Christmas in the Cotswolds Read online

  Christmas in the

  Cotswolds

  Jenny Kane

  Izzie Spencer-Harris, owner of the Cotswold Art and Craft Centre, is due to host the prestigious Cotswold Choir’s annual Christmas carol concert in her beautiful converted church. Or at least she was, until a storm smashed a hole right through the chancel roof.

  Days from Christmas, Izzie suddenly finds herself up to her neck in DIY, with her last dodgy workman having walked off the job. She does the only thing she can … calls in her best friend Megan to help.

  Leaving Peggy and Scott to run Pickwicks Café in her absence, Megan heads to the Cotswolds for Christmas. Within minutes of her arrival, she finds herself hunting down anyone willing to take on extra work so close to Christmas. It seems the only person available to help is Joseph Parker – a carpenter who, while admittedly gorgeous, seems to have ulterior motives for everything he does …

  With Izzie’s bossy mother, Lady Spencer-Harris, causing her problems at every turn, an accident at work causing yet more delays, and the date for the concert drawing ever nearer, it’s going to take a lot more than Mrs Vickers’ powerful mulled wine to make sure everything is all right on the night …

  To my family at Christmas

  X

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Prologue

  December 12th

  Izzie closed her eyes and counted to ten as the door of the Cotswold Arts Centre slammed shut.

  There was no point in panicking. She simply didn’t have time for such luxuries if her converted church was going to be ready to host a Christmas carol concert by the renowned Cotswold Choir in nine days’ time.

  Bored of being propositioned by men who weren’t remotely interested in her until they discovered she was a daughter of the gentry, Izzie had ejected the carpenter through her front door before he’d quite had time to work out just how insulting her rejection of his latest lurid suggestion was.

  Now, her hasty tongue having deprived her of a desperately needed pair of tradesman’s hands, Izzie sat with a heavy thump onto the nearest pew. She knew she had to find fresh help, and fast. A task that wouldn’t be easy so close to Christmas.

  ‘Although,’ Izzie addressed the image of Noah, who smiled benevolently at her from his stained-glass window, as if grateful he hadn’t been smashed to pieces by the tree branch that had come through the top of the chancel and caused so much seasonal inconvenience, ‘I’m damn sure I’m not asking my mother to help out ever again!’

  Reaching for the offending package of invitations that had arrived by courier first thing that morning, Izzie emptied it onto the table. The invitations were supposed to have been posted by now. As soon as she’d seen them, Izzie understood why her mother had left them to the last minute.

  Unfussy, cost-effective, and with a medieval Christmas flavour in keeping with the spirit of the converted fourteenth-century church where the concert was to be held. That’s what she’d asked for. What she’d got was decadent Victorian-style gold-edged invitations which weighed so much, Izzie was sure that posting them alone would break the bank. And if that wasn’t bad enough, her mother had done the one thing that she had expressively forbidden. She’d put Izzie’s full name on the invitations.

  Lady Perdita Spencer-Harris had been unable to comprehend why her daughter didn’t want to use the family name to help sales. She simply didn’t understand that Izzie wanted people to come to hear the choir for its own sake, or because they wanted to see what she’d done in her art centre; not because she was a young and single female member of the landed gentry.

  Miss Isadora Spencer-Harris

  cordially invites you to a magical festive evening at

  The Cotswold Arts Centre, Chipping Swinton

  to hear the renowned Cotswold Choir’s

  Christmas Carol Concert

  Saturday 21st December

  7 p.m. for 7.30 p.m. start

  £25 per ticket

  Refreshments provided

  RSVP by 18th December to Harris Park

  Wrapping her stripy woollen scarf more tightly around her neck, Izzie breathed warm air over her cold fingers. Deciding it wasn’t cost effective to heat the church this late at night just for her, she gathered up the invitations, and with one last check that the polythene sheeting would keep the rest of her chancel roof in place overnight, Izzie headed home.

