Dolly rarely mentioned her husband who had died young, far too young judging by what she told me. They had had no time to start a family and Dolly had never looked for another partner to share her life with. ‘When you’ve drunk vintage champagne,’ she had said, ‘there’s no desire to sup second-rate fizz.’

‘Did Stanley used to bring you breakfast in bed often?’ I asked.

‘Special occasions,’ she said wistfully. ‘Birthdays and anniversaries. Not that we shared enough of them. So yes, breakfast in bed tomorrow would be lovely, Hattie. Thank you.’

At least I could go to bed knowing that I was going to be starting and ending the next day nicely, even if the bit in the middle did feel destined to go a bit belly-up.

Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Snow was something Dolly and I had decided not to include on the Christmas Wish List.

‘It’s too chancy,’ she said, when we discussed it. ‘I only want you to add the things that are dead certs and as lovely as snow would be, it’s just too far beyond our control and it generally arrives in Wynbridge after Christmas these days anyway.’

However, I knew the moment I opened my eyes and glanced from the window to the bedside clock, that the local TV weather forecaster had underestimated the potential ‘odd flake’ she had hinted at and that this year was the exception to Dolly’s rule.

The light was just a little too bright to match the time and sure enough, when I looked out, everything was covered with a pretty dusting and the clouds looked very much like they had more to offload. I was surprised to discover I was rather excited by the sight.

‘Good morning, Dolly,’ I greeted her a good while later with a laden breakfast tray and the newspaper. ‘Are you ready for room service?’

Dolly smiled and hitched herself further up the bed. She looked tiny in the double divan as she plumped the pillows and rested her head back into the snowy white cases.

‘Is it too early?’ I quietly asked. ‘Do you want me to come back in a bit?’

Personally, I was surprised she was still in bed at all, but looking at her I felt sure she could have carried on snoozing all day.

‘No, no,’ she said, her first words were a little croaky. ‘This is perfect, thank you, Hattie. I never meant to lay so late. Whatever time is it?’

‘Well after eight,’ I said, setting the old-fashioned tray with its legs down, over her lap.

‘It’s light for eight,’ she frowned, picking up on the same clue to the weather that I had spotted. ‘It hasn’t snowed, has it?’

‘It sure has,’ I told her, pulling the curtains open. ‘It’s not particularly deep but everything’s covered.’