‘It’s what life is all about,’ her father said. ‘Doing what you can for your friends – and I’ve been lucky. I’ve done well enough. We have a decent life, I think, don’t you?’
‘Yes, of course,’ she replied, wondering at the look in his eyes. ‘I never wanted more. I didn’t marry John for money. I had no idea his family were wealthy when he asked me.’
‘Comparatively wealthy,’ her father said with a wry smile. ‘Your mother hoped you would marry into the aristocracy and be really rich, Angela.’
‘I would only ever marry for love. I’m sorry if I let Mother down.’
‘You didn’t let me down. I only want you to be happy, my love.’
‘Yes, I know.’ Angela sighed with pleasure as she saw the tins filled with mince pies and sausage rolls ready for cooking. ‘All done, I can stop now and go up and change. Mark will be here in a few hours.’
‘Yes, you go, Angela. I’ll pop in and see how your mother is. She may have one of her headaches.’
Angela came downstairs after she’d changed to discover that her mother was in the kitchen and seemed more like her old self. She was just about to put the turkey into the oven.
‘Do you think it needs to go in yet?’ Angela asked. ‘It’s not nine o’clock yet and the turkey isn’t that big, Mum. Mark won’t be here until just before one and we want time for a few drinks first.’
‘Allow me to know my own cooking methods,’ her mother said, giving her an annoyed glance. ‘Where have you put the brandy bottle? I usually put a little in my mince pies.’
‘I’ve made them and put them in the pantry to keep cool until I cook them last thing,’ Angela said. ‘Dad thought perhaps you might have a headache? I think he took the brandy.’
Her mother made a rude sound that might have been laughter or derision. ‘What your father thinks and what he says is not always the same, believe me.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Never mind. I dare say he hid the brandy. He’s rather greedy with it and won’t let me use it in the cooking. We’ll have a sherry instead.’ She crossed to the dresser and picked up the sweet sherry, pouring two large glasses, which she brought back to the table.
‘Happy Christmas, Angela. I am glad you could spare the time to visit – even though you seem to feel others need you more.’
‘Oh, Mum,’ Angela said, and took a tiny sip of her sherry. She noticed the strong smell of French perfume again. ‘That’s a new scent, isn’t it? Not your usual …’
‘It was expensive, too expensive for me as a rule. I was lucky to get it …’
‘On offer?’ Angela pulled a face. ‘You were lucky. There is so little decent stuff in the shops yet – those that do have any charge the earth for it. If it wasn’t a luxury in the first place the Government would fine them for profiteering.’
‘You can afford it; John left you well off, didn’t he?’
‘Yes, but I’ve invested my money for the future – or Daddy did for me.’
Her mother sniffed. ‘You could quite easily marry again, Angela. Your in-laws would gladly introduce you to their friends, if you would give up this foolish job of yours and go to stay with them.’
‘I love my job – and I have no wish to live with John’s parents. I am not sure I shall marry again, but if I do it will be because I can love again, not for position or money.’
‘Well, if you’re looking after the dinner I shall go down the road and have drinks with some friends of mine. Your father doesn’t want to come – but there’s nothing to stop me.’
Angela watched as her mother left. She wasn’t sure anyone would want visitors at this hour of the morning, because even her mother’s friends had dinner to cook, and excited grandchildren who would be opening their presents.
Angela noticed that her mother had drunk the large glass of sherry, but she wasn’t interested in hers. Placing it on the windowsill out of the way, she made a pot of coffee and took it through to the sitting room. Her father was reading a magazine but put it down as she entered. They sat in comfortable silence enjoying their coffee until she returned to the kitchen.
Angela was busy looking after the dinner most of the morning and hardly noticed that her mother was absent. Peeking in the oven at a quarter to one, she saw the turkey looked beautiful, golden brown but not burned; the pastries she’d made were cooked and ready and she was just putting the vegetables on when Mark arrived. He came into the kitchen, bearing gifts and a bottle of champagne, which he placed on the dresser.
‘Your father said you were busy cooking so I thought I would offer my services, Angela.’
He looked so handsome, dressed casually in light slacks, shirt and a V-neck sweater that her heart caught with pleasure when he smiled. She’d begun to like Mark more and more and it was good to have him here on this special day, not just as a formal guest, but as one of her family. He had a glass of sherry in his hand, which he sipped before placing it on the table. It was almost as if they lived together. Rather than having to leave everything to take formal drinks in the parlour, he was here offering to help – just as if he was her husband.
‘Well, I should like someone to lift the turkey out in about twenty minutes and set it to rest on the board. I’ve put the plates to warm and I’ve made some little starters of salmon mousse with cucumber salad. I had to use some of the tinned salmon you gave me to bring home. It wasn’t possible to buy fresh, but they taste nice just the same.’
‘Your father said you’ve had a lot to do, Angela. Apparently, your mother hasn’t been too well – a headache perhaps?’
Mark looked at her oddly. Angela wondered about that expression, because it made her feel that he was keeping something back; like the similar look in her father’s eyes earlier it aroused her suspicions, but she was too busy getting the food ready to pursue it. Her father came into the kitchen and was given the task of carrying the starters through to the dining room.
‘I hope Mum is ready for her dinner,’ she said. ‘If you’ll bring the turkey through when we’ve eaten the first course, Dad, I’ll fetch the rest.’
‘Your mother isn’t down,’ her father said, and sighed. ‘I’m sorry, Angela. She promised me it wouldn’t happen today but …’
‘What do you mean?’ Angela asked. ‘Is she lying on the bed?’
‘Yes …’
‘Another headache? Poor Mum. Is she coming down at all?’
‘I don’t think so. We’ll see later. We’ll eat our starter and then I’ll check if she wants to come down – or I can take her a tray up.’
‘I’ll do that. Mark, I’ll take Mum her starter up first and then we’ll eat …’
‘No, Angela,’ her father said, and touched her arm. ‘Leave it for now.’
‘Why …’ Angela looked from one to the other. ‘What do you know that I don’t? Please, tell me. I have to know.’
Her father glanced at Mark, then, ‘She’s right. I wanted to tell you before – oh, months ago, when it first started, but she begged me not to. It wasn’t so bad then, but recently it has got so much worse.’
‘Her headaches? Has she seen a doctor?’
‘Phyllis refuses all help. She will not admit there is a problem.’
‘What kind of problem? This is ridiculous. I’m not a child – I want to know what is going on. Please tell me.’
‘Mark thought you were too wrapped up in your grief and we shouldn’t worry