nowadays,â she had commented when Lisa had been describing the fun she had had shopping for gifts for the several small and not so small children who featured on her Christmas present list.
Her father in particular delighted in receiving anything toy-like, and had a special weakness for magic tricks. Lisa had posted her gifts to her parents to Japan weeks ago, and had, in turn, received hers from them. She had brought the presents north with her, intending to add them to the pile she had assumed would accumulate beneath the Christmas tree, which in her imagination she had visualised as tall and wonderfullybushy, dominating the large hallway that Henry had described to her, warmed by the firelight of its open hearth and scenting the whole room with the delicious aroma of fresh pine needles.
Alas for her imaginings. Henryâs mother did not, apparently, like real Christmas trees. They caused too much mess with their needles. And as for an open fire! They had had that boarded up years ago, she had informed Lisa, adding that it had caused far too much mess and nuisance.
So much for her hazy thoughts of establishing the beginnings of their own family traditions, her plans of one day telling her own children how she and their father had spent their first Christmas together, going out to choose the family Christmas tree.
âYouâre far too romantic and impractical,â Henry had criticised her. âI agree with Mother. Real Christmas trees are nothing but a nuisance.â
As she turned away from the window Lisa was uncomfortably aware not only of Henryâs motherâs reluctance to accept her, but also of her own unexpectedly rebellious feeling that Henry was letting her down in not being more supportive of her.
She hadnât spent one full day with Henryâs family yet, and already she was beginning to regret the extended length of their Christmas stay with them.
Reluctantly she walked towards the bedroom door. It was ten to eight, and the last thing she wanted to do now was arrive late for breakfast.
Â
âOff-white wool⦠Donât you think thatâs rather impractical?â Henryâs mother asked Lisa critically.
Taking a deep breath and counting to ten, Lisa forced herself to smile as she responded politely to Mary Hanfordâs criticism.
âPerhaps a little, but thenââ
âI never wear cream or white. I think they can be so draining to the pale English complexion,â her prospective mother-in-law continued. âNavy is always so much more serviceable, I think.â
Lisa had arrived downstairs half an hour ago, all her offers to help with the preparation of the pre-Christmas buffet supper having been firmly refused.
So much for creating the right impression on Henryâs parents with her new clothes, Lisa reflected wryly, wishing that Alison was with her to appreciate the ironic humour of the situation.
She could, of course, have shared the joke with Henry, but somehow she doubted that he would have found it funny⦠He had, no doubt, inherited his sense of humour, or rather his lack of it, from his mother, she decided sourly, and was immediately ashamed of her own mean-spiritedness.
Of course, it was only natural that Henryâs mother should be slightly distant with her. Naturally she was protective of Henryâhe was her only son, her only childâ¦
He was also a man of thirty-one, a sharp inner voice reminded Lisa, and surely capable of making his own mind up about who he wanted to marry? Or was he?
It hadnât escaped Lisaâs notice during the day how Henry consistently and illuminatingly agreed with whatever opinion his mother chose to voice, but she dismissed the tiny niggling doubts that were beginning to undermine her confidence in her belief that she and Henry had a future together as natural uncertainties raised by seeing him in an unfamiliar setting and with people, moreover, who knew him far better than she
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley