A Proper Family Christmas

by Jane Gordon - Cumming

  Well now she was coming down to earth, if not with a bump, at least with an unpleasant rush of cold air. Far from introducing her to their intellectual friends, the Shirburns seemed determined to keep her firmly in what they saw as her place. They were obviously appalling snobs, and she was beginning to think they had chosen her more for her educated accent and the fact that her parents had been teachers than for her child-care skills. Mum had been right, the job was a nightmare, but having left home with such ceremony, she could hardly go back and tell them that she couldn’t hack it. Thank goodness the Christmas holiday wasn’t too far away!

  With Lesley present, the rest of the bathing carried on in silence. Not wanting to keep a dog and bark herself, she was nevertheless obviously itching to seize her child and take over.

  “All clean now, Tobias?” she asked, as Frances prepared to lift him out of the bath. “Who would you like to read you your bedtime story - Nanny or Mummy?”

  This was a minefield, Frances knew. Tobias looked from one to the other, eyes gleaming, revelling in control.

  “I’m sure Mummy reads much better.” Frances seized the reins, risking the implication she wasn’t up to the job rather than leave Tobias with this golden opportunity in his hands.

  Lesley muttered something about ‘quality time’ and bore her son away, leaving Frances to clear up the bathroom with a sigh of relief.

  Dr. Shirburn was putting the phone down when she went downstairs an hour or so later.

  “That’s all fixed up then,” he said, thinking it was his wife, and broke off with an embarrassed “Ah!”

  Frances found her position awkward outside ‘office hours’. Once Tobias had gone to bed and her function was over, the Shirburns obviously didn’t know what to do with her. The previous nanny had not lived in.

  “We’ll be spending Christmas at Haseley House,” Stephen informed her. “ - My father’s place in Gloucestershire.”

  “We?” She felt a sudden pang of foreboding.

  “You were employed on the understanding you would be available over the Christmas period…”

  “What? Yes, but I thought you meant…” Surely they were going to let her home for at least Christmas Day?

  “We leave on Saturday. The old man’s a bit eccentric, I should warn you, but the house is a magnificent old place, though he doesn’t keep it up as he should…”

  “Did you tell him what we’d arranged?” asked Lesley, coming down the stairs. “This house is quite uninhabitable at the moment, and surely Father wouldn’t be so selfish as to deny his own family a roof over their heads at Christmas…?” Her voice rose, ready to counter argument.

  “No, no. It’s all settled. I said we’d be there about lunch-time.”

  Lesley, unwilling to let a good grievance go, turned to Frances. “It’s not as if he didn’t have masses of room at Haseley. In fact it’s quite ridiculous - an old man on his own. We must have another talk to him, Stephen. …And we really can’t expect Tobias to stay in Oxford with water streaming down the walls - I’m sure you agree with me, Nanny.”

  Frances winced. She wished the Shirburns would call her by her name. She hadn’t actually noticed any damp, and she certainly didn’t want to spend Christmas in some pile in Gloucestershire with this awful family and a dotty old man who obviously didn’t want them. She wanted to go home!

  “Yes, of course,” she said again. “I mean, of course we can’t. Would it be all right if I made a cup of coffee?”

  At nine, William received another phone-call.

  “Yes I’m quite well, thank you! I wish you wouldn’t answer in that silly way!” said his sister Margery crossly. “Are you going to be there for Christmas?”

  “Yes, unfor…”

  “Good. I’m bringing Oliver Leafield down to see the house.”

  “Who?”

  “The architectural historian - surely you’ve heard of him? He’s a friend of Nigel Rofford’s.”

  “That old pansy!”

  “I met him at dinner there the other day. He’s very keen to see Haseley and he happens to be free over Christmas.”

  “That’s all very well…”

  “It’s high time it was written up in Country Life or something - adds thousands to the value if you sell…”

  “I don’t want to sell it…!”

  “Of course you do! It’ll fetch a packet, and you can live in luxury for the rest of your life. No sense in hanging on to the old ruin just so Stephen can play lord of the manor when you’ve gone!”

