‘In my experience it pays to never take anything, or anyone, for granted.’ His comment sounds rather accusing to my ears and Cressida picks up on that immediately.
‘Cary, have you ever listened to yourself? Honestly, sometimes your words border on the insulting. And you have this bizarre need to micromanage everything to an extent where you are in danger of losing your overall perspective.’ She leans back in her chair looking across at him with something akin to disbelief written all over her face.
Cary seems rather taken aback by her reaction and I don’t think he realises how damning his statement sounded.
She’s right, though. He’s so… ultra-serious all the time. As if he’s afraid of what might happen if he strays outside of his very confined comfort zone. If only he could relax a little, he would be much more approachable. Although, I wonder if Cressida has realised the assumption she made about us is incorrect and now she’s a little disappointed.
‘I didn’t mean to be rude, Leesa, that wasn’t my intention at all. I apologise if I sounded a little abrupt. Grandma, please let’s not do this now in front of our guest. I am who I am, and I doubt I’ll ever change.’
As I move my eyes away from studying Cary’s face to steal a look at Cressida, she appears to be a little tearful.
‘You’re just so worryingly black and white in your approach to life, Cary. I’m fearful of where it’s all going to lead. Life is full of greys, my dear boy. Life is about subtlety, and sometimes you wade in with such force people almost… recoil.’
She turns to face me, desperately seeking some assistance. In fairness, I can sort of agree with what she’s saying, but Cary is right. This is no conversation to be having in the company of someone they don’t really know, anyway.
I lift the untouched glass of apple juice in front of me to my mouth, feeling that there’s no way I can contribute to this particular dialogue. However, realising that it might be a good idea to change the subject quickly, I wrack my brains to think of a diversion and grab the moment.
‘By the way, I owe you a huge apology Cressida, for not instantly recognising you. And I did tell Cary off for not warning me in advance. I’ve been an avid reader of yours for many years, ever since, as a teen, I plucked one of your books off a shelf at the library. It’s a real pleasure to meet you in person and so kind of you to offer me a bed for the night. I slept like a log.’
As I finish speaking, they both burst out laughing.
‘You need to update your author photo, Grandma,’ Cary interjects.
Ooh, is that a tad unkind? But Cressida hasn’t taken offence and I think that’s probably always been the nature of their very close relationship. Neither of them is afraid to say their piece but any tension it creates is fleeting. However, between Cressida’s emotionally-driven concerns and Cary’s desire to shirk away from home truths, they are at an impasse. And they probably have been for years.
‘He’s right, of course, the photograph on the back of my books is probably a good ten years out of date. And no apology necessary, whatsoever. In fact, we should be apologising to you for spoiling breakfast.’
A glance in Cary’s direction leads me to suspect that he, too, noticed her eyes were filling up. His apology to me was a real attempt to demonstrate he was listening to what she had to say. He obviously loves his grandmother, but they seem to have totally different agendas and, clearly, that’s a real stumbling block.
‘Every family has their own difficulties. Did you always want to write, Cressida?’
She dabs at her mouth with the white linen napkin as a young woman approaches.
‘We’ll take coffee in the sitting room, Fran, thank you. Cary will fetch the tray.’
Cary stands, eager to follow Fran out of earshot. Thanks for nothing, Cary. Some gentleman you turned out to be.
I wait as Cressida rises from her chair and then she leads me into the adjoining room, where Cary and I had our late-night drink, and indicates for me to take a seat.
In daylight, the view from the window looks out over a formal garden to the rear of the house. It’s mostly a white landscape, speckled with little bursts of green as some of the larger shrubs begin to lose their covering of snow.
Gravity is already beginning to take over. It’s beautiful. How wonderful to have a family home that is passed down from generation to generation. Although a financial drain and a constraint at times, I’m sure. But I suppose that when you are born into a monied family it’s something you simply accept as a part of your heritage.
‘Where were we? Oh, yes, I longed to write from an early age and that’s why everyone referred to me as the scribbler. I was always making observations about people and jotting things down. I knew that someday it would all come in useful. But being a wife, bringing up my daughter, organising the renovations on this house while my husband, Matthew, was away working… well, my days were full.
‘I eventually began writing in my fiftieth year, it was a birthday present to myself and I haven’t stopped since. Well, aside from the period after we lost our darling daughter. Matthew and I had to be strong for the boys and we were determined to face each day with optimism, for their sakes. Cary was eight years old, and Laurence had just celebrated his fifth birthday when she died. Eventually, my writing became the only way to escape the sadness.’
That’s such a tragedy and the last thing I expected to hear.
‘I’m so sorry for your loss. It must have taken a huge toll on you, having to remain strong and support your loved ones through such an awful time.’
‘You do what you have to do. But you can’t hide from grief and it still catches me unawares even after all this time, although you’re the first person to whom I’ve admitted that.’
Now I feel awful and if Cary walks in on this conversation he is not going to be happy.
‘Have you always written under your real name?’
She nods her head, settling back against the cushions.
