Chapter 32
The Snow Ball was nearly upon them. Mid-December brought sparkling frost and crisp mornings, and the short days gave everyone a sense of urgency, hurrying to get everything done before dusk fell.
Foxwood turned itself upside down as furniture was rearranged.
Elizabeth winced as the grand piano was scraped across the elm parquet in the big drawing room and the sofas were pushed back to make room for the band.
The tuner arrived and the air was filled with a dissonant plink-plink.
Two hours later he gave a virtuoso performance of a Chopin nocturne, every note perfectly in tune.
‘We must use the piano more,’ said Elizabeth to Michael. It was lovely to hear music floating around the house.
It would be wrong, she thought, to say she felt like her old self.
She could never be that again: there were too many scars, too many mistakes, too much pain.
But she was gradually coming to like her new self.
Being a grandmother was pure bliss. The prospect of Alfie and Clementine here full-time in the New Year was exciting.
She and Michael had settled back into themselves since he had opened up about his hidden guilt over Edwin.
They had talked for hours, and there had been tears, but they had been the kind that make you feel better, and she felt closer than ever to him now.
As for Diana, she was transformed, positively dynamic, and was practically running the factory, she was so full of ideas.
‘I’m not sure you need me,’ Alfie had joked to his father.
‘Please. I definitely need you. I need an ally. She’s terrifying,’ Michael quipped back, but he was delighted by his daughter’s drive and determination.
Elizabeth turned her attention back to her list. She was the mistress of lists and delegation but also had an iron nerve.
Whatever happened, it would be a night to remember, and if something was forgotten, it was unlikely anyone would notice.
Everyone was contributing however they could, even Ted, who had been out chopping logs with Maurice and trundling them into the house in a wheelbarrow to fill the log baskets.
The day before the ball, Elizabeth supervised Joey harvesting huge balls of mistletoe from the tops of trees in the nearby orchard.
He had his ladder propped up precariously against the highest branches, and handed them down, one by one.
She wanted one hanging from the centre of each room: the hall, the small sitting room, the drawing room and the dining room, tied with white ribbon to match the milk-white berries.
When she got back, she found Alfie and Freddie had arrived with a van loaded up with bottles of champagne and wine, and a curious drink that looked like cream.
‘It’s advocaat,’ said Alfie, with pride. ‘There’s a new cocktail in town called a Snowball. It’s all the rage. What could be more perfect?’
He made a jug full, with advocaat and extra cream, eggs, sugar and brandy, and everyone declared it delicious.
‘We’ll have that at midnight,’ decided Elizabeth.
‘I can’t believe it’s tomorrow,’ said Clementine, thinking of the afternoon she’d found the invitations. ‘So much has happened.’
She was right, thought Elizabeth. So much had happened, and although some things had been under the surface and nobody needed to know about them, this year’s Snow Ball represented a fresh new start for everyone. The perfect way to close the year and look forward to the next.
Before dinner that night, Alfie knocked on Stella’s bedroom door. He was carrying a package wrapped in brown paper which he handed to her with reverence.
‘This is for you,’ he told her. ‘I took it to Ben to get it reframed, which is why it’s taken a while.’
Intrigued, Stella peeled back the paper. As the picture revealed itself, she gave a gasp. There she was, sitting on the bunk in the boat, her hair wild, sitting in the clothes she’d slept in, reading Wuthering Heights.
‘I remember him doing a sketch,’ she breathed. ‘I had no idea he’d done a painting. Oh, Alfie. This means the world.’
She grabbed him and held him tight. She was so grateful to him for the gesture, for apart from the signet ring, which she had always worn on a chain round her neck and never taken off, it was the only thing she had that connected her to the man she had loved so much.
And she remembered that day so well. It was the day they had fallen in love, even if they hadn’t admitted it either to themselves or to each other.
But the love had been there, in that boat, and here was the proof.
‘It’s very special,’ said Alfie, feeling choked. If he needed any evidence that Edwin had truly loved Stella, that she had meant the world to him, then this was it.
