tinsel Flo has sewn round the hem.
‘What’s that green thing supposed to be?’
She looks at me as if I’m deranged. ‘It’s a sprout. Obviously.’
‘And that’s your nod to the festive season?’
‘Well, can you think of anything more Christmassy than an overcooked sprout?’
‘Ha, that’s true. I’m sure my gran used to put hers on to boil three days in advance of the big day!’
She nods. ‘Lovely cabbage-y smell drifting through the house and even lovelier after-effects.’ She grins. ‘I wanted to do Santa but that was far too complicated.’
I nod, appraisingly, putting the car in gear. ‘I like it. It’s different.’
‘Marjery won’t mind, will she? It is our last day, after all.’
‘I’m sure she won’t.’ The smile slips from my face.
Our last day.
It’s been fun, and I hope Marjery has been pleased overall with the food we’ve delivered. Apart from smashing her antique crystal plate, the week seems to have gone off reasonably smoothly.
But there are people I’ve met who I’ll definitely miss.
One in particular…one who raced to our rescue last night and saved Tavie and me from being out in that snowy field all night…
‘You okay?’ asks Flo.
I sigh and smile across at her. ‘You’ll never believe what happened to Tavie and me last night…’
*****
We work away all day, creating the array of ten perfect hors d’oeuvres – some savoury, some sweet – making dozens of each one. They’re quite fiddly to make but the end result is gorgeous.
Flo finishes putting the icing on the very last mini mince pie, and we both sigh and step back to admire our handiwork.
‘I think we’ve smashed it,’ she says.
‘We said we wouldn’t talk about Marjery’s crystal dish.’
‘Oh, ha ha.’
‘We still have to put the finishing touches to the chilli, rice and garnishes. And the sticky toffee pudding, for those folks who’ve danced their feet off and are starving come midnight.’
‘We can leave once the food’s all done though, can’t we?’ asks Flo. ‘It’s not as if we’re serving the food tonight.’
‘That’s true.’
Marjery has organised for three cheerful youngsters – two girls and a boy, all students at the local catering college, wanting to earn extra money – to walk around with the large platters of finger food, and serve the chilli and sticky toffee pudding around midnight.
By seven, the glamorously-dressed guests are starting to arrive, braving the snow and ice and trundling along the winding drive, eager to experience Marjery and William’s wonderfully elegant Cinderella Ball. I keep recalling that night I danced with Bob, while Rhoda taught Noah the waltz…how good it felt to be whirled around the floor by an expert…and how my one chance to dance with Noah was stolen away by Melanie…
They’re sure to be dancing together tonight. Noah and Melanie.
I can’t bear to watch them, but at the same time, I have this weird compulsion to go and look.
By eight-thirty, the waiting staff are ferrying out our platters of finger food at an alarming rate.
‘Do you think we’ve made enough?’ I murmur, worried.
‘Definitely. There’s all the food in the pantry as well, remember? Just in case we need extra.’
‘True.’ I breathe a little more easily.
The young waiters, rushing in and out, are dressed simply in black. The girls have tied up their ponytails with gold tinsel and are wearing sparkling, Christmas bauble earrings. They seem to be doing a very professional job of ferrying out the platters, with a sparkle in their eye for the guests. I just wish I could go in with them and savour the atmosphere of the ballroom for myself.
‘I’m sure Marjery wouldn’t mind us having a little look. From the door, of course,’ I say to Flo, my heart beating a little faster at the thought.
‘Do you think?’
‘Come on. Let’s have a peek.’
The ballroom door is wide open and the sight that greets me almost takes my breath away.
The guests have really gone to town with their costumes. The men in their breeches and tail coats look so stately and handsome, but it’s the women’s gowns that really draw the eye. From purple silks and scarlet satins to the pretty pinks, mint greens and patterned cream muslins, their effect is wonderfully colourful and evocative of a bygone era.
‘It’s more Jane Austen than Cinderella, I’d say,’ says Flo. ‘It’s like a ball scene from Pride & Prejudice.’
I nod. ‘Marjery’s a big Jane Austen fan, apparently, so she must be in her element tonight. Look what she’s wearing.’
Flo locates her, standing with her husband, talking to Rhoda and Bob. Her eyebrows shoot up. ‘Wow,