What Happens At Christmas... Read online

  His letter was full of remorse for the appalling way he had treated his wife and daughter. One word he used time and time again was selfish. He knew he was acting selfishly, but he was powerless to do otherwise. The other expression he kept using was, I had to do it. It was as if he was being compelled to do this by some outside force that was beyond his control. He wrote of the tears streaming down his cheeks as the aircraft took off from Heathrow airport. By this time, tears were once more streaming down Holly’s cheeks and she knew she had to get up and do something. Carefully folding the letter, she replaced it in its envelope and returned it to the box. Where, she wondered, was his second wife now?

  At twelve o’clock precisely, Holly saw the magnificent old Rolls pull up outside. Seen in the daylight, it was even more beautiful than when she had seen it the night before – its deep indigo blue coachwork polished like a mirror, the chrome gleaming in the last rays of sun escaping from the increasingly cloudy sky. A young man wearing gloves and a flat cap was driving. As she left the house, leaving Stirling with a large biscuit to soften the blow of her departure, the driver held the car door open for her to climb in. Inside it was all red leather and highly polished wood. He gave her a smile.

  ‘Good morning, Miss. My name’s Geoffrey. Mr Redgrave asked me to collect you. It should only take a few minutes, but if you’re cold, there’s a plaid here.’ He indicated a fine tartan blanket resting on the seat beside her. The hood was down and she felt very grand, and just a bit foolish, as they drove majestically through the village. Luckily, she didn’t see a soul.

  Geoffrey the driver was right. To Holly’s surprise, five minutes later, he turned into the entrance of the Castle hotel and drove her up to the front door. Howard Redgrave was waiting for her on the step.

  ‘Holly, how terribly good of you to come.’

  She went over to him and kissed him on both cheeks. Glancing round, she lowered her voice. ‘Howard, this place costs a fortune. We could have gone to the Five Bells.’

  For some reason, the old man thought this hilarious. He led her up to the door and ushered her in, leading her across the entrance hall, past the Christmas tree, to an unmarked door. A porter bowed respectfully as they walked inside.

  ‘Welcome to my humble abode.’ Howard was grinning mischievously. She must have looked blank. ‘So you really didn’t know that I own this place?’ She shook her head in amazement. If she had thought to open the envelope he had brought with the invitation to the Christmas Ball, she would have seen where he lived. But it was still propped up against the toaster where she had left it. While she was still staring around blankly, the porter relieved her of her jacket and withdrew.

  ‘Come in, come in.’ Howard waved her into a magnificent lounge. The room was large and comfortable. The windows looked out onto a private garden and the walls of the room were hung with oil paintings of distinguished-looking gentlemen.

  ‘Your ancestors, Howard?’

  He turned and grinned at her. ‘We were too poor to have oil paintings, or ancestors. I come from very humble origins. No, most of the paintings and furniture came with the house.’

  Surprised, Holly caught his eye. ‘Forgive me for being personal, Howard, but I totally had you pegged for a member of the upper crust, some kind of aristocrat. Surely that’s what you are, what with your father’s love of English war heroes – and, be honest, your accent isn’t exactly Del Boy, is it?’

  The old man stepped a bit closer and lowered his voice. ‘Not many people know this, but I told your dad, so I can tell you. My father was valet, chauffeur and wartime batman to his Lordship who owned this place. His Lordship was a very good and a very generous man and he paid for us boys to go to a very posh school. That’s where the accent came from.’ He grinned again. ‘No, I’m common as muck, me.’

  ‘Well you could have fooled me. In fact, you did fool me. So you ended up buying the place from his Lordship?’

  Howard nodded. ‘When he died twenty years ago, it was put up for sale. I managed to get it at auction so it sort of stayed in the family after all. Now, let’s have a drink.’

  A bottle of champagne lay in a silver bucket on top of a grand piano, a crisp white linen cloth laid across its neck. Howard went over to open it.

