“Isn’t this lovely?” said Julia brightly. “A proper family meal! Perhaps we ought to say grace or something first, as it’s Christmas.”
Everyone stared at her in consternation, then glanced round covertly at their neighbours to see who had religious inclinations.
“Shame to let this get cold,” said Hilary, who was quite sure none of them had, least of all Julia. She picked up a serving spoon.
“Yum yum!” said Tony. “What’s it going to be, I wonder?”
“It looks wonderful!” Julia eyed the dish dubiously. “Now you mustn’t worry a bit,” she assured Hilary in a confidentially lowered tone. “We all know you’ve done your best, and no one’s going to blame you if you haven’t been able to manage anything very nice.”
Hilary wanted to say that on the contrary, her cheesy potato pie was delicious as well as nourishing, and if Julia had any complaints she could have helped with the cooking, instead of buggering about with decorations! But she decided to let the pie speak for itself.
“Mm, this really is yummy!” Tony’s surprise gave him away.
“Very decent,” Margery paused in some argument she was having with William to acknowledge.
“Superb!” Oliver raised a forkful in salute.
“I think perhaps Tobias might have liked this after all.” - The final accolade.
“Wonderful, darling! …It’s not as if we were expecting high class French cuisine, after all.”
Frances could have confirmed Lesley’s notion. She’d put a spoonful of the pie on Tobias’s plate when she doled it out to Posy, and after a tentative poke round, he’d finished it and demanded more. Luckily Hilary had been generous with their share. They were also the first to sample Oliver’s profiteroles, and could have informed the dining-room party that they were in for a treat.
“Cor, I’m busting!” Shelley announced, pushing away the remains of a big bowlful. “You’re going to have to carry me up them stairs, Pose.”
“I’m too full as well,” giggled Posy. “And so’s Tobias. You’ll have to carry us all, Nanny Frances!”
“No way. - Not with all those profiteroles inside you! I might have managed otherwise. …Do you think we should clear this up a bit?” she added to Shelley.
“Nah! We’re not paid to skivvy. He’s got somebody comes in, hasn’t he?”
Frances could imagine the forthright Mrs. Arncott’s reaction to finding a load of dirty plates in the pantry next morning, - if she ever did find them.
“Perhaps we’d better take things through anyway. …Come on kids. Pile the plates up.”
The children looked at her in bemusement, but soon got the idea of this new game of clearing away after a meal. Even Shelley helped by carrying the profiterole dish into the kitchen.
They caught out Scratch.
He too had given the menu his warm approval. Oliver had put the cream carton down for him, and when he’d disposed of every drop he could reach without jamming his nose in the bottom, he’d leapt onto the draining-board and found the bowl Hilary had used to mix in the cheese. There was an embarrassed clatter as he swiftly regained the floor, and began to wash as if he’d been there all the time.
“I did see you,” Frances told him, wondering what Lesley would say about hygiene.
“Where’s the dishwasher?” said Shelley, opening and shutting cupboards with increasing puzzlement.
“Same place as the shower,” Frances grinned.
“What? …Oh! Bleedin’ hell. - He hasn’t even got a dishwasher.” Shelley shook a despairing head.
Frances was prepared for trouble getting Tobias to settle down in a strange room in the company of his boisterous cousin, with his mother out of reach. She made sure a drink came up with them, and encouraged the children to race each other up the stairs and see who could get into bed fastest. They were both under the covers when she and Shelley arrived, Posy shrieking her triumph. But Tobias looked at Frances doubtfully and started to climb out again.
“I need a drink. …Oh, you’ve got one.” He took two mouthfuls and put it down again. “I think I need a wee.”
“You can’t do! You just went to the loo downstairs,” Posy reminded him.
“Try to snuggle down now, Tobias. Look, Posy’s nearly asleep.”
“No, I’m not,” said his unhelpful cousin, sitting up and wriggling out of the covers to prove it.
