Calling Mrs Christmas Read online

  I do a double take. Across the miles? I look up at Jim, frowning. ‘Is this supposed to be funny?’

  ‘What?’ he says.

  ‘Is it some sort of cryptic comment about my trip to Lapland?’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Happy Christmas across the miles?’ I show him the card.

  His face falls.

  ‘Is this about Carter too?’ I say. ‘Do you not want me to go?’

  He’s still looking perplexed when he takes the card from me. He stares at the front and then sighs wearily. ‘This isn’t about Carter. It isn’t about your trip to Lapland. In fact, it’s not about you at all. It’s about me.’

  ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

  ‘I forgot about our dinner. I forgot to buy you a card. I ran into the supermarket at the last minute and grabbed the nearest one. I just thought it was pretty. I didn’t even stop to read the words.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘I mean that much to you?’

  ‘I’ve had a really crappy day, Cassie. The crappiest of crap days. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.’

  ‘I’ve been running round like a lunatic for the last few weeks, trying to get this business going.’ I can hear myself shouting and I don’t want to. I want to stop. This is Jim. He hardly ever fucks up. But this was important to me. ‘When I could have been doing other things that would actually have earned us some money, I’ve worked half the day trying to make this meal nice for us. All you had to do was buy a bloody card.’

  ‘I suppose the “other things” would have involved Carter Randall,’ Jim shouts back. ‘Like I said, he’s the man who seems to be occupying your every waking moment.’

  ‘And like I said to you, it’s business.’

  ‘Is it really, Cassie? Are you sure that’s all it is?’

  If I’m honest, I’ll admit that Carter has expected so much from me that most of my working days and nights have been spent sorting out his Christmas for him. I don’t want to let him down. If he tells his contacts about me, then my business could really fly. He might be paying handsomely for my services, but he’s definitely getting his pound of flesh.

  ‘You’re going away with him, Cassie. For four days. And nights. To naffing Lapland.’

  ‘You were the one who said you were happy for me to go with him.’

  ‘If I told you now that I wasn’t happy at all, would it change anything? Would you cancel your holiday?’

  ‘It’s not a holiday, it’s a…’ I run out of words. What is it exactly? I’ve been running about, so excited about it that I have to remind myself. ‘It’s a business trip. One that I’ve organised. It’s a holiday for my clients. I’m there in a purely professional capacity.’

  Jim raises his eyebrows. ‘No one else could take your place?’

  In truth, I’m sure Carter could have chosen to take anyone with him that he wanted to. A friend, his assistant, the housekeeper. So why me?

  ‘We talked about this,’ I say feebly. My head’s spinning. Jim is never unreasonable and I don’t know where this has suddenly come from, but it’s hit me like a bolt from the blue. Has this been simmering all this time, unspoken? Seems so.

  Jim’s eyes are bleak. ‘Whatever you want to call it, you’re jetting off tomorrow night with a divorced millionaire and a handsome bastard to boot. How do you think I feel?’

  ‘You should have said. When I first asked you. You said that you were OK with it. I could have told him no then. At that point, I could have pulled out. Now I’m committed. I can’t let him down, Jim. It would look so unprofessional. I simply can’t.’

  Jim necks his wine. ‘But you’re happy to let me down?’

  Then, for the first time in all the years I’ve known him, he stomps out of the room.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  We wake up still bad friends. My night of passion never happened and we slept back to back, keeping to our own sides of the bed. It’s a long, long time since we’ve done that. I can’t even remember when it last happened.

  To make it worse, I pretend to be asleep while Jim gets ready for work. He doesn’t bring me a cup of tea as he usually does and I hear the door slam firmly behind him when he leaves. I hope he’s got a hangover as, apart from one little glass, he polished off all the wine himself and then morosely drained the dregs of a bottle of brandy we’d got lurking at the back of the cupboard. I sat and stared blankly at some rubbish on the television while making bows for Carter’s Christmas tree. He knew who they were for – I’m sure he did – and maybe that incensed him even more.

  I sigh to myself. I hate falling out with Jim. We hardly ever do it. This business, which has been bringing us together, now threatens to push us apart. I lie in bed, stewing. Should I just ring Carter today and tell him that I can’t go to Lapland, that I have to stay at home here and do… what? What exactly do I have to stay for? It’s true that there’s a lot in the diary, but it’s all simple stuff. Nothing that Jim couldn’t manage with a bit of help from Gaby and the boys. They could easily hold the fort for me. It’s only four days, for heaven’s sake. It’s not as if I’m disappearing for two weeks. And I really don’t think that I could bear to let Carter down at such short notice. It would be so amateur. He has been a great supporter and has helped to give me the belief that I can do this.

  I worry at my fingernails. Dammit! When it boils down to it, I just want to go on this bloody trip!

  I can understand that Jim isn’t wildly happy about it and, if I’m honest, I’d love it if he was coming along too. It’s going to be mind-blowing, I’m sure. I’ve organised every aspect to the very best of my ability. That’s why I don’t want to miss it. I want to make sure that it’s every bit as perfect as I’ve planned. When am I ever going to get to travel in such ostentatious luxury again? I have never even come close to this level of decadence. This is a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Jim knows that. I know that. That may sound selfish, but it’s true. I’m sure anyone would feel the same way.

