Rosamunde Pilcher - Winter Solstice

In midwinter, waking to darkness in this cold and northern country, Elfrida would open her eyes and have no clue as to the time. After a little, she would fumble for her watch and squint at its luminous face, and if it was two in the morning would probably clamber out of bed, wrap herself in her dressing-gown, and stumble off to the bathroom. Sometimes it was 5 a.m. Or eight in the morning, and time to get up, but even then, not a glimmer of light showed in the sky, and all was black as midnight.

This morning, she reached out a hand, and found her watch, and it was half past seven. Beside her, Oscar still slept. She got quietly out of bed, so as not to disturb him, reached for her thick dressing-gown, pushed her feet into slippers, and went to close the window. Outside, she saw, it was snowing again, not heavily, but sleety flakes driven in by a wind from the sea. These swirled and blew around the church and through the black branches of the graveyard trees, the light of the street lamps turning them to gold. The effect was so spectacular that Elfrida knew she had to share it with some other person. Oscar would not appreciate being woken, so she left him, went out of the room, turned on lights, and went downstairs to the kitchen, where she boiled a kettle and made two cups of tea. Upstairs again to the sitting-room, where she drew back the curtains and set the two mugs on the table by the window. Then she went on up to the attic to wake Lucy.

She slept, looking innocent as a small child, her hand tucked under the sweet curve of her cheek, her long hair tumbled around her neck. Her bed stood beneath the sloping window set into the roof. The blind was undrawn, the glass blanketed with wet snow. Elfrida switched on the bedside light.

Lucy.

She stirred, turned, yawned, opened her eyes.

Lucy.

Umm?

You awake?

I am now.

I want you to get up. I want to show you something. Ive made a cup of tea for you.

What time is it?

Nearly a quarter to eight.

Sleepily, Lucy sat up, rubbing her eyes.

I thought it was the middle of the night.

No. Morning. And so beautiful. Everyone else is still sleeping, but I wanted to show you.

Lucy, still fuddled with sleep, got out of bed and pulled on her camel-hair dressing-gown.

She said, Its cold.

Its the wind. Its snowing again.

They went downstairs, through the quiet house. The sitting-room was filled with light from out of doors.

Look, said Elfrida and led the way across the room and settled herself on the window-seat.

Its so amazing, I had to wake you and show you. I was afraid that the snow would have stopped, and you wouldnt see it. But its just like it was when I woke up.

Lucy, staring, sat beside her. After a little, she said, Its like one of those glass balls I used to have. It was full of water, and it had a little church; and when you shook it, there was a snowstorm.

Thats just what I thought. But these flakes are golden because of the lights; like flecks of gold.

Lucy said, Its the sort of thing people draw on Christmas cards, and you think it could never be like that.

And the streets so clean! Not a footprint, not a car track. As though there was nobody else in the world except us. She fell silent, and then thought of something.

I suppose therell be blizzards and drifts on the main roads. Im glad we dont have to go anywhere. Lucy shivered.

Here, have some hot tea.

Lucy took her tea and drank gratefully, her thin fingers wrapped around the mug, savouring its warmth. In silence they both stared at the scene beyond the window. Then a single car appeared, circling the church, and heading off in the direction of the main road. It drove cautiously, grinding along in second gear, and left a pair of dark tracks in its wake.

When it was gone, What time is it in Florida? Lucy asked.

Elfrida was taken aback. Lucy never talked about Florida; nor about her mother; nor about her mothers new friend. She said casually, I dont know. Five hours ago, I suppose. About three in the morning. Warm and humid, I expect. Its hard to imagine. Ive never been to Florida. Ive never been to America. She waited for Lucy to enlarge on this, but Lucy said nothing.

Wouldnt you like to be there? Elfrida asked gently.

Blue skies and palm trees and a swimming pool.

No. I should hate it. Thats why I didnt go.

But lovely for your mother. Like a wonderful holiday.

I dont like Randall Fischer much.

Why not?

Hes sort of smooth. Creepy.

Hes probably very nice and totally harmless.

Mummy thinks so, anyway.

Well. Thats nice for her.

Id rather be here, a thousand times over, than Florida. This is really Christmas, isnt it? Its going to be a real one.

I hope so, Lucy. Im not sure. Well just have to wait and see.

Oscar.

Oscar, settled by the fire, looked up from his newspaper.

My dear.

I am about to leave you on your own.

Forever?

No. For about half an hour. I telephoned Tabitha Kennedy, and Im going up to the Manse to borrow some extra glasses for our party. She has spare boxes that she keeps for parish dos, and she says we can have them.

Thats very kind.

I shall have to use the car. I shall drive at five miles an hour and take every precaution.

Would you like me to come with you?

If you want.

I should prefer to stay here, but am ready and willing to be of any service.

Perhaps when I get back you could help me unload the boot and bring it all indoors.

Of course, give me a shout. He thought for a moment.

Its very quiet. Where is everybody?

Sam and Carrie have gone to Buddy. And Lucys incarcerated in her attic, tying up her Christmas presents. If you wanted, you could both take Horace for a little walk. Its stopped snowing.

Oscar did not look particularly delighted by this suggestion. He simply said, in a non-committal way, Yes.

Elfrida smiled, and stooped to kiss him.

Take care, she told him, but he had already resumed his reading.

Out of doors, the wind was bitter and the snow treacherous. Elfrida, bundled up in boots and the blanket coat and woollen hat, emerged from the warmth of the house and paused to gaze up at the sky. She saw clouds wheeling in across a fitful sky, and gulls, blown hither and thither in the freezing air. Oscars car was covered in snow. Elfrida brushed the fresh fall from the windscreen with her gloved hand, but there was ice beneath it, so she got in, got the engine started, and turned on a bit of heat. Presently the ice trickled away, and she contrived two arcs of clear glass. Cautiously, she set off, chugging along down the street, then turning up the hill that led to the Manse. The gritting lorry had already passed this way, and so, with some relief, she reached her destination without a skid or other mishap.

She parked at the Manse gate, trod up the path of the front garden, knocked the snow from her boots, rang the bell, and then stepped into the porch and opened the inner door.

Tabitha.

Im here. In the kitchen.

Elfrida saw that the ministers house was already decked out for Christmas. A tree (not very large) stood at the foot of the stair, strung with tinsel and stars, and rather worn-looking paper chains had been festooned overhead. Through the open door at the back of the hall, Tabitha Kennedy appeared, bundled up in an apron and with her dark hair gathered back into a ponytail.

What a day! So lovely to see you. Ive got coffee perking. Come in quickly and shut the door. You didnt walk up?

Elfrida unbuttoned her blanket coat and hung it on the newel-post of the banister.

No, I was intrepid and brought the car. Had to. I couldnt begin to carry two crates of glasses home. Id have slipped on the lane, probably broken my leg, and certainly broken the glasses. She followed Tabitha back into the kitchen.