I'd been working on it all the way up the drive not only deciding on the menu (traditional), starting a cake and getting the large ham I had spotted out of the freezer to slowly defrost so I could cook it, but also finding the formal cutlery and crockery . . . and cleaning the dining room and downstairs cloakroom, too.

At least I'd already done the sitting room!

I would ignore the bit about decorations. Jess could come and put them up, if she really wanted to, though it hardly seemed worth it for one day.

I found a huge mixing bowl in one of the cupboards and into it went the dried fruit and chopped peel I'd bought that day, bulked out with some sultanas and a packet of slivered almonds (only a month out of date) from the store cupboard.

Into the mix went the drained and chopped contents of a jar of c.o.c.ktail cherries (these, tiny silverskin onions and olives seemed to be well stocked in the larder, among the pickles and preserves), and the brandy from the decanter in the dining room, eked out with a bit of rum.

Then I covered the bowl with cling film and put it on a shelf in the larder, before ticking that task off my increasingly extensive to-do list.

Advance organisation is the absolute key to successful catering for large parties I make that plain on the very first page of my book!

It wasn't a huge surprise to me when Jude rang just after I got in from giving Lady her warm mash and Billy a distracting handful of goat biscuits, and shutting the two of them in for the night. The wind had dropped, letting a few flakes of snow float idly down like feathers, so presumably the floppy phone lines weren't blowing about.

'Jude Martland,' he announced brusquely, as if I hadn't already guessed who it would be.

'Lady's fine she's just had her mash and she's snugly bolted in for the night with Billy,' I a.s.sured him, before he could ask. This time I was determined I wouldn't let his autocratic manner annoy me, but remain my usual calm, professional self. 'And Merlin had his arthritis tablet with his breakfast and I've just given him a good brushing which he badly needed, by the way.'

'Oh . . . right.' He sounded slightly disconcerted. 'That wasn't actually what I was going to say. I've just spoken to Noel and Tilda the line was too bad to hear a word earlier.'

'I know, it was a bit windy.'

'I understand you've agreed to do what I asked and cook Christmas lunch for the family?'

'Yes, but only because I was in an impossible situation and there was nothing else I could do. But it was your responsibility to look after everyone, not mine to try and pick up the pieces after you'd swanned off in a huff.'

'I did not swan off in a huff! And anyway, it's no business of yours why I decided to spend Christmas over here nor can I see why you're making such a fuss about laying on Christmas dinner, when everything has been provided for you by the Chirks and you're a cook anyway!'

'Chef,' I said icily, though normally I don't mind being called by either t.i.tle. 'And you obviously have no conception of the amount of work involved not just preparing, cooking and clearing up dinner, but cleaning your filthy dining room and the downstairs cloakroom, which looks as if mud wrestlers have had a bout in there.'

'Then get what's-her-name Sharon to help,' he said shortly.

'You've forgotten she's resigned.'

'Oh yes . . . Well, it's not that bad, is it? You're exaggerating! A quick run-over with a duster and the Hoover . . .'

'Look, I'm used to keeping the parts of the house I'm using clean and tidy though even then they don't usually need a total deep-clean but that's all I'm contracted to do, other than look after the animals! Conversely, when I'm doing house-party cooking, my clients don't expect me to do anything except produce delicious meals and my charges for that are extremely high!'

'Oh, I see! I suppose that's what this is really all about, trying to get a lot more money out of me?'

'No, it isn't and you couldn't afford my prices,' I snapped.

'According to that boss of yours at Homebodies, I'm going to be paying you double house-sitting rates anyway, so at this rate it would probably be cheaper to send them out to a good restaurant in a taxi,' he mused gloomily, 'except that they wouldn't go. They seem to think that you invited them out of the kindness of your heart they've no idea how very cold and mercenary you are, Mrs Brown.'

'I'm not in the least cold and mercenary, I simply resent being put in the position of picking up the pieces of the mess you left after you walked away from your responsibilities. And what about the elderly people in the almshouses who usually spend the day here, too?'

'I sent them a Christmas hamper each,' he said indignantly. 'And Henry.'

'Big of you, Mr Martland!'

'You know, I think you could start calling me Jude, now we're on insulting terms,' he suggested. 'Holly certainly suits you: spiky!'

'And you're objectionable and overbearing. And don't you think you're making a lot of unfounded a.s.sumptions about someone you've never met?'

'Well, aren't you?'

'No, I'm basing my opinion of you on hard evidence. But believe it or not, my only reason for agreeing to do the cooking was that I like your aunt and uncle and Jess and felt sorry for them Tilda's really too frail to cope alone. But think what you want to. Meanwhile I don't think we've anything further to say to each other. Good night Jude.'

'Don't you dare put the phone down on me again-' he growled, just as I did exactly that thing.

