Clive could hear Lucy’s voice in his ear again: That won’t do, you look like you’re dressing for a funeral, not a party. She was chuckling at his attempt to look smart. She’d always chosen his suits, co-ordinating his clothes as if he was colour blind. He had trimmed his beard, put on the lotion that Lucy had bought him for Christmas. It smelt of sandalwood and smoke and always made him feel smart.
Bella knew he was going out for the night. She gave him a sad eye, knowing she always got a treat before he closed the door. He intended to walk up to Gary’s home, but halfway there Simon and Chloë stopped to give him a lift.
Chloë was carrying an enormous bowl of fruit salad, covered with clingfilm. ‘We’d better be on our best behaviour tonight. We don’t want to ruin their white leather sofas,’ she said.
‘Chloë! Don’t be mean. It’s good of them to have us, and Gary’s a decent chap.’
‘Sorry.’ She laughed.
Clive felt sad, hearing the familiar banter between a couple who knew each other’s foibles. Chloë was quick to make judgements, but kind in other ways. Simon was solid as granite. Lucy had liked them both.
Clive dreaded going alone to this sort of occasion but there would be a crowd of them mingling, and he hoped he’d see Natalie out of the kitchen for once. She hadn’t taken up his offer of a walk, but Lucy teased him: Faint heart never won fair lady.
How could she make a joke of this? No one would ever replace her. Yet there was no harm in a bit of female companionship, was there? You only live once, so don’t waste time wool-gathering, he heard Lucy whisper in his ear. If he took up her suggestion, he might lose that voice in his head. While he was alone, she reigned supreme.
‘Here we are – and what a house. It’s an interesting shape. Old Arthur says it’s like a bunker on the Atlantic Wall defences and that terracotta stucco is so last year.’
‘Chloë!’ Simon exclaimed. ‘Enough.’
There were candles in jars up the steps to the portico where two stone lions were guarding the door. Inside Clive found a large drawing room humming with voices. Ariadne was checking out the piano while Hebe hovered, passing round little canapés. He could see the Reverend Dennis in a corner with old Arthur, who was wearing his crumpled linen suit and a cravat. Phil and Greg were chatting to Duke and Pippa, who was wearing an outrageous floaty garment that looked like real silk. Della was hugging her glass, but there was no sign of Natalie, so Clive found his way to the kitchen where she was helping. Mel had a large tray of village sausages. Natalie looked up and smiled. For once she was not wearing black, but a pretty floral dress and glittery sandals. Her hair was not scraped back but loosely falling on her shoulders, and she looked ten years younger.
‘Can I help?’ he offered. A job would help him to mingle.
‘Tell them grub’s up,’ Mel announced, in a broad Yorkshire accent.
‘Is Spiro not here?’ Clive asked.
‘No, we had no babysitter. It’s Irini’s night out.’ She shrugged. ‘The choir isn’t going down well with her, for some reason. Greeks versus Brits, I fear.’
‘That’s a pity,’ said Natalie. ‘I do hope they come to our concert especially for St Nicholas’s Day. We’re hoping to have a little ceremony.’
‘What sort?’ Clive said.
‘Wait and see.’ Natalie smiled. ‘Now go and call the crowd in.’ She was being bossy and he liked it.
‘Aye aye, Captain!’ he replied, and winked at her.
‘Did I see that? You and him?’
‘Nonsense, we’re just good friends,’ Natalie replied.
The food was delicious, washed down with good wine, and after the fruit salad and chocolate cake, Ariadne got up to speak. ‘On behalf of the Christmas choir, may I thank Gary and Kelly for their generous hospitality? It’s been good to meet up, other than in rehearsals but we must sing something for our hosts. How about “I Saw Three Ships Come Sailing In”?’
The choir gathered in its usual shape and Hebe played a chord to set them off.
Clive thought they sounded not at all bad.
Then Mel came forward. ‘I’d like to sing one of Kate Rusby’s carols. Do join in. It’s called “Sweet Chiming Christmas Bells”.’
