A Proper Family Christmas (12 page)

“Oh Posy, you naughty girl! We've been searching for you everywhere,” said her mother untruthfully.

“I was in here with Tobias. Who's that man?”

Tobias, blinking in the sudden light, eyed the assembled company and found them deficient. “Where's my Mummy and Daddy?”

“They went to look for you - in the cellar…” Frances tailed off. If the children hadn't been there, why had Lesley and Stephen never come back?

From the look of amusement on Tony's face she saw that the same awful possibility had just struck him. He whispered in Julia's ear and winked at Frances.

“Oliver,” he said, “we'd like you to open another door for us!”

CHAPTER 8

Hilary recognised the face at once. Pale, gaunt and desperate, it bore all the signs of long and hellish incarceration. Stephen looked no better. Hilary stepped back a little as the pair emerged, grubby and dishevelled, and scanned the crowd for someone to blame.

“You
stupid
girl! You knew we'd gone down to the cellar. What on
earth
possessed you to shut the door?” The poor nanny was first in line.

“But I didn't…”

“Why doesn't it have a
handle
on this side, anyway? This place is an absolute death-trap!” exclaimed Stephen, thumping the door-frame irritably. “Father shouldn't be living here, if he's going to let everything go to rack and ruin. …It isn't
funny
, Julia. We could have been in that cellar for days!”

Julia and Tony were succumbing to a justifiable, but untimely fit of the giggles. Hilary turned to frown at them, but only succeeded in attracting unwelcome attention in her own direction.

“Hilary, I'm sure it was you wandering round outside!” Lesley accused her. “Didn't you see us calling for help? You must have done! …Oh, for God's
sake
! Can't anybody keep that animal under control?”

Oliver stepped forward and seized the cat by one protesting leg, just before he disappeared into the exciting new domain behind the usually closed door. Lesley, suddenly conscious of a stranger in their midst, broke off her tirade with an embarrassed cough and looked at the rest of them for enlightenment.

It was left to Hilary. “This is Oliver Leafield, Margery's friend.”

She felt for Lesley, faced with this attractive man caught in such a ridiculous situation, with smuts on her forehead and cobwebs in her hair.

“Oh, - the journalist.” She dealt with it by shaking hands churlishly, and resuming her role of outraged victim. “I suppose the very
last
thing you've all been doing is trying to find poor little Tobias while we've been shut down there! He could be lying
dead
somewhere, for all we know…”

But her son gave the lie to this by appearing at that moment, hand-in-hand with his cousin Posy. He squeaked as his mother swooped forward and swept him up in a possessive embrace.

“
There
you are, Mummy's precious boy. We was so wowwied about you. …How
could
you let her take him away like that?” She glared at the young seductress's parents, who were breaking into renewed giggles at the bizarre sound of baby language coming from Lesley's thin lips. “You
know
Tobias isn't old enough for Posy's rough games! …And now it's well past our bath-time, - if you wouldn't mind, Nanny.”

“Hope you're up to the job, Frances,” said Tony, with a mischievous lift of the eyebrow in Lesley's direction.

“I'm going to have my bath with Tobias,” announced Posy, taking his hand again.

“No, I don't think that's a very…” But Lesley was too drained to put up much of a protest, and Posy was already leading the way upstairs.

After a derisive ‘Pah!' at their stupidity, Margery hadn't stayed to watch Stephen and Lesley's release from the cellar. Hilary found her in the kitchen, hectoring William.

“…What? No, of course I didn't say we wouldn't want feeding! You can't invite someone like Oliver Leafield, and not offer him a decent meal.”

“
I
didn't invite him,” William was quick to remind her. “And I've already eaten, thank you.”

“Well
you
may not be hungry, but the rest of us are. We're certainly going to want dinner. And something proper, not those tins of muck you keep in your store-cupboard. …Has Mrs. Thing gone? - Oh never mind, here's Hilary.”

