The Magic of Christmas Read Online Free PDF Page B

Nick was waving his hands slowly in front of my face, like a baffled stage hypnotist.
    ‘Planet Earth to Lizzy: are you receiving me?’
    ‘Oh, hi, Nick — long time, no recipe,’ I said, wiping my filthy hands up the sides of my jeans — they were work ones, so it wasn’t going to make a lot of difference. I only hoped I hadn’t run them through my hair first, though since I didn’t remember brushing it this morning, a bit of grease would at least hold the tangles down.
    He frowned down at me. ‘I sent you a card from Jamaica.’
    ‘That was ages ago, and a recipe for conch fritters isn’t exactly the most useful thing to have in the middle of Lancashire — the fishmongers don’t stock them. Anyway, what are you doing here at this time of the morning? Have you driven straight up from London?’
    ‘Yes, I’m looking for Tom,’ he said shortly, checking me over with eyes the dark grey-purple of wet Welsh slate, as though he wasn’t sure quite what species I was, or what sauce to serve me with. ‘What have you done to your face?’
    I flushed and touched the bruise on my cheek with the tips of my fingers. ‘This? Oh, a plate got dropped and one of the pieces bounced up and hit me,’ I said lamely; it was
almost
the truth.
    His brows knitted into a thick, black bar as he tried to imagine a plate that explosive.
    ‘It looks worse than it is, now it’s gone all blue and yellow — it’ll have vanished in a day or two. And Tom’s away,’ I added.
Thank goodness!
    From the way Nick was looking at me I thought I’d said that aloud for a minute, but finally he asked, ‘Oh? Any idea when he’ll be back?’
    ‘No, but he’s been gone since Monday, so I’ll be surprised if he doesn’t turn up today.’
    He raised one dark eyebrow. ‘And do you know
where
he’s gone?’
    ‘He didn’t say and there is no point in ringing his mobile because he never answers or gets back to me.’ I shrugged, casually. ‘You know what he’s like. He might be off delivering a surfboard. I’m pretty sure he’s not doing a gig with the Mummers, they don’t usually go that far from home.’
    ‘A gig — with the
what
?’
    ‘The Mummers of Invention: you know, that sort of folk-rock group he started with three local friends?’
    ‘No,’ he said shortly. ‘I’m glad to say I don’t.’
    ‘You must do because one of them’s that drippy female Unks rents an estate cottage to — she sells handmade smocks at historical re-enactment fairs. And if you ever came up for the Mystery Play any more, you
would
have seen them — they provide the musical interludes. Tom played Lazarus as well, last year. He stepped in at the last minute and the parish magazine review said he brought a whole new meaning to the role.’
    ‘I can imagine — and I
do
intend being here for the next performance.’
    ‘I thought Leila couldn’t leave her restaurant over Christmas?’
    ‘
She
can’t;
I
can,’ he snapped, and I wondered if their marriage was finally dragging its sorry carcass to the parting of the ways, like mine. ‘So, you’ve no idea where Tom is, or when he’ll be back?’
    ‘Probably Cornwall, that’s where he mostly ends up, and if so, he’s likely to be staying with that friend of his Tom Collinge, the weird one who runs a wife and harem in one cottage.’
    ‘I suppose he may be there by now, but he was in London on Monday night, Lizzy. I ran into him at Leila’s restaurant, but he left in a hurry — without paying the bill.’
    ‘He did?’ I frowned. ‘That’s odd. I wonder what he was doing in London?’
    ‘Well, it evidently wasn’t me he’d gone to see, since he bolted as soon as I arrived.’ He looked at me intently, as though he’d asked me a question.
    ‘Oh?’ I said slowly, trying to remember whether Tom had actually ever said which of his friends he stayed with when he was in London.
    ‘Still, you know Tom,’ I tried to laugh. ‘He probably just found himself near the restaurant and dropped