Wickham Hall: Part Four - White Christmas by Cathy Bramley

around my shoulder. ‘You know, Holly, you’ve only been here six months, but you’ve fitted in so well, it’s hard to imagine what we did without you. Such a hard-working girl. We’re lucky to have you.’
    I blushed at the unexpected compliment. ‘Thank you, I feel the same way; I couldn’t imagine anywhere I’d rather work. In fact, sometimes I forget it’s work, it just feels like this is my life now and I wouldn’t want it any other way.’
    â€˜Good,’ Sheila smiled, ‘because I think we make a pretty good team.’
    She was right, I mused, glancing round me; this party was a perfect example of teamwork. The room was decorated with greenery from Nikki’s gardens to Andy’s theme. Sheila had been in charge of the guest list and Jenny and her staff would be providing the food. And each guest would receive a Christmas gift bag as they left at the end of the evening. They had been my idea and as well as a small framed print of the Christmas card designed by Ben, they contained a Wickham Hall calendar and a rosemary and bergamot scented candle from the Wickham Hall range.
    By six o’clock, when guests began arriving, Christmas carols were playing in the background and every detail of our Christmas at Home event was perfect, from Jenny’s filo pastry mince pies and the punchbowl of mulled wine to the gentle glow of the logs ablaze in the sitting-room fireplace. The tall Christmas tree that Marjorie and I had decorated filled one corner of the room and Lady and Lord Fortescue were ready to receive their guests in the centre.
    I took my place slightly behind Lord and Lady Fortescue in the receiving line with the list of guests’ names on a clipboard, ready to help them out if they couldn’t remember who anyone was.
    â€˜That’s a lovely outfit you’re wearing, Lady Fortescue,’ I said, during a lull twenty minutes later. Most of the guests had been ticked off my list and only one or two stragglers remained unaccounted for.
    She inclined her head graciously and ran her fingertip along the tiny bugle beads that edged the neckline of her black chiffon tunic. She wore it with matching wide-legged trousers and heels and looked every inch the aristocrat. ‘Thank you. It’s one of my Parisian purchases. I thought it might double up for Zara’s New Year’s Eve party at the chateau.’
    â€˜Another damn party.’ Lord Fortescue tutted disconsolately. ‘Left to me, I’d be in bed before midnight with a brandy and a good book.’
    â€˜But you won’t be, Hugo,’ Lady Fortescue said tightly. ‘You’ll be enjoying the party. Apparently, at midnight in France they all drink champagne, raise a toast to Saint Sylvestre and kiss under the mistletoe.’
    â€˜French kissing?’ He winked at me. ‘I might stay up for that.’
    I swallowed a chuckle but my laughter quickly vanished as I noticed Her Ladyship eyeing up the length of my dress.
    â€˜You look very nice too, Holly. A little bit short but I suppose at your age you can get away with it.’
    â€˜Um. Thank you.’
I think.
    â€˜You look enchanting, Holly,’ said Lord Fortescue. ‘I think we’ll manage the receiving line by ourselves now, so why don’t you go and work your magic on our guests?’
    I didn’t need asking twice.
    â€˜Holster!’ Esme elbowed her way towards me through the crowd, holding her glass high up over her head. She was wearing an electric-blue tight lace dress, which not only looked exotically glamorous in a room of predominately black outfits but thankfully detracted the attention from me and my short dress for a moment.
    â€˜And boom.’ She grinned, looking me up and down. ‘Red-carpet glamour. Right there. That Joop dress looks amazing on you.’ She looked around her and repeated loudly, ‘From Joop.’
    â€˜OK,’ I giggled in a whisper,