A Cosy Christmas in Cornwall. Jane Linfoot

have one last weapon so I clear my throat. ‘Dogs aside, you’ve done a top-price Christmas let to someone expecting the full works. I wouldn’t like to be in your shoes if Libby turns up and finds the castle is bare. You need my help here, so you might need to ease up on the anti-animal thing.’

      Bill’s squinting at me. ‘Sorry?’

      It never fails to surprise me when someone thinks that people who can afford to pay too much for things won’t want value for money. From what I’ve seen working at Daniels the people with the biggest bank accounts are always the pickiest. What’s more, they can also afford the redress when things go tits up. I’m just surprised that Bill, being one of ‘them’, doesn’t know the score here.

      I’m going to have to tell it to him like it is. ‘I have to warn you, Mrs Johnstone-Cody’s nothing like your no-fucks-given easy-to-please stags. When she sees the lack of space, luxury, privacy, decorations and authentic four-posters, she’s not going to be a happy bunny.’ I pause to let that sink in. ‘That’s definitely an optimistic view. Libby’s larger than life, and she doesn’t take prisoners. Realistically her explosion could blow the roof off – off the castle and whatever business you’re running here.’

      I have to admit most of what I know about Libby is what I’ve heard second hand from Fliss. She’s a couple of years older than us so when we went to stay with Fliss’s mum when we were at uni Libby was already off living her super-expansive and very charmed life. But the stories from Fliss about Libby’s latest exploits have kept me shocked and impressed in equal measure for years.

      Bill groans. ‘If you’re more than five feet tall, ancient four posters are a pain in the butt. And however hard Mrs JC stamps her feet, I can’t make the castle any bigger – it’s the size that it is, end of story.’ The way he’s rolling out the excuses with that sarcastic tone, he has no idea of the shit storm that’s about to hit him.

      ‘But there are things you could do?’ If I’m pushing him, it’s only for the sake of Merwyn’s Christmas.

      He’s straight back at me. ‘If Mrs JC seriously wants to lug in all her own wood and keep the very temperamental fires going, good luck to her with that one, I’m happy to make myself invisible.’ His expression hardens. ‘But if I’m banned from my own kitchen, she can forget borrowing my internet.’

      My mouth’s dropped open. ‘But you said there wasn’t any?’

      ‘There isn’t. Not in the public areas.’

      Oh my. If I’m going to have to crawl on the floor here to beg, I’m going to have to do it. I NEVER use my womanly wiles to get what I want, I’d NEVER NEVER NEVER flirt with a guy like Will. I mean Bill. Except in my head, obviously. Or when I accidentally got all breathy and chesty in those Merino wool incidents, but I swear they weren’t planned. But for something this important, this one time, I’m desperately channelling my inner Audrey.

      ‘I need to upload pictures to Instagram as they happen, or no one will see the Johnstone-Cody Christmas. It’s my responsibility to deliver fabulous photos and I’m getting paid for it. Without internet I might as well not be here, I’m totally stuffed. I know it’s a first world problem, but I need this job.’

      I can see him soften a little. Then he says. ‘There’s ten meg in my room.’

      ‘Excuse me?’ I have no idea what he’s talking about.

      ‘Ten megabytes per second – that’s how fast the internet works. And there’s signal in there too.’

      ‘WHAT?!!!’ When he invited me to share the hot tub it was a flat out NO! If he invited me into his bedroom to use the internet, however undressed he was, I’d have to shut my eyes tight and dive straight in even though I’d despise myself for it. But I draw the line at pleading stares. ‘So, can I borrow it or not?’ I’m aware my glare’s coming out a bit fiercely. ‘Occasionally? By arrangement? When you’re not in there?’ I’m going for broke here. ‘I am saving your life here with my insider information, don’t forget.’

      He’s shaking his head. ‘Sure. Fine. But don’t tell anyone else.’

      I’m with him on that. ‘Especially not the kids, or they’ll be in there twenty-four seven.’

      It was a throw away thought, but I’m delighted I said it, if only to enjoy the horror spreading across his face. ‘There are KIDS?’

      ‘Only nine of them.’

      His voice rises to a shriek. ‘But we let to adults, nothing about this castle is child-friendly.’

      I shrug and try to look less shocked than I feel. ‘Another bit of small print you should have checked before you grabbed the cash. It’s too late now, they’re coming, you’ll have to upgrade accordingly.’ If he’s a dog hater and a child hater, I can’t imagine how this will ever work out. No wonder the place is so bare and lacking in any traces of emotional warmth. Whatever I picked up on all those years ago, I got him totally wrong. The man obviously has no empathy at all.

      But at the same time I’ve made two unexpected leaps forward. There’s actually no need for Bill to hide anywhere, because how many of Libby’s friends will have their own dedicated wood delivery person? I’m wondering how Bill would feel about smartening up a bit so we could pass him off as a butler in a few of the photos.

      Now I’m sensing I’ve got the upper hand, I’m throwing it all out there. ‘So what about the deccies, then?’

      This time his groan’s louder still. ‘I’m a straight guy, I struggle garnishing a cocktail. Ask me to tinsel up a castle, I haven’t got the foggiest where to begin.’ Which proves he knows one twinkly word, so he’s not quite as clueless as he’s claiming.

      ‘There are always attics rammed with cast-offs in the houses by the sea in Enid Blyton books.’ The more I think about it, the more it goes with the territory. And if we’re stuck with an arrogant arse like Bill, who’s so far failing miserably with this let, we might as well make the most of whatever trappings we can get our hands on. ‘Don’t you have a loft we could plunder?’

      ‘You know the top floor’s full of bedrooms.’ That’s it. Then he takes a deep breath and wrinkles his nose. ‘There is some of the old tat we pulled out of the castle – that’s over in the coach house, but I swear none of it’s usable.’

      I sit up straighter. ‘You’ll be surprised what you can make use of when the going gets tough. And Christmas trees would make a huge difference too. It’s my job to make things look pretty, if you’d stop channelling your inner Scrooge, I’m sure we could sort this. Believe me, anything that stops Libby having a meltdown will be more than worth the effort. She and the kids are arriving late Sunday. If we work our socks off from now until then, we can turn this around.’

      Bill rolls his eyes, then does another shudder at the mention of the children. ‘When you put it like that, what are you waiting for?’

      Time for me to drop my very own bombshell. ‘I can only stay if Merwyn does.’

      ‘Why did I ever start this?’ Bill’s growling through gritted teeth. ‘You’ll have to keep him out of the distillery. The kids too.’

      ‘Obviously. Merwyn hates distilleries anyway.’ I’m not going to admit that yet again I have no idea what the hell he’s talking about. What distillery?

      Bill looks as if he’s close to having smoke coming out of his nostrils and his ears. ‘Fine.’ It’s obviously nothing of the kind, but this is his bed, he made it, he has to lie in it, or however the saying goes. ‘I’m not happy, but you’ve got me over a barrel here – Merwyn can stay.’

      And finally, a result! ‘Did you hear that Merwyn, you got your invitation to Christmas at the castle!’ I let him snaffle his chocolate drop, and he’s so ecstatic that he leaps up on the sofa, jumps straight onto my knee and smothers