Ghosts of Winter (21 page)

The wood of the great staircase creaked loudly, for no apparent reason, as it often did. I imagined the house was trying to talk to me. I wished Winter could tell me its stories, that the walls could talk, as the cliché went. Now these walls sheltered me impassively. I was reassured to believe Winter and I were facing the future together, a team.

I took a sip of my tea and paced around the hallway restlessly, coming to a stop in the shadow of the stairs close to the entrance to the Saloon. I looked through the open door. Distracting myself with thoughts about how I would decorate and furnish what would eventually be a spectacularly beautiful room presented itself as a good way to regain my focus. I was about to step inside when a loud knock on the front door made me jump and almost spill my tea.

My mind raced as I considered who could possibly be calling on me in the early afternoon of Christmas Day. My first assumption was Maggie Potter, and I wondered how on earth I would explain to her why I was alone, eating soup and Christmas cake, when I’d claimed to have friends visiting me. I contemplated not answering the knock. Then I wondered why Maggie, with her farmhouse family Christmas, would be here at all, unless it was something urgent. I hastily put my tea on the table and crossed the hall to the door.

When I opened the door, beginning to worry, it was to find Anna looking at me expectantly. A combination of elation and terror almost made me close the door again and pretend I’d not seen her.

“Merry Christmas, Ros,” she said, with a genuine smile.

“Merry Christmas,” I replied automatically. “What are you doing here?” My pounding heart wiped out my ability to be polite.

“Very welcoming, I’m sure,” she remarked caustically, though her eyes were still unusually warm. “Especially since I come bearing gifts.” She raised her hands. One held what was clearly a wine bottle, wrapped in exquisitely beautiful golden wrapping paper. In her other was a flat box, also neatly gift-wrapped, which looked likely to contain chocolates. In the same hand she was gripping the handles of a cheap white plastic bag. I looked from the gifts back to her face. Her blue eyes burned into mine with a greater intensity than I’d seen there even when she’d spoken about her beloved architecture. Why was this stunning woman standing on my doorstep with wine and chocolates? I knew what it seemed to mean, but that was more than I dared allow myself to hope for.

“Thank you,” I managed to stammer. “I don’t have anything for you. In fact I don’t have very much at all in the way of celebrating Christmas.”

“Against your religion?”

“No, I just didn’t expect visitors, and I didn’t see much point buying anything special for just me.”

“I didn’t either, but then I thought, why just let Christmas go by without marking it? I had a feeling I’d find you here on your own.”

“You did?” I wondered how she knew enough of me to have guessed. Anna was still very much a conundrum to me, even more so now. I asked the most obvious question first. “You were on your own today too?”

“Yes. My parents live in West Sussex and my brother’s in Cambridge. Too far to travel.”

“Oh, I see.” I was surprised she didn’t have legions of admiring friends with whom to spend the day. I also knew by now Anna wouldn’t venture much more information about herself without my asking first. “What about friends?”

“I saw some of my friends for dinner last night, and I had one or two invitations for today. But I told them I had other plans.” There was no way to misinterpret her meaning. Her plan was to visit me at Winter.

“You planned to come to Winter?” I was unsure how far I should push the questions. What if I didn’t like the answers?

“Yes. I thought the old house might like a bit of company.” Her tone was ironic and beneath the words her true meaning more than apparent. She wanted to see me. Now she wanted me to acknowledge that I understood, as she looked at me with a question in her eyes. I took a deep breath and realised I couldn’t find the words. I wasn’t ready to launch myself into this quite just yet. But I couldn’t help being ridiculously glad she was on my doorstep.

“I’m sure Winter’s very pleased to see you.” I knew that response was awkward and tried to balance it with a smile. A vague shadow of disappointment flickered over Anna’s expression, and I cursed myself for not knowing how to handle this any better. Why could neither of us seem to manage to talk frankly about this? Did she really plan to visit me alone on Christmas Day? With what intentions? The thought she was here to see me because she had any intentions at all towards me circled in my mind until I found I not only accepted it but also grew excited by it.

