Uh-oh. She ran her fingers through her hair and tried to regroup.
‘Not that it’s not a very kind invitation,’ he added and she choked. She was so close to the edge…
‘I thought it was kind,’ she managed.
‘Kind?’
‘I could have left you in the office.’
‘Or not. It was you,’ he reminded her, ‘who got me into this mess.’
‘You could have listened to the news on the radio this morning as well as me,’ she snapped and then thought-had she really said that? What little hope she had of keeping her job had finally gone.
‘That’s what I pay you for,’ he snapped back.
Well, if she’d gone this far… ‘I left the office at eleven last night. I was at your hotel just after six. I don’t get eight hours off?’
‘I pay you for twenty-four hours on call.’
‘I’m not fussed about what you pay me,’ she snapped. The tension of the last few hours was suddenly erupting, and there was no way she could keep a lid on her emotions. ‘I’m fussed about the ten minutes I spent washing my hair this morning when I should have been listening to the radio and hearing about the airline strike. I’m fussed about being stuck with my boss, who doesn’t seem the least bit grateful that I’m doing the best I can. And now I’m stuck with someone who has the capacity to mess with my family Christmas if he doesn’t stop making me feel guilty and if he spends the rest of Christmas playing Manhattan Millionaire stuck here, and it’s All My Fault.’
She stopped. Out of breath. Out of emotion. Out of words. And it seemed he was the same.
Well, what could he say? Should he agree? He could hardly sack her here, right now, Meg thought. If he did…she and Letty really could be axe-murderers.
Or they could just leave him here, sitting on the Tandaroit station until the next train came through late tomorrow.
‘Don’t do it,’ he growled, and she remembered too late he had an uncanny ability to read her mind. He hesitated and then obviously decided he had no choice but to be a little bit conciliatory. ‘It’s very…clean hair,’ he ventured.
‘Thank you.’ What else was there to say?
‘This…grandmother…’
‘Letty.’
‘She’s backed up by other family members? With other cars?’ He was obviously moving on from her outburst, deciding the wisest thing was to ignore it.
‘Just Letty.’
‘And…who else?’
‘Scotty. My kid brother.’
‘You said no children,’ he said, alarmed.
‘Fifteen’s not a child.’
‘Okay,’ he conceded. ‘Who else?’
‘No one.’
‘Where are your parents?’
‘They died,’ she said. ‘Four years ago. Car crash.’
He was quick. He had it sorted straight away. ‘Which is why you took the job with me?’
‘So I could get home more,’ she said. ‘Ironic, isn’t it?’
But he was no longer listening. Had he been listening, anyway? ‘Could this be Letty?’ he demanded.
Oh, please… She stared into the darkness, and there it was, two pinpricks of light in the distance, growing bigger. Headlights.
‘Deliverance,’ she muttered and her boss almost visibly flinched.
‘Just joking,’ she said.
‘Don’t joke.’
‘No jokes,’ she agreed and took a deep breath and picked up her holdall. ‘Okay, here’s Letty and, while you may not appreciate it, we really are safe. We’ve organised you a nice private bedroom with Internet. You can use our telephone if there are people you need to contact other than over the Web. You can stay in your room and work all Christmas but Letty is one of the world’s best cooks and here really is better than camping in the office.’
‘I imagine it will be,’ he said, but he didn’t sound sure. ‘And I am grateful.’
‘I bet you are.’
‘It’s lovely hair,’ he said, surprisingly. ‘It would have been a shame to leave it dirty for Christmas.’
‘Thank you,’ she managed again. Cheering up, despite herself.
Letty was coming. She could send W S McMaster to his allocated room and she could get on with Christmas.
Anger was counterproductive. Anger would get him no where.
Yes, his PA had messed up his Christmas plans but the thing was done. And no, he should never have agreed to come with her to this middle-of-nowhere place. If he’d thought it through, maybe he could have rung a realtor and even bought a small house. Anything rather than being stuck at the beck and call of one wiry little woman called Letty who seemed to own the only set of wheels in the entire district.
