Weight Till Christmas by Ruth Saberton Page B

Pendleton Manor, and I huddle inside my furry wrap, drinking in the wonderful festive scene before me.  Although I’ve arrived in a rather battered Ford Mondeo, driven by a garrulous cockney named Chas, rather than sweeping up in a stagecoach I’m still feeling deliciously Lizzie Bennet-like in my wonderful green velvet gown and with my hair all piled up on the crown of my head.  Throw a beautiful mansion into the mix, a string quartet playing on the terrace and scores of beautifully dressed people and I could be on my way to the Netherfield Ball.  All that’s missing is my Mr Darcy.
    With any luck he’s inside…
    Anyhow, the setting of Pendleton Manor is everything I’d imagined and more.  It would be hard to picture a more perfect venue for a Christmas party.  Small fir trees festooned in white lights line the steps leading up to vast front doors thrown open and spilling warm buttery light into the darkness.  Music drifts on the night air and bubbles of chatter rise into the starry sky, words punctuated by the tinkle of glasses and peals of laughter.  The wisteria clinging to the ancient walls has been threaded with yet more twinkling white fairy lights and fluttering red ribbons, while every mullioned window glows with light and promise.  I don’t think I’ve seen a more romantic scene in my life.  Dreams have got to come true here.  If they don’t somebody should sue Mills&Boon.
    I shiver, partly because it’s bitterly cold, the air raw with the promise of snow, and partly with anticipation.  Cinder Ellie shall go to the ball and with any luck she’ll find Prince Charming.  I wish I wasn’t arriving on my own though.  Sam and I had planned to travel up together which would have been loads of fun.  We could have played my Mamma Mia CD, sung all the way and shared a packet of M&Ms.   ‘Sod the diet,’ Sam would have said, ‘it’s Christmas’.  I always eat the orange ones and he likes the green ones so normally while he drives I sort them all out and then we play this really funny game where you spit out the colours you hate.  Seriously, it makes us hoot for ages.
    OK.  Never mind, you probably have to be there to get it. 
    Anyway, that’s just what we do, or should I say, what we used to do?  If Sam’s leaving Broom!  Broom! then I probably won’t see that much of him anymore, especially if he doesn’t want to train with me.
    This thought makes me really sad.  As I climb the steps up to the house even the beautiful swathes of Christmas garland above the door and flickering candles don’t make me feel much better.  I really hope that Sam’s inside and that we get a chance to chat.  I’d hate him to leave without saying goodbye and making some arrangement to keep in touch.  With any luck he’ll be in the hall chatting to colleagues and I can catch him there before Project Drake is go.
    I enter the Great Hall, my wrap taken by a helpful attendant and a glass of steaming mulled wine pressed into my hand, but there’s no sign of Sam anywhere.  Vicky stares at me, looking unflatteringly shocked, while Rick and Nick whistle but Sam isn’t with them.  Neither is he with Charlie at the bar or the reception crew, who’ve gathered by the enormous roaring fire.  My heart plops into my gorgeous new glittery sandals.  He’s got to be here somewhere.  He’s bought me this beautiful dress, which has made me feel like a princess from the moment I stepped into it, and I really want to thank him.  It was such a generous thing to do.
    I knock back my drink.  It’s so strong my hair nearly stands on end.  I’d have another but past experience tells me this probably isn’t the best idea.  I glance around for Sam.  Maybe he’s over by the tree?  There’s a few of the Broom!  Broom!mechanics by it…
    Mulled wine in hand, I wind my way through the press of colleagues, pausing briefly to chat or air kiss on my way to admire the tree and find Sam.  And what a tree it is,