The Christmas Surprise
Page 50
‘He’s a tart for canapés.’
This was true, he’d already wagged his way indoors. Lilian would have a thing to say about muddy footprints.
‘No, it’s fine, it’s fine. Where were you?’
Stephen sighed, and his expression changed.
‘God, it’s nice coming home.’
‘What?’
He rubbed the back of his neck as she unpinned Apostil from the sling and kissed Stephen gently on the nose.
‘Don’t ask.’
‘That is absolutely guaranteed to get me not to ask. Yup, totally.’
She tickled Apostil, who grinned gummily.
‘Tell Mummy where Daddy was! Tell me now or no milk.’
‘He’s a daddy’s boy,’ said Stephen fiercely. ‘He’ll never rat me in.’
In fact he didn’t have to. Rosie glanced down and spotted that Stephen’s trouser legs were covered in dog hairs.
‘Ha!’ she said. ‘I am Sherlock Holmes, and I do declare you have been at your mother’s!’
Stephen looked shocked for a moment, then resigned.
‘Seriously,’ he said. ‘You’re good.’
‘I know,’ said Rosie. ‘Why?’
Stephen shrugged. His handsome face looked suddenly sad.
‘I just … I just wanted to ask her if she’d reconsider. About Peak House.’
‘You’re kidding,’ said Rosie, shocked. ‘You went behind Pamela’s back?’
‘I know, because she just stabbed me in the front.’
‘And you didn’t consult me first?’
Stephen looked disgruntled.
‘I thought it would be a nice surprise.’
‘What, to know we ran begging to your mother?’
Instantly Rosie could have bitten off her tongue. That sounded awful, and so unfair. Stephen just looked at her.
‘Well, what did she say?’ said Rosie. She already knew the answer, of course.
‘I’m going to go and get a drink,’ said Stephen, in a steely voice.
‘What’s up, you two having a domestic?’ said Pamela cheerily, entering the kitchen. ‘Have you guys got any more ice? I never understand this deep belief in England that ice is, like, rationed.’
They both fell silent. Rosie was fuming inside, and couldn’t believe she’d stoked the matter up again. It didn’t help anything.
‘Here’s the ice!’ she said, pasting a bright smile on her face. ‘Everyone seems to be loving your martinis.’
‘Could you pass some canapés around?’ said Pamela. ‘I think people are hungry.’
‘Hi, Pamela,’ said Stephen. ‘You look ridiculous. Can I have a drink?’
Rosie let pass the fact that she was still being treated as staff and took the little sausage rolls out of the oven. Stephen took Apostil into the sitting room, where he was greeted with coos and general approval. It would be nice, Rosie thought crossly, if she got a welcome like that. Then she cursed herself for making such a big fuss. Dinner was under control. It was time to go and get a drink.
The cosy sitting room made a pretty sight, with the tree tucked away carefully to the side, bent over with the weight of the old wooden designs from Stephen’s childhood; holly, of course, over the fireplace, candles burning everywhere, and people chatting away. Lilian and Tina were cooing over the baby; Stephen was taking long slugs of his drink, then making a face at how strong it was, and had immediately launched into a long conversation about dairy yields with Jake, whose lazy grin and laid-back style belied his deep knowledge and understanding of the land. Moray was pretending to be interested in how the dental trade was going – and Roy was explaining it in some detail – but really, Rosie could tell, he was sniffing around for gossip. Pamela was playing with her glass and laughing, showing those truly stunning teeth, looking as if she hadn’t a care in the world. In fact, thought Rosie, anyone glancing through the window would think what a happy, blessed lot they were, not at all a couple rowing and about to be turfed out on the street, an old lady still recovering from the loss of the love of her life, a sacked banker and an anxious Bridezilla. Maybe, she wondered briefly, all parties were like this, everyone wearing a facade.
Then she looked out into the night, where a hailstorm had come up and was throwing handfuls of what sounded like gravel against the little window panes of their cosy home, and heard Tina give a genuine shout of laughter at something Lilian had said. ‘I saw Three Ships’ came on the iPod and she thought, well, at this, the closing-down of the year, it didn’t matter. Guests in their home, for however long – old friends and new, people coming to be warm with one another in the deepest, darkest time of the year, to light candles, share the Yule log, make merry – actually, it was lovely. And she was lucky. She picked up one of Pamela’s cocktails – the gin bottle, she noticed, was emptying extremely quickly – and took a slug.
‘Bloody hell,’ she said, spluttering. ‘I hope that’s medicinal.’
Roy put his arm around her.
‘Of course it is, my dear,’ he said. ‘Now come and grace us with your lovely presence.’
‘How many of these has he had?’ said Rosie, as everyone descended on the sausage rolls.
‘Three,’ said Pamela, smiling.
‘Cor,’ said Rosie. ‘Mind you, I suppose he’s used to it with all that mouthwash around.’
Roy grinned his terrifying Simon Cowell grin and raised his glass, and Pamela smiled back at him. Rosie made a mental note to get him to sign something before he actually passed out.
Apostil was in absolutely no mood for going to bed with all the noise and excitement about, so eventually they decided just to pretend to be European and let him stay up, even though Rosie knew that the person feeling the effects tomorrow would undoubtedly be her. She got everyone seated finally, although they seemed a little tight, and Pamela ended up practically on Roy’s lap, which was making him very pink in the face.
‘So, dentists earn good money, yeah?’
‘I’ve got a swimming pool,’ boasted Roy. ‘With all those, like, Grecian statues. Except they’re not Grecians. They’re of me! I do triathlons, you know.’
Pamela squeezed his biceps.
‘I see that,’ she said.
‘Oh my God,’ said Rosie, forgetting she was cross with Stephen. ‘This is disgusting.’
