The Christmas Party (7 page)

‘What a place for a party!’ is Dad’s verdict. ‘I’ve never seen the like.’

Me neither. I’m slightly terrified now. ‘Shall I see if you can both come in and have a sneaky peek?’

‘No, no.’ Dad shakes his head so much that it might fall off. ‘I’m in my cardigan. You can’t go in a place like that in your cardigan.’

‘I want to come in,’ Mia chimes.

‘Oh, no,’ Dad says. ‘You stay here with Gramps.’

I think we’re both having the same vision, of a place stuffed with eminently breakable and priceless antiques.

‘Gramps is right,’ I tell Mia. ‘I promise I’ll take lots of photos.’

‘You have a lovely time, Lou-Lou,’ he says. I can see his eyes filling up with tears. ‘You’ll knock them dead looking like that.’

‘Dad,’ I say. ‘You’ll start me off.’

‘I’ll come and pick you up. What time do you want me?’

I laugh. ‘I’m not fifteen, Dad. I can get the coach back. The company have laid it on. No need for you to turn out.’

‘I don’t mind. I’d rather you were safe and sound.’

‘It might snow later.’

‘I’ll leave the car out in case you change your mind.’

‘Put it in the garage. And go to bed. I don’t want you waiting up for me. I’ll be late.’

‘How late?’ Mia wants to know.

‘Will you both stop fussing!’ I tell them. ‘Now I’m here, I’m going to make sure I enjoy myself.’

‘Ring me if you need me to come out,’ Dad says, obviously not having listened to a word I’ve said.

I kiss his cheek. ‘I won’t ring. I’m a big girl. Don’t worry about me.’

He grips the steering wheel. ‘You’re still my little girl,’ he says, voice husky. ‘No matter how old you are.’

‘Thanks, Dad.’ I get out of the car and open Mia’s door so that I can kiss her too. ‘Be good for Gramps and straight to bed when you get home. No fuss.’

‘I love you, Mummy.’

‘You can go into my bed, so that you know when I come home.’ I hug her tightly. Everything I do, I do for her.

‘It’ll be over by the time you get in there,’ Dad says.

‘I’m going. I’m going.’ I close the door and wave goodbye to them.

Dad starts the engine and slowly turns away. I take a deep breath and walk up to the fabulous mansion with butterflies in my tummy.

Chapter Six

The Bentley slowed to a stately pace as they wafted through ornate gates at the entrance to the Wadestone estate. In the headlights, Melissa could see startled deer scatter from their path.

‘I hope tonight is going to be very special,’ Lance intoned. ‘I want the staff to have a night that they’ll never forget. I’ve really pushed the boat out, as a goodwill gesture to thank them all for enduring the move to Milton Keynes stoically.’

Or less than stoically in some cases, Melissa thought. Some of them had needed to be dragged up there kicking and screaming. People who were settled in communities with their families had all been uprooted on a whim. She’d advised Lance to fight against it, but he hadn’t listened. Once, he used to take her advice unfailingly. Behind every successful man there was an ambitious woman. She was his sounding-board, his counsellor, and always had been. Now she was sure his memory was failing and he seemed to retain very little of what she said – about anything, not just business matters. His concentration was terrible and she worried how he managed in board meetings. The move had gone ahead regardless of the upheaval. Knowing Fossil Oil, this time next year they’d have decided that they really had to be based in London after all and they’d relocate the same people all over again.

‘This party is costing a goddamn arm and a leg,’ Lance added. ‘I hope the staff appreciate it.’

‘I’m sure they will. Everyone enjoys the Christmas party.’

‘Some of them too much,’ he said sagely as he swigged his drink. ‘We don’t have to mix too much. You just sit there and look beautiful as you always do. After the meal I’ll say a few words of encouragement, rally the troops for the new year. We can bow out gracefully as soon as you’re ready.’

‘I wouldn’t like to think how many of these we’ve done together over the years, honey.’

‘Well, there’ll be less of it to contend with pretty soon, angel.’ Lance refilled his glass and then there was a meaningful pause before he said, ‘I spoke to Bud Harman today.’

Melissa smoothed the tightly fitted skirt of her emerald silk gown over her thighs and raised an eyebrow. There was something in Lance’s tone of voice that she didn’t quite like. A barely detectable ripple, a quaver, a tightness, certainly a hesitation. ‘How so?’