“Get back in there this minute!” The bellow startled them all. “You too, Tobias. There are big green monsters under them beds, and they’ll grab any feet they find on the floor. There’s nothing they like better than kids’ juicy little toes for their supper….Yes, better keep them under the covers as well.”
Frances gasped in horror, - but she had to admit it worked like a charm. Posy’s giggles suggested that she was used to her nanny’s flights of fancy, and Tobias took his cue and joined in. Both sets of feet remained firmly under the bedclothes though.
“Right then,” Shelley built on the ground gained, “this light’s going off in a minute. France and me are going downstairs for some peace. We don’t want to hear no more talking, - and certainly no laughing…”
“Aren’t I going to have a story?” Tobias looked at Frances pathetically.
“He usually does,” she told Shelley. “You go down, if you want. I’ll read them a quick one.” She searched for the book.
“I can read,” Posy reminded them.
“Well of course you can, - big girl like you!” said Shelley. “Tell you what, you can read Tobias his bedtime story. Save us the trouble.”
“Oh yes, I’m going to read it!” Posy snatched the book out of her hand and began to ruffle through the pages. “Here’s one about a wicked goblin. I’ll read that one.”
Frances looked to see how Tobias was taking this, but he seemed quite content with the turn of events. He nestled up against Posy, where he could see the pictures in the storybook, and didn’t even raise his head when Frances said they’d be back later, and they slipped out of the room.
“That’s got you off the hook!” Shelley nudged her cheerfully. “Posy’s reading isn’t as hot as she thinks, and she’ll start making it up as soon as she gets to a difficult word. She’ll be telling him stories for hours!”
“We’d better not leave them too long,” said Frances, a little worried at where Posy’s imagination might have lead her. “His mum’ll be up to kiss him goodnight as soon as she’d finished dinner.”
“Let her take over, then,” was Shelley’s advice. “Time you and me knocked off for the day. I’m going to put my feet up. You coming?”
“In a bit. I want to make a phone-call.”
Shelley went into their bedroom, and a moment later music blasted through the wall. …‘Knocking off’ didn’t include any question of listening out for the children apparently.
Frances sighed. She and Shelley were chalk and cheese. Even their taste in music was different. She wished things hadn’t been arranged so they were forced to share a room. Far from making her feel less lonely, the unrelieved presence of someone she had so little in common with was only adding to her sense of isolation. …Still, she’d better get used to Shelley’s company. It had been made pretty clear that a distinct social line had been drawn at Haseley House, and kind though some of the family had been to her, the nannies weren’t going to be encouraged to find friendship across the divide.
She moved further away from Shelley’s pulsating music, and pulled out her mobile. Whether or not it would make the homesickness worse, Frances felt an overwhelming need for contact with people who loved her. They’d have finished tea now. Mum would have settled down by the fire in front of Corrie, trying to shut the boys up as they squabbled over a computer game. Everyone would race for the phone when it went, hoping it was her, longing to know how she was getting on, just as she longed to hear their news. …No signal. She went a bit nearer the window. …Still nothing. Perhaps it would be better in the attic.
She hurried up the stairs, past the children
’s door, only vaguely aware of the chatty tone that suggested Posy had already given up on the text of the story. There was a chair in one of the unused bedrooms. She climbed onto it and pointed her phone towards the ceiling. This was as high in the house as she could get. Please, please… It was no good.
With hammering heart she tried shaking the phone, but she knew perfectly well there was nothing wrong with the battery. Mustn’t panic. Get down off the chair. Oh why was this dreadful house so determined to deny her any contact with normal humanity? …Outside. There’d be a better signal outside. Down, down, down all the stairs. Kitchen. Back door. …Hell, it was bolted! She forced them away, top and bottom, and ran out into the darkness.
No signal. There was still no bloody signal! She ran on down the path at the side of the house, seeing nothing but the display on the phone…
It was useless. She’d known it would be really. Here she was, out in the dark and cold, cut off from friends and family, who she’d probably never see again… And now - oh lord - something was moving, crunching on the gravel at the front of the house! Frances hurried back inside and re-bolted the door.
