Hot Revenge Box Set 2

Bitter cold though it is, the outdoors are a joy. We’re high up a mountain of course, so the chances of perfect Christmas weather are good in any case, but the scene outside could have been scripted in from some Dickensian novel.

Snow lies, as they say, deep and crisp and even, well up to the knees. Over field and road and garden, it lies drifted up against walls and seats. Air catches in my throat, the chill inflating my sinuses, and my breath blows out in blue clouds, then hangs in the air, glinting.

The dogs race around, excited and enthusiastic, panting despite the cold. Poor Meg, low-slung and woolly as she is, collects snow on her underside. It balls up to dangle in blobs from her tummy and I keep having to pull them off her.

Wonder what it’s like down by the Mill?

White water rushing with white foam by even whiter snow…

Together we stroll; me, Michael and Ryan, with Charlotte’s father bringing up the rear; around the back of the house and across the courtyard towards the woods.

Lucid with cold; the day is blessed with that clear unsullied light you only get when the temperature is well below zero. The sky is a brilliant azure overhead, fading to opal at the horizon.

Michael leads us past white hummocks which I know, under the surface, are Charlotte’s vegetable garden. A few tattered greenish spikes stick up out from under the snow. “Remind me on the way back to take in some sprouts,” he says. “James was asking for them.”

The thick blanket of snow that fell overnight has frozen until the surface snaps like the iced top of a Christmas cake, and like the best such cakes, its brilliant white crust is highlighted by the dense green of a holly tree with its scarlet berries.

“I don’t remember seeing that tree there before,” I comment.

Michael huffs. “That’s because it was hidden by brambles until earlier this Summer. They’d scrambled up and all but swallowed it. I cleared the space around the tree and it’s paying dividends now.”

Klempner frowns. “So, why not pick your holly from there?”

Michael gives him a dry look. “Because I enjoy looking at it. So does Mitch. She can see it from her window and watch the birds eating the berries.”

Sure enough, when I look again, the tree dangles half-coconuts and fat-balls from its lower branches. A bird table close by homes a storm of small riotous birds.

the snow, having to lift our feet between steps. “I’ll clear this later,”

with that,”

on.” Michael points forward and towards the treeline, sweeping out towards the meadows which stretch down the mountain. “There’re several hollies in the hedgerow at the edge of the woodland and

It’s like walking on a cross-trainer and my thighs are aching by the time we cross the few hundred yards

ice twinkle at the prickles and the branches are brilliant with berries. As we draw closer the sound of squabbling birds rattles over the snow and

chuckles, “I don’t think they’re very

less happy when the dogs spot them

cracking through the crisp surface to get to the softer stuff underneath, then

air, bursting into icy shrapnel as it lands. The dogs charge after it, a howling, bouncing hairy mass, not looking where they’re

ball, but as he swings back

His arms windmill as he tips

all but wetting myself

directions, all except for Mac, who runs under the snow with only

*****

holly, we return to the house. Klempner looks Michael up and down. “A change of clothes

it. I’m fucking frozen.” But the

pass the vegetable garden again. “Sprouts?” I

the snow-capped stalks, chooses one and tugs it up whole, by the roots. Then another. This one resists, its feet rooted in the frozen ground. Michael tries again, but when it doesn’t come free, produces his pruning

*****

stapling sheets together, several

Ryan’s. I suck

of you. To expedite matters, I’ve arranged matters so that you would be buying the property from

the contract from him. “We buy it from you? But I thought your

“If you decide to do this, Kirstie, I will take up my option to buy the property,