  Izzie scooped up three Christmas cards from her doormat. A smile replaced her frown as she opened the first envelope to see a cartoon robin wishing her a Merry Christmas. Inside, beneath the seasonal greeting, her friend Megan had written Must meet up SOON! I’d love to see your new art centre.

  ‘Should I?’ Izzie was sure her dearest friend from college would help. Megan always helped. Izzie addressed the picture of the robin, ‘But won’t she be hugely busy at Pickwicks café this close to Christmas?’

  Switching on her laptop, Izzie started to hunt for a replacement tradesman to help repair her church roof. Half an hour of searching later, and her quest was looking increasingly hopeless by the minute.

  It was no good, if she wasn’t going to be forced to ask her parents to bail her out – which was an ‘over her dead body’ situation as far as Izzie was concerned – she needed alternative assistance. Izzie picked up her mobile before guilt at disturbing her friend’s life at Christmas overtook her.

  ‘Megan, thank goodness you’re there! How can I put this … help!’

  Chapter One

  December 15th

  Megan turned off the engine of the battered old car she’d borrowed from her boyfriend with a sigh of relief. Despite checking and double-checking her directions, she’d still managed to take a couple of wrong turns once she’d left the motorway and started to wind her way through the Cotswolds. Megan knew that if she’d been with Nick, every road she’d driven down in error would have added to the adventure, but on her own, after such a long drive, she’d begun to feel a little panicky and lost.

  Now, outside the converted St Peter’s church, Megan climbed from the car, and was just taking in the frosty beauty of the picture-postcard sandy-coloured cottages, when she found herself the target of a beaming Izzie, who had enveloped her in a bear hug within seconds.

  ‘I’m so glad you came! Thank you so much, you’re a total lifesaver!’ Izzie, wearing torn and worn dungarees covered in plaster dust, with a bright red bandana covering her short cropped brown hair, took her friend by the hand and dragged her inside the church, ‘Come and see!’

  Her fatigue evaporating in the face of her friend’s infectious enthusiasm, Megan allowed herself to be led through the arched doorway of the church into the porch, and drew in a surprised breath.

  Megan had forgotten how cold churches could be, and immediately wished she’d put her coat on over her thick jumper and jeans. Wrapping her arms around her chest she stopped in the medieval archway. ‘It’s stunning!’

  What had once been the south aisle was now full of repositioned church pews and tables, which obviously formed the café part of the attraction. With a stained glass window reflecting coloured light across the space from both the right and left of the aisle, it felt both welcoming and peaceful at the same time.

  The original font was still in position to the left of the doorway, and Megan could picture generations of babies being baptised there. Beyond the font was a rack which had presumably once held hymn books but now housed a collection of paperback books, newspapers, and magazines for th
e café’s visitors to read while they sipped their drinks.

  ‘Oh, Izzie, it’s fantastic! Where do you do all the cooking and sort the coffee and stuff?’

  Izzie indicated to the right, where a wide door led into a separate room. ‘In the old vestry. It’s lucky for us really, nearly every other church has the vestry attached to the north aisle, but it’s on the south aisle here, nice and handy by the main door. There’s a little oven, serving hatch, and a baking area, although Mrs V does most of the baking at home.’

  ‘Mrs V?’

  ‘An angel in the flesh! Her name’s Mrs Vickers really, although everyone calls her Mrs V. She lives just around the corner, and is my chief cook and bottle washer. You’ll love her. She’s like the best grandmother ever.’

  Wondering why Izzie needed her if she had the incredible Mrs V on side, but sensing there was more she had to say but wasn’t quite ready to, Megan asked, ‘Why isn’t it a church anymore?’

  Flopping down onto the nearest pew, Izzie looked about her with pride. ‘The diocese couldn’t afford to run all four of its Cotswold village churches so that, along with dwindling congregations, meant one of the local churches had to be given up. Criminal really, it’s so beautiful. Despite the ravages of the Reformation, a good deal of it dates from the fourteenth century. I could just sit here and admire the brickwork and stained glass all day.’

