Marlene gave her a frosty smile. ‘I appreciate everything that Miss St Aubyn has done to make me so comfortable,’ she said innocently. ‘The flowers, the Christmas decorations, this wonderful meal – the day is perfect.’
She picked up her cutlery, as if to put an end to the conversation, but the younger girl refused to be so easily diverted. ‘And the ones from the Führer? I gather he really is your biggest fan.’
Josephine looked at Marta and desperately tried to think of something to say that might defuse the tension, but things had already gone too far. ‘You are just a foolish child,’ Marlene said, her voice low and even, ‘and you have absolutely no idea what those people you call your friends are like.’
‘So you’re happy to betray your country?’
‘I will always be German to my very soul. They are the ones betraying my country.’
‘Miss Dietrich is right,’ Hartley said, making no attempt to disguise the anger in his voice. ‘You’re far too young to understand what’s coming our way, Barbara. If you had lived through the last war as an adult – if you had had to consecrate trenches like I did to keep up with the burials – you wouldn’t be talking such nonsense now.’
‘Gosh, I’d forgotten how divisive good intentions can be,’ Hilaria said, and although the comment was made lightly, there was a note of steel in her voice which was enough to salvage the situation. Marlene apologised and her antagonist seethed in silence.
‘Archie was telling us about some of your myths and legends,’ Josephine said in an effort to get the conversation back on safer ground. ‘He said you found a giant buried in the church?’
Hilaria smiled at her gratefully. ‘Something like that. A hermit’s cell was discovered about fifty years ago. You can see it now if you look behind the family pews, and inside they found a leather jug and a skeleton which was about seven foot tall. We’ve no idea who he was or why he was there, but he’s buried now in the graveyard.’
‘I’ll show you the chamber tomorrow during the carol service,’ Archie promised, ‘and I’m sure Hilaria would be happy for us to look at St Michael’s Chair, too.’
‘What’s St Michael’s Chair?’
Archie grinned. ‘It’s a stone seat on top of the tower, hanging over the edge.’
‘It’s actually a medieval lantern that was used as a guiding light for fishermen,’ Hilaria corrected him, ‘but pilgrims used it for prayer, and there is a more recent legend attached to it. Newly married couples have been known to race each other to the top of the tower, because it’s said that whoever sits on the chair first will be the dominant partner in the marriage.’
‘If they live to enjoy it,’ Marta said. ‘Have you ever seen it done?’
‘Twice, and in both cases the winner was the wife.’
‘It sounds tempting,’ Rachel Lancaster said suddenly. ‘We should try it, Gerry.’
She drained her glass and the footman stepped forward to refill it, but her husband reached across the table and covered it with his hand. ‘Don’t you think you’ve had enough, darling? You don’t want to embarrass yourself.’
There was an uncomfortable silence as the couple glared at each other, but eventually Rachel Lancaster backed down and pushed the glass away from her. The pudding was served quickly, and Josephine began to wonder how many more times the conversation could be rescued and set back on an even keel; this time, Alex Fielding took his turn. ‘What is St Michael the patron saint of?’ he asked, turning to the vicar as the person in the room most likely to know.
‘Grocers and policemen, amongst other things,’ Richard Hartley said. Then added more seriously: ‘St Michael is the guardian of the Church and the champion of justice. He calls all men to their heavenly judgement and gives each of us the chance to redeem ourselves before passing.’
‘Crikey,’ Fielding said. ‘Then we’d better be on our best behaviour.’
The strengthening wind blew a billow of snow against the window, making them all jump. ‘And on that note, I think we should retire to the drawing room and leave the gentlemen to their port next door,’ Hilaria said, standing up from the table.
‘I didn’t think they still did that in the twentieth century,’ Marta whispered, as they followed their hostess out of the dining room.
‘Neither did I, but the whole evening’s been an education in one way or another. I shall be pleased to get to bed.’ Josephine stopped by one of the windows and looked out into the night. The snowflakes were thick and restless, as if there were too many for the sky, and they jostled each other in endless fallings to settle on the already blanketed terrace. ‘Looks like we’re going to be well and truly cut off,’ she said, squeezing Marta’s hand. ‘Happy Christmas.’
8
There was an old-fashioned charm about the Godolphin Hotel, which Violet found all the more welcoming after the last leg of their journey from Plymouth. The weather had worsened steadily as the train moved through Cornwall, delaying their arrival by more than an hour, and by the time they got out at Marazion Station, the wind was howling dismally in from the sea and the whirling flurries of snow had nothing romantic or magical about them. ‘Just as well we weren’t hoping to get across tonight,’ Johnny shouted above the gale, doing his best to shelter her as they hurried down the platform to the station house. ‘It’ll be a miracle if it’s any better in the morning. Once this sets in, it could hang around for days.’
Just her luck that it was the time of year for miracles, Violet thought as she shook the snow off her coat; she could dream up worse things than spending Christmas in the hotel, just the two of them, without the pressure of being nice to Johnny’s mother, but she kept her feelings to herself. There was a taxi parked outside the station, but one of the other passengers beat them to it and they could only watch as its tail-lights disappeared down the road towards the village. ‘Never mind, we’ll wait for the next one,’ Violet said, not wanting to make a fuss when he was trying so hard to make things special for her. ‘At least we’re dry in here.’
Johnny shook his head. ‘Don’t forget we’re in Cornwall,’ he said despondently. ‘The next one will be along dreckly, and that could be any time between now and New Year’s Eve. Wait here a minute. I’ll see if there’s anyone about.’ When he came back, he was in much better spirits. ‘We’re in luck. One of the lads is knocking off for the night now and he lives in Rosudgeon. He’ll drop us at the hotel on his way.’
The guard had made a promise to his young daughter to be home before she went to bed, and he wasted no time in getting them to their destination. ‘That was good of him,’ Violet said, as Johnny bundled their cases in through the door of the hotel’s reception. ‘That’s what I love about this time of year. It brings out the best in people.’
The entrance hall had been enthusiastically dressed for the season, almost as if each member of staff had been given charge of a corner which bore no relation to the colour scheme of the other three, and Violet had to smile to herself when she saw the overcrowded tree, its red and gold decorations seeming to offer a reflection of the vividly patterned carpet. The hospitable sound of carols, heartily sung, drifted across from the bar, and through another open doorway, she could see a waitress clearing away the last of the dinner tables and re-laying them ready for breakfast. ‘Looks like we’re too late to eat,’ Johnny said. ‘I’m sorry, Vi.’