  ‘In honour of your father, I’ve dug out a bottle of the ’85. You know he had a nose for fine wines and he told me this was one of the best. Thought I’d better lay down a few dozen.’ Holly saw that the label was Dom Perignon and she could only guess at how much a thirty-year-old bottle of champagne might be worth. He poured two glasses and passed one across to her. He glanced down at a piece of paper beside the champagne bucket. ‘I asked Gaston to print out the tasting notes off the internet. They say this wine has, an aromatic, almost herbaceous nose with greengage and honeysuckle – very complex. Palate is rich and fresh with notes of grass, apple and honey. This is a big, flamboyant champagne. Let’s see if they’ve got it right, shall we? Here’s to you, Holly.’

  ‘And to you, Howard, and thanks for having me.’ They touched glasses and then sipped the wine. It was a rich golden colour and tasted wonderful, even if Holly’s taste buds couldn’t catch a whiff of honeysuckle or greengage. They sat down on an enormous sofa by the fireplace where two massive logs glowed as they kept the room temperature high. Holly slipped off her jumper and laid it on the back of the sofa. ‘It’s wonderfully warm in here.’

  ‘Too warm for your dad.’ Howard spotted Holly’s interest. ‘He and I used to spend a lot of time together. Every time he came round here in winter he’d complain that it was too hot. Kept taking off his jacket and trying to open the windows. Strange really, seeing as he’d spent most of his life in Australia.’

  ‘So, what did you talk about, Howard?’ As ever, Holly was keen to learn as much as she could about her father.

  ‘Oh, the usual, you know. Cricket, wine, investments, women; that sort of thing.’

  ‘Talking of women, I spoke to Mr Cookson the farmer this morning and he told me the ladies all loved my dad. Was that so?’

  ‘Yes, they all loved him.’ Howard was looking into the fireplace.

  Holly took a deep breath. ‘But what about his wife, Howard? His Australian wife, the one he met as a child and never stopped loving?’ Both of them heard the emotion in her voice.

  His head turned towards her. ‘I wondered if you knew the whole story.’ He sounded relieved that she knew the truth. She nodded.

  ‘I only found out a few hours ago. Did he tell you about the letters he wrote to me?’ Howard shook his head, so she explained, observing his reaction as she revealed the contents of the cardboard box.

  He gazed at her in awe. ‘That’s truly amazing.’ He paused for reflection. ‘But it’s the sort of thing I can imagine him doing. He was a complex man, your father, and he could be stubborn when he wanted.’ He caught her eye. ‘And have you read them all?’ Holly shook her head.

  ‘I’ve got as far as the year 2000. In fact, when I get home this evening, I plan to carry on. What I now need to know is what happened to his second wife.’ She hesitated. ‘Do you know, Howard? Is she still alive? Have I got a stepmother, or whatever she is, over there in Australia?’

  Howard dropped his head and kept his eyes fixed on the logs in the fireplace as he answered. ‘She’s dead, Holly. She died in 2008 I think. It was after her death that he decided to sell up and come back here.’

  Holly digested the news. ‘How did he handle it?’

  Howard looked up. ‘She died while they were both living in Australia. I wasn’t over there, so I can’t tell you how he reacted initially. But, by the time he moved back over here a few months had already passed and he was coping. As far as the outside world was concerned, he grieved and then moved on. But he never did move on; not really.’ Holly met his eyes. ‘I know it’s bound to be difficult for you to hear, but she was his one true love. Her death was a crippling blow for him. I’m no doctor, but I’ve asked myself many times whether the cancer that killed him was born
when she died.’

  ‘So he sold his business and came back to Devon after her death? And there was nobody else in his life from then on?’

  ‘Just you, Holly. Just you.’

  It was a while before either of them spoke again. Finally, Holly carried on with her original query. ‘So the ladies here all liked him, but was there maybe one lady in particular? I see there are fresh flowers on his grave.’

  ‘I don’t think there was ever anyone special, you know. He just enjoyed female company and they clustered around him like flies.’ He looked up and he was smiling again now. ‘Bit like me, really, only I’m much more handsome.’ Without giving her time to comment, he raised his glass, drank some more champagne and muttered to himself. ‘Big and flamboyant. They’ve got it dead right. This really is a rather good wine.’