  The more Megan looked, the more she could see what Izzie meant. There were still traces of the original wall paintings discernible on the walls, and the carving of the stonework in the nearest column was an artist’s dream. ‘Where will the choir be performing?’

  Izzie’s smile faded, ‘I have a confession to make.’

  Megan regarded her friend carefully; it wasn’t like her to hide anything. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Well, you know I said I had to do a bit of DIY on the roof before the concert on the twenty-first?’

  ‘Yes …’

  ‘I think it’s best I show you.’ Izzie led Megan out of the shelter of the south aisle and through the nave, before turning right and taking a few steps towards the chancel.

  ‘Oh my God!’ Megan’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘That is going to take more than a little bit of DIY.’

  The floor was littered with a fine stone dust. A series of tools and brooms were propped up against the wall, and as the temperature dropped further Megan saw clearly exactly why the church felt even colder than she’d expected. A hole about half a metre square was thoroughly ventilating the old building, despite being covered with a sheet of see-through polythene. The presence of a very long ladder told Megan that someone had been shoring up the damage, but there wasn’t a workman in sight.

  ‘You haven’t been up there all on your own, have you?’

  Izzie shook her head, ‘No. I’ve been doing what I can, but a carpenter or roofer I’m not. There was a storm last week. A branch from the trees in the old graveyard decided it would like to crash through the roof. There was a carpenter here, but well … anyway, tomorrow there will be scaffolding going up outside so that a roofer can replace the tiles – if I can find one who’ll work this close to Christmas, but …’

  Megan held up her hand, ‘Hold on a minute, Izzie. What do you mean there was a carpenter?’

  ‘His wishful thinking got a bit out of control.’ Izzie picked at her work-blunted fingernails. ‘Some idiot told him I was the local heiress and he decided to try his luck. He didn’t take kindly to my rebuff.’

  ‘You mean he got huffy when you told him he stood no chance?’

  ‘You got it.’ Izzie kept her eyes fixed on the space in the roof as she spoke, ‘It’s bad enough that my parents give me non-stop grief about being still single at twenty-six, without being hit on by every passing bloke the moment they overhear one of the locals ask after my mother. One mention of “Lady Spencer-Harris” and the carpenter became all airs and graces. Then, when he saw I wasn’t into all that stuff, he chanced his arm saying, and I quote, “Do you fancy a bunk-up in the vestry?”’

  Megan rolled her eyes, ‘I imagine your response was short and to the point.’

  ‘Let’s just say my mother would approve of the language I used even less than she approves of me “playing at being a business woman”.’

  Having met Lady Spencer-Harris on a couple of occasions when she’d visited Izzie during their college holidays, Megan had no problem imagining that she wouldn’t approve of her only daughter doing any sort of manual work, even if it was preserving part of the nation’s heritage at the same time.

  ‘So,’ Megan turned her back on the mess in the chancel and examined the rest of the church, taking in the collection of craft equipment stacked up on a thin bench that ran the length of the north aisle, a collection of child-sized craft tables and seats lined up ready for use, and the tower, which looked mercifully intact from where she stood, ‘level with me. You have Mrs V in the kitchen, and there is no way, crisis or no crisis, you are getting me up a ladder, so what do you need me to do?’

  ‘Moral support!’ Izzie enveloped Megan in another hug. ‘It’s getting late. You must be starving and cold. Let’s lock up and go have dinner with my folks over with. I have a three-line whip order to bring you to the high table tonight.’

  ‘Oh God, really?’ Megan grimaced, ‘But I didn’t bring anything suitable to wear to one of your parents’ dinners.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I have loads of “please the parents” outfits; you can borrow one.’

  Knowing she should have guessed she’d never have got away without a summons from Izzie’s parents, Megan nodded. ‘All right, you have a deal, but on one condition.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘You tell me what it is you

  really want me to do while I’m here!’