“Are you going to let me in?” she asked, recalling me to the moment and the realisation we hadn’t moved from the doorway. I stepped back, and she passed through, handing me the gift-wrapped bottle and box, though she kept her grip on the mysterious plastic bag.

“Thank you,” I said, catching the scent of her perfume. Not her usual Tabac Blond today but a more sweetly delicious scent I couldn’t place, which somehow suited her even more. I watched as she hung her leather shoulder bag over the end of the banister and removed her black coat and green scarf. The sudden vision of Anna in clothing other than her professional suit astonished me. She was wearing black velvet trousers that hugged her hips and thighs sleek and close. They partly covered shoes not unlike her usual flat brogues, but these were classically styled in black and white leather. Her shirt was made of deepest blue silk, the buttons shimmering mother-of-pearl, and was open at the neck far enough to reveal a considerable expanse of the smooth pale skin of her throat and chest. I swallowed hard.

“You’re welcome.” She gestured at the gifts as I held them awkwardly. “I couldn’t come empty handed. Open them.” I looked at the expensive wrapping and allowed myself to smile. I wondered if I was perhaps dreaming the extraordinary and thrilling turn my afternoon had suddenly taken. The gifts felt rather too solid in my hands for this to be a dream. I focused on the gifts, and concentrated on the unwrapping. I began with the bottle. To tear the exquisite paper was a terrible thing, but I did so all the same to reveal a small bottle of beautiful golden wine. I peered at the black and gold label, knowing instinctively the wine was high quality. It was Italian. “Frescobaldi Pomino Vin Santo,” I read out loud.

“It’s my favourite dessert wine,” Anna said.

“It looks lovely.” I wondered just how generous the gift was.

“Less than forty quid too.” It was as if Anna was reading my mind. She was clearly amused, which was unusual, for Anna was rarely
clearly
anything. All of her expressions and moods seemed somehow more accessible to me this afternoon, even if she did not articulate them.

“Oh, cheap then,” I replied with a smile.

“I wouldn’t bring you expensive wine, Ros, you wouldn’t appreciate it.” Her mouth twitched as she tried to make her expression supercilious. I laughed out loud, delighted by the humorous side of Anna once again. My earlier depressed mood was rapidly receding, along with my bewilderment at her sudden arrival, as I simply began to enjoy her company.

It was very easy to enjoy her company.

I tore the paper from the rectangular gift, discovering chocolates, as I had guessed. I looked at the stylish box more closely.

“You buy your chocolates from Harrods?”

“I know, predictable isn’t it?” she replied, with a deadpan expression. “In my defence, I only use their online shop occasionally. It’s just I adore those chocolates in particular. They have wonderful vintage fillings like violet crème and stem ginger.”

“Thank you. They sound lovely.” I was impressed despite myself. “In return, I can offer you a slice of the best Christmas cake from the very exclusive supermarket in the next village.”

“I’ll pass on that delight for now, thank you,” she replied. “I’d actually rather like you to open the wine.”

“I love the sound of that.” I rummaged in the box in which I kept my utensils and found my corkscrew.

“I was hoping you’d have one. I wasn’t sure.”

“I brought as many things up here as I could think of,” I replied. “I don’t have real wine glasses though. Will this be okay?” I showed her a small tumbler.

“I’m sure I can manage. It will taste just the same.” Though the words could be sarcastic or condescending, I had no trouble interpreting Anna’s more light-hearted meaning now. Perhaps I was growing used to her, or maybe it was because she was more relaxed and therefore less guarded. Whichever, the pleasure it gave me made it difficult not to smile. Her previous discomfort had apparently vanished, but there was an air of heightened emotion about her, as though the smallest part of her control had slipped, or been pushed aside. And I responded to it.

I opened the wine with a pop and poured out our drinks. Thick, sticky, amber wine that looked as though it would taste of pure honey trickled into the glasses. I passed one to Anna, and she raised it in a toast. “To Winter Manor, I think,” she said.

