Christmas At Leo's - Memoirs Of A Houseboy (23 page)

Shane picked up ‘The Telegraph’ and a pen from the coffee table in front of the sofa and started doing a crossword. Leaning forward I plucked a magazine from the table. It was a town and country concoction filled with glossy society photos and advice on how to preside over the perfect Christmas. It involved money, lots of it. Christmas trees were designer-dressed and colour coordinated. The clothes worn by those featured were haute couture and designed for posing in. The finest chefs had prepared the food on show: things like stuffed quail and lobster claws served on beds of gold lettuce leaf with diamond dust mayonnaise. (He exaggerated)

No doubt there were legions of low paid scullery serfs on standby ready to wash up once the posh ‘society’ folks had finished stuffing their botoxed fizzogs with expensive goodies. A photo of two glasses of rare champagne, whose cost rivalled the national debt, finished me off. I tossed the magazine back on the table, disgusted by the excesses of a small rich elite. Of course jealousy had nothing to do with it.

Moving away from Shane to the opposite end of the sofa I drew my legs up, so my feet reposed on the cushion between us. He immediately swiped them down. Grabbing my arm, he slithered me back across the soft leather upholstery to sit next to him again. Picking up the magazine I’d abandoned he slapped it down on my thighs and then returned to his crossword.

Slumping back into the sofa cushions I folded my arms, leaving the magazine unopened on my lap. I studied the cover until my heartbeat regulated and then turned my head to surreptitiously study my persecutor. There was a frown of concentration on his face as he read the crossword clues. His lips pursed slightly as he solved one and filled in the relevant squares, his pen pressing firm and sure on the page. The ceiling lights emphasised the silver strands amongst the hairs at his temples. They’d been there for a while, but showed no sign of spreading. The rest of his hair is as dark as it’s ever been.

He must have sensed being observed. His eyes swivelled to my face, hardening as if what they saw displeased him. I looked away, fixing my eyes on the stone fireplace, trying to quell a sudden arousal in the region of my groin. It was unwelcome. I didn’t want it. It was an organic reaction to his dominance. I scowled. He was a mean bastard son of a bitch and I wished I were a million miles away from him.

The mantelpiece looked handsome, decorated with fresh holly, ivy, mistletoe and fir greenery. A fire was set in the grate, but not lit. Leo would light it later. He always had a real fire at Christmastime. It added to the holiday ambience.

The eight-day clock on the wall above the mantelpiece chimed a rich melodious quarter hour note. It suddenly occurred to me that Mike had been in the garden long enough to smoke an entire pack of cigarettes, plus a pipe and several cigars. I glanced around the room to see if he’d sneaked in unnoticed. “Leo.” I called over to mein host. “Where’s Mike? Surely he can’t still be in the garden.”

“He’s gone to buy cigarettes, and to pick Pat up from the station. His train is due any time now.”

Before I could ask who Pat was, Dick gave an exclamation. “I haven’t seen Pat in an absolute age. He became a virtual recluse after Bill died, it must be five years ago at least.”

“Almost seven, and he was always the quiet type. Bill was the outgoing one. Pat used to spend Christmas with Emma, Bill’s sister, but she died earlier this year. I couldn’t have the poor chap spending the holiday alone. He took some persuading mind you. He only confirmed yesterday. It was why I didn’t mention it to anyone. I didn’t know if he’d turn up.”

“It will be nice to see him.”

“It will. Letters and phone calls are no substitute for flesh. I haven’t been able to get down to Brighton this year to visit him.” Leo set his cards face down on the table and fixed me with a steely eye. “By the way, Gilli, Patrick is a proper sort of gentleman, so moderate your language around him.”

“Why are you telling me?” I said, offended at being singled out. “None of you lot are exactly Mary Poppins when it comes to swearing. I’m not the only one who does it.”

“No, but you’re the worst offender. You can’t open your mouth without a profanity coming out of it.”

“You do tend to swear rather a lot, honey.”

“You heard the man.” Shane tapped my knee with his pen. “No swearing around Pat or you’ll answer to me.”

