Chapter Nine
Hugo springs back at the sound of his brother-in-law’s voice. ‘No, I don’t think there’s anything in your eye,’ he says. ‘I can’t see anything.’
‘Thanks. Actually, it feels better now.’
My heart is hammering.
‘Would you like a drink, Rupert?’ I ask.
‘No, thank you. I was just checking on when tea would be ready. I’ve got some work to do.’
‘Would seven be all right? We’ll serve it in the parlour. I’ve just got to get some headache tablets for Prunella.’
I rush from the kitchen, leaving the two men staring each other down.
What must Rupert think? They’ve been here less than three hours and I’ve just rounded off an afternoon of bathtub gin and a questionable lunch with a romantic interlude in the arms of his sister’s husband.
Unless one of his rating categories includes staff promiscuity, I’ve put Aunt Kate’s livelihood in jeopardy.
‘Are you okay?’ Danny asks when he returns at six on the dot. ‘You look weird.’
Humiliation is coursing through me. I don’t want to tell Danny what happened in the kitchen.
‘I’m fine. I think this corset is too tight, that’s all. I’ve been thinking about the sandwich situation. We can serve some of the caviar for the adults and make peanut butter and jam sandwiches for the twins. Aunt Kate has a jar of it in the larder, and Mabel goes nuts for the stuff, so I’m sure the twins will love it.’
‘That doesn’t sound very Victorian,’ he points out.
‘We can’t be perfect. At least they won’t go hungry. Just toast the bread for the caviar. With a little lemon, it’ll be great. Very decadent. I’ll make another batch of drinks.’
We’re going to need it. Maybe if Hugo drinks enough, he’ll pass out before he can lunge at me again.
‘I’ve got to turn down everyone’s beds while they’re all downstairs, and restock the bathrooms. You’re okay making the sandwiches and the tea?’
He nods, already counting out slices of bread.
It’s only taken a few hours for the parlour to look like a bomb’s hit it. The twins have pulled nearly every book from the shelves. The cushions are off the sofas and chairs and Oscar is throwing the Monopoly money in the air to watch it rain down over everything.
Danny noses the tea trolley through the door.
‘Look, darlings, tea!’ Hugo says. He seems to have forgotten his earlier sexual assault, but I’m pleased to see that his lip is swollen. Prunella hasn’t noticed, but then she hasn’t really paid him any attention since they arrived.
Rupert is staring at the trolley.
‘Is everything okay?’ I ask before I can stop myself. What if he outs me, like a real-life edition of Cluedo? It was Ms Crisp in the kitchen with a romantic embrace.
‘I was just remembering my Granny’s tea trolley. It looked just like that.’
I bet it had better food though.
‘Do you remember it, Prunella?’
‘I remember that she stank,’ she says, shifting to a sitting position. ‘I don’t know why you insist on deifying her, Rupert.’
‘I don’t deify her, Pru, I just have good memories of being with her. Maybe if you let yourself feel anything but dissatisfaction, you would, too.’
‘You can be ridiculous sometimes. I’ll just have a cup of tea,’ she says to me. ‘White. I’m not hungry after that lunch.’
‘Of course,’ I say, pouring her a cup and wishing they wouldn’t bicker in front of “the help”. ‘Would everyone like tea?’
‘I’ll have some more of that cocktail, if there’s any going,’ Hugo says.
I’m not about to leave the safety of the parlour again. ‘Danny, could you please make a pitcher?’
‘What’s this?’ Amanda demands as she picks up a sandwich.
‘It’s peanut butter and jam,’ I say. ‘My daughter loves them and I thought…’
Her tongue darts into the side of the sandwich. ‘Yuck, I hate it!’ She throws it back on the plate.
‘I hate it too!’ cries Oscar, without even trying a bite. ‘I’m not eating it.’
‘You don’t have to eat it, darlings. They’ll make whatever you want.’
‘Well actually…’
‘Do you want to try a special one?’ Danny says smoothly as he returns with a fresh pitcher of blinding cocktail. ‘Children aren’t usually allowed to have these. But since it’s Christmas I think you could…’ He seems to reconsider. ‘Well, maybe you’re not ready for one.’
‘Yes, I want one!’ says Oscar.
‘Me too, give it to me now!’
Danny sighs. ‘Well, all right, but you’re very lucky.’ He hands a sandwich from the second plate to each child.
What are those?
Amanda and Oscar look unsure as they sniff the toasted bread. Then Amanda, in her trademark move, sticks her tongue into the side. Her eyes widen. She prises open the sandwich and licks it clean before throwing the spittle-slicked toast back on the plate.
‘I want another one.’
Oscar levers his sandwich open. ‘Me, too. I like it!’
