Read Wickham Hall: Part Four - White Christmas for Free Online Page B

that’s good. And did you apologize for blasting him for secretly contacting your father in Italy?’
    My stomach lurched at that but I was saved from answering by the arrival of a customer in the shop. Esme leapt into sales mode and promised to find the lady the perfect outfit for a Christmas dinner dance.
    I had replied to Ben last night, of course. Immediately. I’d updated him on all that had happened since he’d left, about the White Christmas theme and even about putting the angel on top of the Christmas tree. And at the end of my message I had told him how sorry I was that I’d reacted the way I did and that if I hadn’t completely blown it I hoped that we could still be friends. And after I pressed send I waited for three hours, staring at my phone for a reply. I could only guess that he had needed to leave his internet connection because I hadn’t received an answer.
    As soon as I was dressed I left Joop with one of their lovely carrier bags over my arm, my new dress tucked into sheets of delicate tissue paper. I had promised Esme that I would try to think up some money-making ideas for her and Joop. I’d loved having a girlie catch-up with her, but for some reason I’d resisted revealing my innermost thoughts about Ben to her. I didn’t want to tempt fate, perhaps, I mused. A lady with a Liberty-print scarf over her head opened the door to the tiny old-fashioned hairdressers as I passed by and I caught a whiff of hairspray along with the velvety tones of Michael Bublé singing, ‘All I Want for Christmas is You’.
    . . .
to come home
, I finished inwardly,
to smile me that smile and wrap me in your arms and never let me go.
    And to tell Lady Fortescue to bog off.

Chapter 5
    It was officially Christmas. A magnificently bedecked Wickham Hall had reopened its doors to the guests for the Christmas season five minutes ago and there was a slightly hysterical sense of purpose mixed with the magical buzz of Christmas in the air as we all scurried round putting the final details in place for the first day’s activities.
    The sixteenth-century building seemed to thrive on all the energy and attention and I felt it breathe a warm welcome as I journeyed through the public rooms, turning on all the fairy lights.
    There was a permanent smile on my face this morning, and not just because of the beauty of Wickham Hall. I’d had another message from Ben and . . . he was coming home . . . Hurrah!
    Guess what, Miss Clipboard? I’m flying home on Friday. Managed to get last seat on the flight. I’ve had a great time, but am ready to come home and face the music (aka the parentals), and not to put too fine a point on it the first thing I’ll be doing is taking the world’s longest shower. Can’t wait to see you because I’ve got loads to tell you. (But after the shower obvs) Ben x
    Friday was only four more sleeps . . . I could not wait.
    â€˜Welcome to a White Christmas at Wickham Hall,’ I overheard Marjorie declare to the first visitors, a middle-aged pair of ladies, who instantly started to unravel chunky scarves and divest themselves of gloves as they stepped through the door.
    I beamed at the new arrivals and followed at a safe distance behind them to eavesdrop as they oohed and ahhed at the twelve-foot Christmas tree that stood proudly at the bottom of the wide staircase where Zara had descended in her wedding dress six months ago.
    â€˜I was worried it would look a bit plain, being all white,’ hissed Marjorie, tugging my sleeve. ‘But I’m really impressed.’
    I nodded in agreement. The hall looked even more spectacular than I’d envisaged and even Lady Fortescue had capitulated that Andy had been right and had done a splendid job.
    â€˜Loving the Christmas jumper, Marjorie.’
    She giggled and her bright eyes crinkled at the corners. ‘Watch this!’
    I widened my eyes as she plunged a hand underneath her