The Sweetness of Liberty James (39 page)

Mrs Goodman asked Deirdre, ‘Are you sure you can trust him? He is coloured, after all.'

Liberty, who had come into the kitchen to see what was going on, raised her eyebrows to her mother, amazed that a sweet softie like Mrs Goodman would come out with something so racist.

‘Oh, yes,' replied Deirdre, ‘we make sure to notify the police each time he comes, just in case.' Mrs Goodman was unsure if her leg was being pulled, so took a large swallow of sherry.

‘What did he give you?' Liberty asked as Deirdre undid the SpongeBob SquarePants wrapping paper, which he must have got to wrap his siblings' presents in. Deirdre gasped, as lying in her hands was something very precious. Clarence had made a little scrapbook of photographs he had found on the internet of Deirdre's days on television, her books and photographs of her in the kitchen at The Nuttery, looking over the children's shoulders while she instructed them. All of these were surrounded by handwritten recipes copied down by Clarence from her books
over the years. At the back was an inscription:
To Mrs James. Thank you for inspiring me and believing in me. Here are my favourite recipes of yours that I will practise. Happy Christmas, Clarence
.

Liberty thought her mother was going to cry. ‘I didn't notice him take photographs. What a dear boy.'

Mrs Goodman took another swig of sherry.

At the sound of the gong, which had been found for the occasion, everyone filed into the dining room and gasped collectively. J-T had been hard at work. Tall vases of white roses, gardenias and trailing stephanotis stood at each corner of the conference pear green walled room. The fire had been lit earlier but was now only smouldering, as nobody wanted to roast while eating; the mantelpiece was groaning with holly, ivy and lots of twinkling white lights in glasses. The heavy velvet curtains in a deep plum colour were drawn back to allow crystal ornaments hanging from the poles on cream velvet ribbons to spin gently, catching the candlelight from large church candles burning in glass hurricane lanterns and other candles which were dotted around the side tables. The dining table itself shimmered with silverware, porcelain collected over the years from different countries, and the light from the multi-coloured Venetian crystal chandelier above.

The sideboard held the huge Baron of veal ready for carving. Accompaniments would be carried in once the toasted goat's cheese in walnuts had been demolished. Jonathan was pouring a fine white wine to accompany the starter, and everyone sat down to pull crackers made by J-T and Deirdre. Each contained a rude joke. Grahame had to read Mrs Goodman's, something about a parrot, a chocolate bar and three not so wise men, but he refused to explain it to her. The women received a miniature silver powder compact each and the men a Mason Pearson comb.

Silly hats were compulsory. Evangeline, who, although educated in an international school, had never experienced
crackers before, thought them brilliant, and looked as chic as ever beneath her gold crown. The dogs settled by the fire as they all realised that manners were essential in the dining room, and begging was a no-no. (They were teaching the puppy.) And anyway, leftovers were being created just for them!

Mrs Goodman had forgotten that she rarely drank alcohol, and after her sherry and champagne was now enjoying the perfumed Gewürztraminer. ‘I didn't realise wine could be so delicious!' she exclaimed.

Edmund buttered another piece of walnut bread and popped it in her mouth as the plates were cleared.

Jonathan carved the perfectly cooked leg of veal. As it was pink all the way through, Liberty offered to cook a few slices to be well done for Evangeline, who explained that in France, where you were always confident of knowing where the beef came from, you didn't fuss over such things. She was also sweetly excited to be trying parsnips, which they only fed to pigs in France, and the purple sprouting broccoli, which Liberty had cooked quickly with garlic, orange and chestnuts, and which everyone pronounced delicious.

Jonathan stood up, glass of claret in his hand, and stated, ‘To the chefs! And may everyone, including my darling Savannah, Hussein and Sasha, have a very happy Christmas.' He then sat down again, rather harder than he meant to.

They all loved the Yorkshires, requested by Evangeline after the toad-in-the-hole last night, individual and as high as their untouched water glasses, seasoned with nutmeg, cloves and bay to give them a festive flavour. Combined with the dark veal jus they were sublime. Although nobody had intended to eat them as it was such a big meal, they still all disappeared.

