Under The Mistletoe: Mistletoe Mansion / The Mince Pie Mix-Up / Baby It's Cold Outside

‘So tell us, dear,’ said Vivian to Melissa, in a booming voice (maybe I’d overdone the Malibu). ‘Which charity are we supporting? How much would you like us to contribute for every cake we eat – or…’ she eyed the remaining Santa Coladas, ‘… buy to take home?’

Melissa cleared her throat. ‘You’ve probably been wondering who Sandra is, to-ing and fro-ing in her white coat.’ She nodded towards the conservatory at the end of the room, where the nail lady had just finished setting up.

‘I assumed she was your cleaner,’ said Denise. ‘We’d already met the gardener. It must be nice to have so much help.’

‘No. I mean I do have a cleaner but it’s her day off. Sandra’s… well perhaps she should explain.’

‘Is she a nurse?’ said Saffron. ‘You trying to help her raise money for new hospital equipment?’

Melissa waved to Sandra, who made her way past the gold birdcage and over to the plum sofa and chairs where the guests sat. I stood in the doorway, ready to bolt to the kitchen for more champagne if required.

‘Um, this isn’t exactly a charity fundraiser,’ said Melissa and beamed. ‘I thought I’d do all of you hardworking wives a favour instead. Sandra?’

The tiny woman gave a warm smile. ‘Good morning, ladies. I’m the answer to your prayers. Ever looked in the mirror and wondered who that was looking back? Ever bought a new outfit, had your hair done, and still felt inadequate? From behind her back she drew out her hand, her long red-nailed fingers grasping a needle. ‘Botox, ladies,’ she said. ‘It’s the easiest way to get the face that reflects the real you.’ She jerked her head towards Melissa’s portrait. ‘By the time I’ve finished with you, you could look almost as glamorous as the lovely Mrs Winsford.’

Smugly, Melissa folded her arms. This was her pièce de résistance. Er, yes, resistance, all right. Denise’s eyebrows knotted across so far they almost became one. Kate and Vivian’s mouths fell open.

‘Botox?’ they gasped, in horror.

Chapter 13 (#ulink_14440bfd-0397-5924-97d9-c803725d1fab)

‘You’ve got to be joking, Melissa. You brought me all this way under false pretences so that someone could inject a toxin into my face?’ Denise shook her head. ‘This isn’t as exciting as it might seem,’ she said to Saffron, who had sat bolt upright, eyes all sparkly.

‘Toxin’s a misleading word,’ said Sandra. She went over to Denise and put a hand on her shoulder. ‘And we all enjoy a few glasses of wine, but that’s not supposed to do your liver any good – what’s the difference? We can do it right here if you like. Just lean back and relax, deep breaths…’

Saffron glanced at the other ladies and her shoulders sagged. ‘Um, of course. Denise is right,’ she said and shook back her hair. ‘Anyway, who’s to say all of us need it, know what I mean?’

‘And even if we do,’ interrupted Vivian, ‘it’s cost me a lot of air miles and packets of Silk Cut getting my wrinkles. That’s quite an investment. Who wants to see the face of a twenty year old on the body of a gran?’

‘Might be a few sessions before we could knock that many years off you,’ muttered Sandra and brandished the needle.

‘It’s only a bit of fun,’ said Melissa. ‘Kate… You’re up for it?’

‘Sorry, hon, but how will I tell the kids off, if I can’t even frown?’

‘One of our patients had too much and it spread,’ said Denise, flinching as Sandra raised her needle. ‘It gave her temporary facial paralysis. Her cheek muscles were so badly affected, she couldn’t eat properly for weeks.’

‘She lost weight as well, then?’ said Melissa. ‘Bonus! Come on, ladies. It’s my treat and doesn’t hurt a bit. I mean, not that I’d know, but so I’m told.’ Her cheeks tinged pink.

‘Just relax,’ said Sandra to the doctor’s receptionist. ‘You’ll hardly feel a thing.’

Denise’s eyes narrowed. ‘Are you even properly trained? I don’t fancy placing my face in the hands of a nail technician.’

‘Like you’ve got a lot to lose,’ muttered Melissa.

‘I’ve been treating Mrs Wins… um, I mean, lots of clients, successfully for months,’ said Sandra.

Saffron did a poor job of suppressing a smile. ‘Wow, Melissa, babes, so the rumours are true. You must be even older than I thought if Botox is your best bud.’

‘You look great on it, hon,’ said Kate in a loud voice. ‘I guess it’s just not for everyone. But…’ she glared at the others. ‘It was very generous of you to think of us.’

