Christmas At Leo's - Memoirs Of A Houseboy (25 page)

I followed Leo into the kitchen. “What’s on the menu?”

“Seeing as we’ll be eating a big dinner tomorrow I’m keeping it light and informal tonight, with a smorgasbord for people to help themselves to. I want to prepare the dining room later on, save time tomorrow, so rather than mess it up I’ll set the food out in here and people can pick and choose as they please.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“I’m making an oven baked fish platter, you can help prepare the fish.” He strode over to the fridge and began extracting ingredients with energetic efficiency, while ordering me to get out various baking trays and cooking utensils.

“Yes, Chef.” I saluted, but it was wasted sarcasm. He was too busy relishing the role. “Have you ever thought of opening your own restaurant and becoming a professional chef instead of just owning a fin or two in that Japanese fish emporium?”

“No.”

“Why not? You love cooking.”

“Yes, and that’s why I’d never become a professional chef, because then it wouldn’t be something I do for sheer pleasure. It would be a job. I already have a career I love.”

“Something in the city,” I pulled a face, “whatever that means. You could be a toilet attendant in Harrods. I’ve never understood exactly what you do.”

He grinned. “I make money, pots of it.”

“There’s more to life than the worship of Mammon.” I said primly.

“Big words for a small boy.” He patted my head in that patronising fashion of his. “There might be more to life than making an idol of Mammon, but truth is Gilli, you’ve carved yourself a rather nice niche at the feet of it.”

I frowned. “Meaning what?”

“Shane and Dick are hardly poverty stricken.”

“Are you saying that’s why I want to be with them?”

“I’m not saying anything. I’m just stating a fact. Shane and Dick are well off.”

“I don’t care about how well off they are. I never have.” I said hotly. “It’s not why I’m with them.”

“I believe you, now shall we get on. I’ve got people to feed.”

I would have argued further, but the teasing look had passed from his face to be replaced with a steel one. It reminded me of him in the lounge.

Under his instruction I mixed together olive oil, lemon juice and hot Piri Piri seasoning as a marinade for a pile of raw king prawns, while he began wrapping fresh fat scallops in thin strips of Parma ham, placing them on a large baking tray. I gave him a sideways look. “Why did you say that to your friend, about me being Dick’s pet rather than Shane’s? You
always
make it sound like I forced myself on Shane and he puts up with me on sufferance. He slept with me readily enough. No one held a gun to his groin.”

“And why wouldn’t he sleep with you? There’s nothing quite like sex with a fresh little twenty something, and you were hardly crossing your legs. It was clear from the off that you were a greedy boy who wanted them both.” He popped the final scallop on the baking tray and then reached for a huge piece of cod fillet, deftly skinning and then cutting it into thick chunks. “Shane imagined you’d be a sexy brief encounter, not a permanent addition to his ordered landscape. You’re a weed in his garden.”

I flinched. “Did he say that? How horrible, and mean.”

Leo’s thick eyebrows pushed up towards his hairline in a show of impatience. “For heaven’s sake, it was just a mode of speech. They probably weren’t his exact words and I’m not saying that’s the way it is now. Why do you have to be so thin-skinned all the time?”

“Why do you have to be an insensitive jerk? You say some rotten things to me. You’re just like Shane. No wonder you get on so well. You’re always questioning my motives and putting me down. I’m bloody sick of being found wanting by everyone. It’s not like any of you are perfect, though you think you are.”

“Look, Gilli. I didn’t mean to upset you, though God knows it doesn’t take much. You’re right. I’m tactless. I really don’t want to fight anymore. You’ve been at my throat since the moment you stepped over my threshold. It’s tiring. How about we call a Christmas truce, like the British and the Germans during the First World War?”

“Fine, but don’t think I’m playing football with you out in the garden, not unless the ball is a landmine and you get first kick.”

“Not exactly the gracious response I was hoping for, but fair enough.”