  “And where am I supposed to live?”

  “Anywhere you like. …Spain, the Bahamas. There’s a nice flat going here in Rutland Gate. Anyway, Oliver will need to take photos, so get that Mrs. Thing of yours to move her fat backside and spruce the place up a bit. See you Saturday evening.”

  “But…”

  “It’s all right, you don’t have to feed us! I’ll make Oliver take me out somewhere.”

  William stumped back to his chair crossly. Only Margery would have the nerve to invite a perfect stranger to someone else’s house for Christmas. As if Stephen and Ratso weren’t enough to cope with, now he was supposed to spruce the place up so that some shirt-lifter could ponce about taking photographs!

  He was still seething when the phone went again. This time he snatched the machine on the table and pressed all its buttons until it stopped. “Well, what?” he shouted into the mouthpiece.

  “Pull the aerial out, you silly old fool!” It was Margery again. “Apparently poor Hilary’ll be alone for Christmas. Daniel’s off on an expedition with the University, climbing or caving or something equally mad.”

  “Oh yes?”

  “So she’ll be all on her own,” repeated Margery.

  “Good for her.”

  “I thought it would be nice if you invited her to stay as well.”

  “She’s your daughter-in-law, not mine.”

  “Well of course if you’d rather have Ratso!” said Margery scornfully.

  William was at last able to drop his bombshell.

  “I am having Ratso! You didn’t give me a chance to tell you. Some damp thing’s broken down in their house and they insist on coming here - even the nanny!”

  “Dire!” sympathised Margery. “Where are you putting them?”

  “In the east attic.”

  “Fine, well put Oliver Leafield in the west wing, as far from that wretched child as possible, and Hilary and I…”

  “I didn’t say I was inviting Hilary.”

  “Of course you are - she’ll talk to Lesley. You know how kind-hearted she is.”

  “Well, as long as I don’t have to have Leo.”

  “Oh, Leo doesn’t approve of Christmas,” Margery reassured him. “And he certainly doesn’t approve of any of his relatives.”

  “More sense than I thought,” muttered Leo’s uncle.

  “Phone Hilary now, before she goes to bed.”

  * * *

  Hilary jumped when the phone rang. It was too soon to be Daniel telling her that he had arrived safely, but suppose it was the Police, and he hadn’t…?

  But the gruff old voice bore no resemblance to any suave official. William never announced himself, expressing surprise and impatience at anyone who dared enquire who was calling, but there was rarely any need. Hilary smiled with relief at his familiar, undulcet tones.

  “I’m told I must invite you here for Christmas.”

  “Oh yes? And who told you that?”

  “Margery, bugger her. She’s decided my Christmas isn’t going to be hellish enough, so she’s taken it upon herself to invite a load of strangers to stay in my house.”

  “Oh dear, William! But aren’t you going to Stephen and Lesley’s?”

  “That would have been bad enough, but no, they’ve decided to inflict themselves on me instead, with the child, and its nanny…” William vented full details of his grievances.

  “It sounds ghastly, but I don’t see why Margery thinks you have to invite me down the
re as well…”

  “Apparently you’ll pine away if you’re left on your own at Christmas. Sounds a bloody good idea to me…” said William wistfully.

  “Me too. I’m looking forward to it.”

  “Well, tough!” William was only taken aback for a moment. “I don’t see why you should be the only one to escape Christmas.”

  “I’m a widow. I’m allowed to do what I like,” Hilary reminded him smugly.

  “Balls! You’re to come down here and suffer along with the rest of us,” William decreed. “Being a widow doesn’t entitle you to get out of having a miserable time.”

  Hilary sighed. William and Margery had obviously got together and decided she shouldn’t spend Christmas alone. Was there any point in protesting? Probably not. Margery’s decisions were final.

  Hilary loved her mother-in-law dearly. Never would she forget the way Margery had concealed her own grief to take charge at that appalling moment, three years ago, of a shock-stricken widow and bemused teenage boy. It was Margery’s strength and courage that had seen her through, Margery who had cooked meals and talked to undertakers and shown her that life could and must carry on. With no family of her own, she had clung to her mother-in-law as the only rock in a sea of chaos, and Margery had prevented her from drowning.

