Christmas in Cornwall Read online

  “Ah, yes,” he said. “Come by Rosemoor and claim it any time you like. Let yourself in with the spare key if I'm not there — keys under the front pot, the plant's on the table near the door.”

  "Okay." I would infinitely prefer he was there, even though I felt almost at home any time in Matt’s little cottage, with its tumbling gardens and crooked fence. I knew I had better savor every one of those moments while I still could — just in case, as impossible at it seemed, Matt really did choose Boston over Cornwall's shores.

  ***

  “The ladies luncheon will be on the seventeenth and then, of course, we have a tour group in the diary for the twenty-first. A man will be in to clean the chimneys before then, and I believe the greenery for the ballroom will arrive on the twenty-third." Lady Amanda sighed. "Heavens, how will we do it all in time?”

  This statement ended this list of impending activities from the diary on her office desk; my own planner was filled with notations of a similar nature. The smaller festivities leading up to Christmas Eve — then came the charity ball and the New Year’s Day open house on its heels. I felt as if my head were crammed full of details and couldn’t possibly hold anymore as I calculated the number of necessary tea sandwiches and truffles.

  “The ladies luncheon will mean yet another tree, I’m afraid,” Lady Amanda said, "this one for the little sitting room near the ballroom. I’ve asked Geoff to bring it 'round later today. Don’t worry, though — I won’t ask you to make a paper chain this time,” she added, her smile taking on an impish quality with the remark. "All modern ornaments in very sleek silver, to match the theme of 'Silver Years Holiday Goals.'"

  “My chain was wretched,” I admitted. “I had to redo it almost three times to make it presentable. Even then, I’m not sure a group of school age children couldn’t have done it more justice.”

  “William didn’t think so,” Lady Amanda replied. “He told me it puts him in rather a nostalgic frame of mind. It makes him think of stories his grandmother told about Christmastime during the war, when a lot of people couldn’t afford decorations from the shops, so almost everything was made by hand, even the presents. Quite a different Christmas from the one we’re celebrating at the manor today.”

  Her voice was gentle for the remark, perhaps remembering a story from her own family history of those difficult times that rocked the world so many years ago. I knew that Britain's taste of World War II had been much harsher than that of my own grandparents in the United States.

  “Very different," I said. "But it's good to remember the past."

  “How are you managing with the holiday rush, by the way?” Lady Amanda studied me over her coffee mug with a keen eye. “Christmas at Cliffs House can be a chaotic time, as well as great fun. Believe me, this time last year, I was wishing for an event planner to help me cope with it all,” she said, with a laugh. "Not knowing you yet, of course."

  “I’m holding up great,” I said. My voice lacked the enthusiasm I meant for it to have, however. It wasn’t because of the work—everything was going right on schedule. It was more about Matt, and how unsettled everything felt between us. The little nagging voice in my head urged me to tell him, as if my love would sway his decision. And as if I'd be selfish enough to plead with him to stay — Matt, who would never dream of asking me to drop my career and Cornish experience to follow him back to the USA.

  “Well, don’t hesitate to come to me if you start to feel overwhelmed,” Lady Amanda said. “I think you’ve already earned the right to a nice holiday somewhere next year. If we can find a way to do without you for a week or so,” she quipped, setting her mug down on the nearby desk.

  What would I do with a holiday? See more of Cornwall, perhaps. Maybe visit The Lizard Peninsula, with all its rare and wonderful plants and insects. Or go spend a week in Mousehole, the village whose name had become a sort of inside joke for Matt and me after he learned the name of my birth town in Idaho was Molehill.

  Mousehole would be fine with me, if Matt could be my guide there. But the chances that would happen suddenly seemed very slim compared to only a week ago in that candlelit restaurant.

  Downstairs in the kitchen, Gemma was slicing strawberries as Dinah added the final dollop of whipped cream to the squares of sponge cake by the oven. From something Dinah had said earlier, it was meant to be a variation on a popular Japanese Christmas Cake. We had decided the hors d'oeuvres at the ball would pay tribute to its chief sponsor’s cultural home. That meant platters of sushi and filled daikon radish curry boxes, sticky rice and shrimp balls, and squid and cucumber bites for the hors d'oeuvres, and a sake cocktail alongside the more traditional champagne.

