A Brambleberry Manor Christmas - Rosie Green Page 0,16

and I have catered, and both times, it went down a storm. Clean plates all around, always a good sign. It’s the dessert that worries me. It doesn’t match what’s on the menu, so Marjery will know that something went wrong.

Taking out the main course with Flo, butterflies take flight in my stomach. Added to the fear of things going wrong and disappointing Marjery is the thought of coming face to face with Noah again.

I can’t believe I charged into that clearing imagining someone was being murdered!

Passing a mirror in the hall, I catch sight of my flushed complexion and instinctively, I straighten my posture. I’ll have to brazen it out. I can’t hide in the kitchen all week just because I made an idiot of myself with one of the guests.

The dining room looks beautifully festive, lit by a ceiling-high Christmas tree in the corner and hundreds of warm white fairy-lights strung around the room. Candles, entwined with holly, berries and ferns, glow at intervals along the centre of the magnificent table. I can’t help feeling glad of the atmospheric lighting – it means no-one can see my blushes in all their glory.

I concentrate on delivering the plates of beef, moving anti-clockwise around the table as Marjery stipulated, while Flo brings in the serving platters of vegetables, mini Yorkshire puddings and the rich gravy in small jugs. The table has been extended to accommodate the extra four guests this evening, although Marjery has assured me that on subsequent evenings, the number of diners will be no more than twelve. (I did a quick calculation in my head but could only come up with eleven. Then I remembered the other girl who’s apparently arriving the day after tomorrow. Constance.)

It all seems to be going well. The hum of conversation and laughter round the table continues as we serve, and everyone seems in a convivial mood. Marjery and her husband, William, are sitting at opposite ends of the long table, with a ‘boy-girl’ seating arrangement for the rest of the diners.

‘Ooh, that looks absolutely scrummy!’ enthuses Melanie, smiling up at me as I put down her plate. She steals a glance at Marjery, at the far end of the long table, and winces slightly. ‘It’s probably a bit naff to make comments like that at a formal dinner party,’ she murmurs. ‘Honestly, I couldn’t do sophisticated if I tried.’ She shoots a glance at Fergus, who’s sitting opposite.

Fergus smiles but his face is a little stiff, as if he’s feeling less than comfortable himself in this rather formal setting. I reflect that he’s probably feeling a bit shy, and I feel a kinship with him at that moment, recalling all the times I sat awkwardly myself at dinner parties when Harvey was entertaining business clients. Later, Harvey would put his arm around me and tell me I was being silly when I admitted I felt that I never had anything interesting to say.

I swallow hard. Forget about Harvey. Work to be done.

‘You don’t need to be sophisticated, Melanie,’ says Noah. ‘We’re all friends here.’

Hearing his familiar deep voice takes me by surprise, and the plate I’m laying down clinks loudly against Marjery’s wine glass. I murmur an apology and when I look up, I catch Noah’s eye, and he gives me a little smile as if he understands my discomfort.

When I saw him earlier, at the zip wire, he was dressed casually in jeans and a winter jacket, but for the dinner, he’s changed into a dark suit and tie and a white shirt. It looks good on him with his broad shoulders and dark hair. Very old-style James Bond.

As I get nearer to serving Noah, I find my heart rate quickening. And when I’m finally standing next to him, I’m convinced my face must be glowing more eye-catchingly than the Christmas tree they’ve erected on Sunnybrook village green!

I can feel those blue eyes on me as I try to stop the spoon and fork in my hand shaking.

I just need to get the beef onto his plate. But my knees are trembling so much, it’s as if I’m serving him on a bloody merry-go-round! What the hell’s wrong with me?

‘I hope you’ve recovered from our shock meeting earlier on,’ he murmurs. ‘I don’t know about you but I’m still feeling the reverberations.’

I laugh softly and force myself to meet his eye.

Big mistake.

Speaking of reverberations…I’m feeling them now where I really should not be feeling them – not while I’m attempting