The Christmas Party

by Carole Matthews

  A minute later Tyler bursts through the door like a whirlwind. The hushed, calm atmosphere of the library changes in an instant.

  ‘Look!’ he bellows. ‘Look at the bloody state of me.’

  Tyler briefly holds out his arms and I get a view of his abdomen.

  He is, indeed, in a very bloody state. His dinner jacket is shredded across the middle, as is his shirt and the top of his trousers. His belt is still in place, but he’s having to hold up his trousers with his hands and I can see his boxer shorts beneath them. Blood is oozing from a wound across his stomach and his hands are covered in it too, from where he’s been clutching himself.

  ‘Good grief! What’s happened?’

  ‘The Magnificent Bloody Marvo, that’s what’s happened!’ Tyler looks as if he might like to hit something. His hands are balled into tight fists and his face is red with anger. ‘A drunken magician. Veronica must have booked him. I’ll have words with her about that too. The stupid bastard nearly cut me in half.’

  ‘On stage?’

  ‘I was a fraction away from death, Louise,’ he says dramatically. ‘He was as pissed as a parrot. Like everyone else here.’

  ‘You need some medical assistance,’ I tell him, trying to calm him down.

  ‘I know that!’ he screeches. ‘That’s why I called you. You’re a trained first-aider. Give me some bloody first aid.’

  He’s stripping off his jacket and throws it, blood and all, on to the sofa. Hurriedly I try to scoop it up before it damages the antique furnishings.

  Muttering all the while, Tyler is unbuttoning his shirt, which is also covered in blood. ‘Look!’ He points at his stomach. ‘Look!’

  He pulls that off too, tossing it to the rug. I make a lunge to try to rescue that from staining too.

  Now Tyler is naked from the waist up. ‘Have you seen this? Have you?’

  Although I’m hesitant to get too close to my half-dressed boss, I inch forward. There’s a long graze right across his tummy but, on closer examination, it’s not actually too deep. The amount of blood that it’s weeping exaggerates the extent of the wound.

  ‘It looks worse than it is,’ I offer, trying to reassure him.

  ‘I’m bleeding to death here!’ he yells. ‘Do something!’

  ‘Calm down, Tyler. Shouting isn’t going to help.’

  He’s shaking with rage. I take his shirt and find a clean bit at the back. I kneel down in front of him and very gently wipe the blood away from the wound. Now I can get a closer look, it’s definitely just a surface scratch, but I don’t think anything is going to convince Tyler of that. He’s determined to be mortally wounded.

  ‘Hmm,’ he says with a glint in his eyes. ‘I would have paid good money to have you in that position.’

  I straighten up immediately. There’s nothing too much wrong with Tyler Benson.

  ‘You need to find me some plasters or a dressing,’ he says, remembering his pain again. ‘And quick. I could do with some new clothes too.’

  Quite where I’m supposed to magic those from is beyond me.

  ‘I need to get hold of Kirsten. I’ve phoned and texted her, but there’s no reply,’ he complains.

  ‘I looked all over the house for her too,’ I tell him. ‘I couldn’t find her.’

  That pulls him up short and he stops whining to gape at me.

  Now I realise what just came out of my mouth and I flush.

  ‘What were you doing looking for my wife?’

  I might as well come clean now, as he’s going to know before long what happened earlier in the library.

  Taking a deep breath, I say, ‘Don’t be cross.’

  Which, of course, instantly starts him frothing at the mouth again.

  ‘I was in here earlier.’ This is the hard bit. ‘With Josh Wallace.’

  ‘Oh, really?’ Tyler’s eyes widen. ‘So that’s where you’d got to. What are you doing fawning over Wallace?’

  ‘I wasn’t “fawning” over him. We just came to get a bit of peace and quiet from the noise of the disco.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Well … er … we got a little bit more friendly than we intended,’ I confess. I’m struggling to take the higher ground on this one. Tyler Benson has me bang to rights. I shouldn’t have been in here getting cosy with Josh. ‘Mrs Benson came in and saw us together. I didn’t mean it to happen.’