  “Shall we sample these for you Dinah?” Gemma asked, hopefully, as she eyed the latest batch of trial sponge cake desserts. They looked every bit as chic and metropolitan as the finger foods on Dinah's sampler platter. I had to admit the sight of them made my own stomach growl despite the sandwich and crisps I had for lunch.

  “Go ahead then,” said Dinah, untying her apron and giving a sigh of surrender. “Taste away and tell me what you think. And no lies out of politeness or heaven help our unsuspecting guests.”

  Gemma had washed her hands and was tugging her apron off already, her task of slicing strawberries at an end. “Try one, Julianne,” she said, handing a square of sponge cake across the table as she pulled out the seat catty corner to mine.

  “Mmmm, delicious looking.” I popped the dessert appetizer in my mouth without a second’s hesitation. Its texture was light and airy, the cream and strawberry blending perfectly for a just right sweetness that lingered in my mouth.

  “These are scrumptious, Dinah,” I declared, eating it down to the last crumb. “The guests will be snatching them up.” I resisted the temptation to lick my fingers, too.

  “They’re not bad,” she conceded, trying one from the platter on the counter. “Perhaps a bit overbaked, but that’s easily remedied. A touch more sweetness wouldn’t go amiss, though.” A thoughtful frown on her face with these words.

  Like most chefs, Dinah was harder on her work than it deserved. Gemma and I exchanged sly grins behind her back, both of us accustomed to hearing that some masterpiece of baking wasn’t quite up to her standards. I would have gladly devoured half the platter, but I settled for just one more before I returned to my notes for the ballroom decorations set to arrive next week.

  Pippa stuck her head through the doorway. “Geoff ’s brought another fir tree for you, Julianne. A tall skinny one with branches out to there,” she said, extending an arm to indicate the length.

  “That’ll be for the sitting room,” I said, remembering Lady Amanda’s instructions for the ladies luncheon. I kept forgetting it since Lady Amanda handled most of its details, preferring a hands-on approach to events involving our neighbors in Ceffylgwyn.

  “He said he’d bring it 'round to the back entrance,” Pippa informed me, still leaning in the doorway. “Ross came along to help,” she added, giving me a knowing look.

  My pulse quickened a little. Matt was in my thoughts way too often these days, but I couldn't seem to get rid of him there. He popped up every other second, as if Cliffs House and Cornwall were one big reminder of my secret feelings.

  Geoff Weatherby was the estate manager for Lord William, a man of middle age and quiet charm from London. He was looking slightly overburdened by the long tree, even with Matt's help in maneuvering Cliffs House's hall.

  “Bring it through to the sitting room, please,” I said, leading the way to a lovely space down the hall near the ballroom, where double glass doors overlooked the terrace and garden beyond. Most of the plants were dormant at this point, but I could see a few blossoms from the winter varieties, and the scarlet red of the holly berries Old Ned had claimed were a sign of potential snow.

  We positioned the tree in front of the glass doors, selecting an ornamental pot for it among the ones available on the terrace. Stepping back to admire the effect, I couldn't help saying, “Thi
s will be my third Christmas tree to help decorate this month."

  "So many?" chuckled Geoff.

  "I'm not tired of it, believe it or not," I assured him, as I carted the boxes of silver ornaments into the sitting room. "Actually, it's kind of relaxing." When you don’t have to construct a paper chain for it, that is.

  "As long as you enjoy it," said Geoff. "As for me, I have a little ornamental ceramic one that merely plugs into the wall. No decorations needed, I fear."

  “I haven’t bothered putting up a Christmas tree in years,” Matthew said, adjusting the tree's upright angle. “Not since my sister's university years. She was rather the one who decorated it.”