I clinked my glass against hers, “To Winter. And Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.” We each took a sip of our wine. My taste buds were dazzled by a sweet, spicy fruitiness, silky and smooth on my tongue. “What do you think of my choice?” she asked, watching my reaction.

“It’s delicious,” I told her.

“You should be getting apricots, dried nuts, and cinnamon.” She paused and raised an eyebrow as she waited for my reaction. When I just stared at her and wondered what to say, her face relaxed and she laughed. “Though, if I’m honest, I got that from the label. As much as I enjoy a good wine, I can never place the flavours I can taste.”

“No, that would just be pretentious,” I said wryly.

“Yes. Just like shopping at Harrods,” she said in the same tone.

I took another sip of the wine, and noticed she was drinking hers rather quickly. The unusual excitement emanating from her made it seem there was something more she wanted to say. A pleasant tension, with none of the awkwardness there had been between us before, hung in the air. I was about to tell her to take a seat, since she had been standing since she entered, when my eyes fell on that anomalous plastic bag she’d been carrying, which now rested on the bottom step of the staircase. I looked at her with curiosity.

“So, what’s in the bag?”

“My other gift.” I saw a hint of challenge in her eyes and wondered what on earth had put that gleam there. My body surged in response.

“What is it?” I asked, unable to look away from her.

“Are you sure you want to know?”

“Of course I do. Is it expensive?”

“Not at all. I didn’t pay a penny for this one.” Her mysterious remark only intrigued me further.

“Now I really have to know.” The atmosphere between us grew charged. My legs were a little weak as I gazed at her.

“Okay then,” she said, going to pick up the bag. She opened it and I saw green leaves. “This was growing on an apple tree at the bottom of my garden.”

“You brought me a plant?” I asked, surprised and perhaps even disappointed. Then I caught her expression and grew warmer without knowing the reason.

“This is more than just a plant,” she said, pulling it out of its plastic wrapping. I saw at once it was a large clump of mistletoe, complete with white berries.

I said nothing, I simply looked from the distinctive foliage in her hand and back to her face. She was watching me keenly, with a touch of nervousness maybe, but mostly a mischievous playfulness suffusing her features. “It is Christmas, after all,” she said.

“It is.” My throat had seized up, and the words were almost a croak.

“And it’s nice to have a few traditions.”

“Yes.”

Anna took a few paces towards me, eyes still intently on mine, and raised the whole clump of mistletoe into the air above her head. I followed it with my eyes, until she spoke and my gaze jolted back to her face. “What do you say, Ros?” she said, her tone challenging. “Shall we honour the tradition?”

I covered the remaining distance between us slowly. The couple of inches in height difference meant I had to tilt my head back slightly to maintain eye contact. There was her perfume again, citrus and jasmine, heady like incense, intoxicating. Her shoulders were rising and falling with her deep breaths, and the ice blue of her eyes had mellowed to a softer indigo. As I moved closer, her breath was warm and carried the spiced sweetness of the wine. Our faces were almost touching now, our breath mingling. We paused, as if we both wanted to linger in the last instant of dizzying anticipation. At the same moment, we moved that small distance closer and our lips brushed. Hers were satin soft, and my own melted into them.

We both pulled back, the Christmas tradition of a kiss under the mistletoe satisfied. But I stared into her eyes, still, and our breaths came together, fast and deep. The short distance between our parted, tantalised lips was charged with electricity. For a long moment time stopped, and I knew she was going to kiss me again. The mistletoe brushed my arm as she let it drop to the floor, slipping one hand around my waist and pulling my body to hers as our mouths collided, this time with bruising intensity. Her hot lips parted against mine, her tongue slipping over my lips, demanding entrance to my mouth. I opened my mouth for her and allowed my tongue to twine with hers. I wrapped my arms around her slender body, running my hands over the cool silk of her shirt, which quickly warmed under my touch. One of her hands tangled in my hair, pulling me deeper into her kiss, as I pressed into her mouth, needing to taste her, to explore her.