And then, as she sat at the kitchen table, taking great breaths, she remembered that not everyone relied on mobiles. Stupid girl! She knew William had a telephone in the hall. - It was even possible that it contacted the outside world in the normal way! She could offer to pay for the call…
But even as she went to pick it up, she realised this was no good. Voices came from the dining-room close by. Any moment someone would come out, and she certainly didn’t want anyone else at Haseley House to overhear what she had to say to her family. Was there an extension somewhere? She opened a door.
“Oh! …Sorry.”
She’d been so sure they were all at dinner, but no, here was that wretched man again, - the ‘burglar’, Leo Watlington. Why did he make such a habit of sitting in rooms on his own?
She would have retreated instantly, but he called her back. “Yes? What do you want?”
Awkwardly she explained about the phone.
“God, no! You won’t get a signal in this place. - Hills all round, and the yokels wouldn’t think of defiling them with anything as progressive as a phone mast!”
“I suppose not. Anyway, I’m sorry for disturbing you…”
But Leo seemed unwilling to let her go. He asked about her family and education, and having learnt that she’d hoped to have gone to art college if things had worked out differently, revealed that he himself was a writer. The pause for her to insert a suitably admiring comment was the only one he gave after that.
“I don’t have to explain to you the problems a creative artist has in getting recognition. The moguls of modern publishing have no imagination. All they’re interested in is so-called popular fiction, - pap to fill the station bookstalls, and when you present them with a work of - yes, I have to say it - real literary merit…”
Frances listened in ever increasing amazement as Leo held forth on the subject of his own talents. How desperate must the poor man be, if he felt he had to impress the nanny?
She was trying to think how to get away and find a phone, when something caught her eye, - a movement at the window. …God, someone was out there! No, not another burglar! She really didn’t think she could take it.
With pounding heart she watched as a figure loomed up out of the darkness and pressed its nose against the glass, making a ghastly distorted face. It spread its hands in a claw-like action and slowly slid down the pane, like something in a horror film. From there the creature dropped to its knees, and clasped its hands together in a pleading gesture. It wanted to be let into the house!
Leo at last realised her attention was elsewhere, and turned to see what she was looking at.
“What on earth…? Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Somewhat to her surprise, he seemed to be expressing impatience rather than fear.
“Let me in!” The voice came clearly through the glass now. Leo, one burglar colluding with another, found the catch on the window and threw it open.
A lithe young man climbed through, and stood on the carpet grinning mischievously at Frances. He had curly brown hair and thick eyebrows, which might have looked fierce if it wasn’t for the twinkle in the green eyes beneath them.
“Well, - just in time to rescue a damsel in distress, it appears! Is this man annoying you?”
“Oh no…” Frances began to stammer politely, although the stranger seemed to have summed up the situation quite well.
Leo looked sour. “What on earth are you doing here, Daniel?”
“I might ask the same of you.”
“Well you needn’t,” said Leo pettishly. “I’m here for Christmas, with the rest of the family. - I brought your mother down with me, as a matter of fact.”
“Oh Lord, did you?” Daniel pulled a horrified face. “She’ll never forgive me!”
“Didn’t you realise she was here?” Leo was puzzled.
“Yes, of course. That’s why I came. I was supposed to be climbing in Scotland with some mates, but someone made a balls up and we’d nowhere to stay. …I’ve been on the road all day, arrived at last, shattered and starving, and then no one would answer the door!”
“Would you like some dinner?” Frances came to her senses and spoke for the first time. “The others are all in the dining-room. They started some time ago, but…”
“What? You mean everyone else is having dinner, and nobody bothered to fetch me?” Leo’s expression was so appalled, it was hard not to laugh. Frances caught Daniel’s eye and looked away quickly.
“Oh dear, Leo. They must have forgotten you existed!” he said with a naughty grin. “Never mind. Let’s go and see if there’s anything left.”
