Wickham Hall: Part Four - White Christmas Read Free Page A

as I could, curious to know what he could want me for. I decided to take the quickest route, which was to walk along the east-wing corridor past his office.
    Wickham Hall closed for the season at the end of October and didn’t reopen until Easter, with the exception of the last two weeks of December when we opened the doors to the public for the Christmas season, and I still hadn’t got used to the lack of people around the place. The hall felt lonely without Marjorie waiting at the door to impart some unusual facts about Lord Wickham’s ancestors, or members of the public asking me questions.
    But as I drew level with Lord Fortescue’s office, Sheila called out to me.
    â€˜Holly, do you happen to have an address for Esme Wilde?’
    I nipped into her office and she held up an envelope.
    â€˜Invitation to Lord and Lady Fortescue’s Christmas at Home evening,’ said Sheila, answering my questioning expression.
    â€˜Wow. Of course.’ I beamed at Sheila. ‘She’ll be flattered. In fact, I doubt I’ll hear of anything else from now until Christmas.’
    â€˜How lovely.’ She chuckled, her blue eyes crinkling with delight. ‘Your presence is required too, Holly, although on a strictly professional footing, of course.’
    â€˜Sure,’ I said and wrote down Esme’s address for her.
    I turned to go and then remembered something that had been niggling me for ages. ‘Sheila, what do you know about the renovation of the art gallery?’
    She removed her reading glasses and peered at me. ‘Goodness, Holly, that’s an old one. What made you ask?’
    I shrugged. ‘It was a leaflet I found months ago. Nothing really, I just wondered about it because nobody has ever mentioned it in all the time I’ve been here.’
    â€˜That project got mothballed several years ago, unfortunately.’ She frowned thoughtfully and pushed her chair back from the desk. ‘Take a pew; I think I might have a folder about it somewhere.’
    â€˜Actually,’ I smiled mysteriously, ‘I have an assignation with Lord Fortescue in the library. Can we do it another time, Sheila? Sorry.’
    â€˜No problem, dear,’ she chirped. ‘Run along now.’
    Which I did. All the way to the library.
    I knocked lightly on the door and Lord Fortescue called me in. I hadn’t been in the library since that press conference when I’d caught my first glimpse of Ben, courtesy of Lady Fortescue’s iPad, looking tantalizingly naked in full view of our local press. The room was every bit as inviting as I remembered it: several reading lamps were lit against the fading wintry light, and the smell of leather and old books was mixed with woodsmoke from the roaring fire in the grate. There was no iPad in sight, although Lord Fortescue had a laptop balanced on his knee.
    â€˜Sorry to keep you waiting, Your Lordship,’ I panted.
    He waved me into a seat and I chose a leather armchair facing him, cosily close to the fire. We sat in silence, watching the flames for a moment or two, until I couldn’t bear the suspense any longer.
    I cleared my throat. ‘So. How can I help?’
    Lord Fortescue templed his fingers together and peered at me.
    â€˜There has never been anywhere else for me but Wickham Hall; I knew from an early age that my future lay here. So I finished my law degree, got married and started working as a solicitor, biding my time until I found myself as the new owner of the hall.’
    â€˜And I understand your father passed away quite suddenly?’ I asked, wondering where this conversation could possibly be heading.
    â€˜Indeed.’ He nodded. ‘Benedict, on the other hand, forged another life for himself as an artist as soon as he left home for university, a world away from anything his mother and I have ever known. He seems to have found something that makes his heart sing and if running Wickham Hall doesn’t