Chapter Twelve
Christopher was sitting at his desk, when I popped my head round his office door early the following morning. I was a bit taken aback to find him staring intently at his laptop screen, typing as rapidly as anyone could manage with two fingers.
Why didn't he just ask me to do whatever it was he wanted? Though, of course, everything was on a need-to-know basis lately. I still couldn't quite believe that he was in charge. Properly in charge. Not just put there as some sort of puppet by Jack, but that he actually owned the place.
"Did you know?" I asked Don later. He had, after all, worked at the factory since he left school, and he was quite high up. He’d had a good working relationship with Jack, and I thought it was a fair bet that if anyone knew, it would be him.
We were standing by the vending machine in the canteen. It was tea-break time for Don, and although I had no reason to head to the canteen for coffee, not when I had facilities in the office, I’d wanted to escape the stifling presence of the boss, which emanated from beneath his door and permeated my room in a most unnerving manner.
The canteen was practically empty. Plenty of other people were having a break, too, but they’d gone outside, having a quick cigarette in the shelter that had been purpose-built for them when the new laws about smoking in the workplace had come into force.
I shivered at the thought. They must’ve been freezing out there. Talk about dedication.
Don collected the plastic cup from the machine, and together, we walked slowly over to the nearest table, holding our steaming hot coffees carefully. "Know what?"
"About Christopher owning Carroll's Confectionary? Did you know the place wasn't Jack's, at all?" I hadn't mentioned it to him before, worrying that to do so would be indiscreet. After all, Christopher may not have intended anyone else to know about it. Curiosity, though, was getting the better of me, and besides, I could trust Don. He was practically family since dating Mum. I'd simply tell him to keep it quiet, and—
"'Course I knew!" He placed the cup on the table and laughed. "Thought everyone did. Didn't take much working out, to be honest. He is the eldest son, after all, and everyone knows he got the house in the will, and the house and the factory have always gone to the eldest, so .... Mind you, I will admit, I'd assumed he'd signed it over to Jack after he moved abroad again."
"He owns the house, too?" That hadn't occurred to me. Knowing Christopher's feelings about the factory, and knowing his determination to have nothing to do with the place, I'd simply assumed that his father had sidestepped him and left everything to Jack. When James Carroll had died, though, I'd been living in Whitby with a couple of girls from the insurance company. By the time I knew about his father's death, Christopher had already been home, and gone again. I hadn't even set eyes on him. If he'd caused any sort of gossip by handing the factory over to his brother, I'd missed the whole thing. "What happened? Why didn't he start work here?"
Don shrugged. "’Far as I know, he wanted to continue travelling. It wasn't a big deal. I think it was all sorted very smoothly, no fuss. He had work abroad, and he never took much interest in this place, whereas Jack did, so he clearly thought the best plan was to leave his little brother in charge and go off and do what he wanted to do."
"All right for some," I muttered. "Swan off abroad, while his poor brother does all the work."
"And gets handsomely rewarded for it, don't forget," Don pointed out. "Doubt very much Jack did it all for love. And he got to live in the big house, an' all. Besides, Jack's happy working here, so it wouldn't have been hard to persuade him."
"But now he's so worn down with it all that he's had to disappear abroad himself," I said crossly. "And Christopher comes back here, knowing absolutely nothing about the business, causes mayhem, and then swans off himself for a nice little jolly away for a couple of days."
"Nice little jolly?" Don frowned. "What you on about? He's been at a trade fair in Liverpool, working bloody hard to try to win us some new contracts. You've got him all wrong, Marley."
I sipped my coffee, feeling a bit wrong-footed. "Okay, well, he may have been at a trade fair, but that doesn't mean he knows what he's doing, does it?"
Don put down his cup and leaned towards me. "Strikes me, you're not willing to give him any sort of chance. You weren't at that meeting the other day. I was. He's determined to turn this place around and restore it to its glory days. He's got big plans, and he's willing to learn. Believe me, he's not afraid to ask for help and advice."
Except from me! I bit my lip, feeling even more cross. Why was he being so weird with me? It was me who should’ve been rude to him, not the other way round, and there I was, making every effort to be professional, in spite of wanting to slap his annoyingly attractive face every time I saw it.
"Do you really dislike him that much?" Don said. "Or is there something I don't know?"
"It's nothing to do with whether I like, or dislike, him," I protested. "It's simply that I don't think he's good for this company, that's all. I just wish Jack would come back."
"Aye, well," Don leaned back in his chair and sighed, "I'm sure he will soon enough. And when he does, let's hope we've got good news for him about this place, eh? We all need to pull together, Marley. Try to give Kit the benefit of the doubt, eh?"
Well, that was harsh. I wasn't the one being difficult, making things awkward, was I? Nevertheless, I nodded and resolved to try harder with Christopher—if only for the sake of the company.
Back in the office, I kept myself busy, noting the door to his office was firmly shut. He didn't come through, or call for me, at all, and the morning passed quickly.
As lunchtime arrived, I stood up, intending to head to the canteen, but a sudden impulse made me pause. I poured Christopher a coffee and knocked gently on his office door, then opened it. He didn't even look up, which annoyed me, but I forced myself to sound pleasant as I carried his cup over to the desk. "Thought you could use a drink," I said, a fixed smile on my face. "It's lunchtime, you know. You really need to take a break." Why, I thought crossly, was my heart thumping so loudly? I wasn't scared of him!
He finally managed to glance up at me, his fingers still over the keyboard. "Thank you." He sounded surprised, which cheered me up a bit.
