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

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      I was just leaning over it, examining the switches, when a voice suddenly rasped behind me, ‘You don’t want to mess with that there bit of machinery, gurl!’

      I whipped round, startled, to find I had company in the shape of an elderly man, small and thin, with long limp wisps of snuff-coloured hair on either side of his cadaverous face. He was holding a bulging sack in one hand and a slightly threateningly raised stick in the other. I have seen more prepossessing old men.

      ‘Women shouldn’t meddle with what they don’t understand.’

      ‘You wouldn’t be Henry, would you?’

      He nodded. ‘My daughter ran me up to fetch a few taters and carrots. And you’re the gurl has come to look after the place, instead of Jim and Mo?’

      The tone of his voice left me in no doubt that this was not, in his opinion, a good exchange. In fact, I was beginning to find Jim and Mo Chirk a hard act to follow: they seemed to have made themselves very popular with everyone in previous visits!

      ‘I haven’t been described as a girl for years,’ I said pleasantly, ‘and I’m actually one of Homebodies’ most experienced house-sitters.’

      ‘You’re a grand, strapping lass, I’ll allow that,’ he conceded, ‘but all the same, you shouldn’t meddle with the generator. I showed Jim the way of it, but I’m not having it messed about by any Tom, Dick or Harry.’

      ‘Thomasina, Richenda or Harriet?’ I suggested and he looked at me blankly. ‘If the electricity goes off and it doesn’t switch itself on, then I’ll have to know how to do it, won’t I?’

      ‘Nay, you leave it to them as knows what they’re doing.’

      ‘Meaning you?’

      ‘That’s right.’

      ‘But you might not be around when I need to switch it on – perhaps we’ll get snowed in, and then what would I do? But don’t worry, Mr Martland left instructions and it looks perfectly simple.’

      ‘You don’t want to tinker with it,’ he insisted obstinately.

      We seemed to have reached an impasse. I said calmly and perfectly politely, ‘I’m sorry, but it’s part of my job to keep the place in good running order, so if I have to run the generator, I will: after all, I can’t be expected to sit in the dark in a cold house over the Christmas holidays, can I?’

      He gave me a look of deep disfavour, but seemed eventually, after much rumination, to accept the logic of my argument. ‘I can see you’re a stubborn, determined creature, just like Jude, who always thinks he knows best … Well, I suppose I’d better show you the way of it, then, but you’re not to touch it unless you can’t get hold of me, mind?’

      ‘Certainly,’ I agreed, and we shook hands on it, though since he spat into his palm first, it was possibly the most disgusting thing I have ever had to do while maintaining a polite expression.

      I couldn’t see what all the fuss was about really with the generator, it was quite simple. Then Henry said his daughter was waiting and hobbled off with his sack of booty and I went indoors and washed my hands with bacteria-busting hand gel.

      I fully intended raiding his vegetable plot myself, but I would be scrubbing everything well before cooking it, because I wouldn’t put it past him to pee on the compost heap like a lot of old gardeners – if not worse.

      Once I’d thawed out, I cleaned out the hearth in the sitting room and laid a fire, fetching up kindling and logs from the cellar in an ancient-looking wicker basket. I only hoped the chimney had been recently swept, because setting the place on fire would probably be the end of my home-sitting career. But luckily the smoke drew upwards, rather than billowed out, and no clouds of soot descended.

      Once it was going well I set the brass fireguard in front of it, then opened all the unlocked doors in the house to let the warm air circulate through – old houses could quickly get musty if you didn’t keep them aired.

      I settled down for a nice rest in front of the sitting-room fire once I’d done that, with a good, strong pot of tea and another slice of my slightly depleted fruit cake to hand.

      I felt I deserved a break: there was quite a bit to do at Old Place compared to some other house-sits, though I was sure I’d soon fall into a routine with the animals now I’d got the hang of it. Then the rest of the time would be my own … except that I really would have to clean this lovely room if I intended spending much time in here!

      I’d been half-expecting Jude Martland to ring again much later in the day, but it was typical of the man I was beginning to know that he should instead call just as I’d finally sat down for a rest! The phone in here was on a round table by the window, too, with only a hard chair next to it.

      This time he was fractionally more conciliatory, presumably because he’d read my glowing references from satisfied clients, and I was determined to keep my cool.

      ‘Miss Brown, I don’t think I thanked you yesterday for stepping into the breach at such short notice,’ he began stiffly.

      ‘Mrs – and of course I understood that you were concerned that your house and animals were being taken care of by a total stranger. But you can rest easy: everything is perfectly under control and your Aunt Becca came here and gave me some excellent advice about Lady, as well as her phone number, should anything crop up.’

      ‘Oh good!’ He sounded relieved. ‘You did put Lady’s medicine in her warm mash last night, didn’t you?’

      ‘Of course.’

      ‘And kept Billy away from it until she’d eaten it?’

      ‘Naturally,’ I said, though it had been quite a tussle to stop Billy diving into the bucket before Lady was finished. ‘Lady’s fine. And your gardener, Henry, helpfully showed me what to do if the electricity goes off and the generator doesn’t come on automatically.’

      ‘Henry told you?’ he repeated incredulously.

      ‘Of course! He could see the necessity, in case he wasn’t available to come to Old Place and deal with it himself. And I mean to walk into Little Mumming tomorrow, so I’ll call in to see your aunt and uncle at the lodge to ask them if they need any shopping. So you see, you’ve nothing to worry about and can enjoy your holiday,’ I finished kindly.

      ‘It’s not entirely a holiday: there was a ceremony to unveil one of my sculptures yesterday.’

      ‘Oh yes, I’ve seen that horse you did up on a hill near Manchester and it’s very nice.’

      ‘Nice? Do try not to sound too impressed,’ he said, seeming a bit miffed. ‘I’m supposed to be off to the Hamptons to stay with friends for Christmas tomorrow, but I don’t see how I can possibly relax and enjoy it when I know you’re alone at Old Place looking after everything – the weather can be bad up there, you know, Little Mumming is often cut off in winter.’

      ‘So I’ve already been told – and really, the dimmest person would be able to appreciate that if the steep hill down from the village was icy, it would be impassable. But don’t worry, I’ve often been snowed in up Scotland and it’s not a problem.’

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