it’s solid silver.

  ‘Family traditions abound here, but Grandma isn’t averse to changing it up every year. I bought the stags for her as part of last year’s Christmas present. It’s one of her favourite animals and she was delighted with them.’

  Ah, that was rather thoughtful of him. ‘Well, they are beautiful. As are the lights.’

  We saunter over to the tree in the corner.

  ‘This is unusual.’ I reach out and run my fingers over the springy, dark, glossy green needles. At home we haven’t had a real tree for years and I never bother too much at my place, as it’s a pain taking the trimmings down afterwards. But here, all this attention to detail just warms the heart in a way that is touching. Meaningful. Wonderful. Magical.

  ‘It’s a Nordmann fir. They originated from the Caucus mountains in Russia. They tend not to drop their needles and have that perfect pyramid shape, which is great for a smaller room like this. Because the pines are waxy, though, you only get a subtle hint of the smell.’

  The room is huge by most people’s standards and so is the tree.

  ‘I love the fact that the needles aren’t sharp but rather blunt on the ends. It’s not the same as the one in the hallway, though, is it?’

  ‘No. Grandma always orders a blue spruce for the big tree, because it fills the air with an evocative Christmas smell. It takes me back to my childhood, as that’s one of the hallowed traditions from her own childhood.’

  Cary cradles his whisky glass in his hands, reflectively. I pretend not to notice his moment of reflection and instead focus on the tree. The myriad of tiny, sparkling little white lights is perfect and Cressida’s silver and white theme is carried throughout. A lot of time and attention has gone into the planning; this isn’t something someone has thrown together, or simply pulled out of the attic to have someone else assemble. Her love of nature shines through, from the care and attention to the types of trees she chooses, the real pine cones, to the 3D white snowflakes and the beautiful little wooden stars with the tiny tartan bows.

  The surprise is that you get a real sense of tradition, but not a strict adherence to the past. Her roots are firmly in the present.

  ‘Do you mind if we go and look at the main tree? I didn’t like to stand and stare at it when we arrived. But it is, beyond a shadow of a doubt, the most awesome tree I’ve ever seen up close.’

  ‘Of course. Lead the way.’

  My initial impression was wrong, this isn’t like a film set at all. I’ve simply stepped into the most magical of Christmas settings, one most people can only ever dream about.

  As we stand, gazing up at the twenty-foot-tall blue spruce I take in a deep breath, savouring the smell. It’s pine cones and leaves and mossy earth. I close my eyes for a few moments, imagining that I’m walking through a forest and all that is missing is the sound of birdsong.

  ‘The smell is much more pungent at night, for some reason,’ Cary says, watching my reaction with interest. ‘This majestic tree is native to the Rocky Mountains. It’s the thick scaly bark that produces most of the scent. It’s regarded as a medicinal plant, too. An infusion of the needles was used to treat colds, settle the stomach, and for rheumatic pains. In many of their traditional ceremonies, Native Americans used branches of the blue spruce as gifts to bring good fortune.’

  Even fully trimmed, what stands out is the natural beauty of the tree itself. ‘I love that grey-green sheen and those pointy, waxy needles. They are rather sharp though,’ I admit, tentatively reaching out and wincing on contact.

  ‘It’s not the easiest of trees to install, but it’s worth the hassle. The star on the top is older than I am. It’s one thing we won’t let Grandma change.’

  A woman who adheres to old traditions but seems keen not to get bogged down by them. Cressida is a complex woman, for sure.

  I finish the last of my whisky and turn to Cary, thinking what a perfect end to the day, but how totally unexpected. I envisaged him spending Christmas in a spacious, contemporary home – probably one he had built. That may well be the sort of property he owns, but instead he has returned to the place that truly represents home to him. Despite bemoaning the hard time his grandmother gives him and being under her constant scrutiny, there is nowhere else he’d rather be. And now I understand why he was a little reluctant to bring me here – because this is the place where he feels safe, but also vulnerable.

  ‘Thank you, Cary, for rescuing me from the snow. I really appreciate it. Right, I’ll pop this glass into the kitchen and head off to bed if you don’t mind.’

  He reaches out to take it from me. ‘I’ll sort it. You look done in.’

  ‘It’s been quite a day,’ I remark, speaking as much to myself, as Cary.

