But if my mother was Ned Martland’s daughter, then my grandfather was the brother of Jude and Guy’s father, which would make us cousins — removed cousins it’s true, though not, if Ned abandoned Gran, far enough for my liking!

Then I thought of dear Noël, Becca, Jess and even Tilda, who I am growing fond of despite her being such an old toot, and realised that I wouldn’t mind being related to them at all.

I restrained the urge to skim forward in the journal, but settled down with my fingers crossed, hoping that maybe Gran wasn’t pregnant after all, broke up with the untrustworthy-sounding Ned, and married my grandfather instead.

Unfortunately, everything in the journal pointed to a different conclusion — as did my mother’s birth certificate when I went upstairs and had a rummage in the trunk and found it. This was probably why I was a bit short with Jude when he and Jess came back, bringing a breath of chilly air with them.

Jess said she’d made a snowman while Jude had been messing about in his studio, and that the mill pond was almost completely frozen over.

I shivered: ‘You didn’t go on the ice, did you?’

‘No, I wanted to, but Uncle Jude told me not to.’

‘What’s the delicious smell? And are those scones?’ Jude asked hungrily.

‘It’s just the soup — I like to keep a big pot going in winter. And the scones are cheese ones for tea. I was just about to take them through to the sitting room. I thought Tilda might be down by now.’

‘Whatever I ought to be paying you, you’d be worth it,’ he said sincerely, taking the tray I’d set out.

‘And as I keep telling you: you couldn’t afford me.’

He looked down at me curiously. ‘I don’t know why you’re so convinced I’m penniless.’

‘Oh, I’m sure you’re not entirely penniless, but you’re an artist with a neglected house and no live-in staff, so clearly you aren’t exactly rolling in it.’

‘It’s a lifestyle choice.’

‘What, the grubby, neglected house?’

‘No, I meant not having any staff living in. Actually,’ he added, ‘I hadn’t realised the house was getting in a mess until I came back and saw how much better it looked now.’

‘You shouldn’t have been so stingy and paid Sharon a bit more, then. She wasn’t exactly going to bust a gut for half the minimum wage, was she?’

‘Is that what she told you I paid her?’

‘Yes, and no Christmas bonus either. Do you mean — it wasn’t true?’

He laughed. ‘No — and so much for trying to do a good turn! When I advertised the job she came to me with a sob story about her husband being unemployed and being so angry he was taking it out on her. I felt so sorry for her I took her on — and paid her double.’

‘Double?’

‘Yes, believe it or not. Then I realised how useless she was and caught her trying to steal some of my sketches from the wastepaper basket in the study. I really wanted to get rid of her, I just didn’t know how.’

‘Oh. . then I’m sorry. I thought you were mean as well as poor,’ I apologised.

‘Uncle Jude’s got lots of money, Holly,’ Jess said. ‘Mummy says his sculptures sell for ridiculous amounts and he’s rolling in it.’

Jude gave me the strangely attractive smile that softened the hard line of his mouth and quirked it up at one corner. ‘You didn’t think Coco wanted me for my good looks alone, did you? So yes, whatever your charges are, I could pay them. But since you won’t accept that, I’m under an obligation to you.’

‘You needn’t be, because I’m not doing it for you.’

‘I know, but I still feel under an obligation. I’ll just have to find another way to pay you.’

I discovered I was still staring up (a novelty in itself) into his gold-flecked dark eyes and hastily looked away. ‘Did you see Coco and Michael?’

‘No, but everyone else is in the sitting room. I thought they’d be back by now, but they must have gone on to the village.’

‘I hope Coco doesn’t try anything silly.’

‘Michael seems the sensible kind, I don’t suppose he’d let her.’

‘What are we having for dinner tonight?’ asked Jess, getting on to something she considered more important.

‘Pheasant pie with redcurrant jelly and winter vegetables. I’m making great inroads into the frozen pheasants. And we’ll have the trifle for pudding, if you help me whip the cream and sprinkle hundreds and thousands on it later.’

‘Or we can use squirty cream, that’s my favourite.’

‘Yes, I noticed and I got the last of Mrs Comfort’s stock, so you can use as much as you want to.’

‘Cool! But I don’t know if I like pheasant pie.’

‘You can try it and see, and if not, I’m bringing the ham through as well so we can take the first cut at that: it’s a monster and should last for days.’