She must have seen her mouth drop, and flapped an impatient hand. “No, I didn't mean you had to do it all. There's no reason Julia and Lesley can't help. Are they still messing about in the cellar? They must come and make themselves useful. …And you can't skulk in here, William, with visitors to entertain! You men must come and be polite to Oliver. He'll want to hear all about the house…” She shepherded him away, a relentless force.

Hilary grinned as she heard her giving orders to the troops outside. Margery would be outraged at any suggestion that she wasn't at the forefront of women's rights, but the concept of equal allocation of domestic chores would simply not have occurred to her.

“Isn't she an old bossy-boots?” said Julia, duly coming into the kitchen with a sulky-looking Lesley. “Never mind. Let's make a lovely meal, shall we? …I wonder if Daddy's got any candles, and there must be some napkins somewhere.” She began to rifle through drawers.

“The question is what to cook,” said Lesley, raising Hilary's hopes that she had more practical priorities. She opened the fridge, and sighed with irritation. “There's absolutely
nothing
here that Tobias is going to be able to eat. I suppose these fish things might do at a pinch, but they're full of colouring…”

“I don't think we can feed everyone on fish fingers!” said Hilary.

“No, there wouldn't be enough.” Lesley hastily snatched the packet and clutched it to her. “And he's got some frozen peas. Thank goodness…”

“Now, I'm going to make the table look absolutely beautiful!” declared Julia, as if it was a favour, and disappeared with an armful of draperies. Lesley snorted, and began to search William's cupboards for a saucepan, tutting at what she found.

Hilary, realising that it was going to be left to her, mentally began to count up the number of people in the house who might be expected to want dinner, and groaned aloud.

“What on earth are we going to give them all? Loaves and fishes?”

“No, Tobias needs those, I told you.” One would like to think Lesley was being funny, but Hilary knew better. Had she been so one-track minded when her own child was small? It was hard to believe. …Daniel! God, he would be half way up a mountain by now. Would anyone have William's number, if there had been an accident? Was there any point in trying to reach his mobile on top of a Cairngorm? This was the age when one really worried about them, - no longer under one's constant eye, still young enough to seek danger, and too old to be ordered not to.

“Margery isn't seriously expecting us to get a meal for everybody, is she?” Lesley was suddenly back on the planet. “I don't know what with. We can hardly start on the turkey!”

“William's got plenty of potatoes,” Hilary had discovered, “and some onions, and lots of that nice strong cheddar. What about a cheesy potato pie?” It wasn't exactly Christmas fare, but Hilary had always found it a useful dish when a horde of Daniel's hungry friends descended unexpectedly. She only wished he was here to eat it now.

“Yes, that sounds fine,” said Lesley, not in the least interested so long as it didn't involve fish fingers.

“Lovely, darling,” said Julia, when Hilary had taken the trouble to go next door and ask her. “…Do you think the big candelabra looks best here on the sideboard? We could do with some holly.”

There didn't seem much point in asking for help peeling the potatoes.

“Oh, that's a good idea!” said Lesley a few minutes later, turning from the grill to see Hilary at work surrounded by bowls and mounds of peel on a corner of the kitchen table. “If you do a couple extra, Tobias can have mashed potato with his fish fingers.”

“He could have had some of this with the rest of us,” said Hilary.

“Oh no, I don't think so. …What is it you're making?”

“Cheesy potato pie. It's Daniel's favourite.”

Lesley shook her head. “No, Tobias has never had that. He doesn't like things he hasn't tried before.”

“Oh dear, how very inconvenient,” said Hilary, trying not to sound too sarcastic.

“We don't find convenience an issue, when it comes to bringing up a child.”

No, - one couldn't accuse Lesley of that. Hilary watched as she prodded the fish fingers with the tip of her own, cut one in half to make quite sure it was cooked, and turned them carefully onto a plate. Now she was bending down to… Oh hell!

“Hang on, Lesley, - you can't use the oven. We'll need it for the pie.”

“Oh! …But I need to keep Tobias's meal warm until he's finished his bath.”

“Yes, but the rest of us have got to eat too!”

Lesley stared at her, struggling with the concept that the requirements of her child might not take first priority in this household.