  He reached for the bottle and topped up both glasses, then, serious once more, he took hold of her hands and looked straight into her eyes. ‘Holly, I know it’s hard for you to bear, hard for you to understand. There was never another woman in his life after Lynda died. The fact is that she was his everything. He loved her the way Romeo loved Juliet, Abelard loved Heloise. He would have died for her. Her death was a crippling blow to him and he never recovered. When he came back here, he met people, made friends; men and women, but there was nobody who could replace Lynda. With one exception, Holly, and that would have been you, but you had been torn out of his life. Or rather, he had torn himself out of your life.’ He released her hands and took a mouthful of wine.

  Holly blew her nose into a tissue and they sat in silence for quite a while before he stirred himself, reached out and produced a large white envelope that he set down on the coffee table.

  ‘I found a few photos of your father. I wondered if you’d like to see them.’

  ‘Oh, Howard, that’s so very kind. I’m still going through his stuff, but so far I’ve hardly found any photos of him at all. Just the one of him on the GWB website with his second wife.’ She hesitated, then spoke the name. ‘With Lynda.’

  ‘Well, let’s see if you like these.’ He tipped the contents of the envelope onto the table. There were a number of shots of cricket teams, celebrations and some more formal events. Holly’s father was in all of them. Howard leant a bit closer and talked her through each of the photos, from the victorious 2009 cricket team to her father opening the new cricket pavilion. Her father looked healthy, handsome and happy in all the photos and Holly felt a thrill of pride to see him so obviously well-respected in the community.

  The one marked Christmas Eve 2012 was interesting. A large group had been assembled on the elegant stairs of the Castle, the men dressed in dinner jackets, the women in ball gowns. She recognised a number of the faces she had spied in the pub the other night, among them Bertie and his blue-haired wife Melissa, aka Marge Simpson. Right beside her father, Holly couldn’t miss a busty redhead in a green silk gown. She looked a lot younger than him, but from the way she was looking at him, she clearly liked him a lot. Might this be the woman putting flowers on his grave, she wondered.

  Anxious that she might be showing too much interest, Holly half-turned towards Howard, pointing to a different woman, her arm linked with Howard’s. She was tall, elegant and spectacularly beautiful. She could have been an ageing film star.

  ‘The stylish lady in the black gown, is that your wife?’

  For a moment, Howard showed his age as a shadow crossed his face. He nodded slowly. ‘Yes, that was my Bella.’ He looked up. ‘Not her real name. She was French and she was called Odile. I always thought it was a terrible name, so I called her Bella, from the Italian. Means beautiful, you know. Most beautiful woman in the world, I always thought.’ He summoned up a little smile. ‘Present company excepted, of course.’ He took a mouthful of champagne and carried on. ‘She died of that damned cancer, just like your father. It was in the spring of last year, but she’d been dying slowly for six months. We were together for almost forty years, you know.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Howard. She certainly was a very beautiful lady.’

  ‘She was, she was.’ Howard turned away and cleared his throat.

  Holly transferred her attention back to the photos, allowing him time to compose himself. The group photo for 2014 showed Howard standing alone in the middle of the bunch. Her father was just to his right and, this time, there was an attractive brunette at his side, a look of adoration on her face. She saw other familiar faces, among them Justin and Jack, both in tuxedos and both looking very desirable. There were women near both of them, but none exhibiting the sort of visible affection of the brunette beside her father. The farmer had been right. The ladies had evidently all loved her dad. When Holly had studied all the photos, she slipped them back into the envelope and glanced up at the old man. He was looking more serene now.

  Holly risked a question about his wife. ‘So, where did you meet your wife? Over here or over there?’

  ‘We met in Paris. I worked over there most of my life until I decided to retire, sell the company and buy this place.’

  ‘What was it you used to do in Paris?’

  He looked up and caught her eye. ‘Now, you’re not going to laugh at me, are you?’

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of it.’ Holly held her breath, waiting for the revelation.

  ‘Lingerie. Women’s underwear.’

  Holly gawped. ‘Women’s underwear? You sold women’s underwear?’

  ‘Only wholesale. Used to design the stuff.’

  ‘You used to design women’s underwear?’ Somehow, Holly had assumed this would have been done by women. ‘Isn’t that a bit like me trying to design a jockstrap?’