Eventually the remains would turn into pea and ham soup, my favourite — if I was here long enough to make it.

I slipped out of the back door later and made for the track up the hill to call Laura, but the snow had drifted across it quite deeply in places and the signal was still poor when I had to stop. Then we kept getting cut off, which was frustrating.

I managed to tell her about the ghastly Coco and the handsome love-rat Guy landing on me. ‘And if Guy is like Ned Martland, as they keep telling me he is, then I can understand why poor Gran fell for him, though it’s looking more and more as though he got her pregnant and then abandoned her, just as I feared.’

I lost the signal then, but when I got her back I dropped the final bombshell: ‘But the icing on the cupcake of life is that Jude Martland turned up late last night, too!’

‘But he was supposed to be in America, wasn’t he?’

‘Yes, but he thought I was a cold-hearted, money-grubbing bitch who wouldn’t look after his aunt and uncle after Tilda had her accident!’ I said indignantly. ‘So he just got on the first plane home. And I like him even less in person than I did on the phone, if that’s possible.’

‘Hasn’t he got any redeeming features?’

‘He might have one or two,’ I admitted reluctantly, ‘but the annoying parts outweigh them.’

‘So, why aren’t you on your way home, then?’

‘We seem to be snowed in and none of us can escape, unless we get a sudden thaw.’

‘Sounds like a fun house-party, then!’

‘Yes, I agreed glumly. ‘The only good thing is that Jude brought an actor called Michael Whiston with him.’

‘Oh, I’ve heard of him, he’s very attractive!’

‘Yes he is, and also a really nice man and — oh, damn!’ The connection had cut for the third time, so when I got her back I said, ‘This is hopeless, so I’ll give up and try again tomorrow. Give my love to the family.’

‘And Sam?’ she asked hopefully, but then the signal symbol vanished once more and I shoved the phone back into my pocket and trudged back down the hill, where no-one except Merlin had noticed my absence.

The afternoon was beginning to grow dark and I, at least, was getting worried about Michael and Coco, when the familiar tractor appeared up the drive, this time with a gritting trailer behind it and a youth at the wheel who I guessed from his silver-gilt hair to be George’s son, Liam.

Crammed into the cab with him were our two missing refugees. By the time I’d opened the door, Liam was helping a drunk, tearstained and dishevelled Coco out of the cab, followed by Michael, who was looking long-suffering and carrying one of Oriel Comfort’s inspirational hessian bags: Raindrops Are God’s Tears of Joy.

Liam gave me a wink and a knowing grin that I found hard to interpret — or perhaps didn’t wish to interpret — then jumped back into the cab and roared off, spraying a generous flourish of grit as he went.

‘I see you found the shop open?’ I said to Michael, with a nod at the bag, and he smiled.

‘Once I’d seen the state of the roads it occurred to me that since we were clearly going nowhere for Christmas, I ought to contribute a bit to the festivities here. Then once I was in the shop, something came over me.’

‘You mean Oriel Comfort came over you: she’s very persuasive. You should see what I bought last time! But come in, you both look freezing.’

Since Coco seemed likely to remain drooping there like a half-melted candle, Michael took her arm and towed her in after him. ‘We’re not too cold, actually — we were freezing when we got to the village, of course, but I left Coco in the pub to phone her parents and thaw out while I was in the shop.’

‘So I see,’ I closed the front door and surveyed her. She swayed slightly and blearily focused her ice-chip eyes on me.

‘Mummy said Daddy had the flu, so Christmas and our engagement party were cancelled anyway! She said there was no point in my rushing back, I should stay here — but they never liked Guy anyway.’

‘Right. .’ I said soothingly, removing her waxed coat and hanging it up on a peg, then pushing her down and pulling off her wellingtons, while Michael divested himself of his own borrowings.

‘And when I said what about my presents, because I was so looking forward to finally getting a Birkin bag, she said, “What Birkin bag?” Coco continued in a high-pitched whine. ‘Can you believe it? I told her months ago to get on the list for one, because it was what I wanted for Christmas, and the stupid cow forgot!’

‘I don’t think you should call your mother a stupid cow,’ I said, any feelings of faint sympathy vanishing abruptly. Coco had all the warmth and emotional depth of a winter puddle: how on earth could seemingly intelligent men like Jude and Guy ever have fallen for her?