Lance twisted his cufflinks in his sleeves and continued to look straight ahead. ‘We’re going home. Back to the States.’

Melissa dropped back into her plush leather seat, which let out a squeak in protest. ‘Well, there’s a turn-up for the books. When was this decided?’

‘Today. This morning.’ Lance drained his glass. ‘I’m going to head up a new project.’

America? Home. She knew it would come at some time, but not just now. Not when she was finally enjoying herself in this rain-soaked country. She was shocked to her core.

‘A new project?’

‘Hmm.’ That cagey tone again.

‘That sounds suspiciously like you’re being sidelined.’ Melissa’s face felt as if it had been drained of blood. In the glass it looked paler than it had a moment ago, before Lance’s earthtilting announcement.

‘Staff Assessment Criteria and Key Employee Development programme. “SACKED” for short,’ he explained.

‘
Sacked?
You’re kidding me.’

‘Oh,’ Lance said, frowning. ‘I see what you mean.’

‘The first thing you have to do, Lance, is get that name changed.’

He shrugged. ‘Well, whatever it’s called, the programme is a global restructuring of the company. This is a crucial role for me, honey.’

‘You mean you’re being made chief wielder of the hatchet?’ She hadn’t meant it to sound so disdainful. Lance would, no doubt, be pleased about this. He was always happy to do whatever was required of him by Fossil Oil. He was a corporate man through and through.

Yet for once a weary look pinched Lance’s features. ‘It’s a chance to get off the corporate merry-go-round for a while, Melissa. Running Fossil Oil is a young man’s game now and … I would only ever admit this to you, but I’m tired. I’ve been with this company for so long, I’ve seen everything before and I’m jaded. I need my batteries recharging and this might give me some time to do it.’

Anxiety was fluttering in her chest. She didn’t want to be dragged halfway around the world again. Not now. ‘What happens when you’ve finished with this “project”?’ Call it what you will, they both knew what it really was. Lance was going to be in charge of a firing squad. ‘What happens when your batteries are recharged and surging on full power again? Suppose there isn’t a pretty coloured horse left on the corporate merry-go-round for you to ride?’

‘We’ll cross that bridge when, and if, we come to it. Maybe then it will be time to ease back on the throttle.’

Melissa felt her shoulders slump.

‘Perhaps that retirement home in Florida might not be so far away,’ Lance offered.

The thought made her blood chill. ‘So it’s signed, sealed and delivered then?’

‘Pretty much. A few i’s to dot. A few t’s to cross.’

Her husband had an over-casual look fixed to his features and she eyed him suspiciously.

‘There has to be a catch, Lance, otherwise you wouldn’t sound so edgy. I know you.’ There was a pain behind her eyes that hadn’t been there previously and, despite the comfort of their chauffeured car, one was now developing in her neck to match. ‘When exactly do they want you to start this crucial role?’

Lance cleared his throat; she knew it was a bad sign. It was the sound that said somewhere a nail had been struck firmly on the head. After years of marriage all her husband’s annoying little habits were deeply ingrained in her psyche. This was one of them.

‘Saturday,’ he stated flatly.

‘
Saturday?
’

‘I’ve had Veronica book flights. The e-tickets are on my desk in the study.’

‘But it’s Christmas Eve tomorrow, Lance. Saturday is Christmas Day. Who in God’s name moves home on Christmas Day? I’ve ordered a sixteen-pound turkey from Fortnum and Mason for our Christmas lunch.’

‘Maybe we can still eat it before we leave for the airport, sweetie.’ Lance looked wounded. ‘It’s an evening flight.’

‘You expect me to pack and be on a flight to New York the day after tomorrow and still have time to cook a turkey? I don’t think even that Nigella woman could manage that feat.’

Lance shrugged. ‘You know the form, honey. You must be used to it by now.’

That was true enough. She was used to upping sticks at a moment’s notice, but this time she wanted to dig her heels in. ‘What about I stay here for a few more weeks and then follow you when you’re settled?’

If she was here for a little while longer, she might be able to tie up one or two loose ends that she needed to.

‘No, no, no. I want you with me, by my side, honey. Where you always are.’

He patted her again and she felt like screaming. He struggled to manage without her now. They both knew that. Even before she had suggested it, she knew Lance would never allow it. Where he went, she had to go too.

‘It will be good to get back to New York,’ she said. Though in her heart she didn’t feel that at all.

