CHAPTER 33
We enjoy a traditional Christmas dinner and chocolate yule log for dessert.
“This is delicious,” I murmur, licking fresh cream off my spoon.
“Isn’t Mrs Potter a brilliant cook,” says Mo, who is at the table next to us, “it’s all home made you know. The eggs are fresh from her chickens and she grows the herbs in the vegetable plot.”
I’m feeling satisfyingly stuffed, but then Mr Potter brings out mince pies and coffee.
“I don’t think I can eat another morsel,” I say, dabbing at my mouth.
“I’ll have yours then,” Andrew takes two mince pies off the sharing plate.
“I’m just going to get some fresh air,” I say, pushing back my chair, “excuse me.” I weave around the tables and out towards the hotel entrance. Someone has twined fairy lights around the large fir tree on the dri
