The Sun Sister (The Seven Sisters #6) - Lucinda Riley Page 0,222

long eyelashes fluttering against her skin as she dozed, she was the perfect picture of relaxation.

Cecily sat down next to her.

‘Oh little one, what on earth are we going to do when Daddy gets home . . .?’

Apart from dashing out while Stella was sleeping to buy jugs of fresh milk from the Maasai woman who had a stall on the road that led to Gilgil, Cecily’s preparations for Christmas were virtually non-existent. Time and again she tried to think what she would say to Bill, but eventually she decided that she would simply have to play it by ear.

On Christmas Eve, she put a record of carols to play on the gramophone, thinking how difficult it was to feel Christmassy when the thermometer was nearing seventy degrees. She bathed in the tub, washed her hair and left it to dry naturally – Bill had commented how he liked it like that – taming the curls slightly with a couple of bobby pins. She dressed in a fresh blouse and cream skirt, fed and changed Stella and put her to bed in the bassinet in the nursery. Then she fixed herself a hefty gin with a little vermouth, and sat in the drawing room waiting for her husband to arrive home.

As she heard the sound of tyres on the drive, her stomach did a crazy flip.

It’s okay, Cecily, you just have to tell him that you cannot possibly let him take her to an orphanage . . .

‘Hello,’ Bill said, as he arrived in the hall, carrying a large tree that despite its needle-like leaves, didn’t much resemble the Christmas trees she remembered from New York. ‘Look what I dug up en route! I’ll put it in a bucket in a jiffy and maybe you’d like to decorate it.’

‘I . . . okay.’

‘I’ve also managed to purloin a number of delicious things for us to eat. I’ll fetch them in a moment,’ he added, giving her a peck on the cheek. ‘Merry Christmas, Cecily.’

She was rather taken aback by her husband’s unusually high spirits. Trying but failing to remember how Bill had been last Christmas – the whole thing had passed in such a blur of misery, the memory had been wiped from her mind – she was glad he seemed so cheerful. It might aid her cause.

‘Oh! I almost forgot, there’s a hamper from Kiki which Aleeki dropped off at the club for you. It’s still in the back of the pick-up, and I’m pretty sure from the smell that it includes a side of smoked salmon. It probably needs eating pronto.’

‘Smoked salmon sandwiches, what riches!’ Cecily smiled as Bill bolted out of the door to retrieve it.

She poured them a gin and vermouth each, as Bill filled up a bucket with soil and positioned the ‘Christmas’ tree in it so they could decorate it.

‘It’s all a bit “make do and mend”, but who cares?’ he said. ‘One should definitely celebrate Christmas as well as one can.’

‘You like Christmas?’ Cecily stated the obvious.

‘I love it. Always have, since I was a little boy. It may seem out of character for a man like me but I just enjoy the fact that everyone is in a good mood. Even my parents didn’t fight over Christmas. Now, I’m sure we have some decorations from last year in the barn. I’ll go and get them.’ Bill moved towards the back door.

‘Wait! I . . .’

‘What is it?’

‘Oh, I’m just a bit weary, that’s all. Could we put them up tomorrow?’

‘Cecily, tomorrow is Christmas Day, and it’ll all nearly be over bar the shouting. It won’t take me a minute to get them and I can put them on the tree myself if you’re too tired.’

Bill was out of the door and Cecily was out of excuses to stop him. She hoped against hope that he wouldn’t notice the things that were missing from the barn.

He was back in a trice, carrying the box of decorations.

‘All the things you gathered for the baby have disappeared. May I ask what you’ve done with them?’

‘Oh . . . I’ll tell you later. Now, let’s get these decorations on the tree,’ she said, gulping back some gin as she led Bill towards the drawing room.

‘You know, Cecily, the difference in you from this time last year is remarkable. You stayed in bed on Christmas Day, do you remember?’ he asked her as they began to hang baubles on the tree.

‘I’m ashamed to say that no, I