They hadn’t passed another car. The car they were in sounded sick enough to be worrying. There was something wrong with its silencer-as if it didn’t have one. The engine was periodically missing. The gearbox seemed seriously shot. They were jolting along an unsealed road. He was wedged in the back seat with both his and Meg’s gear and Letty was talking at the top of her lungs.
‘I’m late because Dave Barring popped over to check on Millicent. Millicent’s a heifer I’m worried is going to calve over Christmas.’ Letty was yelling at him over her shoulder. ‘Dave’s our local vet and he’s off for Christmas so I wanted a bit of reassurance. He reckons she should be right,’ she told Meg. ‘Then I had to pick up three bags of fertiliser from Robertson’s. Robby said if I didn’t take it tonight the place’d be locked up till after New Year. So I’m sorry it’s a bit squashed in the back.’
‘I’m fine,’ he said. He wasn’t.
Anger was counterproductive. If he said it often enough he might believe it.
‘We can swap if you want,’ Meg said.
‘You won’t fit in the back,’ Letty said. ‘Not with Killer.’
Letty was right. The combination of Meg and Killer would never fit in the back seat with the baggage.
Killer looked like a cross between a Labrador and an Old English sheepdog. He was huge and hairy and black as the night around them. He’d met Meg with such exuberance that once more William had had to steady her, stopping her from being pushed right over.
While Killer had greeted Meg, Letty had greeted him with a handshake that was stronger than a man’s twice her size. Then she’d greeted her granddaughter with a hug that made Meg wince, and then she’d moved into organisational mode.
‘You in the back. Meg, in the front with Killer. I told Scotty I’d be back by nine-thirty so we need to move.’
They were moving. They were flying over the corrugated road with a speed that made him feel as if he was about to lose teeth.
‘So what do we call you?’ Letty said over her shoulder.
‘I told you; he’s Mr McMaster,’ Meg said, sounding muffled, as well she might under so much dog.
‘Mac?’ Letty demanded.
‘He’s my boss,’ Letty said, sounding desperate. ‘He’s not Mac.’
‘He’s our guest for Christmas. What do we call you?’ she demanded again. ‘How about Mac?’
Do not let the servants become familiar.
Master William.
Mr McMaster.
Sir.
Once upon a time a woman called Hannah had called him William. To her appalling cost…
‘How about Bill?’ Letty demanded. ‘That’s short for William. Or Billy.’
‘Billy?’ Meg said, sounding revolted. ‘Grandma, can we…’
‘William,’ he said flatly, hating it.
‘Willie?’ Letty said, hopeful.
‘William.’
Letty sighed. ‘Will’s better. Though it is a bit short.’
‘Like Meg,’ Meg said.
‘You know I like Meggie.’
‘And you know I don’t answer to it. We don’t have to call you anything you don’t like,’ Meg said over her shoulder. ‘I’m happy to keep calling you Mr McMaster.’
‘You are not,’ Letty retorted. ‘Not over Christmas. And why are you
calling him Mr McMaster, anyway? How long have you worked for him? Three years?’
‘He calls me Miss Jardine.’
‘Then the pair of you need to come off your high horses,’ Letty retorted. ‘Meg and William it is, and if I hear any sign of Ms or Mr then it’s Meggie and Willie for the rest of Christmas. Right?’
‘Okay with me,’ Meg said, resigned.
‘Fine,’ William said.
Define fine.
He was expecting hillbilly country. What he got was Fantasia. They sped over a crest and there it was, spread out before them, a house straight out of a fairy tale.
Or not. As he got closer…
Not a fairy tale. A Christmas tableau.
The farmhouse, set well back from the road among scattered gums, was lit up like a series of flashing neon signs. It was so bright it should almost be visible from the next state.
‘Oh, my…’ Meg breathed before William could even get his breath back. ‘Grandma, what have you done?’
‘We both did it,’ Letty said proudly. ‘Me and Scotty. You like our sleigh?’