Well, at least they’ll get to eat something.
‘I’ll just go get the caviar,’ I say.
‘But it’s right there,’ Danny says. ‘In the sandwiches.’
Amanda and Oscar are licking all the caviar out of the sandwiches.
‘I’m impressed,’ says Hugo, leering at my chest again. ‘They’re usually very fussy eaters. It looks like we’ll need more sandwiches.’
Sighing, I go to the kitchen to make a hundred quid’s worth of caviar into sandwiches for greedy children.
Rupert follows me.
‘Lottie, may I have a quiet word please?’
‘Listen, Rupert, that wasn’t what you—’
‘It’s about the stockings,’ he says.
I’m not wearing stockings, so he can’t possibly be taking issue. Is he one of those sexist men who think women deserve what they get just because they’re not dressed in floor-length potato sacks?
‘Just what are you implying?’
‘I’m not implying anything. Your aunt told me she’d have stockings for the children’s gifts tonight. If you give them to me, please, I can put them in Prunella’s room.’
Of course, it’s Christmas Eve. I’ve got a stocking for Mabel too. Father Christmas is leaving her big gifts at home for when we return.
But I haven’t got the faintest idea where Aunt Kate might have stashed the twins’ stockings. There weren’t any in the boxes of ornaments we found.
I can’t even give him a pair of my socks. They don’t go past my ankles.
‘I’ll just get them for you. Be right back!’
‘You can leave them in Prunella’s room. Thank you.’
Upstairs, I tear through all of Aunt Kate’s drawers, but there’s not even a leftover sock of Ivan’s, let alone any Christmas stockings.
So, I don’t really have much choice.
‘Danny?’ I call sweetly into the parlour. ‘Can I see you out here for a minute, please?’
Danny and I throw ourselves onto the matching sofas, exhausted, after everyone has gone to their rooms and Mabel is finally in bed. She was thrilled that the twins turned their noses up at the peanut butter and jam sandwiches. It meant she got to gorge on them. The poor thing is probably upstairs now on a sugar high, trying to fall asleep so that Father Christmas can come.
Music drifts quietly from the record player in the corner. Aunt Kate’s collection of classical music and opera fill one whole shelf, giving us all the Callas, Carrera and Pavarotti we could want.
‘That went okay, considering,’ Danny says, rubbing his bare legs. He’ll have a cold drive home without his socks.
‘It could hardly have gone worse! It’s probably wrong to hate children, right?’
‘Not those children,’ he says. ‘They deserve a slap. Along with their parents.’
‘You did very well with them, though. You’ve got a knack with kids.’
‘It helps to have your own.’
‘You miss her.’
He nods. ‘I think about her all the time. I’d move to America if I could, but that’s not realistic. Without a way to work there legally, it would be a precarious way to live. I want to be a more stable influence in Phoebe’s life, not a less stable one. It’s got to stay like this for a while, but now that she’s getting older, she’ll soon get to stay with me during her holidays.’
The joy in his face makes me grin too.
‘What about Mabel’s father?’ he asks. ‘Is he in the picture?’
‘No, he erased himself when I fell pregnant.’ I give him the short answer. After all, I’ve known him for less than forty-eight hours, even if it feels a lot longer than that.
‘We’ve been okay though, Mabel and I. We had my parents until three years ago, and Celine.’
‘Ah, the mythical Celine you keep mentioning. She does sound incredible.’
‘She is. She’s part of our family.’
He watches me from beneath his mop of hair. ‘You say that, but can anyone you’re paying really be part of the family? At the end of the day, she is your employee, no matter how you feel about her. If something went really wrong then you could fire her. You can’t do that with family. You’re stuck with them through thick and thin, whether or not you want to be.’
‘I’m sure it started out as a financial arrangement with my parents, but she’s been with us since I was small, so she is part of my family.’
‘Even though you pay her to cook and clean for you so you don’t have to do it.’
I don’t like his tone one bit. ‘Don’t make me sound like some spoilt silly rich woman. If you must know, we actually have very little extra money. Celine lives rent-free and we pay her a stipend.’
But that doesn’t make it sound any better. What I mean is that, because she’s part of the family, we all take care of each other.
Why am I being so defensive anyway? It doesn’t matter what Danny thinks of us.
‘You can go home now,’ I say, pushing the discomfort from my mind. ‘Can you be back by eight for breakfast?’
‘You’re the boss.’
‘I didn’t mean—’
‘Good night, Lottie.’
He crosses the room in just a few seconds, until he’s towering over me.
‘Happy Christmas.’ He leans down and kisses my cheek, and I feel the warmth of his lips long after he’s left for home.