It was a jolly tune and soon everyone was joining in the chorus. He noticed even Gary’s wife was singing. The party was going much better than he’d hoped, but he had yet to get Natalie’s attention. He intended to walk her home, but he was stuck in a corner with the vicar and Simon.
‘I’ve got an awkward situation,’ said the vicar. ‘Norris Thorner has made it clear that there are to be no carols at the Advent service. He says it’s not in keeping with the solemn aspect of Advent. Christmas carols must only be sung on Christmas Day and afterwards.’
‘But we always sing “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel” and “Joy To The World”. What’s the problem?’ Simon asked.
‘They helped fund the alterations to the vicarage garage long before my time. I think he regards it as his duty to have a say in whatever is going on.’
‘Good job they’re not here tonight, then. Perhaps it’s more about his wife leaving the choir over that misunderstanding,’ Clive said.
‘Ah, yes, you’ve got a point. Our main concert is in the community hall and they can stay away if they choose,’ said Simon.
Father Dennis hesitated. ‘It’s just that the season of goodwill is coming soon, so I’ll try to find a compromise.’
All this fuss over carols, thought Clive, amused. ‘I don’t get it.’
‘There’s a lot of churchmanship around all this. Some believe carols are pagan in origin. They arose from medieval dances and perhaps earlier rituals, so we have to let them have their say.’
‘What’s wrong with a bit of singing and dancing?’ Clive did not understand.
‘Nothing at all,’ said Father Dennis. ‘But for some if it’s pleasurable it may be sinful…’
They all smiled.
‘Sad but true,’ he continued. ‘Advent used to be a period of preparation and fasting, which in earlier times meant they saved their meat for a feast day, killed a pig on St Thomas’s Day and gave a meal to the poor. Winter was harsh in those times and meat was only for the rich. The singing and dancing went on until Twelfth Night. Blink, and it was Lenten fasting before Easter. This was a cycle of feast and famine for some, especially the poor.’
Ah, well, thought Clive, none of my business, except there had been a suggestion that the choir would sing at the Advent-candle-lighting service. As the party began to wind down, Clive made his way to the kitchen to see Natalie out, but she wasn’t there.
‘Natalie left a while back, but you might catch her up.’ Chloë was loading plates into the dishwasher. Clive shot out of the door, after saying thank you to his hosts. If he jogged, he might catch up with her. He saw a figure in the dark with a flickering torch. For once the sky was clear and full of stars but it was chilly. ‘Natalie!’ he called, and she turned round.
‘Oh, it’s you… I’m on my way back now.’
‘But it’s quite a trek in the dark. I was going to ask you to let me walk you home,’ he said.
‘That’s kind, but I’m fine,’ she replied, not looking at him.
‘Wasn’t it a good party? Ariadne’s idea was great and the food was delicious,’ he said.
‘Mel did most of it.’ Natalie carried on walking.
‘I thought you looked splendid tonight. It was nice to see you wearing colour.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ she snapped.
‘I noticed you wear black a lot.’ Clive sensed trouble.
‘What if I do? It’s nobody’s business but my own. I’m a widow, and every widow wears black in Greece.’
‘I’m sorry. Did it happen a long time ago?’ he asked.
‘Long enough, but you never get over these things.’
‘They say time heals but I’m not sure. I think you carry your loss for the rest of your life.’ Clive was trying to soften his faux-pas.
‘It depends on—’ Natalie broke off. ‘If you don’t mind I’d rather not talk about it.’
‘Sorry, I seem to be getting off on the wrong foot.’ Clive hesitated.
After that there was a deafening silence. When they came to Clive’s villa, he suddenly blurted out, ‘Would you like a coffee?’
‘No, thank you, I’m tired,’ Natalie said. ‘I prefer to walk the rest by myself. Good night.’
Clive stood by his drive, stunned by her sharp reply. He had got it all wrong. The woman didn’t want company. She had made that very clear, and he felt foolish and embarrassed for trying to pursue her. ‘Now look what you’ve made me do, Lucy, I did try.’
Not hard enough, she whispered. Don’t be a wimp. Natalie has her reasons. Find out what they are.