We worked on in silence. After marinating the prawns I helped to coat the cod chunks, dipping them into beaten egg and then crispy seasoned breadcrumbs, arranging them on a tray ready to bake in a hot oven along with the scallops. The marinated prawns would be added towards the end of the cooking time. They only took a few minutes. Leo made up a series of salads, dips and dressings. I shelled some large cooked prawns to mix in with mussels for those who preferred their shellfish cold and plain rather than hot and spiced. Quiches were put in to heat and a variety of open sandwiches compiled using homemade focaccia bread as a base.

By the time we were done there was a fair selection of delectable goodies on offer. If truth were told, I enjoyed playing Leo’s kitchen assistant. It was far better than languishing in bored discomfort at Shane’s feet. I also had a few new recipes stored in my head for use at home: the baked fish platter for one and a rather tasty bean and watercress salad for another.

His choice of dessert brought a pang of sad nostalgia. It was a trifle, though of course there wasn’t a Birds box in sight. It was a grand affair made with the finest ingredients, including homemade Madeira cake, fresh raspberries, rich egg custard and organic double cream whipped to peaked perfection. The decoration was a sumptuous concoction of white, milk and dark chocolate curls dusted with frosty edible glitter.

“I’m afraid you won’t be able to indulge,” said Leo, not sounding the least bit regretful. “It has a good few slugs of sherry in it.”

“You could have made it without sherry.”

“Trifle isn’t the same without sherry, not at Christmas.”

“A lot of things aren’t the same without
sherry
, including Christmas itself, but no one seems to give a toss, not on my account anyway.”

“Oh, stop grizzling. There’s some homemade mince pie ice cream in the freezer. You can help yourself to it. It’s divine. The best you’ll ever taste.”

“Don’t sell yourself short or anything.”

“I won’t. Modesty is pointless. If you’re good, you’re good. Why deny it.” He glanced at the fruit of our labours with satisfaction. “I’ll clean up and set everything out properly. There’s just the fish to bake and then we’ll be open for business.”

“I don’t mind helping you clean up.” Anything was better than Shane’s company. I reached to pinch a smoked salmon cone of caviar from the top of a creamy lobster pate sandwich. “Ouch!” I yelped as Leo slapped the back of my hand.

“Paws off. The buffet is not yet open. You’ve done enough in here. Why don’t you take Daddy Shane a nice cup of coffee by way of apology?”

“Apology for what?” I glared at him, annoyed by his high handedness.

“For putting years on him with your petulance. You’ve been a nuisance since you arrived. Your face has barely cracked a smile.” He wagged a finger. “You’re spoiling his Christmas, Dick’s too. It’s disgraceful. They work long and hard. They need their breaks to be restful and pleasant. You’re being even more self-centred than usual. What’s going on with you?”

“Butt out, Leo, and anyway Shane’s had enough coffee today. He needs to cut down. It makes him grumpy.” I snatched the twist of salmon and darted out of the kitchen.

He called after me. “That’s your sandwich, Gilli! I’m putting your name on it.”

I ate the salty fish morsel in the hall, listening as laughter seeped from the games room, making me feel jealous at the thought of Dick having fun without me. I considered gatecrashing, but didn’t dare. My orders had been clear.

I pushed open the door and walked into the lounge, where Shane waited with a space under his thumb reserved for me.

Chapter Eleven - Un-Sweet Revenge

He was still sitting on the sofa, long legs elegantly crossed. The folded newspaper rested on his right knee. He looked up as I walked in. “Done?”

“Yes.” I wandered over to the chair where Genny was snoozing, stroking her head. She caught a whiff of the salmon on my fingers and licked them with her rough tongue. “I was thinking of joining the others in the games room?”

“Think again, and don’t allow that cat to lick your fingers. It’s unhygienic.”

“I’ll watch a bit of telly then.”

“I think what you meant to say is
may
I watch telly, Daddy.”

“May I?”