  I’m disappointed that he thinks he can’t trust me. All these years that we’ve been together, I’ve never once looked at another man. This is business. I want Carter as a customer next year so I need to keep him happy. All this festive frivolity is costing him a small fortune and earning me one in the process too. I want Carter to know that I am the best Christmas planner in the whole wide world and wimping out on this trip isn’t the way to do it.

  I’m going up to Randall Court today. I have so much to do and now I’m kicking myself that I spent hours cooking for our disastrous ‘romantic’ dinner when I could have been doing so much else.

  I have to pack the children’s cases and Carter’s too. I’m going to make a start on the Christmas decorations, though I’m wondering whether I’m going to get everything done in a day when, in my diary, I’d booked out two. I’d planned to do this earlier in the week, as I’d wanted to clear the decks for him as much as humanly possible, but there’s still a bit of a backlog. If I don’t get all of the house done today, it will have to wait until I get back. Even Carter must understand that I can’t be in two places at once. I also need to check that all is well with the lighting company, which will be back again today to finish dressing the front of the house and to start on the grounds at the back.

  Hauling myself out of bed, I make my own tea and get ready to face the day. I’d like to try on all my swizzy ski gear again, but I simply don’t have the time. I pack all that I can in a rush. The car is coming for me tonight at five o’clock and the private jet leaves Luton International Airport at six-thirty. Only if Jim comes home as quickly as he possibly can will I get to see him before I leave. I look at my phone. I should call him, leave him a loving message, but I’m not in the right mood yet. Part of me still feels snappy and hurt. Across the bloody miles, indeed.

  An hour later I’m swinging through the gates of the big house. It’s the first time I don’t feel intimidated. I don’t exactly feel as if I belong, but I no longer feel as if I’m here under false pretences
. Carter is away in New York, I think, and he’s meeting me at the airport tonight with the children. With everyone away, I guess I’ll have the place pretty much to myself. He won’t see what I’ve done until after we’re back from Lapland and it’s such a shame that I won’t be able to finish it all in time. What a lovely surprise that would be.

  As I park up, I’m grateful to see that the outdoor Christmas tree is still standing in all its glory and I have to say it really is fabulous. I think if Carter wants to have one there permanently, we should think about planting a fir in the spring. It’s the perfect spot.

  Thankfully, the lighting company are already here and waiting for me. I walk round to the back of the house with the men to discuss the plans. They seem to have come armed with a truckload of stuff and it’s all I can do to stop myself clapping my hands with glee. The trees out here are going to be draped with a multitude of white twinkling lights. I’m having a pergola built, more like a small bandstand really, that will be totally covered in lights too. Inside it there’ll be a bench dressed with Christmas foliage. At the edge of the woods there are to be wire reindeer sculptures in a group, all dressed with lights too. I think – I hope – it will look marvellous, magical. Once I’ve gone through the plan again, I leave the men to it. They’re going to be here all day today and most of tomorrow, and seem ultra-efficient. Again, I wish I was here to supervise, but by tonight – if all goes to plan – I’ll be up and away beyond the Arctic Circle.

  Carter’s assistant, Georgina, lets me into the house through the back door and organises Hettie to bring me some tea. The Christmas tree has also been erected in the entrance hall and is equally magnificent. I think that I’ll start on that first. I have an extensive layout on the computer at home and I’ve got a printout with me to double-check everything. I’ve never done so many spreadsheets in my life and I’ve certainly never needed one for my own Christmas decorations. The idea is that I’m also going to dress the banisters of the galleried staircase, so that’s going to take me a while. Plus the mantelpieces in the rooms downstairs are going to be festooned with swags. Every available nook and cranny is to have its current occupants packed away and replaced by vases brimming with festive flowers. Upstairs, I’m also decorating the children’s bedrooms using artificial Christmas trees. More than enough to keep me busy.

  I make a dozen trips to the car to bring in my boxes of baubles. I’m just unpacking my first one when Hettie brings my tea.

  ‘Oh, this will look lovely,’ she says when she sees my colour scheme.

  ‘I’ve gone with bright, fun colours for the children,’ I explain. ‘I just hope Carter approves.’

  The boxes are overflowing with baubles and bows in cerise, purple, turquoise and lime green. I’ve got flowers and garlands in the same shades. There are also key pieces in iridescent glass. I’m aiming for modern but stylish.

  ‘I’m sure he will,’ Hettie assures me. ‘He’s quite an easy man to please. It’s nice to see you bring a smile back to his face.’

  I do?

  ‘I shouldn’t say it,’ Hettie lowers her voice, ‘but there’s not been a lot of happiness in this home for the past year or two.’

  ‘That’s sad.’

  ‘So it is,’ she agrees. ‘It’s the children I worry about. They’re so delightful. I just hope their parents can sort themselves out. I shouldn’t be speaking out of turn, but Tamara has never been much of a mother to them. I think they get in the way of her career.’ Then, briskly, ‘I’d better let you get on, looks like you’ve enough to do.’

