Page 23 of Never Gonna Happen

When the caterers arrived with huge crates of plates and glasses, they made themselves scarce, bumping into Jamie in the delivery yard. He was looking entirely edible in his jodhpurs and puffer jacket and gave Emily a smile that made her thighs tingle.

‘These are my parents, Carol and Martin,’ she said quickly, nervous that Jamie would announce himself as a Hunter and fluster them both.

‘Pleased to meet you,’ he said, shaking both their hands. ‘I’m Jamie.’

‘Do you work here as well?’ asked Martin.

‘I look after the horses,’ said Jamie, glancing at Emily.

‘Moomin’s not one for horses,’ laughed Carol. ‘The closest she ever got was a donkey in Brighton.’

‘Thanks, Mum,’ said Emily, trying not to blush at Jamie’s raised eyebrows. He was either wondering why she hadn’t told them about her riding lesson, or more likely enquiring as to the origin of the nickname ‘Moomin’. Embarrassing.

‘Are you coming to the party later, Jamie?’ asked Carol, ever the matchmaker. It occurred to Emily that she had no idea if Jamie was coming or not.

‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Well, yes, I expect so. I’m sure I’ll see you there.’ He said a polite goodbye and headed through the back door and down the stairs to the kitchen. Emily wondered why he hadn’t told her parents who he was, but then remembered that he’d withheld that information the first time she met him too. He wasn’t one to flaunt his Hunter credentials; unlike Adam, who could probably wank out the family crest.

‘He’s handsome, Moo,’ said Carol. ‘Lovely eyes.’

‘Lovely girlfriend, too,’ said Emily, keen to kill the conversation dead before her mother started planning for a spring wedding and a Christmas grandchild. ‘Come on, I’ll walk you back.’

Emily did a final check on the entrance hall just before the guests were due to arrive and found everything laid out and ready. The band were setting up their gear in the gallery, ready to sound-check while everyone was having dinner. The DJ had popped by earlier to set up his decks and lighting rig in front of the Christmas tree and was last seen on the sofa in the kitchen watching the football. Emily hadn’t checked on the food because that was Anna’s department, but the delicious smell wafting up the back stairs suggested everything was under control. She could hear the bar staff in the morning room popping corks – they’d stand by the front door with trays of glasses until everyone had arrived, then man the free bar until the booze ran out.

‘You look lovely, Emily,’ said Mr Hunter, appearing down the main stairs. He was wearing a dinner jacket with an unexpectedly exuberant bow tie featuring penguins in Santa hats.

‘Oh, thank you,’ said Emily, enjoying being properly dressed up for the first time since she’d arrived at Bowford Manor. She’d bought a pair of silver heels to match her dress, and also forgone her usual sensible bun in favour of wearing her hair down, letting it fall in soft waves down her bare back. She’d used her new hair straighteners to create the effect and had checked they were unplugged four times before leaving her room.

Mr Hunter checked his watch. ‘Time to open the doors, I think,’ he said. ‘Funny how people are always on time when there’s a free bar.’

Emily nodded and retreated into the shadows by the Christmas tree, crossing her fingers that everything would go to plan.

Anna found Emily an hour later, happily chatting to her mum at the bottom of the stairs. Emily was on her second glass of fizz and the pink spots on Carol’s cheeks suggested she was probably on her third. Anna looked like she could do with a couple herself, but at least she’d swapped her uniform of grey, black or navy for a burgundy velvet dress.

‘I need to speak to you,’ she snapped at Emily, not bothering to introduce herself to Carol.

‘This is my mum, Carol,’ said Emily, refusing to stoop to Anna’s level. ‘Mum, this is Anna. She’s the housekeeper.’ Carol gave her a slightly squiffy smile and raised her glass in greeting.

‘We have a problem with dinner,’ said Anna impatiently, entirely ignoring Carol.

‘What kind of problem?’ asked Emily.

Anna sighed heavily. ‘The caterers have been and gone and all the food is ready, but the minibus with the waiting staff has broken down,’ she whispered, glancing at her watch. ‘They should have been here half an hour ago and be serving up the main course by now.’

‘Can’t we send a couple of cars to rescue them?’ asked Emily.

‘Yes, of course we can,’ Anna replied crisply, ‘but they’re twenty minutes away. By the time they’re ready to serve it will be gone nine o’clock. The band are due to start at half past eight, we’ll have to completely reschedule the whole evening.’

Emily thought for a moment, visualising the running order for the evening in her head. It wasn’t a disaster, but it was less than ideal.

‘Can I make a suggestion?’ said Carol, draining her glass.

Anna looked at her like she’d just been sick on her shoes. ‘I’m sorry?’

‘I wondered if we could serve the food from the kitchen.’

Anna’s eyes narrowed into tiny slits. ‘I don’t follow.’

Carol smiled like this was the most obvious plan in the world. ‘Lead everyone down to the kitchen,’ she said, ‘then line up all the hot food on that huge table. The three of us could serve it straight on to their plates, which they can carry back to the dining room.’