This was true, he’d already wagged his way indoors. Lilian would have a thing to say about muddy footprints.
‘No, it’s fine, it’s fine. Where were you?’
Stephen sighed, and his expression changed.
‘God, it’s nice coming home.’
‘What?’
He rubbed the back of his neck as she unpinned Apostil from the sling and kissed Stephen gently on the nose.
‘Don’t ask.’
‘That is absolutely guaranteed to get me not to ask. Yup, totally.’
She tickled Apostil, who grinned gummily.
‘Tell Mummy where Daddy was! Tell me now or no milk.’
‘He’s a daddy’s boy,’ said Stephen fiercely. ‘He’ll never rat me in.’
In fact he didn’t have to. Rosie glanced down and spotted that Stephen’s trouser legs were covered in dog hairs.
‘Ha!’ she said. ‘I am Sherlock Holmes, and I do declare you have been at your mother’s!’
Stephen looked shocked for a moment, then resigned.
‘Seriously,’ he said. ‘You’re good.’
‘I know,’ said Rosie. ‘Why?’
Stephen shrugged. His handsome face looked suddenly sad.
‘I just … I just wanted to ask her if she’d reconsider. About Peak House.’
‘You’re kidding,’ said Rosie, shocked. ‘You went behind Pamela’s back?’
‘I know, because she just stabbed me in the front.’
‘And you didn’t consult me first?’
Stephen looked disgruntled.
‘I thought it would be a nice surprise.’
‘What, to know we ran begging to your mother?’
Instantly Rosie could have bitten off her tongue. That sounded awful, and so unfair. Stephen just looked at her.
‘Well, what did she say?’ said Rosie. She already knew the answer, of course.
‘I’m going to go and get a drink,’ said Stephen, in a steely voice.
‘What’s up, you two having a domestic?’ said Pamela cheerily, entering the kitchen. ‘Have you guys got any more ice? I never understand this deep belief in England that ice is, like, rationed.’
They both fell silent. Rosie was fuming inside, and couldn’t believe she’d stoked the matter up again. It didn’t help anything.
‘Here’s the ice!’ she said, pasting a bright smile on her face. ‘Everyone seems to be loving your martinis.’
‘Could you pass some canapés around?’ said Pamela. ‘I think people are hungry.’
‘Hi, Pamela,’ said Stephen. ‘You look ridiculous. Can I have a drink?’
Rosie let pass the fact that she was still being treated as staff and took the little sausage rolls out of the oven. Stephen took Apostil into the sitting room, where he was greeted with coos and general approval. It would be nice, Rosie thought crossly, if she got a welcome like that. Then she cursed herself for making such a big fuss. Dinner was under control. It was time to go and get a drink.
The cosy sitting room made a pretty sight, with the tree tucked away carefully to the side, bent over with the weight of the old wooden designs from Stephen’s childhood; holly, of course, over the fireplace, candles burning everywhere, and people chatting away. Lilian and Tina were cooing over the baby; Stephen was taking long slugs of his drink, then making a face at how strong it was, and had immediately launched into a long conversation about dairy yields with Jake, whose lazy grin and laid-back style belied his deep knowledge and understanding of the land. Moray was pretending to be interested in how the dental trade was going – and Roy was explaining it in some detail – but really, Rosie could tell, he was sniffing around for gossip. Pamela was playing with her glass and laughing, showing those truly stunning teeth, looking as if she hadn’t a care in the world. In fact, thought Rosie, anyone glancing through the window would think what a happy, blessed lot they were, not at all a couple rowing and about to be turfed out on the street, an old lady still recovering from the loss of the love of her life, a sacked banker and an anxious Bridezilla. Maybe, she wondered briefly, all parties were like this, everyone wearing a facade.
Then she looked out into the night, where a hailstorm had come up and was throwing handfuls of what sounded like gravel against the little window panes of their cosy home, and heard Tina give a genuine shout of laughter at something Lilian had said. ‘I saw Three Ships’ came on the iPod and she thought, well, at this, the closing-down of the year, it didn’t matter. Guests in their home, for however long – old friends and new, people coming to be warm with one another in the deepest, darkest time of the year, to light candles, share the Yule log, make merry – actually, it was lovely. And she was lucky. She picked up one of Pamela’s cocktails – the gin bottle, she noticed, was emptying extremely quickly – and took a slug.
‘Bloody hell,’ she said, spluttering. ‘I hope that’s medicinal.’
Roy put his arm around her.
‘Of course it is, my dear,’ he said. ‘Now come and grace us with your lovely presence.’
‘How many of these has he had?’ said Rosie, as everyone descended on the sausage rolls.
‘Three,’ said Pamela, smiling.
‘Cor,’ said Rosie. ‘Mind you, I suppose he’s used to it with all that mouthwash around.’
Roy grinned his terrifying Simon Cowell grin and raised his glass, and Pamela smiled back at him. Rosie made a mental note to get him to sign something before he actually passed out.
Apostil was in absolutely no mood for going to bed with all the noise and excitement about, so eventually they decided just to pretend to be European and let him stay up, even though Rosie knew that the person feeling the effects tomorrow would undoubtedly be her. She got everyone seated finally, although they seemed a little tight, and Pamela ended up practically on Roy’s lap, which was making him very pink in the face.
‘So, dentists earn good money, yeah?’
‘I’ve got a swimming pool,’ boasted Roy. ‘With all those, like, Grecian statues. Except they’re not Grecians. They’re of me! I do triathlons, you know.’
Pamela squeezed his biceps.
‘I see that,’ she said.
‘Oh my God,’ said Rosie, forgetting she was cross with Stephen. ‘This is disgusting.’
