Wickham Hall: Part Four - White Christmas by Cathy Bramley Page A

‘advert over. Glad you approve.’
    â€˜But I thought you weren’t dressing up? “It’s business,” you said to me.’
    I drew her closer. ‘Ben’s asked me to be his date to the dinner party straight after this.’
    â€˜Eek, that’s fantastic,’ she squeaked quietly, grabbing my arm. ‘And is old lemon face cool with that?’
    My head flipped round frantically to check no one had heard Esme’s choice of endearment for Her Ladyship. Luckily not.
    I shook my head. ‘I don’t think she knows yet.’ I pressed my hand automatically to my stomach, which had just turned over at the thought. ‘Fingers crossed she doesn’t turf me out.’
    â€˜Do you want me to hang around later,’ Esme balled her hand into a fist, ‘in case things get nasty?’
    I couldn’t help but laugh as I shook my head; she was such a loyal friend. ‘I doubt it will come to that. Besides, there’ll be a gong at seven thirty to signal the end of the Christmas at Home event. You’ll be given your Christmas gift bag and shepherded out along with the rest of the hoi polloi. I imagine that’s when Ben will tell her.’
    â€˜Don’t worry, Holster. How could she not want you there? You look like a flippin’ A-lister in that outfit. Here . . .’ She opened up her handbag and doused me with her favourite Chanel perfume. ‘As Coco would say: “A woman who doesn’t wear perfume has no future.” And so now your future is secured. Now enough about you . . .’
    I grinned as she told me amidst much eye-widening and arm-squeezing that the barely worn designer clothing section that I’d suggested she add in at Joop was doing really well and she had persuaded her mum to turn down the offer they’d received for the business. Bryony was going to focus on her personal shopping customers for two days a week and Esme would run the shop herself from January.
    â€˜I can’t thank you enough, Hols. It looks like I’m a businesswoman after all.’
    â€˜I never doubted it.’ I grinned.
    â€˜And – get this – I had an amazing chat with Zara earlier and she’s going to rope in all her friends to send their unwanted designer labels to me, too. So that means I’ll have younger stuff to sell. Zara’s lovely, just like a normal person; no airs and graces at all.’
    I laughed, remembering that ‘Heirs and Graces’ was the name Ben made up for the bogus magazine he said he worked for when we met.
    My stomach flipped suddenly; the Fortescues were just people at the end of the day. Just like Esme and me. I was probably worrying about Lady Fortescue objecting to Ben and me dating for nothing.
    â€˜Anyway, to me,’ Esme raised her glass, ‘and my own business.’
    Her eyes danced with excitement as we chinked glasses to celebrate Joop’s new lease of life.
    I was thrilled for my friend; working with the Fortescues directly would bring her into contact with so many influential people, which was just what she needed to boost her sales in the spring.
    Just then the fashion editor at the
Stratford Gazette
caught my eye so I introduced her to Esme and made my excuses. Sheila had instructed me to mingle and attempt to talk to every person in the room to ensure their support of Wickham events for next year so I dutifully began the rounds.
    I was making polite conversation with the Fortescues’ accountant, who was telling me that she was spending New Year skiing in Switzerland with her husband and two teenagers, when a movement in the doorway caught my eye.
    My heart gave a little bounce as Ben walked into the room. He looked handsome in a slim-fitting black suit with a dark grey shirt open at the neck, his hair slightly damp and his face clean-shaven. Totally gorgeous. I gave myself a little shake and tried to concentrate on what the accountant was saying . . .
    Ben’s