‘Washington DC,’ Lance corrected quietly.

‘DC?’

Lance merely nodded in confirmation.

‘Why DC, in heaven’s name?’

Lance swallowed his bourbon. ‘That’s where the project is based. If that’s what the company wants, who am I to argue?’

‘You’re the chairman. Can’t you do it from here? I thought this new office of yours was supposed to have all the very latest in space technology – satellite link-ups, video conferences, beam-me-up-Scotty machines? They’re all terms I’ve heard bandied about liberally in the last few months. I know you’ve got them.’

‘We’ve been here for a few years now,’ Lance noted. ‘That’s a lifetime in Fossil Oil terms. Isn’t it time we had a move? Don’t you feel restless?’

‘I like it here.’ Melissa could feel herself coming perilously close to tears.

‘You hate it here.’ Lance charged his glass again. This time when he gestured towards her with the bottle, she nodded.

She downed it too quickly, the fiery liquid burning her throat and threatening to make her cough.

‘Every year you complain about the summer, then you complain even more about the winter. You hate the service and the fact they never put enough ice in your drinks. You hate the food. You’ve never once tried steak-and-kidney pudding.’

‘Just because I don’t eat steak-and-kidney pudding, Lance, it doesn’t mean I haven’t grown to love England. In my own way.’

‘Not two weeks ago you were so sick of the rain, you said it was like permanently living under a power shower.’

She’d hoped he hadn’t remembered that. ‘I’ve bought a new umbrella since then,’ she protested feebly.

Lance gave her a wry smile. ‘Methinks the lady doth protest too much. You know you’ll adore DC! Think of all those Congressmen’s wives and committees. All the worthy deeds you can do for the needy in front of the right people. DC is charityball seventh heaven. You know how you love a canapé and a good cause.’

It was pointless discussing it, Melissa knew. Fossil Oil had decreed it and that invariably meant it would happen. Unless, of course, Fossil Oil decided otherwise.

In any case, as Lance said, two years in one place had been tantamount to a minor miracle. Before that they had roved Fossil Oil’s European holdings – eight weeks in Belgium, eight months in Greece, eighteen months in Paris. In between all that, they’d regularly shuttled back to London for meetings. The list read like an airline timetable. In most places there’d scarcely been enough time for her to establish – well, let’s say
connections
, before they’d flitted off again, Lance chasing promotions like eccentric Englishmen chase butterflies.

At least she’d had time in England to enjoy a smattering of
liaisons dangereuses
. However, she’d found that it was true what they said about English lovers: in most cases they had kept their socks firmly on.

The tears threatened again and she bit them down. By some insanity Tyler Benson had become her latest lover. One of Lance’s own favoured directors! In Lance’s eyes, Tyler could do no wrong. If only he knew. She’d never played so close to home before and she knew it was madness.

She also recognised that, this time, it wasn’t just a no-strings fling to fill her empty days.

Tyler was different. His heart would be hard to break. He was ballsy and bright and destined for the top job, not unlike Lance had been thirty or more years ago. He would also be tough to leave.

Over the years, Melissa had made love to many men and had walked away when she tired of them, untouched by the burden of emotion. If she’d been younger and more impressionable, this time she would have said that she was in love. Not to him. Never to him. She felt as if he’d taken a piece of her soul and, if she was honest, there wasn’t a lot of it left to spare.

‘We’ll get a nice place in Georgetown. You’ll like that. All those shops.’

‘I can’t spend all my life shopping, Lance. Maybe I could get a job, a real job, at one of the charities?’

That would make the move away easier; she needed something to occupy her time.

‘Why would you do that? It would take you away from me. You know I need you as my wingman.’ Lance looked at his wristwatch. It was gold and emblazoned with the company logo – unimaginatively and unsurprisingly, a fossil: the distinct spiral of an ammonite. It was studded with four diamonds, each of them marking some long-forgotten milestone with the company. ‘There are going to be a lot of tough decisions to make and I can’t do it without you.’

The discussion, it seemed, was over. For now. ‘Does anyone else know you’re leaving yet?’ Melissa asked.

Lance shook his head.

‘Not even Tyler?’

‘Especially not Tyler. I think he could do very well out of this and I want it to be a surprise for him. I’m lucky, honey. He’s been a great right-hand man. Tyler’s always got my back.’