  ‘Takes a bit of getting used to, but you soon get the hang of it. Got to love the subject, of course.’ He looked up and gave her a grin. Following this revelation, Holly realised that she was also feeling more cheerful now. ‘Always have. Always will. And I studied engineering too, a long time ago. Comes in very useful. You see, that’s something you and I’ve got in common. We’re both engineers, just that my kind of engineering doesn’t make your fingernails black.’ He grinned more broadly at her. ‘Although it’s good if you have warm hands.’

  Holly giggled into her wine. ‘Are you famous? Should I have heard of you?’

  ‘You’ve probably heard of the company.’ He went on to name one of the best-known names in lingerie. Holly gulped.

  ‘Wow! And that was your company? It’s got to be one of the most famous in the world. And I had no idea it was an Englishman behind the name.’

  Howard grinned. ‘Yes, that’s why we went with a very French name for the company from the start. I’m very glad we did. English underwear these days tends to conjure up the image of Bridget Jones.’ He swallowed the last of his wine and stood up. ‘And now, if you’re feeling hungry, I think we could eat. Keep the photos. They’re for you. I’ve got copies.’

  Lunch was delightful and taken at a leisurely pace. It was almost three o’clock when Howard finished his little cognac and sat back. Holly could see the fatigue in his eyes. ‘And now, my dear, I really have to have a rest. When I lived in Paris, a few hours in bed after a good lunch would have been an energetic way of working off a few calories. Now, at my ripe old age, all I want to do is snooze.’

  Holly stood up and went over to hug him. ‘Howard, that was a wonderful meal, wonderful wine, wonderful hospitality in your wonderful home, and you are a wonderful host.’

  ‘And you, my dear, are a wonderful guest. I think I told you this before, but I love the company of beautiful women.’ He held up his hand. ‘All right, all right, you’re too English to accept a compliment. Let me just say how fortunate I feel to have had you to myself for a few hours. Beauty, brains and a charming personality; your father would have been delighted at the way you’ve turned out, you know. Delighted and proud. Thank you Holly.’

  ‘Thank you, Howard. And thank you so much for helping me to get to know my father.’ She kissed him on both cheeks and turned away, feelin
g quite emotional.

  Howard accompanied her to the door and saw her out to the car. Geoffrey drove her home at a sedate pace and Holly took advantage of the gentle ride to ask a few technical questions about the car. At first surprised that a girl should show such interest in cars, and then even more surprised that she was able and willing to chat to him about the advantages and disadvantages of the straight-six engine, he told her all about the car and about the three other classic cars in Howard Redgrave’s possession. As he dropped her off outside her house, she had to admit that Howard must have sold a lot of bras to be able to afford this sort of lifestyle. For somebody who had started life in his own words as common as muck, he had done very well for himself.

  She went into the house and received a boisterous welcome from Stirling. After giving him a hug, she walked through into the lounge and sat down on the sofa. She had drunk quite a lot of wine this lunchtime and she was feeling drowsy. She closed her eyes and almost immediately fell asleep.

  When she opened her eyes again, it was pitch dark and she was boiling hot. Or, to be more precise, her stomach was boiling and quite uncomfortable. For a moment she wondered if she might have contracted food poisoning, before the penny dropped. She reached down with her hands and encountered a warm body, sprawled across her.

  ‘Oh, Stirling.’ She couldn’t bring herself to really scold him and she scratched his head as he stretched and yawned. ‘You shouldn’t be on the sofa, you know. Now I’m going to have to wash this jumper or I’m going to smell of Labrador. And it’s one of my good ones, too.’ He gave no sign of concern or contrition.

  With her free hand, she reached for her phone and checked the time. To her surprise, she saw that it was half past five. She had been asleep for two hours. In the glow cast by the telephone screen, she spotted the table lamp and switched it on. Blinking in the sudden light, she lay back, still stroking the dog, and gave serious thought to just what was going to happen to Stirling once her two weeks in Devon were over. She had become very attached to him in a very short space of time and she knew, without doubt, that she really didn’t want to be separated from him.