The house had two chimneys, with what looked like an attic between them. The sleigh took up the entire distance between chimneys. There was a Santa protruding from the chimney on the left. Or, rather, part of Santa. His lower half. His legs were waving backwards and forwards, as if Santa had become stuck in descent. The movement wasn’t smooth, so he moved gracefully from left to right, then jerked back with a movement sharp enough to dislodge vertebrae.
The house was Christmas City. There were lights from one end to the other, a myriad of fairy lights that made the house look like something out of a cartoon movie.
‘It took us days,’ Letty said, pleased with the awed hush. ‘When you rang and said there was a chance you couldn’t get home tonight Scotty and I were ready to shoot ourselves. We’ve worked our tails off getting this right.’
‘I can see that you have,’ Meg said, sounding as stunned as he was. ‘Grandma…’
‘And, before you say a word, we got it all over the Internet,’ Letty informed her. ‘Scotty found it. It was a package deal advertised in July by some lady cleaning out her garage. She’d just bought the house and found it, and she practically paid us to take it away. Some people,’ she said, slowing the car so they could admire the house in all its glory, ‘have no appreciation of art.’
‘But running it,’ Meg said helplessly. ‘It’ll cost…’
‘It’s practically all solar,’ Letty cut in. ‘Except Santa. Well, there’s not a lot of solar Santa Claus’s backsides out there. We haven’t quite got the legs right, but I’ll adjust them before Christmas. Still… What do you think?’
There was suddenly a touch of anxiety in her voice. William got it, and he thought maybe this lady wasn’t as tough as she sounded. She surely wanted to please this girl, Meg, sitting somewhere under her dog.
‘You climb up on that roof again and I’ll give all of your Christmas presents to the dogs. But I love it,’ Meg said as the car came to a halt.
‘Really?’
‘I really love it.’ Meg giggled. ‘It’s kitsch and funny and those legs are just plain adorable.’
‘What do you think?’ Letty said, and she swivelled and looked straight at him. ‘Will?’
‘William. Um…’
‘No lies,’ she said. ‘Is my Meg just humouring me?’
Meg swivelled too. She was covered in dog but somehow he managed to see her expression.
Mess with my grandma and I’ll mess with you, her look said, and it was such a look that he had to revise all over again what he thought of his competent, biddable PA.
His hostess for Christmas.
‘Adorable,’ he said faintly.
‘You’re lying,’ Letty said, and he found himself smiling.
‘I am,’ he agreed, and he met Meg’s glare square on. ‘There’s nothing adorable about a pair of crimson trousers stuck in a chimney. However, it’s fantastical and truly in the spirit of Christmas. As soon as we came over the crest I just knew this was going to be a Christmas to remember.’
‘Better than being stuck in the office?’ Meg said, starting to smile.
‘Better than the office.’ Maybe.
‘Then that’s okay,’ Letty said, accelerating again. ‘If you like my decorations then you can stay. The pair of you.’
‘You’re very generous,’ William said.
‘We are, aren’t we?’ Meg agreed, and hugged her dog.
And then the car pulled to a halt beside the house-and straight away there was more dog. Killer’s relatives? William opened the door and four noses surged in, each desperate to reach him. They were all smaller than Killer, he thought with some relief. Black and white. Collies?
‘Fred, Milo, Turps, Roger, leave the man alone,’ Meg called and the dog pack headed frantically for the other side of the car to envelope someone they obviously knew and loved. Meg was on the ground hugging handfuls of ecstatic dog, being welcomed home in truly splendid style.
William extricated himself from the car and stared down at her. Any hint of his cool, composed PA had disappeared. Meg was being licked from every angle, she was coated with dog and she was showing every sign of loving it.
‘Killer’s Meg’s dog,’ Letty said, surveying the scene in satisfaction. ‘Fred and Roger are mine. Turps and Milo belong to Scotty but they all love Meg. She’s so good with dogs.’
Meg was well and truly buried-and the sight gave him pause.
In twenty-four hours he should be entering his apartment overlooking Central Park. His housekeeper would have come in before him, made sure the heating was on, filled the place with provisions, even set up a tasteful tree. The place would be warm and elegant and welcoming.