“Your thing isn't nearly ready,” she concluded at last, pointing to the pile of potatoes yet to be peeled. “It'll take you ages to do the rest of those, and I'll have finished with the oven by then.”

Julia swept in at that moment with an armful of holly. “Look at all this? Isn't it lovely? I remembered the tree from when we were children, and it's twice as big now. What a shame that good berries are supposed to mean a hard winter! …Sorry Hilary darling, but I'll just have to have the big table. You don't mind moving your stuff, do you? I can see that you're making us something wonderful. Aren't you lucky to be able to cook!”

Hilary resisted the temptation to pick up the bowl of potato peelings and add them to Julia's holly arrangement with some considerable force.

Having disposed the sexes to her satisfaction, Margery had gone for a rest, leaving the men in uncomfortable non-camaraderie in the sitting-room. William was damned if he was going to make polite conversation to Oliver, whom he didn't know, or Tony and Leo, whom he disliked, and he sat down and picked up the paper. Leo coughed at his choice of reading material and tried to include the others in a superior grimace, but Oliver was busy tickling the cat, and Tony had obviously been about to grab the Daily Express himself.

Stephen came in, a little cleaner but no better tempered, having been forced to wash in the downstairs cloakroom. “You'd think a house the size of this would run to more than one bathroom, or at least a basin in one's bedroom… Oh, - Leo!” he broke off with a surprised frown. “What on earth are you doing here?”

“Everyone asks me that!” complained Leo. “I don't know why I
shouldn't
come to Haseley for Christmas, - everybody else has!”

“Yes, well. We were rather hoping for a quiet family time.”

“I
am
family,” objected Leo, “and I've as much right to visit the family home as you, or Tony, or…” His sweeping hand had reached Oliver, and dropped in embarrassment. “Let alone all these nannies and people,” he finished lamely.

“I'd hardly call Haseley House your family home,” said Stephen drily, frowning at the cat fur covering the only remaining chair. “You and Ben were brought up in Highgate, I seem to remember! Julia and I are the only people who can rightfully call Haseley home.”

William looked up from his paper.

“Apart from Dad, of course,” Stephen added hastily. …Oh dear, is that a flea?”

“Talking of homes,” Tony had picked up one of the brochures from the table and was leafing through it. “there's some real belters in here! …Right up your street, I should imagine, Oliver, a period piece like this.” He tapped the page.

Oliver, who couldn't possibly see from there, gave a polite smile of assent.

“Sweeping lawns, splendid architecture, - just the sort of stately pile we could all fancy passing our declining years in.”

“Yes, indeed!” Stephen leant forward eagerly. “Ideal, I might say, for someone who was no longer entirely capable of looking after himself, but who still wanted the prestige of a larger home.”

“Perfect for elderly snobs.” Leo's sarcasm went unheeded.

“…I really think you should have a proper look at these, Father.”

“Yes, William, perhaps you should.” Tony laid the page across his paper, an irritating replacement for the article he was immersed in comparing different brands of leg wax. “…Everyone in this family would want to be sure that
you're
not going to be taken in.”

“I beg your pardon?” Stephen stared at him.

“We all know what those places are really like, of course,” Tony went on blithely. “Most of these so called ‘retirement homes' are just an excuse to house people in appalling conditions while charging them through the roof.”

“Oh, I hardly think so…”

“It's all over the media. You can't open a paper or turn the TV on without seeing another old people's outfit exposed as a gang of crooks, out to make a fast buck. As well some of us know the score, - eh Leo?” He winked at his cousin, who gave a start of surprise, and murmured uncertainly, unsure which way to jump in an argument which meant supporting either Tony or Stephen.

William, undoubtedly the greatest media devotee among them, dropped the brochure in the basket beside him and went back to his article.

Scratch, deciding it was his social duty to fill an awkward silence, jumped up onto the bureau and proceeded to entertain the company with an attempt to get round the room without touching the floor. “Can't you stop him?” moaned Stephen, as his claws skidded on the polished surface. “That's a valuable piece of furniture!”