***
Henry rises out of his armchair and yawns as he stretches. He sets his sherry glass on the coffee table and stands in front of the tree. ‘You’ve done a grand job, girls.’
Ellie glares at her sister. ‘No thanks to Dottie.’
Dottie grimaces at Ellie from the carpet, where she’s curled up petting the cat. ‘Stringing popcorn is boring. And you always move where I put the baubles anyway.’
‘The colours need to balance. You can’t put all the red decorations together. It doesn’t look right.’
‘Spoken like a true artist.’ Henry taps Dottie’s foot with his slipper. ‘Time for bed, pet. We’ll be up early for Christmas Mass.’
Dottie groans. ‘Oh, Poppy, do we have to? Can’t we just open presents and have a nice breakfast, play charades and listen to the king? Why do we always have to go to boring old mass?’
‘Because we’re good Catholics and we have to set an example for the boys who are boarding at St Bart’s over Christmas.’
‘Best listen to your father, Dottie,’ George says as he collects the last of the sawn-off branches.
Rising to her feet, Dottie picks up the cat and buries her face into its patchwork fur. ‘I guess we better go, Berkeley.’ Dottie smiles at George. ‘Thanks for helping with the tree, George, even if you did have to saw off three feet.’
George makes an exaggerated bow. ‘Always at your service, Dottie.’
Dottie glances at a box wrapped in brown paper under the tree with a tag: To Dottie From George. ‘What did you get me, George?’
‘You’ll find that out in the morning, pet,’ Henry says as he heads towards the hallway. He waves his rolled-up newspaper in the air. ‘Goodnight, all. Happy Christmas. Come along, Dottie. Thank George for the present.’
Dottie waves Berkeley Square’s paw at George. ‘Goodnight. Thank you for the present. I’m sure I’ll love it.’
Ellie collects the empty sherry glass. ‘Can I get you anything else, George? I should be getting to bed too.’
George clears his throat. Reaching into his pocket, he takes out a small box wrapped in the same brown paper. ‘I … I just wanted to give you this, El.’
‘Oh, George, you really didn’t have to. I haven’t anything for you.’
‘That’s all right.’ He holds out the box. ‘Please, open it.’
Sighing, she takes the box. She tears off the paper and lifts off the cardboard cover. ‘Oh, my word.’
George removes the ring with its tiny diamond from the box. Kneeling on one knee, he holds it up to Ellie. ‘Will you marry me, Ellie? I’ve been an idiot. I’ll never forgive myself for taking you for granted. I’ve got to thank Thomas, because it took that … that situation to knock some sense into me. I love you, Ellie.’ He clears his throat again. ‘Will you be my wife?’
Ellie’s stares at George’s earnest face, at the neatly combed black hair with its slick of hair oil, at the solemn brown eyes behind his tortoiseshell glasses. ‘George, I—’
‘Looks like I got here in the nick of time.’ Thomas stands under the archway, tall as ever, but his long, handsome face is leaner and shadowed with the need for a shave.
‘Thomas!’ Ellie rushes past the tree and throws herself into his embrace.
‘I’m sorry, George,’ Thomas says over Ellie’s shoulder. ‘I’m cutting in.’ He looks back at Ellie. ‘Have you got the marriage licence, maid? I’ve only wangled a few days’ leave.’
‘I have! I’ve had it a year. I’ve been waiting for you, Thomas.’
George rises to his feet. ‘You made me think I had a chance, Ellie. All this time, I thought it was over between you two.’
‘I’m awfully sorry, George. I didn’t mean— We’re just friends, George. I love Thomas. We’re getting married. We’ve been planning to for over a year.’
George sets the ring into the box and replaces the lid. ‘Just friends? You were never just a friend to me, Ellie. I thought you knew that.’
Walking past the lovers, he enters the hall and picks his coat off the coat hook. He steps outside onto the stone stoop. A fog sits like a veil over the garden, obscuring all but the tallest Gothic spires of the boys’ school next door. Closing the heavy door quietly behind him, he heads down the steps into the ghostly night.
***
On the top step of the staircase landing, Dottie clings to the banisters as she spies on Ellie and Thomas through the open door of the living room. Berkeley Square steps delicately into her lap. She grabs it by the fur on its neck and pushes it away.
You promised me, Ellie. You promised me you wouldn’t leave me and Poppy. You cheated on George and you’re a liar too. You’re mean and selfish. I don’t care if you are my sister. I hate you, Ellie. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.
Chapter 41
Tippy’s Tickle – 16 September 2001
‘Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday, dear Ellieeeee! Happy birthday to you!’
Florie parades through the kitchen, the four dachshunds scampering through her legs, carrying Sophie’s and Becca’s towering chocolate cake aflame with tiny candles. She sets the cake on the table.
‘There you goes, Ellie. Created by the fair hands of your niece and your granddaughter. I couldn’t get seventy-nine candles on the cake. You’ll just have to pretend.’ She frowns down at the barking dachshunds. ‘Oh, me nerves, girls. You’ll be the death of me yet. Face down in a chocolate cake on the kitchen floor.’
Jumping up from her chair, Becca signs excitedly at Ellie.
‘Of course, Becca,’ Ellie says, signing back. ‘Help me blow out the candles. Hurry! They’re melting into the cake, and it’s such a lovely cake. You and Sophie did a wonderful job.’
The girl and her grandmother lean over the cake and blow into the flames, extinguishing all but two. Becca signs at her father.
Sam looks over at Sophie. ‘She wants you to blow those out, Princess Grace.’
‘Oh. Okay.’ Sucking in an exaggerated breath, she blows out the two
