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floor lamps that stood either side of the bed but I could see that the room was huge. I could have fitted our whole flat into it. There was a king-size four-poster bed with its head against the wall to my left, an enormous mahogany wardrobe on the wall behind the door, two long sash windows in front of me and a large antique dresser to my right. Next to that was another door.
    I dumped my bag on an ornate and presumably antique ottoman at the foot of the bed, then crossed to the windows. They overlooked the gravel path at the side of the house and the barn where I’d parked my car. I was sure I could see a few Florentines glowing in the darkness as they froze solid. I gave my Beetle a little wave then pulled the curtains against the inky blackness of the night and crossed the room to the other door.
    Behind it was an exquisite en suite that filled me with both joy and relief. There’s nothing worse than having to leave your room when you’re staying away from home just to go for a pee in the middle of the night. At least I’d be spared such indignity. Besides, a big old house like this would be a bit spooky once everyone had gone to bed, so I was glad I wouldn’t have to creep across the landing and risk bumping into a headless nun or something. If the manor house was haunted, of course. Which it probably wasn’t. And anyway, I don’t believe in ghosts. Or – and this thought was far more pleasant – I could be innocently walking along, wearing my best silky nightie which showed off my curves – but not my lumpy bits – and bump into Sam. Oh, to crash into that wall of chest then be scooped up into those bulging arms. I’d be faint obviously, so he’d have to take me back to my room and give me mouth to mouth as his huge body covered mine and then…
    Nothing.
He was married. He had kids. Forget it. Forget him.
That
was all in the past.
    I eyed the deep white tub longingly. It would be wonderful to fill it with bubbles then sink beneath them. Maybe I could jump in later, or in the morning after breakfast. But I’d better get changed and go down before steam started whistling from Esther’s ears. She’d been reasonable so far but I didn’t want to push my luck.
    I opened my bag and pulled out a black shift dress made of that fabulous crinkle material that you don’t need to iron. I love this dress. It’s so easy to wear because it’s loose and flattering. I rummaged around until I found my black cork wedge espadrilles then dressed quickly.
    There, that would have to do. But what about a bit of make-up? Not much but something to give me a bit of a glow. After all, I was feeling tired and some bronzer and lippie always made me look more human. We did have guests and really I didn’t want to scare them. You know, appear downstairs like Bob Marley in
A Christmas Carol
. I mean Jacob Marley. Bob Marley appearing would have a completely different effect now, wouldn’t it? More
Could You Be Loved
than
you must change your ways
. Although a visitation of the latter kind might make my mother a nicer person.
    I placed my make-up bag on the dressing table and took out my bronzer, then flicked the thick brush over my cheeks. Hmmm. My forehead was a bit shiny, especially the bruise where I’d bumped my head on the steering wheel, so I whisked the brush over that too. And my neck for good measure. A slick of red lip-gloss, a finger comb of my mousey-brown curls and I was done. I smiled at my reflection. Not bad. Not great either but, hey, after a glass of wine, I’d feel more comfortable with myself and Esther’s inevitable critique would drift over my head like wood smoke on the breeze.
    I hoped.
    Well, maybe after two glasses.
    ***
    Descending the stairs, the murmur of voices from the dining room made me smile. It was Christmas and I was lucky. Some people didn’t have anyone in their lives. I shouldn’t be ungrateful. Admittedly, sometimes I’d like to alter my family. Well, my mother. Just a bit. So that it