“No. I’m enjoying the peace and quiet.” He jabbed his finger at the sofa seat next to him. “Park your pert backside before I slap it.”

I parked it, glancing at the paper on his knee. He’d almost completed the crossword.

“Another word for stress,” he murmured. He tapped the pen against the page in a thoughtful manner. “I’d say Gillibran, but the letters don’t fit.”

He didn’t sound as if he was joking.

“Tension?” I offered.

“Undoubtedly.” He printed the answer. A few moments later he solved and wrote in the final clue, giving a small grunt of satisfaction as he did so. He dropped the pen on the table, shook out the paper, turned it back to the first page and began reading.

I stared into the grate, watching the flames dance and flicker, my mind casting up remnants of the conversations I’d had over the course of the day, one in particular. I felt duty-bound to question. “Did you mean what you said this morning, about not allowing me to drink alcohol again, even if the epilepsy disappears?”

“Yes.” He kept his eyes fixed on the printed sheets.”

“Why?”

“I don’t need a reason.” He turned a stern and steady gaze on me. “If you’re insistent on having one, then let’s say it’s because you’ve behaved so badly over the issue.”

“I don’t think it’s fair. It’s control for control’s sake.”

“It’s the nature of our relationship. Fair never comes into it. If you can’t or won’t curb harmful behaviours, then it’s up to me to do it for you, as a matter of principle. Anyway, it’s academic because the epilepsy isn’t going to disappear.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I think I do, Gilli, given the evidence, and I think you do too, if only you’d have the moral courage to admit and embrace the truth.”

I flared. “I’ll burn in hell first. Why are you so determined to have me stay sick?”

Casting aside the newspaper he stood up. Grasping my upper arms, he dragged me to my feet and roughly shook me. “I am not determined to have you sick. How dare you say that to me? I’m determined to have you keep well, you stubborn little fool.” Thrusting me back down onto the sofa, he snarled. “Sit there and keep your impudent mouth shut.”

Leo materialised in the lounge. He caught a whiff of the atmosphere immediately. “Shall I go out again?”

“There’s no need, thank you, Leo. We were just having a small discussion. It’s done with.” Shane sat back down, reaching for the discarded newspaper.

Leo gave me a tight-lipped glare of disapproval and then picked up Genny and seated himself, settling her on his lap. For a gay man he does have an inordinate pussy love.

I rubbed my hands over my knees, seeing them as if from a distance, fervently wishing for the sofa to swallow me whole. I could still feel the impression of Shane’s fingers on my upper arms, and visualise the look of fury in his eyes as he shook me. Never had I felt more certain that he thoroughly disliked me as a person. I didn’t like me either. Accusing him of wanting me to be ill had been pretty shitty. I say things I don’t mean, everyone does in anger, but I seem to have made an art form out of it. I’m the Damien Hirst of ill-timed remarks and inappropriate comments.

Shane and Leo engaged in quiet conversation for a while and then Shane excused himself, presumably to use the bathroom to decant some of the coffee he’d consumed.

Mike and Dick returned to the lounge. Dick sat down next to me, smiling a greeting. “All right, sweetheart?”

I shrugged.

“What have you been up to, anything fun?”

Was he serious? I gave a barely civil answer. “What do you think?”

A look of sorrow came to his face. “Why don’t we talk, Gilli? Clear the air. We can go upstairs for privacy.”

“I’ve got nothing to say, nothing you want to listen to anyway.”

Vince and Jak clattered back in, laughing about something. It must have been an unusually strenuous game of billiards because Vince had stripped down to his vest top, revealing subtly muscled arms. I couldn’t help but stare, not at his arms at such, but at the extraordinary tattoos adorning them. It looked as if he had spiked ivy twisted around his arms from shoulders to just above his wrists. Realistic trickles of bright red ‘blood’ seeped from the deep green spikes here and there. There were also some small rune symbols that had been made to look as if they were branded into his skin. He caught me looking.

“Like the ink work?”