A Proper Family Christmas (15 page)

“I bet you'll find William's got wine anyway,” she said. “Why don't you have a look in the pantry, Oliver? There are all kinds of bottles in there.”

“Oh no, I'll go!” said Lesley at once, satisfyingly confirming Hilary's suspicions. Lesley clearly didn't want the architectural expert to get too good a look at the Butler's Pantry, with that nasty patch of damp behind the door.

William wasn't left in peace for long. Margery emerged from her nap, fully refreshed and keen to take issue with him about the state of the upstairs rooms. She wasn't as easily despatched as Leo.

“Turn that thing off! It's very rude to watch TV when you've got visitors.” She snatched the remote and did it for him. “…No, don't pick up the paper! Listen to me. You've got to get in a good firm of builders, - one of these specialists that are used to dealing with broken down old houses. Oliver probably knows somebody. It won't cost you more than twenty or thirty grand, and it'll be money well spent…”

She carried on remorselessly, brushing aside any of William's objections with a peremptory “Rubbish!” There was nothing to be done. He knew as well as anybody that once his sister was fired up, one had little option but to wait until she ran out of steam.

But well before that happened, rescue came in the form of Julia, announcing that dinner was ready.

“Oh bother!” said the woman who had been so insistent on its preparation. “We can't come now. William and I are busy talking.”

“It'll get cold if you don't. Come and finish your talk in the dining-room.”

“Oh all right.” Margery stood up to obey. “…If you really think the building work would be too disruptive, you'd better book into a hotel for a month or two.”

But William didn't want to hear the rest of Margery's plans for his discomfort, or eat a meal he didn't need. He settled down, and reached for the remote control.

“Buck up, William, I'm holding the door!”

“You go ahead. I've had supper already.”

“Oh no, Daddy, you've got to have dinner with us!” pleaded Julia. “Hilary will be so hurt if you don't. She's cooked it specially.”

“Of course you must come and show your face! Good heavens…” Margery hurried across to chivvy him out of his seat. “What are your guests going to think, if you don't bother to turn up to your own dinner party?”

William scowled when he saw the way that his dining-room had been taken over by the Spirit of Christmas Present. It wasn't a room he used much, but he still didn't like to see it decorated with all those silly painted leaves and things. And there was a perfectly good electric light, so why fill the place with candles? …Crackers, though. William had a bit of a weakness for crackers.

The room was already crowded with people, hovering uncertainly behind the chairs, waiting to be told where to go. William was about to take his place at the head of the table, but Julia touched his arm.

“I'm afraid Hilary and Oliver rather seem to have taken over tonight,” she murmured apologetically, “so they'll have to sit at either end and play host. It means you and Aunt Margery being squashed up in the middle, unfortunately, but what else can one do?”

William didn't quite see her logic. Being a thin person, he wasn't particularly bothered by the lack of elbow-room, though he would have preferred not to be seated next to Lesley. But Margery was plumper, and didn't look at all pleased to find herself jammed between Stephen and Tony. Why couldn't Julia have put her on the outside in Stephen's place? And wait a minute… William grinned to himself. One member of the family was missing altogether!

CHAPTER 10

“No, of course you must sit there! You're in charge tonight.”

Hilary was absolutely horrified. She'd brought the pie in, to find everyone else squashed up along the sides of the table, leaving a huge empty space at either end. Julia was patting the place beside her determinedly.

“Nonsense! We're only the cooks.” Hilary exchanged a desperate glance with Oliver, who was following with warm plates. “There's no need for us to sit anywhere special. I really think William and Margery should be at the head…”

But Julia wouldn't have it. “No, you're the stars of the evening, cobbling together a meal for all us dreadful people! You must sit here and be Mother.” She pulled Hilary down onto the chair. “Pass the plates up, Oliver darling.”

He obeyed and sat down at the far end of the table, looking equally embarrassed, especially when both Lesley and Stephen tried to shift away, giving him even more room.

It was almost as if Julia had calculated her seating arrangements to give maximum annoyance, Hilary thought. Why put Margery between Stephen and Tony, two people she couldn't stand, instead of next to her friend Oliver? Lesley was all but sitting on William's lap now, - and what was he doing in here anyway, adding to the crowd in the dining-room, when he'd so firmly told them he'd already had his supper? She herself had been placed as far as possible from the person she would have chosen to be near, but at least Julia hadn't seated her next to Leo. …Come to think of it, where
was
Leo?

“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.