  ‘It certainly has. I’ll get rid of these and then I’m off to grab a shower and a little rest before the quizzing begins in the morning. Hopefully, once Grandma has said her usual spiel she will back off a little. But prepare yourself to witness a bit of a showdown. She’ll no doubt be organising her plan of attack between now and dawn, as she survives on merely a couple of hours’ sleep, unfortunately.’

  He shrugs his shoulders, clearly anxious at the thought of what’s to come. The sheepish look he gives me makes me choke down a merciless laugh, which I suppose is a little mean given the circumstances. He isn’t afraid of her, he’s simply afraid of his own reaction.

  As he heads off to dispense with the glasses, I climb the stairs to return to unpacking my suitcase. I can’t help musing over this very unexpected turn of events. As soon as Cary is out of sight, I stop halfway up the staircase and turn to gaze down at the decorations.

  From here that perfect ball of mistletoe beckons to me, suspended so loftily, it’s clearly ready and waiting to inspire some very magical, Christmas kisses.

  A flutter in my chest turns into more of an ache. I try to imagine myself standing beneath it, eyes closed and waiting in eager anticipation as the man of my dreams folds me into his arms. Sadly, I’m not seeing it with any conviction. But it is worthy of the tenderest of moments and I cast around in my head for inspiration – one screen kiss that would make any romantic swoon. Ah! The moment when Mark Darcy kisses Bridget Jones as the snowflakes fall around them. Except that was in a street in London and not inside a wonderful old country house, of course, and if I recall correctly, she was in her underwear. I sigh. One day I hope I’ll find someone with whom I’ll make a memory like that, standing under the mistletoe.

  Also hanging from the ceiling are the most beautiful, elongated cascades of white snowflakes and small silver bells. I’ve only ever seen decorations as amazing as these in posh shopping malls. I can’t imagine how much work goes into installing them, given the height involved.

  In truth, this is beyond surreal: I’m standing here in the home of the Queen of romance and experiencing the trappings of a Christmas that is almost unbelievably glamorous. Almost as glamorous as the woman herself. But what shines out so very clearly is the love that has been put into the planning. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve and it’s obvious that she can’t wait to get her family together under one roof again.

  Cressida doesn’t do this for show, or for herself, but because the festive season is all about giving, not receiving. But even in what could be considered as a picture-perfect life, who knows what heartache that hides? I have a feeling still waters really do run deep.

  *

>   ‘I hope your trip was enjoyable and productive,’ Cressida asks Cary, as I dig into the bowl of muesli in front of me.

  ‘Yes. There was a lot of interest and all the demonstrations were well attended. I’m expecting it to generate a lot of good leads to progress in the new year once the local sales reps process the information collected.’

  Cary’s right and from what I saw, SPS’s sales pitch created quite a buzz. People are usually looking to save money so it’s hard to attract their attention when some will only break even. But with the headline ‘make some real money while you make clean energy’ it was a big draw.

  ‘And what sort of a subject was he when it came to capturing that on video, Leesa?’

  With my mouth still half-full of nuts and oats, it’s a few moments before I can respond.

  ‘It was very successful. There were a few changes to the original creative brief which slowed down our progress but we’re almost there.’

  I can see that Cary is frowning.

  ‘There is quite a long list of changes I’ve requested which still require your attention, Leesa.’ His tone is clipped and his gaze doesn’t waver from my face. Suddenly his business head is back in play.

  ‘You’re right, there are. But changes always involve a little easing to help sync it all together. Especially when we have veered so far away from the initial video concept. I am 100 per cent confident you’re going to be delighted with the end result, I can assure you of that, Cary.’

  I begin eating again, knowing it would be impolite of him to continue grilling me during what is meant to be a relaxing meal. Cressida doesn’t give him a chance and jumps straight in.

  ‘I’m sure Leesa and her company will do a great job, Cary. Sometimes you need to place your trust in people and let them do what they do best. Too much control can be a negative if you won’t even give any consideration to other people’s suggestions.’

  Now she’s putting him in his place and I really don’t want to be sitting here witnessing this. She’s prickling with exasperation as she watches Cary clear his plate, making light work of scrambled eggs and bacon. I notice she’s hardly touched her scrambled eggs and I’m eking out the last morsels in my dish as a reason to avoid joining in with the conflict.