  So she would never be a party to the family’s grumbling at Margery’s despotic way of deciding exactly how other people should run their lives. After all, being certain she knew what was best for people, Margery saw no reason not to enlighten them, and make sure that they carried it out.

  It seemed that Margery wasn’t convinced that Hilary would really enjoy a week completely on her own while everyone else was doing Christmas. - Reluctant as she was to admit it, Margery was just possibly right. Besides, Hilary recognised William’s peremptory demands as a plea for her support. They were fond of each other, and if he wanted her down there, it would be churlish not to go.

  “You’re a manipulative old bully,” she told him.

  “Good. You’re coming.”

  “I suppose so.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Kath Arncott made her way up to the east wing next morning with a bad grace. She’d been looking forward to a bit of peace and quiet over Christmas with the old bloke away. …Not that you could exactly call it peace and quiet with her boys around, but she hadn’t expected to do any cleaning, or much cooking if they could still get in to the White Hart’s Christmas dinner, and she certainly hadn’t thought to be asked to trail the Hoover up three flights of stairs to get a set of musty old attics ready because half the old man’s relatives had decided to visit.

  She stood in the doorway of the room Mr. Shirburn had chosen for his son and daughter-in-law, and let out a breath of disapproval. From the stained mattress, to the curling carpet, to the layer of dead flies on the window-sill, the place was a tip. It would take a week to do properly, and she certainly wasn’t going to that much trouble for Stephen Shirburn and his snotty wife! What was she when it came down to it? A secretary or something at his College. Lord knew how she’d trapped him into marrying her - not with sex appeal, that was for sure!

  They’d all thought Stephen was a confirmed bachelor, or she might have been tempted to have a go there herself. After all, he wasn’t so bad looking in a wimpish kind of way, and one assumed he’d come in for this place when the old man went - Julia obviously wasn’t bothered, more’s the pity.

  Yes, Kath could see herself as mistress of Haseley - wearing a hat at garden-parties, playing hostess at little dos for the local nobs. All that would be wasted on Lesley Shirburn, who looked like she got her make-up tips from Nun’s Monthly.

  Kath stooped to peer through the dust of the dressing-table mirror and prodded her curls. Nice perm this, with the chestnut highlights…

  Frances was baby-sitting that night. Stephen and Lesley had gone to the College Christmas Dinner, Lesley in a quite dreadful dress with grey pleats that made her look like a dirty lampshade. Tobias was already in bed, but it didn’t stop them leaving a host of instructions as to what he might need if he woke, and a series of telephone numbers, starting with the Porters’ Lodge and ending with the Dean of the College’s private line, in case she needed to get hold of them in an emergency.

  They had been gone about an hour and Frances was just settling in to a T.V. programme, when the phone rang. She sighed. People hardly ever phoned the Shirburns - they didn’t seem to have many friends, and she had no doubt it was Lesley ringing to check that she wasn’t taking advantage of their absence to ill-treat Tobias.

  But the rich, warm, earth-mother voice was a world away from Lesley’s. “Don’t tell me they’re not in!”

  “No, I’m afraid not.”

  “You mean, someone’s invited them somewhere?” the voice exclaimed, with a hint of golden laughter.

  Frances heard the news being relayed in muffled tones, and a male chuckle in the background.

  “You must be Tobias’s new nanny. …It’s the nanny, Tony. …No, the new one!”

  “Can I take a message?” asked Frances.

  “Oh it’s not in the least important,” the friendly voice went on. “We only rang to wish them Happy Christmas, but I’ll ring again on the day. They’re having the old man over, aren’t they?”

  “Actually there’s been a change of plan.” Frances explained about the damp proof course.

  “Oh, how dreadful for them! So you’re all going over to Haseley for Christmas?”

  This too was passed on to Tony.

  “Are they, by God?” she heard him say.

  There was some whispered conversation, questions, exclamations.

