Christmas at Strand House: A gorgeously uplifting festive romance!. Linda Mitchelmore

      Bobbie

      ‘That, Lissy, was wonderful,’ Bobbie said. ‘No one would know you’re not a professional chef, Cordon Bleu trained.’ She didn’t think she was going to be able to move for at least half an hour and she hoped no one would suggest she did. She rarely ate a quarter of the portion size Lissy had put in front of her that evening – each plate of food more delicious than the one before. It was a mercy she didn’t have a modelling assignment to go to until after the New Year, but she couldn’t be certain of that. Sometimes another older model booked for a magazine shoot or an advert would pull out at the last minute and Bobbie would step in. It was what she was known for – her availability and her reliability. Well, with no one else in her life to consider it was all too easy for her to drop anything she was doing and fly off to Paris or Barcelona or drive down to Kent or wherever. She crossed her fingers that she wouldn’t get one of those calls until she’d worked off whatever weight she was going to put on here in Strand House.

      ‘Cordon Bleu?’ Lissy laughed. ‘More Giorgio Locatelli and Jamie Oliver! And recipes ripped from the cookery section of Sunday newspaper supplements.’

      ‘Wherever,’ Bobbie said. ‘You’re a dark horse, hiding your light under a bushel. No one would know looking at your Facebook page and your Instagram and all the foodie pictures you put up that make me drool just to look at them, that you were an accountant.’

      ‘And that’s the way I want it to stay,’ Lissy said. ‘It’s not the most exciting of professions, is it? I mean, we aren’t doctors saving lives. We’re not singers of soul music that soothes people’s minds. Besides, people want favours done once they find out I’m an accountant sometimes. I’d like a ten-pound note for every time on a first date, once I’ve said what I do for a living, that it suddenly seems okay for me to offer my services for free in exchange for the meal we’re eating. Besides, social media is all smoke and mirrors. Few of us are our true selves on there, are we?’

      ‘I’m not!’ Bobbie laughed. ‘You’ve all been kind enough not to say you’ve noticed but my avatar photo was taken in Bali when I was thirty-five. I’ve not revealed my age, so who’s to know?’

      ‘I know what you mean, Lissy, about smoke and mirrors,’ Janey said. ‘I only use one of my paintings or a photo of flowers or something as my avatar. I’m going to have to … no, forget it.’

      ‘Forget what?’ Bobbie said. They’d had a conversation earlier in the sitting room while Lissy and Xander were getting supper ready and Janey had said she’d consult a solicitor once Christmas was over and get her brother-in-law to go with her to fetch her computer and any other things she wanted taken out of the house she’d shared with Stuart. She had her smartphone if she wanted to access the internet or get in touch with her sister. But she wasn’t going back.

      Janey shrugged.

      ‘Look, sweetheart,’ Bobbie said, ‘you’re doing fine. So much has happened to you since this morning.’

      ‘I know. I’m trying to stay positive, I really am. But it’s hard.’

      Bobbie had realised that. Every time there was a sudden noise, like a car backfiring, or a firework going off as had happened about an hour ago, Janey had jumped. She’d even jumped when Xander slid the plate with the pavlova Lissy had made across the table and it squeaked like a trapped mouse.

      ‘It’ll get easier,’ Lissy said. ‘I promise you it will.’

      ‘I hope so. Anyway, thanks all,’ Janey said, raising a now empty glass towards the others. ‘To friends and delicious food. And wine.’

      ‘To all of that,’ Xander said. ‘Hey! I’ve got an idea. We could play a game. Where we want to be in ten years’ time.’

      ‘Ten?’ Bobbie said. ‘Make that one, given my age! And even at that I think I’d like to still be able to stand on my four-inch heels. Yes, that’s where I’d like to be – still standing basically!’

      The others all laughed and Bobbie was glad because Janey had been in danger of killing the good mood of the evening.

      ‘You next, Janey,’ Bobbie said. ‘One year from now.’

      ‘One year from now,’ Janey repeated, her voice firm, and Bobbie was glad to hear it after the whisper-like shakiness of it of earlier. ‘One year from now I’d like to be able to say I’ve sold some paintings. I’d like to travel further afield to paint. I mean, I must have painted Totnes castle at least twenty times and there’s another castle at Berry Pomeroy that I’ve never visited even though it’s only a couple of miles down the road from where I live. Now I’m by the sea I’d like to paint it in all its moods and in all seasons. And I’d like to be able to say I am making a living at it. And that I’m half way to being divorced.’

      Bobbie reached for a bottle of Prosecco that was still half-full. She topped up Janey’s glass.

      ‘That’s my girl.’ She took a swig of her own drink and swallowed hard. That was the thing – she, Bobbie, was old enough that Janey could be her girl. ‘We’ll drink to that. Who’s next for future dreams?’

      ‘I’ll go next,’ Lissy said. ‘One year from now I hope I’ve been brave enough to follow my heart and do what I really love, which is cooking, and not what I’m doing now to please my dear, late dad. Not that he said I had to become an accountant and take over his business, although he was pleased I did. So … one year from now you could be eating at my restaurant. The House on the Strand has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?’