Claude and Evangeline told everyone their hopes and dreams for the baby. Paloma and Jonathan found they had the same taste in practically everything. Mrs Goodman announced it was amazing that a coloured family lived in the village and yet there was so little crime. Grahame, Patrick and J-T grew animated
about a new exhibition of Middle Eastern art in the National Gallery, and discussed the merits of designing a house around your art collection, or do you buy art to suit your home . . .

Deirdre was so thrilled to have such a full and happy houseful she had completely forgotten Alain was meant to be there, so when he walked into the dining room her mouth dropped open, revealing a partially chewed potato.

‘Daddy!' Liberty leapt up.

‘I thought the free chair was in honour of Savannah,' spluttered Jonathan, as he stood to pump his old friend by the hand. ‘You had better catch up quickly.' And he poured Alain's first of many glasses of wine that day.
A bit too friendly
, thought Deirdre,
for someone who keeps proposing to me
, but she smiled gracefully and allowed Alain to kiss her on both cheeks.

‘How was your day?' she asked. Alain declared he had already eaten, refused a plate, then picked bits off Deirdre's, having made everyone budge up and insisted he sat at her right hand.

‘Oh, the usual mix – people who either through tragedy, misery or lack of anything to say to each other come to my restaurant in the hope that eating out on Christmas Day will restore their happiness. The food entertains them for a while, then they sit back and expect us to lay on a floor show as well! I couldn't bear it; I knew it would be jolly here. We have to open today, but by golly, I would just love to miss it. It's enough to put you off cheffing for life.'

‘Oh, I didn't mean that,' he said, turning to Liberty, ‘and this veal is incredible. Great idea with the Yorkies, darling.'

Edmund, who was sitting beside Liberty, whispered in her ear, ‘I didn't know your parents still saw each other.'

‘They haven't for years. Sadly, I think I am to blame for this enforced reunion, although Paloma was the one who invited him.'

‘Looks like they are getting on fine.'

‘Oh yes, until he remembers he has left his floozy in the car.'

‘Do people still use that word?' said Edmund with a laugh, making Liberty relax and laugh too.

‘I adore Daddy, but he has hurt Mother so much, I just can't bear it if he ruins a lovely day.'

But he didn't. The laughter reached the roof as he regaled them with anecdotes of his famous guests and their bad manners. If there was a floozy in the car, she was forgotten.

‘A couple booked into the hotel, as Mr and Mrs Smith. Then Mr Smith turned up the following week with another “Mrs Smith”, only to find he had been seated next to his mistress with her husband on the next table. One of the waitresses became so confused she asked if they would like the tables pulled together, but both couples refused to admit they knew the other!'

Liberty brought out the puddings, put the Stilton on the table, and Alain produced a bottle of vintage port he had been saving ‘for a special occasion'.

Mrs Goodman announced she also liked port, and sipped it while eating a bowl of sherry trifle topped with a dollop of rum-laced cream from the chocolate bombe. Then Jonathan and Edmund led her into the sitting room as she started to fall asleep.

‘Lovely old thing,' said Alain. ‘How old is she, one hundred and two? She has been with you for years!'

‘I'm hoping she will stay on when I take over the management of Denhelm,' said Edmund, who together with his father had been updating Alain.

‘A young man like you needs to fill that house with a wife and children. Don't you agree?' said Alain, turning to Jonathan. Nobody normally spoke of his unmarried status, so they all looked at Edmund curiously.

‘Impossible to find a decent woman capable of running the house in this day and age,' said Edmund, insulting all the women at the table. He had not meant this, but he had no intention of declaring his interest in Liberty, even with a skinful, so he let the statement lie.

‘Righty-ho – men to bore each other, smoke cigars and drink more port; women to clear,' announced Alain.

‘Taking over as man of the house,' grumbled Deirdre, but she had been surprised at how much she was enjoying his company, and he had cheered Jonathan up no end.

Mrs Goodman woke just as the clearing up was completed. Liberty took coffee and petits fours into the sitting room. J-T and Gray had been decorating the elderly woman as she slept, and she now looked as though a party popper had exploded all over her. She was also wearing a fetching pair of antlers.

‘Oh, poor you,' exclaimed Liberty as she handed the housekeeper a mint tea, before racing for her camera.

‘Look what I've found!' shouted Bob, who had been rummaging in cupboards. He held up an ancient edition of Trivial Pursuit. ‘This will either be fun or start a war. We haven't had the traditional Christmas argument yet, and I can't think of a better way to kick one off. Who'll be in my team?'

