One Christmas Morning & One Summer's Afternoon Read Online Free PDF Page B

itself falling on a Sunday. Everyone from the postman to the vicar had a part to play, and the sense of goodwill and village camaraderie was contagious.
    When Laura stopped into the paper shop for her morning copy of
The Times
, the talk was all of the hunt ball.
    ‘Mrs Worsley was in here the other morning ordering place cards for the dinner. There’s going to be over three hundred guests this year. Three hundred!’
    ‘Did you hear that Tatiana Flint-Hamilton’s thrown over her duke for a footballer? He plays for Chelsea apparently.’
    ‘Poor Mr Flint-Hamilton.’
    ‘Thank goodness his wife’s not alive to see it.’
    ‘You’ll never guess who Lucy Norton saw in the chemist’s last Thursday. Keira Thingummy-bob.’
    ‘Who?’
    ‘You
know.
The pouty one from
Love Actually
. Banoffee pie? The annoying one.’
    ‘Keira Knightley?’
    ‘That’s it. Apparently she’s rented Bartley Mill Barn for a
month
! She’s coming to the ball for sure, and she’s bound to bring all her Hollywood friends. You don’t rent a barn that big unless you’ve got guests.’
    Laura half tuned into the gossip as she waited in the queue. What with being so busy with the play, and all the excitement over Daniel, she’d barely thought about the hunt ball. Her invitation included a ‘plus one’, but the ball was the night before Christmas Eve, and she worried it might look too pushy to ask Daniel to an event on Christmas weekend. He had children, after all, and would doubtless want to spend the holiday with them. Besides, nothing had been said about Christmas plans. He and Laura had only been together (if you could call it that) for a month.
    Still, it was a smart event.
I’ll need something to wear
, thought Laura. She was going up to London that night to see Daniel. It was his birthday and he’d asked her up to town for dinner and a show, which she took as a positive sign. Perhaps she could squeeze in some shopping while she was there and look for a dress. That way, the subject of the Furlings Hunt Ball would come up naturally.
    ‘That’s a pound.’
    ‘I’m sorry?’
    ‘
The Times
.’ Mrs Preedy, the shopkeeper, smiled at Laura kindly. ‘It’s a pound. You’re miles away, aren’t you?’
    ‘Sorry.’ Laura fumbled in her purse for the coin.
    ‘No need to apologize, my love. If I were your age and spending every day rehearsing with Gabe Baxter, I’d spend a lot of time daydreaming too!’
    The women behind Laura in the queue all laughed loudly. It was infuriating the way that three-quarters of the village seemed to view Gabe as Fittlescombe’s answer to Ryan Reynolds. No wonder the man’s ego was so big.
    Blushing, Laura paid for her paper. ‘Believe me, Mrs Preedy, Gabriel Baxter couldn’t be further from my mind.’
    ‘Whatever you say, love.’ The shopkeeper winked. ‘Whatever you say.’
    * * *
    Rehearsals that afternoon went better than expected. The schoolchildren did a first run-through of their candlelit procession from the school to the church, where the play itself would take place. Laura had confidently expected at least one child’s hair to catch fire,
à la
Michael Jackson, but in fact everything went smoothly. Better yet, the reception infants had finally learned the words to all three versus of ‘We Three Kings’, and had sung something loosely approximating to a tune.
    ‘It’s coming together, isn’t it?’ Laura said excitedly to Harry Hotham, who seemed almost as amazed as she was that his pupils had made such strides. Wearing a beautifully cut wool suit with a yellow silk cravat, his greying hair slicked back, St Hilda’s headmaster had clearly made an effort this afternoon. He reminded Laura of a 1950s English film star – David Niven, perhaps. She prayed his smart get-up wasn’t for her benefit.
    ‘All thanks to you, my dear.’ Harry smiled wolfishly. ‘Now listen, what are your plans this weekend? Can I tempt you to dinner in Chichester? There’s a new chef at Chez Henri