Spotting the tired look in his eyes, a momentary stab of compassion for him hit me. So he'd been at a trade fair? I'd foolishly imagined he'd been at some swanky hotel, or spa, or something. Maybe with a woman. Did he have a girlfriend, I wondered? It would be amazing if he didn't, come to think of it. That dark hair, those liquid eyes, that rather appealing mouth .... I blinked as I realised he was staring straight at me.
"Was there something else?" he asked.
Crap! What was I supposed to say to that? No, I was just thinking how gorgeous you still are, and how unfair it is that you're not hideously ugly, considering how cruel and selfish and arrogant you are? Hardly.
Luckily, a phone call I'd taken earlier that morning provided a flash of inspiration for me.
"Er, yeah, I was just thinking about the staff Christmas meal."
He frowned. "The what?"
I sat down on the chair at the opposite side of his desk and switched on a dazzling smile. "The Christmas meal. I was wondering when you wanted to take everyone out this year? Only, we always hold it at Miller's restaurant, and Mr Miller rang this morning to ask when we intended to confirm the final date. He's got three availabilities for us, and if you want to take a look at—"
Christopher held up his hand, silencing me. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
I tried— I really tried—not to feel irritated. "Every year," I explained patiently, "Jack treats the workers to a hot buffet at Miller's. It's his Christmas present to them all. Mr Miller and his staff always put on a great spread. It's usually the week before Christmas, and Mr Miller is holding three dates for us, but wants us to make a final decision. Usually," I admitted, "it's all sorted and paid for by now, but with Jack going .... Anyway, Mr Miller's very kindly allowed us extra time, and I really think we need to get moving on this as soon as possible. Today, preferably."
"Forget it." Christopher's voice sounded strange.
I peered at him. "Forget what?"
"This! This whole, treat the workers thing! We're not a charity, you know. This is a business. Tell Mr Miller he can release the dates."
I blinked. "You're kidding, right?"
"Of course I'm not kidding. Why would I be kidding?" He frowned. "Are you really going to make a big deal out of this, too?"
I felt a surge of anger. "What do you mean, this, too?"
"Everything's a battle with you," he said, standing up. "Right, if that's the way it's going to be, time to make another announcement."
"Oh, no! You can't! Are you deliberately trying to cause trouble?" I stared after him as he walked out of the office, then ran to join him. If he was determined to commit professional suicide, the least I deserved was be there to watch. I couldn't wait to see how the workers reacted to this latest announcement.
If Christopher was nervous, or had any doubts, he didn't show it. He marched straight over to Liz and demanded that she turn off the music, as he had something to say. Liz clearly knew better than to argue for a second time.
Giving him an annoyed look, she turned off her CD.
Forks dangled in the air, knives paused in spreading butter, cups halted halfway to lips, as the whole canteen stopped.
I realised I was trembling and wondered why. It wasn't my fault he was about to cause a riot. Whatever was coming to him, it was only what he'd brought upon himself.
"It's come to my attention that you're all expecting to be taken to Miller's within the next couple of weeks," he said, his voice firm and unwavering. "I just wanted to tell you that this won't be happening." He held up his hand, as the wave of protests began. "I should explain that this Christmas meal is not official Carroll's policy. It was a personal gift from Jack to you all, and as Jack isn't here, it won't be taking place this year. What goes on between you and my brother is entirely separate to factory business. My way of doing things isn't Jack's, and that's all I have to say on the matter."
I watched, open-mouthed, as he turned and left the canteen. God, he had a death wish.
As the explosion of anger erupted in his wake, disgust and fury spread over his employees' faces. Even Don looked a bit annoyed, but then he would. He loved the hot buffet, and was always first in line for the chicken wings.
Casting a quick look around, I made my decision and headed after Christopher.
He was halfway up the stairs when I caught up with him.
"What are you doing?" I grabbed his arm, pulling him to a halt.
He looked at me, then at my hand on his arm, then back at my face again.
I shivered involuntarily, and cursed myself. God, he was gorgeous, but God, he was a prick. "Are you deliberately trying to start industrial action, or something?"
His lip curled in scorn. "They can't go on strike over a Christmas buffet. Besides, are they even in a union? Are there any unions these days?"
"You know nothing, do you?" I demanded. "Okay, it's unlikely they'll take action over this, but can't you see how your high-handed attitude is getting their backs up? After the bombshell you dropped on them last week, about the LuvRocks contract, to then tell them they're not even getting their usual Christmas treat .... Jack would never have done this to them."
"I'm not Jack," he said coldly. "My brother and I work in very different ways."
"Clearly," I said.
"Look, however much you like to believe otherwise, I think Jack was too soft. My way of working isn't his, and I won't be making the mistakes he did. Now, whether you like it, or not, it's my choice how I run this company, and I will do things my way, not Jack's."
"But, but ..."
"But what?" His eyes locked onto mine, and I found myself staring back at them, mesmerised.
"But, it's Christmas," I finished lamely.
He continued to hold my gaze for a moment, then he lowered his head and seemed to be contemplating the step he was standing on. "I have no interest in Christmas," he said finally. "As far as I'm concerned, the sooner it's over with, the better."
He turned away and ran up the stairs, leaving me standing there, mouth open, heart pounding.
No interest in Christmas? If that didn't sound like Ebenezer Scrooge, what did?
I leaned against the wall, chewing my lip thoughtfully. Olivia had been right. I was here to save someone from themselves, and I suddenly knew, without doubt, that the person I was meant to save was Christopher Carroll.
Saving It’s A Wonderful Life’s George Bailey would seem like a piece of cake compared to that. Clarence had been let off lightly.