  “We’ll catch them there then. Thank you, darling, you’ve been most helpful.”

  “Er… Who shall I say rang?” asked Frances quickly before the mysterious caller could vanish into the ether for ever.

  “It’s Julia, of course.”

  “Of course,” murmured Frances as she put the receiver down. “Who the hell is Julia?”

  “She’s my Auntie,” the reply came unexpectedly. Tobias was standing by the door. “She wears big dresses and she smells nice, and for my birthday she gave me a toy theatre, only I have to wait for it till I’m bigger.”

  “I see,” Frances digested this. “Why aren’t you in bed?”

  “She’s Posy’s Mummy,” Tobias continued to expound his family history, moving to settle down beside her.

  “Right. And what about a hot drink before you go back to sleep?”

  “I’m not going back. I’m waiting here for Mummy to come home.”

  “I don’t think so. Let’s see what we can find in the kitchen.”

  Tobias eyed her for a moment, then took her outstretched hand. “Posy’s got a nanny,” he informed her. “That’s why I had to.”

  Hilary packed for Haseley with mixed feelings. Having been so firm about spending Christmas on her own in London, she felt rather as if she was betraying something by not seeing the thing through. On the other hand it would have been idiotic to let William down for some silly principle. He needed her, and she tried not to feel guilty at her relief at being offered such a perfect excuse not to test herself.

  “You’re quite mad,” she thought, as she packed her thickest jerseys, long-johns and a hairy old skirt she hadn’t worn for years. “It’ll be freezing down there, and you could have been warm and comfortable at home.”

  She was just wondering whether she ought to be trying to find Christmas presents for the Shirburns, when the phone rang. Hilary recognised her brother-in-law’s voice, and groaned inwardly.

  “I hear everyone’s going to Haseley House for Christmas.”

  Leo always spoke with a plaintive, upward inflection that seemed to imply a second half to his sentences, an unspoken sub-text.

  “Oh, not everyone, I don’t think..” …Who had told him? Certainly not William, who couldn’t stand Leo. And Margery had no time for her younger son.

  “They are, you know. I’ve just been
talking to Julia. Stephen and Ratso are driving down tomorrow - she had it from their nanny, and she and Tony are bringing Posy and her nanny…”

  “Oh no! Are you sure? William didn’t mention it.” Why had Julia taken it into her head to join them for Christmas, and what on earth had possessed her to let Leo know? Didn’t she realise that if he thought he was missing out on some mass family gathering, they’d be lumbered with him at Haseley too?

  “I suppose, if everyone’s going, I’d better do my family duty.”

  “Oh no…” Her brain raced for the right words. She wondered if other people had this feeling of being put on their guard whenever they were talking to Leo, and if so, whether he noticed. “Your mother got William to invite me down because Daniel’s away, but it’s really only the Shirburns…” “On the contrary, William told Julia that Mother’s bringing some guy to look at the house. I think I ought to be there,” persisted Leo.

  “I’m sure there’s no need for you to go…” She heard herself beginning to gabble. “You’re well out of it. William only talked me into coming to protect him from Ratso, but it doesn’t look as if it was necessary really…”

  “You shouldn’t let people take advantage of you, Hilary. Being a widow doesn’t mean you have to play the victim, you know,” said her loathsome brother-in-law. “William’s a real old manipulator if you let him, and Mother’s worse - I seem to be the only member of the family with the nerve to stand up to her.”

  Hilary, who had seen Leo reduced to a stammering wreck by his Mother’s withering remarks, let this pass. More important was to prevent him from inflicting himself on them all at Haseley.

  “I’m afraid I’ll have to go down there, now that I’ve said I would,” She tried to sound casual, “but there’s no point in you letting yourself in for a ghastly family party - I know you hate them. You can snug down cosily with your writing in Gower Street and imagine us all freezing to death and listening to Stephen and Ratso wittering on about Tobias’s Genius Rating.”

  “Well I must say, I don’t relish spending Christmas in the company of Tobias’s fond parents. And Julia and Tony are not exactly stimulating intellectually …”