It rang again almost instantly, but I ignored it and then later, when I was going to ring Laura, it was dead as a dodo.

Chapter 11.

Slightly Tarnished.

Today I asked N what his home was like and he said it was an old house up in the hills in fact, just below one of the beacons. So I said, was it Rivington Pike, because I remember a Sunday school day trip there as a girl but he laughed and said no, much smaller than that and the little stone tower on the hill nothing much to look at.

February, 1945.

Last night I lay in bed reading Gran's journals late into the night again, more and more convinced that N.M. would turn out to be the Ned Martland she had loved and lost and one and the same as the black sheep of Old Place and therefore closely related to the obnoxious Jude. The description of his home was the clincher.

By some amazing coincidence Fate had directed me here but then, they say truth is always stranger than fiction.

I could tell she was increasingly fascinated by him (and he had quickly become simply 'N', so presumably they were now on first-name terms), but he sounded like a hardened flirt to me. Poor, innocent, chapel-bred Gran wouldn't have stood a chance . . .

However, since she then spent two sleep-inducing pages on pious reflections about the state of the world before the next entries, maybe she would prove entirely una.s.sailable.

There was a light sprinkling of snow when I went out to the stables, but, remembering what Becca had said, I put Lady and her smelly little friend out in the paddock anyway, where she immediately started to paw the snow from the gra.s.s as she grazed.

I am quite getting into a routine now, and soon had the loosebox mucked out and freshly laid with new straw ready for the evening. The exercise made me glow, so I expect it did me good. After that Merlin and I took a little walk up to the red horse, which was actually now white like everything else, though you could still see the b.u.mps and hollows of its outline.

I found a sheltered spot behind some gorse bushes and rang Laura on my mobile. She'd just got back from dropping the children at her mother's house for the day, to give her a rest.

I asked her how she was and she seemed to be blooming, as she always was during pregnancy.

'I hope mine goes as well, when I follow plan A in spring,' I said. 'I thought I could cook all summer to get some money in, and then retire until the baby has arrived. a.s.suming it works, of course there's no guarantee it will at my age.'

'Haven't you met any nice men up there? I was hoping you might, and give up the whole mad AI thing,' she asked hopefully.

'Yes Noel Martland's lovely, but he's ancient and married. And I suppose you could say I've met Jude Martland via the phone, but I'm so glad I'll have left before he gets back, because he's selfish, overbearing, autocratic . . . quite horrible! I think all he really cares about are his horse and dog.'

'You seem to have gathered a lot about him from a couple of phone calls,' she said, amused.

'We argue every time he's quite insufferable. He's got a really deep voice, too, and sort of rumbles at me down the phone.'

'What, one of those knicker-quiveringly deep voices?' she asked with interest. 'The kind that vibrate down your spine and back up again?'

'Laura!' I exclaimed, then laughed. 'But, yes, it does and I suppose it would be quite s.e.xy if he wasn't being so rude to me. And unfortunately I just can't seem to stop saying horrid things back, which isn't like me at all: normally I manage to keep a professional relationship going, whatever the provocation. But it isn't just his calls that make me dislike him, it's also seeing how his actions have affected everyone here.'

And I told her how he'd abandoned his duty to look after his family and the elderly people in the village and taken himself off in a fit of pique, after he saw the engagement announcement between his brother and his former fiancee.

'I expect he was so upset he didn't think it through,' she suggested.

'Perhaps not, but once he'd had time to think he could have come back, couldn't he? And then he seemed to a.s.sume that because the Chirks had invited his aunt and uncle to Christmas dinner, I should be happy to do the same . . . and actually,' I added, 'I am.'

'What, cooking Christmas dinner for his family?'

'Yes, the Chirks left an enormous turkey and Christmas pudding anyway. And then Tilda Martland is so frail I don't think she should even be trying to cope with the cooking, especially since she has her granddaughter to stay. Once I realised that, there wasn't anything else to do but invite them.'

'You are kind, Holly!'

'I'm not, really I didn't want to do it. Only then I started to feel that I was being as mean and selfish as Jude.' I sighed. 'So now I'm committed to hosting a family Christmas dinner in a house that doesn't belong to me and which is in need of a d.a.m.ned good clean, using food left by someone else!'

'You'll cope, you always do.'

'We've had some snow too, and I can see that we're likely to get cut off if it carries on you've never seen such a steep, narrow, bendy road as the one up to the village! Luckily, there's an amazingly well-stocked shop and enough food in the house to last a year, I should think, if you don't mind eating a lot of fish and game.'

'Jude shoots, then?'

'No, it's his Aunt Becca who does that, the horsy one. And she fishes, so she's probably responsible for the trout and salmon and the whole frozen pike.'

'A pike? How do you know it's a pike?'

