Trisha Ashley - Twelve Days of Christmas

He’d been giving me very searching looks all evening, but since they weren’t dissimilar to the ones he sent my way when he was drawing me, he was probably just sizing me up for another sculpture: given my watery performance, a Little Mermaid, perhaps?

I was quite happy to go off to bed, really, because I was starting to feel exhausted and strangely light-headed, though calm in an odd sort of way: I suppose the whole experience on the ice had been a very cathartic one, when I came to think about it.

Now I’d accepted that Alan couldn’t help the actions that had led to his death, I could finally forgive him, letting go of the anger that had burdened me for the last eight years and enabling me to remember him, quite simply, with love.

And Gran? According to her journal, she seemed to have determined to do much the same:

Jude was downstairs early and back to being quietly helpful, though there was still some awkwardness between us — in my case largely because that passionate kiss had featured largely and rather feverishly in my dreams last night. I knew he was thinking about it too — our eyes kept meeting and then we’d both immediately look away.

I felt absolutely fine, with no ill after-effects, as I assured him when he asked, accompanying the question with one of those searching stares from his deep-set dark eyes.

I was glad that we seemed to be friends again and he seemed cheerful enough (probably, in the light of day, deeply relieved that I hadn’t taken the kiss seriously!).

He even fell in with Coco’s suggestion that we have a quick run-through of our play scenes after breakfast, before he went to the studio, since it was New Year’s Eve (which, what with everything else happening, I had managed to forget!) and the final performance was to be later today, in front of an invited audience of Old Nan and Richard.

We played our Twelfth Night roles straight and serious, no hamming this time, and then off Jude went, commanding me to bring his lunch to the studio later, so we were back to normal again — or what passed for it.

‘Okay,’ I agreed, ‘but I won’t be able to stay long because I’ve got way too much to do. I want to turn the ham bone into pea and ham soup for tomorrow, for a start, and then I thought I might make some soda bread.’

‘Sounds good to me,’ he said. ‘By the way, Guy, one of us will need to drive down and pick up Old Nan and Richard this afternoon.’

‘I’ll do that if you like, then,’ he offered and then gave me a glinting, flirtatious smile. ‘Holly can come with me.’

‘Holly will be too busy cooking dinner for eleven people,’ I replied pointedly.

‘We’ve discussed the menu: it’s all very straightforward,’ Tilda said. ‘Smoked mackerel mousse on toast triangles — my very own recipe — roast lamb with rosemary and then treacle tart and custard.’

‘Lovely,’ Becca said. ‘I’m not going to want to go home when the roads have thawed. Maybe I could ask Richard to pray for more snow?’

Merlin had stayed with me this morning, but accompanied me down to the studio when I took Jude’s lunch.

He was welding, totally absorbed in his work, so I put on the spare visor and sat in my usual place on the dais to watch him until he finally switched off the torch.

‘It’s coming along, don’t you think?’ he asked, examining his handiwork critically. Already, what had started out looking like a few linked metal leaves had begun to elongate and swirl into the interlinked forms of horse and woman. It was turning out a bit like one of the maquettes he’d made, so I could see roughly where it was heading.

‘Yes, and I believe you now when you say you get paid good money for your sculptures,’ I teased him and he grinned.

‘You’re very good at dampening my pretensions, but my work is much in demand, I’ll have you know! “Some are born great, some achieve greatness and some have greatness thrust upon them.”’

‘Is that from the play? I don’t remember that bit.’

‘It’s in one of the scenes we’re not doing,’ he said, sitting down next to me. Merlin came out from under the dais and nudged his way between us, leaning his weight affectionately against Jude’s shoulder; though that might have been just a keen interest in the sandwiches.

Jude was silent while he ate, his mind clearly on his work rather than anything else, but when he’d finished and I was packing the remains back into the basket, he suddenly said, ‘Holly, we need to talk about yesterday, when I—’

‘Oh, let’s forget all that,’ I said brightly. ‘We’d both had a shock and it makes you do the strangest things. I feel much better now.’

‘Yes, but Holly, you—’

I picked up the basket and headed for the door. ‘I must go — see you later. I’ll be so glad to get this wretched play over with!’

The New Year’s Eve audience, well primed by a good roast lamb dinner and a drop or two of sherry, were prepared to watch three rank amateurs and one professional actor massacre scenes from the Bard with equanimity.

In fact, I wished I could have watched it instead of acted in it, because it must have been hilariously funny, what with me spending most of the time looking like a waif in Jude’s enormous greatcoat, Coco a skeletal Bride of Frankenstein and Jude, resigned but unable to resist slightly hamming it up, in his blue velvet cloak and imaginary moustache.

Michael played it straight, but gave a muted performance, probably to stop the rest of us looking quite so awful: but if so, it didn’t really work, especially in the parts that hinged on Sebastian and Viola looking identical: ‘An apple, cleft in two, is not more twin than these two creatures: which is Sebastian?’

You couldn’t have found two people more unlike than Michael and me if you tried, so I couldn’t blame the snort of laughter that came from Guy’s corner of the room at that point.

However, the rest of the audience applauded each scene enthusiastically, though that might have had something to do with the sherry.

Michael spoke his final lines very well, considering he had the distraction of Coco draped adoringly around him by this point, and then it was Jude’s turn to declare his love for me — such as it was:

‘Cesario, come — for so you shall be, while you are a man; but, when in other habits you are seen, Orsino’s mistress and his fancy’s queen.’

To my mind, that line’s about as romantic as Prince Charles saying, when asked if he was in love with Diana, ‘Yes — whatever love means,’ even if Jude did accompany the words with a look of smouldering promise. I think I may have underestimated his acting abilities as well as his artistic ones.

There was another round of applause and Old Nan dabbed her eyes with a pink tissue and said sentimentally that it was terribly moving and she loved a happy ending. ‘And I’ll knit you and Jude a nice Afghan for your wedding present,’ she declared, beaming at us.

‘We’re not really getting married, it was just in the play, Nan,’ I explained.

‘I don’t hold with all this living together out of wedlock,’ she said severely. ‘Don’t think you’re getting my Afghan until you tie the knot with this poor lass, Jude Martland!’

‘All right, Nan,’ he said. ‘I’ll bear that in mind.’

‘Interesting play, isn’t it?’ the vicar said, allowing Guy to refill his sherry glass. ‘Nothing is what it seems right until the end and it must have been even more confusing in Shakespeare’s day, when the female parts were played by boys.’

‘Yes, so a boy was playing a girl, pretending to be a boy!’

‘That’s right. It all harks back to mumming and ancient pagan cross-dressing fertility rituals, like the Man-Woman character at the Revels, as you will see.’

‘If I’m still here,’ I said. ‘It does seem to be slowly thawing, so I might have left.’

‘Of course you’ll be here,’ Old Nan snapped tetchily, waking suddenly from a half-doze in time to catch this. ‘Where else would you be?’

Quite possibly in a smart house in London cooking falafels, if Ellen got her way, I thought!

Guy ran Old Nan and Richard home again soon after that. To my surprise, no-one seemed interested in staying up until midnight to see the New Year in since, as Noël explained when I asked, Twelfth Night had always been Little Mumming’s night of transition from the old year to the new, and that was not likely ever to change.

Everyone went to bed except Jude, who followed me into the kitchen where I was about to wash the sherry glasses.

I thought he was going to let Merlin out and take a last look at the horses, but instead he came and turned me round by the shoulders, staring down at me as if my face was a slightly untrust-worthy map he was trying to read, to find a destination he was not sure he wanted to reach.