‘Yes. With the benefit of hindsight it was a big mistake not using a pen name, though. My husband did warn me at the time. But I wanted to see my name on a book, to hold it in my hands and know that at last my dream had come true. But who knew I would end up having such a long career? Or that my growing grandsons would be teased when their friends discovered my books.’ Her face breaks into a little smile, as if she’s enjoying a private joke.
The door opens, and Cary appears carrying a tray.
‘It’s a wonderful thing to have a passion that fires you up. Loving what you do is half the battle, isn’t it?’ I add, gently.
Cressida nods and the eye contact between us is empathetic. She turns to watch Cary as he depresses the plunger on the cafetière slowly, then pours the coffee.
‘Obviously you love what you do, too. I can tell.’ Cressida turns back to look at me.
It would be wrong of me not to say something about myself when I’ve been privy to such a revealing conversation. And I almost need to pinch myself when I remember to whom I’m speaking. I mean, the Cressida Anderson.
‘I’ve always needed an outlet for my creativity. I had dreams of getting into the film industry and becoming a producer at one point. But that was before I understood how hard it is to get a foot on the ladder. It soon became obvious that working for someone else wasn’t going to cut it for me. So, I set up the business, which turned out to be a bit of a rollercoaster ride. But I did it. Five years on and it’s thriving, and we’ve won a few awards so I’m not complaining.’
Cary looks across at me. ‘I didn’t know that. I have been impressed, though. You and Jeff work very well together.’
Cressida switches her attention from Cary, to me, a look of surprise on her face.
‘Jeff?’ she enquires, meeting my gaze.
‘My cameraman. He only joined me two years ago but we’ve been friends a long time and we spark off each other creatively. He’s more like family, really. We were at university together and he studied cinematography and digital editing. I was
studying screenwriting and production. We did a few projects together in the summer holidays and he spent a lot of time with me and my family.’
Cressida’s expression relaxes as she takes the coffee cup Cary carries across to her. I wonder if he’s switched off and thinking of something else, as he doesn’t try to change the subject.
‘He didn’t fly back with you?’
I take the coffee cup Cary is holding out to me and decline the small pot of sugar cubes in his other hand.
‘No. He met a rather nice lady at the convention and he’s spending Christmas with her.’
Cressida leans back in her chair. ‘Ah, love is alive and kicking. That puts a smile on my face.’
‘Yes, well, that might just end up being a fleeting one, Grandma. What’s the percentage rate for failed relationships these days?’ Cary joins in as he takes the seat opposite me.
No wonder Cressida is a little worried about him. That’s a rather jaded remark to make and she is quick to retort. Is he purposely baiting her? Falling in love has nothing to do with statistics, anyway.
‘And how many businesses fail? But that doesn’t stop people taking their dream forward and giving it a shot. If we let failure define us, then we’re quitters and you know better than that, Cary.’
‘It’s a big step to take, Grandma. When people rush into making a commitment it can all go painfully wrong.’
‘I’m not suggesting you rush into anything, Cary, but sometimes your general attitude can be off-putting. The way to a woman’s heart is to show how much you care and actually put that into words.’
I find myself holding my breath, hoping she doesn’t drag me into this bit of the conversation. What could I possibly say?
He shakes his head, reaching for the coffee cup on a small table next to him, taking a leisurely sip before answering. When he lowers his cup, his expression is prosaic and he must know it will annoy her.
‘We’re going to have to agree to disagree, once more, Grandma. We simply look at it from two very different angles.’
She makes a half-turn to look in my direction.
‘Ignore his words, Leesa, he’s just trying to wind me up. Relationships need time to mature, of course they do. But the point I’m trying to make is that if he waits too long—’ and she turns her head to stare directly at Cary ‘—then he might lose the very thing that could seal his happiness for the future.’
He sits there glowering.
Cressida is partly right, though, from what I’ve seen so far. I can’t imagine that Cary would ever allow his heart to rule his head. But I wish she could have seen the way he was with little Hayden. Okay, so there was no real emotional interaction, but he treated the little lad like an equal. He saw that he was simply bored and needed a distraction. Making an effort to do that was, whether Cary would admit that to himself or not, a generous gesture. One that shows he doesn’t have a totally hardened heart. Whether he did it to help out Hayden, or his parents, is immaterial because it was thoughtful.
Maybe he isn’t a totally lost cause if Cressida could just modify her approach. There’s more than one way to achieve something. In this case, she needs to try some subtlety, I think, if she wants him to stop and seriously think about his future.
Well, after one disastrous meal I’m sure Cary will be very eager to get me to my final destination the moment his brother arrives, and he can grab those keys. I do feel awkward on his behalf, though. I can draw a comparison between his grandmother and my ex-mother-in-law, Gwen, in many ways. That’s another dysfunctional family story that isn’t going to be easy to deal with. Who would have thought we had so much in common?
6
The Contract
As we’re finishing our coffee Robert arrives to let Cressida know the lane is clear and fully accessible. She invites him to join us and Fran brings some fresh coffee.
When Cary introduced Robert as simply his grandmother’s neighbour, for some reason I assumed he was married. It turns out he’s a widower and reading between the lines I think Cressida and Robert spend a great deal of time in each other’s company. He’s a soft-spoken, gentle and kind man, very supportive of Cressida and aware of the ongoing tension between her and Cary. It’s obvious he’s a wealthy landowner but his hands show he likes to get stuck in and rub shoulders with his workforce. They are the hands of a man who isn’t content to sit at a desk and merely oversee things.