* * *
Poor William, thought Hilary, - he didn’t stand a chance. As soon as Stephen and Lesley realised that Margery was trying to persuade him to undertake a major repair programme, they jumped on the bulldozer and added their weight.
“That’s an excellent idea, isn’t it, Father? It’s only sensible to protect a valuable asset like Haseley by investing a little bit now for the future…”
Whose future, she wondered? Eighty-year-old William’s, or the people who hoped to inherit the house?
“…You could always move into a care home while the work’s being done, - on a temporary basis, of course.”
No one else seemed to have noticed that Oliver had been left rather isolated at the end of the table, with his neighbours’ backs so firmly turned in the other direction. He caught Hilary’s gaze and gave a rueful smile.
She was just wondering how offended Julia would be if she suggested swapping seats with Lesley, when Julia spoke instead.
“So what are everyone’s plans for tomorrow? - Last chance for Christmas shopping! Tony and I have a few little things left to get, and we simply must have a tree, mustn’t we?”
“A bit more booze wouldn’t come amiss,” Tony added. “What do you say, Lesley?”
Lesley looked startled at the implication that she was a drinker, then realised what he meant. “Oh, shopping! No, Stephen and I have got everything we need. …I think we’d prefer to find a rather more mind-stretching activity for Tobias tomorrow, - something educational. Isn’t there a museum at Cirencester?”
Julia made a face. “Well if you’re sure the poor little lamb would rather do that than MacDonald’s…”
“Sounds like your kind of thing, Oliver, - a museum.” said Tony. “Why don’t you show young Tobias what’s what, while the rest of us hit the shops?”
Stephen glanced at Lesley in alarm. “Oh no, I don’t think…”
“What? …No, Oliver doesn’t want to go to Cirencester tomorrow,” Margery broke off her argument to inform them. “William’s going to give him a tour of the house, so he can write his thing for Country Life.”
“I could do that,” said Hilary. “…Not write the article. Take Oliver round the house, I mean.”
She flushed. Was she being too push
y? But Stephen and Lesley had looked so appalled at the idea of him joining them, - presumably afraid of being upstaged by his superior knowledge of antiquities, and she was sure William wouldn’t want to spend his time traipsing up and down the stairs. …Oh, sod it! Why not just admit to herself that she would enjoy a morning in Oliver’s company? She would love to show him all the little eccentricities that made her so fond of Haseley, - the unexpected rooms and oddly-placed cupboards and bits of old wallpaper hidden behind doors. She knew he’d appreciate them just as she did.
“Thank you. I’d be very grateful.”
He smiled at her, and for a moment she felt… What? She wasn’t entirely sure, so instantly had it been succeeded by a pang of guilt. Christ, how could a man who wasn’t Ben cause her to feel anything like that spark of delight? …No, of course it wasn’t wrong to be happy. She’d had to tell herself this numerous times, when the cloud of her bereavement began to lift and let in the occasional ray of sunshine. But to find enjoyment in the normal little pleasures of life again was one thing, - this sudden soaring of her heart quite another!
“What’s going on outside?” said Julia suddenly. Sounds could be heard from the hall. “That’s not one the nannies, - it’s a man’s voice. But I thought they were all in here. …Oh dear! Surely we can’t have forgotten somebody?”
The glint in her eye reinforced Hilary’s suspicions regarding Leo’s omission from the table.
The door opened, and everyone turned to see, not Leo, but - Ben!
“Hi Mum! Hi, Gran! I thought I’d come and check up on you all.”
For a second Hilary really had thought her husband had come to haunt her! …Guilty conscience of course, and the total unexpectedness of seeing Daniel here, when he was supposed to be hundreds of miles away. She recovered, and joined in the babble of laughing questions and explanations. …No dreadful accident, just a mix-up about accommodation. Yes, he really was staying for Christmas, - if Uncle William didn’t mind, that was. Mind you, he’d thought he’d have to drive all the way back to London, when he couldn’t get anyone to answer the door.
A Proper Family Christmas Page 12