Maybe not as welcoming as this.
He would have been welcomed almost as much as this on Christmas Day, he thought, and that was a bleak thought. A really bleak thought. The disappointment he’d felt when he’d learned of the air strike hit home with a vengeance.
He didn’t show emotion. He was schooled not to show it. But now…
It wasn’t any use thinking of it, he thought, struggling to get a grip on his feelings. Elinor would make alternative arrangements. The kids were accustomed to disappointment.
That made it worse, not better.
Don’t think about it. Why rail against something he could do nothing about?
Why was the sight of this woman rolling with dog intensifying the emotion? Making him feel as if he was on the outside looking in?
Back off, he told himself. He was stuck here for three days. Make the most of it and move on.
Meg was struggling to her feet and, despite a ridiculous urge to go fend off a few dogs, he let her do it herself, regain her feet and her composure, or as much composure as a woman who’d just been buried with dogs could have.
‘No, down. Oh, I’ve missed you guys. But where’s Scotty?’
Scotty was watching them.
The kid in the doorway was tall and gangly and way too skinny, even allowing for an adolescent growth spurt. He had Meg’s chestnut curls, Meg’s freckles, Meg’s clear green eyes, but William’s initial overriding impression was that he looked almost emaciated. There was a scar running the length of his left cheek. He had a brace enclosing his left leg, from foot to hip.
He was looking nervously at William, but as soon as William glanced at him he turned his attention to his sister. Who’d turned her attention to him.
‘Scotty…’ Dogs forgotten, Meg headed for her brother and enveloped him in a hug that was almost enough to take him from his feet. The kid was four or five inches taller than Meg’s meagre five feet four or so, but he had no body weight to hold him down. Meg could hug as much as she wanted. There was no way Scotty could defend himself.
Not that he was defending himself. He was hugging Meg back, but with a wary glance at William over her head. Suspicious.
‘Hi,’ William said. ‘I’m William.’ There. He’d said it as if
it didn’t hurt at all.
‘I’m Scott,’ the boy said, and Meg released him and turned to face William, her arm staying round her brother, her face a mixture of defensiveness and pride.
‘This is my family,’ she said. ‘Letty and Scotty and our dogs.’
‘Scott,’ Scott said again, only it didn’t come out as it should. He was just at that age, William thought, adolescent trying desperately to be a man but his body wasn’t cooperating. His voice was almost broken, but not quite.
And, aside from his breaking voice, his leg looked a mess as well. You didn’t get to wear a brace that looked like scaffolding if the bones underneath weren’t deeply problematic.
Meg had told him her parents had died four years ago. Had Scott been in the same car crash? The brace spoke of serious ongoing concerns.
Why hadn’t he found this out? William had always prided himself on hiring on instinct rather than background checks. A background check right now would be handy.
‘Did the car get you here all right?’ the kid asked, and William could see he was making an effort to seem older than he was. ‘It needs about six parts replacing but Grandma won’t let me touch it.’
‘You mess with that car and we’re stuck,’ Letty said. ‘Next milk cheque I’ll get it seen to.’
‘I wouldn’t hurt it.’
‘You’re fifteen. You’re hardly a mechanic.’
‘Yeah, but I’ve read…’
‘No,’ Letty snapped. ‘The car’s fine.’
‘I tried messing with my dad’s golf cart when I was fifteen,’ William said, interrupting what he suspected to be a long running battle. ‘Dad was away for a month. He came back and I’d supplied him with a hundred or so extra horsepower. Sadly, he touched the accelerator and hit the garage door. The fuss! Talk about lack of appreciation.’
Scott smiled at that-a shy smile but a smile nonetheless. So did Letty, and so did Meg. And his reaction surprised him.
He kind of liked these smiles, he decided. They took away a little of the sting of the last few hours. It seemed he could put thoughts of Deliverance aside. These people were decent. He could settle down here and get some work done.
And maybe he could try and make Meg smile again. Was that a thought worth considering?
Christmas with her Boss Page 3