  With his mother gone and his sister far away, I realized that Matt had fewer reasons than some people for observing the traditional festivities of the season. I felt sad, suddenly, at the thought of Matt spending Christmases alone while his sister was overseas, and no real holiday cheer at home.

  “Did you hear that?” I glanced at Geoff with a smile. “How can a man this devoted to the world of fauna and flora not have a Christmas tree? It seems unfair that no one's given him one, doesn't it?”

  “It’s not that I don’t want one,” said Matt. “I just never had the time to put one up.”

  Beside him, Geoff chuckled mildly. “I’m afraid it’s a lost cause sometimes, Miss Morgen,” he said. "I say that as an equally-busy bachelor."

  I crossed my arms. “That is just so incredibly sad. I had no idea men were this helpless on their own when it came to celebrating the season.” In my mind, I was calculating how easy it would be to sneak a fir into Matt's cottage while he was busy in the hothouse. Or leave it on his porch like a Christmas tree foundling. How could he not be moved to take it inside and decorate it afterwards?

  “One finds their consolation elsewhere," said Geoff. "In my case, the staff Christmas party at Cliffs House, for instance. Where Dinah’s plum pudding is a treat that’s fit to serve the Queen. A treat not to be missed, I assure you."

  "Mmm," I said, politely, although I was still trying to balance the mouth-watering description of Gemma and Pippa versus the blazing bowling ball in Christmas movies. Was it really to die for? Or was it actually like a giant, scorched breadball with bits of fruit in it?

  “Is there anything else we can do for you, Miss Morgen?” Matthew asked, affecting a serious air as he bowed. This was the first bit of silliness between us in awhile — almost like the beginning of our love-or-friendship's uncharted waters.

  “Nothing at the moment, Mr. Rose,” I answered, feigning equal loftiness. "You're dismissed."

  Maybe I could ask Geoff if there was a spare tree or two on the estate that needed a good home this Christmas.

  ***

  Dwight’s friends had narrowed down my list of potential caterers to their top three, all of whom were located in Westminster. It would take a considerable part of the day to visit them all, so I decided to use my day off for my next expedition to London. I boarded the train with a finished reception seating chart that had taken me most of the night to complete, but I was sure would make both of them happy.

  To my surprise, Dwight insisted on accompanying me to the caterers. “I’m afraid my conscience wouldn’t let me rest, with you doing all the work,” he said, as we descended to the Underground that would take us to the first caterer on the list. “I’m sure you have things you would rather do with your time than chase around London for the friends of a friend, after all.”

  “It’s my day off,” I explained, tucking my portfolio in my lap on the train. “You don’t have to feel guilty about eating into my work time. And as you said before, they're two young people in need of help.”

  “So you're giving up your leisure time. That's still a sacrifice,” he said. “Tell me, what would you be doing in Ceffylgwyn with a day like this? Are there lots of festive events for the holiday? You know, Christmas markets filled with cheap souvenirs and so on.”

  “Not really,” I said. “There’s Troyls’ night, but that’s a sort of cultural dance. I haven’t been to one yet, but maybe I’ll go if they have one for Christmas.”

  Gemma and Pippa had tried to educate me on this, where some of the villagers embraced tradition by dressing up in traditional tartan and kilts. Matt, they claimed, had done so in the past, although I wondered if this was more wishful thinking on their part than anything. I hadn’t dared ask him yet, though I couldn’t help being a little curious if it was true. Matt in a linen shirt and kilt made a very appealing picture.

  No thinking about that right now, I scolded myself, wondering what kind of expression Dwight had seen on my face.

  “Most of the time, things are very laid back in Ceffylgwyn,” I continued, quickly. “The main attraction is quiz night at the pub. More than a hundred locals turn out to compete sometimes. My team almost won — a nice package on movie tickets was ours for the taking, if only we had brushed up on our comedies.”

  “Is there a movie house in this village of yours? I sort of pictured it being the library and Ye Old Medieval Museum type, with relics of the past and bored teenagers on every corner.”

  “Well, we would have to go to Truro to see one,” I admitted reluctantly. "But it isn’t that far, all things considered.”

