Chapter Fourteen
I turned off the ignition and turned to face Don. "I'm shaking."
He laughed. "Not surprised, all this cloak and dagger stuff. Can't believe she agreed."
"Neither can I! Honestly, I thought she'd tell me to sling my hook, but she seemed really pleased at the idea."
He nodded towards the back of the car. "What do you want to do with that? Are you going to show it to him this afternoon?"
I shook my head. "I'll leave it in the boot. One step at a time. Besides, I have to rough it up a bit first. It looks brand new."
"That'll be cos it is brand new," he pointed out. "I were right lucky to find it. Last one in the shop."
"I know. I really appreciate it, Don. So good of you to spend your lunch hour helping me out."
"Aye, well, this is clearly important to you, so ..." He sighed. "Stomach's rumbling now. Did you hear that? Can't believe I missed me dinner." He opened the car door. "Come on, then. Back to work."
I jumped, when he slammed the door shut. Outside the window, he stretched, then rubbed his poor empty stomach.
"Hang on a minute." He probably couldn't hear me, I realised, as I rummaged in the glove compartment. As I climbed out of the car, Don was already a few paces ahead of me, but stopped when I called his name.
"What?"
"Here. Found these in the car. Not much, I know, but they might head off the hunger pangs for now."
I handed him a bag of salt and vinegar crisps, and he beamed at me. "Just the job. Cheers for that. Hopefully, I won't pass out over the conveyor belt later."
I frowned. "Are you really that hungry?"
He laughed and put his arm around my shoulders. "Don't look so worried. I can nip into canteen at break time and grab a sandwich, if needs be. Any road, let's hope this was all worth my impressive sacrifice, shall we?"
"Fingers crossed," I agreed.
We headed towards the factory. "Here we go, then,” he said. “Hope it all goes well, Marley. Have a good afternoon."
"You, too, Don."
Heading upstairs, I wondered how I could broach the subject. Should I make a big announcement, or should I drop it into conversation, quite casually? Given that this was supposed to be a regular occurrence, I guessed the best bet would be to play it casual.
Christopher's door was open, which surprised me. I popped my head around it and found him standing by the window, looking out over the car park. "Do you want a coffee before I start work?"
"You're back, then?"
"Sorry?"
He turned toward me, his face impassive. "Saw you pull up. Not eating in the canteen today?"
"No, I, er, had to be somewhere."
"Right."
He continued to stare at me, making me feel all hot and bothered. It was as if he knew. But he couldn't have known, could he? God, the guilt must’ve been radiating from me. He must see it, surely?
"That would be good. Thanks."
"What?" I blinked. "What would be good?"
"Coffee."
"Oh, right. Yes, of course. Coming right up."
I hurried back into my own office, feeling relieved to be away from his piercing gaze. What was going on? And did he always watch the comings and goings in the car park? Good job I'd left the bag in the boot, after all. I wouldn't have been at all surprised if he’d zoomed in on us all with his mobile phone, and if he'd spotted the logo of the shop on the carrier bag, it would have blown everything.
He was back at his desk when I returned, carrying the coffee. He didn't look up, but merely nodded his thanks as he stared intently at the monitor. I hesitated, my stomach churning, but then was as good a time as any, I supposed.
"Oh, by the way, do you want me to bring in the Santa costume tomorrow for you to try on?"
The expression in his eyes, as he looked up at me, was of such incredulity that I almost laughed out loud. "I'm sorry?"
"The Santa costume. You know, for the school Nativity?" I pretended to study him thoughtfully for a moment. "Hmm, I reckon you'll be okay. It's not exactly fitted, but maybe just in case? Oh, and you may need new boots, of course, unless you're the same size as Jack. What size are you?"
I knew perfectly well what size shoe he took. I remembered even that, which was depressing, when I came to think about it.
Christopher's mouth had been hanging open, but he snapped it shut and leaned back in his chair. "Is this a joke?"
I hoped the amusement I was feeling didn’t show in my face. "A joke? Of course not! Look, you must know about the annual appearance at the primary school? Surely, Jack must have mentioned it?"
He looked dazed.
I gave an exaggerated sigh, placed my hands on the desk, and leaned towards him. "Every year, after the children have performed their Nativity, they're rewarded by a visit from Santa, who very kindly hands out sweets, as a thank you for putting on such a great show." I tutted. "I can't believe Jack never said. It's ever so popular, and of course, it's great publicity for Carroll's, because all the staff and parents know who's handed out the sweets."