'Everything is labelled. I've never cooked pike before, but they're supposed to be good eating . . . I have a recipe for stuffed pike in my book of old English cookery,' I added thoughtfully.

I always took my favourite recipe books away with me, along with my giant notebook, and it was just as well. It's amazing what I'm asked to cook sometimes!

'Are you serious?'

'Yes, of course. I couldn't eat a whole one myself, it's pretty big, so I would have to ask the Martlands back another time to help me eat it. On Christmas Day it will be turkey and all the tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs, of course, because that's what they're expecting.'

'It's quite funny, when you think about it, that you ran away from the idea of spending a family Christmas with me, but ended up having to host one yourself!'

'Yes, I know, I can see the irony of it,' I agreed. 'Still, after Christmas Day, things will go quieter and I can relax and get on with my book again. Meanwhile, Jude accused me of trying to squeeze a whole lot of money out of him for cooking for the family, when I don't intend charging for it at all! So I'm going to phone Ellen and tell her that if he calls, she isn't to tell him what I charge for house-party cooking. I told him he couldn't afford me.'

'Isn't he rich? The house sounds very grand!'

'Grand but neglected, with just that useless cleaner coming in, and she told me he paid her half the going rate so he has to be either poor or stingy or maybe both. But artists don't usually have loads of money, do they?'

'I think he's doing all right, he's quite well known.' She paused. 'It's the weekend Ellen hates being called then unless it's an emergency, doesn't she?'

'Tough.'

'And she's going to be really mad if you go ahead and get pregnant and then hand your notice in! You're her best and most reliable cook, she told me so.'

'Double tough. Laura, you know those wartime journals of Gran's?'

'Yes, they sound fascinating.'

'They're getting even more fascinating,' I said, and described how there seemed to be a romance forming between her and one of the patients and my growing conviction that the Ned Martland she had once loved was Noel Martland's younger brother.

'It does sound likely, doesn't it?' she agreed. 'It's such a coincidence that you should be there. Really, it's just like a novel!'

'That's what I thought, though I hope it's not a tragedy, because Noel's brother sounds like a bit of a bad lot. I'll have even more reason to dislike Jude Martland if his uncle broke Gran's heart!'

'They say everyone has got a novel in them, don't they? Only I'd have thought your grandmother's would have been a fairly sedate Mrs Gaskell sort of affair.'

'Yes, that's what I'm hoping. And I don't think I've got a novel in me but I might just have a recipe book if I ever have the time to finish it,' I added bitterly.

'How's it going?'

'Not very fast so far, because there's simply been too much to do and a constant stream of visitors. And when I've had a spare minute, Gran's journals have been a bit too fascinating to resist.'

'Well, ring me if you find out anything else interesting!'

I was getting chilly by then and only got Ellen's answering machine when I tried her number, so I left a message on that, before heading for home.

I gave the fruit soaking in brandy a stir and it was already starting to smell delicious: you really can't fail with that recipe.

Looking at my by now extensive to-do list, I thought I had better gird my loins and start on the rest of the cleaning, on the principle of getting done first what you least want to do.

It was already evident to me that the Jacksons, the elderly couple who had since retired, had really cared for the house. The linen cupboard, where tablecloths, runners and napkins were kept, smelt of lavender sachets and a plentiful supply of cleaning materials lined the utility-room shelves.

I filled a cream enamel housekeeper's bucket with everything I thought I would need and carried it through to the dining room, along with the old upright vacuum cleaner and a long-handled, slightly-moulting brown feather duster.

Always start at the top of a room and work downwards: that was the lesson Gran had taught me. I dealt with the cobwebs and worked my way down the panelling, then vacuumed some of the dust out of the curtains using the extension hosepipe, set on low. I'd polished the furniture and was well into cleaning the floor when Jess suddenly appeared.

I nearly had a heart attack when I caught sight of her dark figure with its pale face standing silently in the doorway. I gave a yelp and she said, 'Did I make you jump? I did knock, but I had Grandpa's key, so when there was no answer, I came in. Granny sent me to see if you needed any help. Not that I like housework,' she added mutinously.

'Neither do I, actually, but I do like the look and smell of a fresh, clean room. It would be wonderful if you could give me a hand. I've nearly finished in here and I was going to do the garden hall and cloakroom next, so if you could take the feather duster and get rid of all the cobwebs in the corners first, that would be great.'

'Oh okay,' she said, brightening slightly, presumably because I hadn't immediately handed her the vacuum cleaner. Merlin followed her out he didn't seem to like the noise.

I finished off the floor, then took the silver candlesticks and tray through to the utility room to clean later, before going to see how Jess was getting on.

'Merlin eats spiders,' Jess told me. 'I suppose he thinks they're snacks on legs.'