Later, after supper, which was shepherd’s pie in the kitchen because the dining room was completely upside down, Stella stood at the head of the table and held it up for everyone to admire. She was touched by how moved they all were.
‘Can we put it in the hall, with the others? In pride of place?’ asked Elizabeth. ‘Or would you prefer to have it in your room?’
Stella hesitated. In some ways, she wanted to keep it to herself.
But if anything proved that the Arbutus family had welcomed her into their midst, it was to have her portrait hung high in the hall, so she agreed.
And first thing the next morning, the perfect place was found, a nail was driven into the thick plaster, and there she was, Stella Knight, smiling down, ready to welcome all the guests who were going to come over the threshold at Foxwood.
The night of the ball was a clear, bright evening, with a sprinkling of stars, as if someone had flung a handful of diamonds across the sky.
The house itself glowed from inside, all the lights on the ground floor ablaze, the curtains swathed just so.
There were lanterns burning along the drive and up the steps to the front door, which was surrounded by tangles of ivy.
In the hall, Edwin’s paintings, with Stella in their midst, were each topped with a sprig of holly.
By the staircase stood a towering Christmas tree, decorated with white glass baubles like giant pearls.
And from the ceiling hung the biggest ball of mistletoe, spinning gently.
Elizabeth and Stella were sweeping through the house, double-checking every flower, every ornament.
In the drawing room, the Havana Brothers were warming up, and the rafters rang with the golden notes of the trumpeter, a little bit of Cuba in the Somerset countryside.
The grand piano winced a little at the over-enthusiastic fingers of the pianist, but it was nice to have it used again.
In the kitchen, Daisy was talking through the menu with the waitresses.
‘The first trays to go out will be the oysters, to be served with champagne as everyone arrives. When they’re gone, you go out with the angels-on-horseback and sausage rolls. These are warm so you need to be quick so they don’t go cold. And then there are the devilled eggs and the vol-au-vents.’
She was worried that there wasn’t enough food. She was worried about how on earth they were all going to manage without her in charge because she was supposed to be enjoying herself as a guest. In the end, Elizabeth had to calm her down.
‘Daisy, you’ve been slaving away for weeks making sure everything is perfect. And when have you ever let us run out of food? And the girls know what they’re doing.’
Daisy eyed the three of them doubtfully.
She wasn’t sure the Breverton Arms worked to her standards.
She would just have to keep popping in and out to check they were doing everything correctly.
The dining room had been set up for the buffet, and there would be silver chafing dishes filled with her hot Poulet Reine Elizabeth, followed by queen of puddings and pavlovas topped with chestnut cream.
There would be kedgeree at midnight to send everyone on their way at one o’clock, back to their billets or the Breverton Arms or the spare rooms at Foxwood which had been aired and polished and the beds made up with fresh linen.
The stage was set, and the house had never looked more beautiful.
And nor had its inmates. Now was the time for them to disappear off and put on their glad rags, ready for the family portrait to be taken by the fire in the drawing room, before the first guests arrived.
In the master bedroom, Elizabeth slipped into the dress that had been earmarked for the ball that never was.
She wondered if it was bad luck, then told herself there was no such thing.
It still fitted perfectly. Worry and rationing had made sure that she’d put on no weight in the intervening years.
She remembered buying it at Fenwick two months before war broke out.
What if Chamberlain’s negotiations with Hitler had been more successful, and he hadn’t uttered those now famous words: ‘This country is at war with Germany’?
But he had, and what had happened had happened, and she was proud of her son for taking on the challenge he’d been given.
And she knew Edwin would be cheering her on, pleased that finally she had revived the family tradition.
The Snow Ball. She couldn’t believe it was fifteen years since the last one. Sometimes it felt like yesterday.
All in all, she felt much calmer than she thought she would.
She was much calmer, full stop, these days.
Once, she would have been rushing about, panicking, double-checking, driving everyone mad.
This time, though, Clementine, Stella, Daisy and even Diana had shared the burden, and she felt positively serene.
Her only worry was that she might get emotional.
But who cared? She was allowed to shed a tear or two.