Heat flooded my face. I was embarrassed by the assumption I was the sole person in the room likely to offend Leo’s friend by use of inappropriate language. I don’t swear all the time and besides, I have a good instinct for other people’s sensibilities. Indignation joined embarrassment making my skin grow hotter still. Dick and Shane should have supported me, not ganged up with Leo. They should have expressed faith in my ability to be discreet. I spoke in a low clipped voice to Shane. “I need the loo?”

He studied me for a moment, deliberating, and then nodded. “Be quick.”

Locking the door of Leo’s majestic bathroom, which is big enough to convert into a self-contained flat, I splashed my hot face with cool water, dried it and then sat down on the throne lid. I took deep breaths, fighting an urge to smash my fists into something.

My mobile rang. I fished it out of my pocket. It was Shane. He said a single word in a quiet tone. “Back.”

“Why?” I hissed. “Won’t it be better if I disappear so I don’t offend Leo’s pal with my incessant
bloody
swearing.”

“Back.” He repeated the word more firmly and rang off.

“Impossible man!” Seething, I rammed my phone back into my pocket. I had a quick pee, washed my hands and wrenched open the bathroom door.

In the time it took me to get from the bathroom to the lounge there’d been an event. Shane and his phone were at the centre of it. For a paranoid second, I wondered if Shane had called everyone to witness his command I return to the room. It was no such thing, because as Shane often says I’m not actually the centre of the universe and things happen that
don’t
involve me. In this case it was photos.

“Hurry up, Gil.” Dick motioned me over. “Penny is sharing photos of the baby.”

It would have been churlish to decline. I walked over to the sofa, but like the inn when Mary turned up, there was no room. Dick and Leo were seated next to Shane. Had I been in a better frame of mind I’d have insistently squashed myself between my two men. Instead, I stood behind the sofa with the bondage twins.

There was a veritable chorus of cooing as each photo was displayed. They were mainly of Penny holding the baby. Apart from one photo, poor Lorraine didn’t seem to get a look in. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. She’d have to file a lawsuit to gain custody of her own daughter from the wicked witch of the Midlands. She’d done all the hard work and had her bounty hijacked.

There was a snap of Shane’s father cradling the baby. He looked so proud and so tender that it brought a lump to my throat. Human beings are odd creatures. Each of us is capable of great acts of love, and also hate. The old man despised me without really knowing anything about me as a person. He knew nothing about the child in his arms as yet, but his love for her was already set fast. It shone from his face. It brought a wistful thought. Maybe my grandfathers would have been the same if they’d ever seen me.

Dick tipped back his head to smile at me. “She’s beautiful, don’t you think, hun?”

Etiquette demanded I nod agreement. I have no experience of babies and have no idea how infant beauty is measured. Baby Ruby looked bald, had a lined forehead and screwed up eyes, which made her appear disgruntled. For some bizarre reason it brought Uncle Fester of Addams Family fame to mind. If someone put a light bulb in her mouth, it would probably light up. Still, leaving bizarre thoughts aside, Dick was right, she was beautiful simply by virtue of her being. Even in a world as extensively overcrowded as ours, there is still something awesome about a newborn baby.

Chapter Ten - Smorgasbord

The photo viewing effectively broke up the card game. No one returned to the table to continue it. Dick and Leo stayed settled on the sofa next to Shane, chatting about kids. Leo has several nephews, nieces and a smattering of great nephews and nieces. Jak and Vince chipped in with Jak mentioning his three nieces and Vince laying claim to a toddler nephew who sounded as if he’d been named after the family dog. I felt an ache of sympathy for the unknown Rex. I knew from experience that having an unusual name could cause schooldays stress. He’d spend his days being barked at and having sticks thrown for him by playground persecutors.

Dick lamented his lack of nephews and nieces, until Leo reminded him that as Shane’s legal partner, he was an uncle by civil partnership. I felt a stab of jealousy. Where did that leave me? Out in the cold. There was nothing I could add to the conversation. I was not a legitimate relative in any respect.