Christopher's eyes narrowed. "So, you're telling me that we give away loads of our products for free, and I have to dress up as some old, fat man in a red suit?"
"Tut-tut, no body shaming," I said. "It's terribly politically incorrect."
He stood up. "Forget it."
"Forget it?" I folded my arms. "You are kidding, right? This is something the kids look forward to every year. They're expecting you the day after tomorrow. You can't let them down."
"Why should we hand out loads of our stuff for free?" he demanded, sounding desperate.
I ignored his evident distress, instead reminding myself that it was for his own good. "Oh, it doesn't have to be the quality stuff. We have plenty of rejects—misshapen chocolates, that sort of thing. And we can break some of the peppermint penises up into chunks and market them as mint sweets."
"Humbugs."
Ha! That was the Scrooge I knew and … worked for. "Yes, just like humbugs," I said, trying not to laugh. "We'll just put them in little plastic bags, and the kids will love them. The older ones, that is. We wouldn't want any little ones to choke, would we?"
"No, we wouldn't, would we?" His eyes met mine, and I wondered if he was reliving the moment in The Blue Lamp, when he'd saved my life. He shuffled some papers on his desk and said, rather grumpily, "We never had Santa visit us when we held our Nativity."
I paused, remembering that particular Christmas vividly. It was our year's turn to take the leading roles, and Christopher had been chosen to play Joseph. I desperately wanted to be Mary, and was desolate when Amy Smith got the role. She was blonde and dimpled, and looked like a baby doll. Mary should be dark-haired, like me. I'd been so full of resentment and hurt that being cast as the angel had been no consolation, whatsoever. What did Joseph care for the angel? It was Mary he loved. Mary whose hand he held as they knocked on the door of the inn. Dratted Amy Smith.
"That's because it wouldn't have occurred to your father to bother with children, or give anything away. Jack's not your father, and neither are you."
He looked up at me, and I saw a brief flash of pain in the dark depths of his eyes, which made my heart thump. Just as quickly, it was gone, the guard back in place again.
"The younger ones can have the chocolates," I continued hurriedly. "Oh, and we're donating a large box of our premium chocolates to the raffle that they always hold," I added. "The headmistress is ever so grateful."
"I'll bet she is," he growled. "Well, she can forget it. I want no part of it. This is just another example of Jack's good nature getting the better of him. It stops now."
I felt a flash of anger ignite inside me. "You can't let them down! They're counting on you! Imagine how disappointed they'll be."
"I hardly think I'd be doing them a favour. Isn't it the politically correct thing these days to not give children sweets? Handing out a load of broken rock and dodgy chocolates is hardly kindness, is it? All it will do is make them fat and rot their teeth."
"You know, you really are in the wrong trade," I snapped. "If you think like that, you should have a different job."
"Don't I know it," he said, sounding weary.
"If you don't go, you'll drag Carroll's name through the mud. This is all about public relations, and you're ruining our reputation. Is that what you want? Are you trying to drive us to bankruptcy?"
"Of course I'm not!" He stood up, facing me, his eyes expressing as much anger as I felt. "I'm doing everything I can to improve this company. How dare you suggest otherwise?"
"Then, bloody prove it," I said. "If you really think putting on a costume and handing out a few sweets is beneath you, then you don't deserve Carroll's. Jack would be ashamed of you."
We glared at each other, the tension between us ratcheting up a notch with every second that passed. My heart was jumping around in excitement. God, what was I doing? How could this high-handed attitude of his be turning me on?
But it was. No doubt about it. The temptation to reach out and stroke that raven hair was overwhelming. I had to cool things down. Quickly.
"Think about it," I said, turning away from him. "Let me know your decision, and I'll bring the Santa costume in tomorrow, once you've made it."
"In other words," he said, his voice sounding strained, "you've already made the decision, and I just have to go along with it."
"Pretty much," I said, not looking back.
I walked casually into my own office, closed the door behind me, then leaned against it, trying desperately to steady my breathing.
That had been intense, and it had reminded me of things I'd rather forget—feelings I'd worked so hard to bury. But at least I'd achieved my purpose. The ghost of Christmas past was about to visit Christopher Carroll. I just hoped it would work.