  Perhaps she’s thought better of the fact that she’s gossiping with me.

  ‘I’m busy trying to fill the freezer so they won’t starve while I’m not here over Christmas,’ she adds. ‘Let me know if you need anything. I can make you a sandwich for lunch.’

  She heads back to the kitchen, giving me a friendly wave as she goes. I wonder if Carter has told her that there’s a chef coming in for the holidays. Possibly not and I don’t think that it’s my place to break the news to her. Especially not if I want that sarnie.

  I think of my argument with Jim last night, which seemed to come out of nowhere, and I want to call him. I want to tell him that I still love him and that, even though I’m determined to go on this trip, he has absolutely nothing to worry about. He can be jealous of the adventure, but not of the man. I pull out my mobile and go to ring him, but my fingers stall. This isn’t really the time. If Jim’s having a busy day and is distracted it could all go horribly wrong. I don’t want to rush this conversation. So I wonder if I could try to catch him at his lunchtime break. I’m sure he’ll pop out to check his messages then – he usually does.

  So I put my phone away and, instead, I turn my attention to the tree. I’ve been watching a lot of American festive decorating videos on YouTube as they seem to be the masters at it, sparing no expense in dressing their homes for Christmas. I only hope that I haven’t gone completely over the top. However, a house this size demands something special. You can’t just stick up a six-foot artificial tree from Asda and hope for the best. It would be totally lost in here. So I’ve gone BIG!

  I wonder how Tamara used to decorate it. Did she do it herself or get someone in? I think if there had been a regular person, Georgina would surely have got her to do it. Is Tamara really as indifferent a mother as Hettie intimated? My heart goes out to those children as I know exactly how that feels. Doesn’t Tamara realise how lucky she is? If I were in her shoes, I’m sure I’d damn well make a better job of it. Then I remind myself that this isn’t a competition with Carter’s wife. This is me just doing my job to the best of my ability. But, as I look up at the towering tree, I think this year it’s going to look better than it ever has before and everyone who gazes upon it will have their socks blown off.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Before I can start on decorating the tree, I have to bring in my stepladders. I totter my way across the gravel with them and set them up in the hall. The tree still looks dauntingly tall even from halfway up it. I’m actually going to have to stretch to even reach the top of the tree.

  Finally, I’m ready and I work my way down from the top, feeding the wires of the white lights through the branches. It’s a beautiful tree, thick and glossy. I start by twining the lights through the branches – four sets of them. When I’ve checked that they’re working properly, I start on the trimming and add an enormous cerise star to the pinnacle, then work my way down with the bows. I’ve used wire-edged ribbon – fifty metres of it! – and I carefully tie on the home-made bows. All this I have learned from tutorials on YouTube. I let the tails drape through the tree as artistically as I can manage. So that I can bill Carter accurately, I’ve kept a record of all the hours I’ve spent making pretty bows and, believe me, it’s a lot. The upside is that you can still watch telly while you’re doing them. The key, my internet guru says, is to fill the inside of the tree so that everything’s not plonked in a line on the outside. I always thought I was a bit of a dab hand when it came to decorating trees – Gaby usually gets me to do hers too – but I’ve learned so much.

  I add my baubles, starting with the smaller ones on lofty branches and graduating to larger ones around the bottom of the tree, remembering to fill in the middle. I intersperse the baubles with iridescent icicles that, even on a dull winter’s day, catch the light spectacularly. This will look totally amazing when I turn the lights back on again.

  I’ve bought some glitzy cerise material to drape around the base to hide the pot and all the wires from the lights. I stand back to admire my handiwork. It looks beautiful, even though I say it myself, and makes this cavernous white hall look warm and welcoming. And oh so very festive!

  But it’s all taking so much longer than I thought. It’s lunchtime before I’ve finished the tree and I realise that I need to buy some plastic storage boxes for when the time comes to pack everything away. I’m only hoping that I can find somewhere to store it all for the coming months. If I’m going to
do this again next year, I want to be able to recycle and reuse.

  I get my promised sandwich from Hettie and eat it standing up at the breakfast bar in the kitchen. She’s busy so we don’t chat much, stopping only to talk about the weather in between mouthfuls for me and stirring or chopping for her. I call Jim, but his phone goes straight to voicemail. There’s nothing to do but leave a message.

  ‘Hi,’ I say. ‘Can you call me?’ I don’t want to launch into an apology while Hettie is here. I lower my voice and say, ‘Love you.’

  I hope Jim feels the same, but now I can only wait until he rings back.

  After my brief lunch I start on the garland that’s going to go up the staircase. There’s masses of it. First, I thread on the foliage – fake for ease of handling – winding it in and out of the rails. Then I thread it through with the same ribbons and bows that I’ve used on the tree. I hook on matching baubles too and little presents wrapped in co-ordinating foil paper. I step back to check it out. Wow. It certainly makes a statement. But I’m never going to get it all done in the next few hours. So I work my way up to the first landing on the stairs on both sides, by which time I’ve run out of bows. I’ll need to make a whole heap more, but I’m not sure when. Perhaps I ought to take some ribbon to Lapland.