  "How far is far?" he laughed. "In Seattle, you complained if the bus took more than fifteen minutes to reach your stop across town."

  "That was different," I said. "It was hectic in Seattle, and I was nearly always running late — but here, people take their time. And it's only a short drive when me and M—when we go catch a new film." I finished this part without Matt's name. Chatting romance with an ex was never a great idea, I felt.

  Dwight had caught my slip of the tongue, however. “Who is ‘we’?" he said. "This mysterious 'M' you speak of. Someone special?"

  I blushed, wishing I had been more careful. Still, now that I was caught, I decided to be honest about it. “Maybe someone a little more special than the others," I admitted. "He's a really great guy. Brilliant, kind, funny ... but we're still not quite a couple." At least, Matt hadn't said he loved me. Or that he was falling in love with me, even. I only knew that he cared about me, and that he found me attractive.

  "Hmm,” said Dwight, thoughtfully. “I’m surprised that it's not something more by now. A girl as perfect as you in a village that size. I thought there would be no end of dashing, rugby playing or cricket-loving 'chaps' who would ask you out.”

  I didn't like his tone for this remark. And I resented being metaphorically presented as a piece of meat in a hungry kennel of animals, as if Ceffylgwyn's female population was mostly eliminated from the menu by wrinkles, warts, and toothless mouths. I wrinkled my nose, and changed the subject.

  “What about you? I heard you were serious about someone in Spokane. Aimee said you were a good match.” I pulled this piece of gossip from the recesses of my memory. Aimee had kept tabs on my ex long after I had stopped, mostly in hopes of delivering awful stories about Dwight, I knew — a gesture which never worked out, much to her disappointment.

  “Not that good of a match, I’m afraid. We broke up after a couple months or so. After that, I didn’t really have time for seeing anyone new. I think my last truly serious relationship was with you. Which shows how out of practice I must be,” he admitted. "I guess there's probably a reason for that."

  I could have pointed out plenty of reasons in the past, but now I was past that need, and wasn't certain all of it was true anymore. After all, time changes people. Maybe Dwight was as different now as I was. It hadn't completely been his fault we had broken up, anyway, as I had eventually admitted to myself.

  I tried to conjure the pieces of me and Dwight's past together, mentally pasting them into a timeline. The first meeting at a mutual friend's birthday party; the weekends of rented movies, fast food pizza, and nights out with our group of friends. It had been brief, and some of it had been fun, but there had always been something missing between us. It had never felt completely r
ight. Spending time with him was never as satisfying or fulfilling as I had wanted it to be.

  It was different with Matt. With him, it felt the way it was supposed to be. With butterflies and secret glances, and a touch that had become its own language — everything I had dreamed about before. Everything I was about to lose, perhaps.

  At our meeting, Dwight was more concerned with the catering negotiations than I was, insisting on all the special details Daphne and Benjamin loved most. He was devoted to making sure the price range fit the wedding budget, sticking to that point even when the caterer grew stubborn over the bottom price for his sliced tenderloin on toasted baguette bites. He's practically their event planner at this moment, not me, I thought. He must really like them.

  By the time it was over, and we exited the shop, my feet were sore from my tall, Valentino pumps, and the tight pencil skirt I was wearing felt constricting each time I boarded the Underground. Dwight checked his watch as we stepped from the last shop to the sidewalk. I realized with a glimpse at its hands that it was later than I thought.

  “What do you say to a real English afternoon tea?” he said. “You know, the British thing. Take a break before calling Daphne and Benjamin to confirm their choice.”

  “I don't know," I said, hesitantly. If I left now, I could take the train and have some time to myself to rest this afternoon. Maybe I could come up with the perfect Christmas gift for Matt, which had been eluding me for days now.

  “But we’ve missed lunch already,” he pointed out. "I don't know about you, but I'm starving."

  “I'm sorry, Dwight," I said. "I had no idea it would take this long." Of course, he had volunteered to come, but I felt that I should have found a way to end the debate over prices more quickly, so we could have both salvaged this afternoon for other things.