Twelve Days of Christmas: A bestselling Christmas read to devour in one sitting!. Trisha Ashley

of the hair.’

      ‘But she’s terribly old, isn’t she? I was a bit worried about that when I read Mr Martland’s notes.’

      ‘Oh, twenty-five is nothing for an Arab! I’d look after her myself when Jude’s away, but it takes me all my time to look after one horse these days. And I’m not taking on the bleeding goat,’ she added. ‘Noël said you hadn’t had much experience with horses?’

      ‘No, to be honest, going to the riding school with my best friend when she had her pony phase was about it,’ I explained. ‘Mr Martland’s instructions are very detailed and I’m sure I can manage perfectly well, but it would be wonderful if I could call on you for anything that puzzled me? It might make Mr Martland feel better too – he rang last night and was fretting about whether I could cope.’

      ‘Oh, did he phone? I don’t suppose he said he was coming back for Christmas after all, did he?’ she asked hopefully, stopping her brisk brushing and staring at me across Lady’s snowy back.

      ‘No, I’m afraid not. Did you think he might change his mind?’

      Her face fell. ‘Not really, it’s just that the Martlands have always celebrated Christmas together, here at Old Place. It doesn’t seem right to have the head of the household on the opposite side of the world.’

      She put her brush down and showed me how to put the rug back on securely, which was simple enough with Lady, but I should imagine very difficult with a less cooperative horse!

      ‘Jude loves horses and he’s particularly attached to Lady,’ she said. ‘She was his mother’s horse, you know, so he’s bound to worry about her. But of course you can call me if you’re concerned about anything, I’ll leave you my phone number. Not that you can always get through, because the lines are hanging loose from the poles like limp spaghetti and a good wind can cut the connection to Old Place for a week or more.’

      She said this as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

      ‘Couldn’t the lines be repaired?’ I would certainly have had it sorted out in no time, if I lived here!

      ‘Apparently all the poles need replacing and they’ll get round to it eventually, but there’s only Old Place and Hill Farm up this road until you get to Great Mumming, so it’s not exactly high on their priority list when it comes to allocating resources.’

      ‘Oh yes, I saw the farm when I walked Merlin up to the red horse earlier and I noticed the sign on the main road pointed two ways to Great Mumming, so presumably it carries on past Hill Farm?’

      ‘That’s right, but the road beyond the farm isn’t much more than a track with tarmac over it that goes round the side of Snowehill – a bit of ice and you don’t even want to think about trying it,’ she said, then gave a deep laugh. ‘One of those SatNav things keeps sending motorists up here as a short cut to the motorway – and it might be, as the crow flies, but not by car!’

      Billy’s plaintively protesting bleats rose to a crescendo. We let Lady out into the paddock and he followed her, butting against her legs.

      Becca picked up a fork. ‘Come on – now I’ll help you muck out. You bring the barrow.’

      She must have been in her seventies, at least, but she could still wield a fork with the best of them and gave me what was essentially a very useful masterclass. Under her direction I trundled the used bedding over to the manure heap, then spread a thick layer of clean straw in the loosebox, padded out at the sides and round the washed and filled bucket.

      ‘You don’t need to do this every single day – just pick up the manure and put down a bit of fresh straw if it isn’t too bad.’

      ‘How cold does it have to get before I keep her inside during the day?’

      ‘Oh, she can go out even if it snows, but you might need to double-rug her,’ she said breezily.

      ‘Right …’ Jude Martland and his aunt seemed to have two different views on just how fragile Lady was!

      I was glowing by the time we’d finished mucking out, and probably steaming gently in the chilly air, just like the replenished manure heap.

      ‘There – that’s fine, all ready for bringing her in before it goes dark. Did you manage her warm mash all right last night?’

      ‘Oh yes, it was just a matter of following the recipe. And thank you very much for showing me what to do, it’s been invaluable,’ I said gratefully.

      ‘I’d better pop back in a day or two and give you a few more pointers,’ she suggested.

      ‘That would be great, if you can spare the time.’

      ‘Noël says you’re from West Lancs, near Ormskirk? What do you shoot over there?’

      ‘Shoot? I don’t shoot anything!’

      ‘Pity – there’s not an awful lot up here either, bar the odd rabbit and pigeon,’ she commiserated, ‘but you’ll find some of those, and a few pheasants and the like, in one of the freezers.’

      While I’ve cooked an awful lot of game over the years for house-parties, I think killing something simply for pleasure is a bad thing – but when working I just cook, I don’t give opinions!

      ‘I’m a town girl, really, brought up in Merchester,’ I admitted, ‘though my work usually takes me into the country from late spring to early autumn when I cook for large house-parties. The rest of the year I take home-sitting assignments, like this one.’

      ‘Oh, you cook? It’s a pity we can’t have a house-party at Old Place over Christmas, then,’ Becca said wistfully. ‘I call it a bit selfish of Jude to go off like this, even if he has been crossed in love. His brother Guy ran off with his fiancée last Christmas, you know.’

      ‘Your brother did mention something about it,’ I admitted. ‘He and his wife told me you all usually spend Christmas together and their granddaughter had been looking forward to it, but actually, in winter I like a rest from all the cooking and, besides, I don’t celebrate Christmas.’

      ‘Against your religion, I expect,’ she said vaguely, with a glance at my black hair and pale olive skin. People are always asking me where I am from and seem surprised when I say Merchester.

      ‘And the old people really look forward to having their Christmas dinner here too,’ she went on. ‘I don’t think they’ve quite taken in that it isn’t going to happen this year.’

      ‘You mean Noël and Tilda?’ I ventured. Clearly she wasn’t numbering herself among the ranks of the elderly!

      ‘Well, yes, but actually I meant Old Nan and Richard Sampson, who was the vicar here until he retired. They live in the almshouses in Little Mumming. Of course, there’s Henry too, but he always goes to his daughter’s for his dinner, including Christmas Day. Did you notice the almshouses as you came through the village?’

      ‘The row of three tiny Gothic-looking cottages?’

      ‘Yes, that’s where the family stash away the last of the retainers. Old Nan is in her nineties, but bright as a button, and Richard’s about eighty, fit as a flea and walks for miles. By the way, Henry still comes up here when the fancy takes him and hangs out in the greenhouse and walled garden – you might suddenly stumble across him.’

      She nodded at a small gate set in an arch. ‘Through there – small walled garden, Jude’s mother loved it, but it’s pretty overgrown now apart from the vegetable patch. The greenhouse backs on to the stables and barn and Henry has a little den up at one end with a primus stove to make tea.’

      ‘Right – I’ll keep an eye out for him! But I do hope the other two have understood the situation and made other arrangements for Christmas Day?’

      ‘I don’t know, old habits are hard to break.’ Becca shook her head. ‘Like Tilda – she talks as if she still does all the cooking, but really