Jak and Vince had claimed an armchair each, leaving the floor or a sofa arm as the only remaining seating option in the cosy hearth area. There was another option. Dick offered it, patting his lap.

“Room for a small one, hun.”

I didn’t want to sit on his lap. Call me unreasonable, but he was as much out of houseboy favour as Shane. I was right off the pair of them. Genny saved me from making a direct refusal. Her harsh voice called from the hall, imperiously demanding the lounge door be opened at once. I obliged. She stalked in grumbling snooty indignation at being kept waiting. Marching over to where everyone was congregated, she took up queenly residence on the rug in front of the unlit fire.

I removed myself to the telly area. Picking up the Radio Times, I curled up in an armchair studying the printed pages without taking in a word, musing on family. I’d have liked brothers and sisters and the possibility of nephews and nieces. Even a cousin or two might have been nice, but there was no one as far as I knew. I wondered why my mother hadn’t had at least one other child with my dad. Surely there had been time before he died? I’d have to ask her, not that I was likely to get a detailed answer, though she had opened up about her own dad. It made me think about her funeral again, and the song she wanted me to sing.

My phone rang, providing a welcome distraction, initially anyway. It was Rob, calling from Luxemburg. He and Howard were spending the holiday with friends there. He asked how things were going at Chateau Leo. I told him about the baby and heard him convey the news to Howard, who immediately called Shane to offer congratulations in person.

Before he rang off, Rob cheerfully reminded me that they’d be back in the UK for New Year, and he’d see me at the party on New Year’s Eve. My heart sank. I’d forgotten that he and Howard were hosting a big end of year party. The thought of another long, dull evening while all around me grew merry made my heart sink into my boots. I wouldn’t even be able to watch the fireworks at midnight. God. I rubbed a hand over my face. My life was beginning to feel as small and restricted as the view through a hole in a cream cracker.

I became aware of being studied, as you do. I tried to fight the urge to look at whoever was looking at me, but found myself reluctantly turning my eyes to meet a pair of measuring green ones. Shane had risen to his feet and was standing in front of the hearth with his hands in his trouser pockets. He looked like a model for elegant clothing aimed at the more mature man. I broke eye contact by masking my face with the magazine. My stomach knotted as I sensed movement in my direction. God intervened, or at least Mike did. There was a sudden flurry of activity in the hall, followed by his voice.

“Someone lend a hand with Pat’s bags.”

I heeded his call. Dropping the magazine, I stood up, hurrying out into the hall where the front door was wide open admitting an icy chill. There were a couple of wheeled cases on the doorstep. Mike was on the drive, helping someone out of the passenger seat of his silver Range Rover.

Shane had followed me out of the lounge. He ventured outside, speaking a warm greeting to the figure emerging from the car.

“Pat. How are you? It’s been too long.”

I grabbed the bags and carried them inside, placing them at the curved foot of the stairs. I then went back to the door, curiously viewing the tall figure that Shane had lent a courteous arm to lean on.

“I’ll go and close the drive gates.” Mike strode off into the darkness.

When Leo had said Pat was an old friend, he’d meant it literally. I studied him with interest. He looked to be in his seventies at least. He was cadaver thin with a head of neat grey-white hair. Not even the long, heavy overcoat he was wearing lent bulk to his sparse frame. Shane helped him over the threshold, introducing me as he did so. “This is Gillibran. He’s with Dick and I.”

A pair of pale blue eyes gave me an appraising look down a nose as thin and sharp as a rapier blade.

“Yes. Leo told me you and Dick had adopted a baby boy from the rough north.” Pat paused, his eyes narrowing. “I thought he was exaggerating the baby bit, but he’s quite the wide-eyed child isn’t he. Is he even legal?”

“He’s legal all right,” said Shane dryly.

“I never had you marked for taking on a second boy, though, according to Leo, he’s Dick’s pet rather than yours, a bit of a Henry Higgins experiment.”

“Leo is a wicked gossip, and life sometimes takes you on unplanned journeys, Pat.”