  Chapter Two

  December 15th

  Having climbed up the three flights of narrow stairways that led to the old servants’ quarters, Izzie pushed open a wooden door and ushered Megan into what had once been the corridor that connected the household retainer’s bedrooms. Now it led to a comfortable lounge, a small kitchen, two bedrooms, and a bathroom.

  Kicking off her working boots, Izzie headed into the kitchen, scrubbed her hands clean, and put the kettle on. ‘Like it?’

  ‘It’s so cosy. You’ve worked wonders!’

  Leaving the kettle to boil, Izzie headed back into the hallway and pushed open the nearest door. ‘This is my spare room, and your room for as long as you like.’

  ‘I love it!’ Megan dropped her holdall on the floor, and took in the neatly made up double bed, the hand painted furniture decorated with butterflies, and the small sink and dressing table in the corner of the room. ‘Nick will like it here too.’

  Izzie grinned mischievously. ‘I’m dying to hear more about your Nicholas, but sadly it’ll have to wait. Come on, let’s grab a hot drink to fortify us before we face the parental inquisition!’

  ‘I assume your conversion of the attic is one thing your parents can’t disapprove of? You’ve worked wonders.’

  ‘Pretty much.’ Izzie smiled, but the gesture didn’t quite meet her eyes, ‘I thought it was a good idea. Somewhere that, when I finally manage to escape and leave home, can be leased out to the public as a holiday home. It’s cut off from the house, so they won’t have to sully their hands with anything so vulgar as interacting with the populace.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Izzie, they aren’t that bad.’

  ‘Oh yes they are.’ She wrapped her hands around her mug of steaming hot chocolate. ‘Thank goodness they approve of you!’

  ‘It always surprised me that they are OK with me. Do they know I’m just a waitress these days, or should I be pretending I run the Tate Modern or something?’

  ‘The National Gallery maybe, but definitely not the Tate Modern.’ Doing a passable imitation of her mother’s posh vowels Izzie laughed, “That isn’t real art, darling!”

  ‘Even so, that doesn’t stop me being from a normal family with an ordinary job.”
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  ‘Talking of your job; are you sure it’s OK for me to steal you away from Pickwicks at such a busy time of year?’

  ‘Of course. Peggy is the best boss ever. All I needed to say was that I had a friend in need, and she virtually pushed me out of her door.’

  ‘I don’t like to think of Peggy struggling, though,’ Izzie was still concerned, ‘is there someone to cover for you?’

  Megan laughed, ‘She’s press-ganged our most regular customer into service.’

  ‘No way!’

  ‘Yep. Kit is Peggy’s best friend, so it’s not as bad as it sounds! She’s a writer who works in the corner of the café all day. It’s not unusual for Kit to lay down her pen and tie on an apron.’

  ‘Well, if she’s sure it’s OK, drink up and let’s find you a dress my mother can’t cast aspersions at.’ Izzie laughed: now it was Megan’s turn to look worried. ‘Don’t look so concerned, you get on with everyone. It’s a knack! That’s why you’re so good at your job at Pickwicks. And anyway, you can’t let my parents down by potentially marrying a man of the wrong class.’

  ‘They’ve not given up parading the male offspring of the local gentry in front of you in the hope you’ll become an heiress of another estate then?’

  Izzie made a face. ‘Last month it was the annual dinner and dance of one of Mother’s various committees. I was “shown off” to three men, no less. All unsuitable and unappealing in so many ways I don’t know enough adjectives to tell you how awful they were.’

  ‘At least you aren’t the first-born. I bet your brother gets it even worse than you do.’

  ‘He used to, but Sebastian has finally given in to Mother’s hectoring and toed the family line. He recently got engaged to some frightful filly. They live out of range in Hertfordshire.’

  ‘Hence your mother increasing her firepower at you?’

  ‘You’ve got it.’

  ‘How are you enjoying working in Richmond, Megan?’ Lady Spencer-Harris waved a hand regally toward a hovering housekeeper, who instantly bustled off to fetch the first course.