I enjoy the stories he has to tell and it’s good to hear laughter echoing around the room instead of discord. After two cups of coffee, to my surprise Cressida suggests that Cary and I go for a walk.
‘The rest of the family won’t arrive until late morning so why don’t you take a wander down to the viaduct and show Leesa the views? I’m sure there will be some footwear to fit her in the boot room.’
Having glanced out of the window when I awoke at six this morning, it was clear that it had stopped snowing sometime during the night. The wind, too, has dropped. The drifts are very deep in places and it’s going to take a long time for it to melt. But a walk would be fun and the fresh air will help to clear our heads.
‘I’d love that. If it’s not too much trouble,’ I add.
I doubt Cary would have suggested it, but he doesn’t seem fazed and we head off to find some wellies.
‘Robert is a rather quiet, yet charming man, isn’t he?’ I comment as we walk side by side through the entrance hall. Really, I’m simply trying to fill a few moments of the silence with something uncontentious.
‘Yes. My grandmother is very fond of him. Perhaps a little too fond.’
My sharp intake of breath, thankfully, goes unnoticed. I don’t even want to consider what he means by that remark. I am curious, though, as to why his granddad hasn’t put in an appearance yet.
‘Here we are.’ He leans forward to swing open a door and we enter a small room lined with cupboards. There’s a large Belfast sink set in a beautiful, rustic wooden worktop.
‘This is why houses like this should keep as many of the original features as possible. I mean, how indulgent having a boot room!’
‘Originally the dogs slept in here overnight but when her second golden retriever died, Grandma lost heart and couldn’t bear to replace her. That dog was like a child to her and was a great comfort after Granddad left. Maybe, as time goes on she’ll get a pup again, who knows? Right, let’s find a smallish pair to fit you.’
Cressida’s husband left? Does that mean he walked out and might return at some point, or are they getting a divorce, I wonder.
Rooting through, Cary grabs a pair of new-looking boots and when I slip them on, if I wear a double pair of socks, I know they’ll keep my feet both warm and dry.
‘Sorted!’
‘Right. I’ll wait for you outside. My coat’s in the hallway but take your time.’
Before I pile on the layers ready for our walk, I check my phone and sure enough there are a string of missed calls from Gwen. I can’t face talking to her at the moment and instead I text to say I hope to get there by late afternoon. I figure it would be unfair of me to expect Cary to ask his brother for the keys to his car the moment they arrive.
I throw the phone down on the bed without looking at it, knowing she’ll respond almost instantly. Instead, I grab my coat and seconds later I’m heading down to the front door.
‘Oh, Leesa. I noticed you didn’t have any gloves when you arrived. How about these? It’s still very nippy out there.’
Ah, bless her! Cressida walks towards me carrying some rather smart, and no doubt expensive, soft leather gloves.
‘Thank you, that’s so thoughtful.’
‘Well, enjoy your walk. And I just wanted to say that I’m not trying to bully Cary, but I’m afraid none of us have been a sterling role model for love’s dream. That saddens me as it has hardened him, and I don’t like to think of my darling Cary paying the price for the way we’ve all messed up our lives and his.’
As I take the gloves I feel awful that she’s tryin
g to take me into her confidence when she’s labouring under the wrong impression. I’m just passing through and while I am growing very curious, it’s none of my business.
‘I don’t think you should worry so much about him. He’ll be fine, I’m sure.’
I quickly pull on the gloves and give her a little wave. ‘I hope it’s not as cold as it looks.’ I grimace, and she gives me a twinkling smile.
Outside, Cary is staring up at the guttering at the front of the house.
‘Problems?’
‘No. It all seems good for the time being, but there’s a lot of snow on that roof to come down at some point. Okay. Do you know the area at all?’
I shake my head and we set off in tandem. It’s good to gulp in the crisp, fresh air. The wind has abated, and the snow has been ploughed into tall banks either side of the lane. The rock salt crunches satisfyingly beneath our feet as we walk, already beginning to do its job.
Overhead, a loud roar signals a plane just taking off. We stop to watch as it flies over the roof of the house and immediately begins to veer off to the right a little, as it heads towards the Bristol Channel.
‘Gosh, that’s really something. It’s the first plane I’ve heard since I arrived.’
‘Yes, you only really notice it when you’re in the garden. I love flying but then I get that from my grandfather. Being an aviation lover, it was the only thing he liked about the house. We spent many an hour over the years sitting out in the garden with a drink, watching the planes flying over the roof.’
‘It’s hard to believe how close to the airport we are.’ Chatting away to Cary like this it’s the most relaxed I’ve seen him so far.
‘The number of flights has increased over time, but you get used to it. If you’re a plane–lover, then you never tire of watching a metal beast climb as it heads off into the distance. There aren’t any night flights, even though there are only a few properties directly in the flight path when the planes take off. As they head out over the Bristol Channel it’s quite a sight when you’re looking down on all of this.’
Magic Under the Mistletoe Page 6
