Christmas at the Island Hotel - Jenny Colgan Page 0,21

the scented air gave everyone a thrill. It didn’t matter how old you were: Christmas was coming! And that was always the most exciting feeling. Agot stomped over, irritated that the tree hadn’t come yet, but when she realized the highly polished wood was very slippery, she took off her shoes and was soon skidding round the room in her stripy tights. Flora thought, Health and safety, and filed it away to mention to Fintan later.

Colton had bought a number of old barrels from a distillery that was closing down, and the wood on the fire had the deep aroma of peat and whisky. It was, as Flora always thought, the most comfortable place you could be, with soft chairs and the anticipation of a good meal ahead. Gala had greeted them happily and brought them drinks, and everyone was stretching out good-naturedly. Agot stopped skating and got happily buried in her sketch pad with her felt-tip pens, as usual drawing everyone in her life including Dead Uncle Colton but missing out Douglas, which was, Flora supposed, something of an improvement from when she’d presented them with a mass family portrait with everyone in it including Douglas, but with a huge black scribble across Douglas’s face.

Pam, Charlie, and, irritatingly, Malcy, Pam’s large father, who’d done very well for himself and liked everyone to know it—and hadn’t been scheduled to come—had arrived bang on time, which made Flora anxious. She glanced at Fintan, who patently didn’t care. The problem was the Dochertys were big spenders on this island: golf club dinners, big parties, and weddings. They needed to impress these people. She wished Fintan would at least try.

There was no menu, first off, which Flora looked worried about and Innes frowned at. Fintan was drinking and not paying attention, which was almost as worrying to Flora as the lack of menu was. Well, perhaps this was the modern way and it would be something unexpected and magnificent. She ordered some wine off Gala, and they tried to chat even though there wasn’t even a piece of bread on the table.

“I’m hungry,” came a warning voice from underneath the table, but you couldn’t say it wasn’t a shared emotion.

INSIDE THE KITCHEN, Gaspard was still holding up a knife as if it were a weapon.

For the first time in his life, Konstantin was on his hands and knees, picking something up. He didn’t know what to do with it and was grateful when Tam came and took it from him and put it away in a cupboard.

“Chop!” said Gaspard.

And finally, the cold wind still blowing outside, Konstantin decided that for once discretion was the better part of valor and picked up an onion and a knife without the slightest enthusiasm. He stared at it.

Gaspard had already moved on and was shouting about stock. Kerry and Tam were keeping their heads down, waiting for it to pass. Konstantin tried stabbing the onion and let out a heavy sigh. Isla was just next to him.

“Just chop it,” she hissed. She couldn’t believe they hadn’t gotten more prep done this afternoon, but apparently Gaspard had been out and become distracted by a field full of wild garlic he hadn’t been expecting, as a result of which she was now chopping up head after head of them to stud the lamb. She smelled pungent, she knew, and it would be seeping through her pores for days.

She snuck a look at Konstantin. He was doing a truly horrible job, hacking away at the defenseless onion like it had insulted him in some way. Isla edged away from him a little. Konstantin noticed and hacked again even more viciously. Great. Here he was locked in a dungeon in a howling storm, and even the kitchen girl didn’t want to talk to him. He wanted to tell her that where he came from, the girls who worked in the kitchen loved him . . . then he started thinking of what was going on at home right now. The run-up to Christmas in Norway was incredibly beautiful. The Christmas markets went up early, and the delicious scent of glogg filled the air, as the warm, gingery mulled wine was poured over crushed almonds and raisins in the bottom of the glass and topped with a little aquavit that lifted the entire warming scent of Christmas in your two hands, steam curling off the top.

This year they had had early snow; you could see it on the hills, which were thick