They played on, late into the evening. They all enjoyed their Christmas hugely, the dogs content by the fire after their special leftovers, Teal curled up on Liberty's lap, exhausted by weeing in undiscovered corners. Mrs Goodman had fallen asleep again, and eventually, reluctantly, the party drew to a close.

33

The hunt met in front of Denhelm Park on a glistening Boxing Day morning. The anti-hunt crowd had given up and moved on to protest about capitalism, so a very happy fifty or so horses chatted together while their riders, from all walks of life, ate cakes and drank whisky macs.

Mrs Goodman, having had a very good sleep, was back to her best and handed round warm sausage rolls and hot toddies, telling everyone who would listen that they needed to keep their strength up for a long day, no matter if they had over-indulged the night before.

‘I'm surprised you are not the size of a house,' muttered a portly old friend to Jonathan. ‘My wife insisted on making the roast potatoes with low cholesterol spread yesterday, and she didn't let me have any mince pies this year, and no salt on anything. And I'm still bigger round the tummy than you. I'm taking it that your friendship with Mrs James is nothing to do with her fabulous food?'

Jonathan merely smiled and said they had best mount up as he had to make a brief speech.

He thanked everyone for coming, whether it was to ride or to support, and hoped they would all have a safe and happy day's hunting. He was pleased to spot Deirdre and Paloma walking up the drive, arm in furry arm, surrounded by dogs. He rode over to thank them for such a wonderful Christmas Day, and found himself wondering what it might be like to spend a few months in the south of France. He hadn't been away from Denhelm for more than a few weeks at a time since he inherited the estate
from his father, and had never once regretted the challenging and exhausting job of running the companies and bringing them into the twenty-first century. But now, with the reins being handed to Edmund, he found that perhaps he wouldn't miss it too much if he spent time travelling here and there. He told the women he looked forward to seeing them on New Year's Eve, and that if there was anything he could do, just to tell him.

With that, the master blew his horn and the hounds leapt into action, baying and wagging tails as they followed the trail created by two estate workers on a quad bike.

A few reluctant and a few hungover riders waited until they had finished their drinks, but most cantered off behind the master.

‘It all looks so perfectly English,' said Bob, as he and J-T watched from their bedroom window, ‘like something from an old film. It's hard to believe that both the postmaster and the taxi driver are riding with the county rich – those clothes make them all look like landed gentry.'

‘Liberty told me that the hunt donations help to kit out those who can't afford the gear,' said J-T, ‘and lots of them borrow horses. Apparently, it's so much a part of the community that many jobs would be lost if there was no hunt. I guess it's the same as us belonging to a gym, or going to a club. It's good to release tension by jumping a two-ton beast over huge hedges, and galloping at twenty miles an hour over boggy ground.'

‘Think I'll stick to my kick-boxing, thanks,' replied Bob.

Deirdre had decided, with Paloma's advice, to bring in party organisers (‘You will be so much more relaxed and have more time for me!'), so was happy to let them work over the next few days while she enjoyed Paloma's company. Much of the day-today cooking had been taken over by Liberty, so she was having a good time. She hadn't minded having Alain to visit at all; in fact, she surprised herself by going over their goodbye in her mind several times. She had put him up in the spare room, despite his protestations that he was fine to drive.

‘Oh, yes,' chortled Deirdre, ‘you have had more port than Nelson when he had his arm cut off, so to bed.
SPARE
bed!' she called after him as he wobbled off in the direction of her room. He turned, walked back to where she stood on the landing and kissed her, a gentle yet passionate kiss, and one that lingered a little too long; he murmured in her ear that if she needed company she knew where he was. She had been shocked by her own body's betrayal, the heat that flooded through her, the quickening of her heartbeat and the hair-tingling, toe-curling loveliness of a familiar but long-lost connection. She had locked her door from the inside, more to protect her from herself and any night-time wanderings than because she thought Alain might try to enter. He was too much the gentleman . . . goodness, when had she started thinking that again? She turned her romantic thoughts to her adored friend Paloma, and had been thrilled to see the sparkle in the French woman's eye when she caught sight of Jonathan in his hunting pink. Now, that would be interesting.