Later, sitting around the large Christmas tree with a room full of Connaughts, all eager to delight one another with their no doubt carefully chosen gifts, George felt something of an outsider. He had, of course, brought a gift for his hostess, which he’d presented to her upon his arrival—a bottle of a rather decent Chablis he couldn’t, in all honesty, really afford these days. He’d also bought and wrapped something for Matthew, simply because he couldn’t bear not to. But he had no real expectation of receiving anything in return.
He was rather surprised, therefore, to find himself handed a prettily wrapped parcel. “Go on, open it,” Matthew urged, leaving George in little doubt as to whom it was from. “It’s from Agnes,” Matthew then added, throwing George’s assumptions into disarray.
The