Denise grabbed her rucksack and stood up. ‘Speak for yourself, Kate. I’m a busy working woman with a family to look after. If this isn’t for charity, then I’m wasting my time.’

‘And I don’t want to end up with lips like obese caterpillars,’ said Saffron. ‘No one would ever kiss me again.’

‘It’s collagen that does that,’ I said.

‘Whatever,’ she replied airily and picked up her handbag.

‘It was just… I thought you’d be pleased,’ said Melissa, eyes looking all shiny. ‘Your average woman doesn’t get the chance to go to a Botox party.’

‘Are you calling us average?’ said Saffron, drawn-on eyebrows arched.

‘Botox parties are for people with too much money, if you ask me,’ said Vivian. ‘Or too little sense. Whereas we all live in the real world…’ She flicked some crumbs off her silk blouse and wavering slightly, stood up. As she walked past, she patted my arm. ‘I’ll get your number. Those Santa Coladas would be a huge hit at my Bridge Club.’

I smiled but didn’t feel like jumping quite so high as before because Melissa’s shoulders slumped as her guests left. Sandra was back in the conservatory, shaking her head as she packed away her stuff.

‘Ring you later,’ said Kate to Melissa, and mouthed “sorry” before following on the heels of Saffron who, with a flounce of her frilly dress, teetered out of the room.

‘What went wrong?’ Melissa sank onto the plum sofa. She swilled back a mouthful of champagne and asked me to fetch another bottle and a glass for myself. By the time I got back, she was ready for a second glass.

‘Here,’ I said and passed her one of the rich mincemeat cupcakes. ‘This’ll make you feel better.’

‘Whatever do you mean? The morning was a success. They enjoyed the food. I’m sure they thought me very generous.’ But her mouth downturned and she took a huge bite. ‘Sod the calories. Take one yourself. At least we know how to enjoy ourselves. Saffron hardly ate one mouthful. And as for Denise… She’s always got some medical horror story to tell.’

I took one of the dark chocolate logs before sitting next to her, on the sofa. Who would believe I was sipping champagne in Jonny Winsford’s house? I felt another Facebook status announcement coming on: “Champers to celebrate as business is booming.”

‘Do you want me to stay for a while, Melissa?’ said Sandra in a soft voice as she stopped by us, holding her case. She’d taken off her coat to reveal a pastel skirt and smart magnolia blouse. ‘Don’t you worry about those ladies. They wouldn’t know a favour if it pinched them on the bottom.’

‘No. Honestly. But perhaps you could come round later in the week to do my nails. Your cheque…’ Melissa muttered, words slightly slurring now.

‘Don’t worry, dear.’ Sandra squeezed Melissa’s shoulder. ‘We’ll sort that out next time. I’ll show myself out.’ She disappeared into the hallway and the front door opened and closed.

‘She seems nice,’ I said.

Melissa topped up our glasses. ‘My manicure sessions are a godsend. Sandra always has really good advice. She’s shown me this facial exercise routine that’s supposed to produce results better than a facelift. And once I opened a bottle of champagne for lunch whilst she was here to celebrate sales of my DVD. I’d forgotten I was supposed to drive to meet Jonny in Harpenden for some fundraiser. Sandra insisted on giving me a lift there and wouldn’t let me order a taxi.’ She took a large sip. ‘What a wasted opportunity. Those women don’t know how to make the best of themselves.’ Her words were less velvety and strands of hair had slipped out of her chignon. ‘And we never got to try your savoury nibbles. I’ll keep them if you like. Jonny’s agent’s visiting tonight.’

‘Really?’ That sounded important. I wouldn’t want to let Melissa down. Not after the humiliation she’d faced this morning. ‘Um… I’m better at baking cakes than making canapés. Honestly. I’m sure he’d prefer some of your home cooking.’

She giggled. ‘Darling, Jonny didn’t marry me because I know how to hold a whisk. We eat out a lot and if people come to dinner, I get in caterers. Just tell me how to heat them up. In fact, why don’t you come back later and–’

‘I was thinking the, um, prawns looked a bit off.’

‘But you were going to serve them to the ladies.’ Melissa looked at me sideways, then got up and wended her way into the kitchen. I followed. She yanked open the fridge door and lifted the foil on a platter of mini hot dogs. Her eyes narrowed. ‘They all look exactly the same – more factory-produced than handmade.’ She slammed the door and hiccoughed. ‘What’s going on?’

‘I… I thought you only wanted cakes. When you mentioned at the last minute about savoury nibbles, I panicked and…’

‘Bought them?’ Melissa shrugged. ‘I hope you used that new deli in town.’