  ‘Why would that bother my wife? It may be an astonishing lapse of good taste, but nothing more.’

  ‘Unfortunately …’ the lump in my throat almost stops the words from coming out, ‘she thought Josh Wallace was you.’

  He waits for a moment, blinking rapidly as that news settles in.

  ‘Oh, that’s all I need.’ Tyler slaps his hand to his forehead. ‘She thought you were getting down and dirty with me?’

  ‘We were only kissing. Nothing more.’ I sound too defensive, even to my own ears.

  ‘Well, thank goodness for small mercies,’ Tyler snaps sarcastically. ‘And you didn’t manage to speak up and tell my wife that she was hideously mistaken.’ My boss raises an eyebrow, giving me a lascivious look. ‘Had your mouth full, did you?’

  ‘No,’ I say crisply. ‘I certainly did not.’

  ‘She’ll kill me,’ he says. ‘She’ll have my bollocks in a sandwich for breakfast.’

  ‘I’m sure she’ll understand once we find her and explain.’

  ‘We? We?’ Tyler storms. ‘You’re the one who has to do the explaining here, lady.’

  ‘I will,’ I promise in my most placating tone. ‘I’ll put it right with her.’

  ‘Good luck with that,’ Tyler says. ‘She doesn’t trust me as far as she can throw me as it is. You realise that this could irreparably damage our relationship, and it’s all your fault.’

  ‘I’ve said I’m sorry,’ I plead. ‘I’m sure she’ll laugh when she realises it’s a misunderstanding.’

  ‘What does he have that I haven’t got?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘What do you see in him?’

  ‘In Josh?’

  Tyler postures in front of me.

  ‘I don’t see anything in him.’ I don’t see anything in you either, I want to add, but decide to keep my mouth shut. The less I say in this situation the better. I don’t like to admit to myself that I’m quite taken with Josh Wallace and that it’s probably a very good thing Kirsten Benson came in when she did. I’m certainly not going to tell Tyler that.

  ‘Why would you go for the puppy when you could have the top dog?’ Tyler kicks off his shoes. Then he starts to undo his belt and take off his tattered trousers.

  I look at him aghast. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

  ‘Getting out of these wretched things,’ he grumbles. Then he stops and leers at me. ‘Why? Fancy joining me?’

  Before I can say anything else, he whips off his trousers and stands there in his ripped boxer shorts and socks. He’s a fit man for his age. Despite all the business lunches on his expense account, there’s no denying he’s in good shape. But it’s still not a sight that I want to be beholding.

  I had such hopes for this evening. I thought it was going to be glamorous and exciting. Now I wish I’d just stayed at home watching the Strictly Come Dancing Christmas special with Mum and Dad.

  ‘You know,’ Tyler says. ‘I’m a man of the world and you’re a woman who knows what it takes to get on in this business. I admire that in you.’ His eyes flick up and down me in what he obviously thinks is an ‘admiring’ way. ‘You do right by me and your career path in Fossil Oil will be a lot smoother. I’m going all the way to the top, Louise. Play your cards right and you could be there by my side.’

  The thought makes me shudder. How can I possibly carry on working for a sexist bastard like this? Inside, I’m shaking with rage. Yet I feel so helpless. Tyler Benson has me exactly where he wants me.

  Then a feeling of Zen-like calm descends on me and I know exactly what I must do. What Tyler says is true. I have to play him at
his own game. There’s nothing else for it.

  ‘OK,’ I say. ‘I understand how it is.’

  He grins at me smugly. ‘Good. You’re a great girl, Louise. You scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours.’

  He puckers up to kiss me, but I put a finger to his lips.

  ‘Wait.’ I step back from him. ‘You’re still bleeding,’ I say softly. ‘Let me go and find some first-aid supplies and some new clothes for you.’ I hook my finger into the top of his boxer shorts and tug at them gently. ‘Why don’t you make yourself comfortable while I’m gone?’

  Tyler doesn’t need asking twice. In one swift move, he’s out of his shorts and standing in front of me completely naked apart from his socks. This is more than I ever expected to see of my boss. He strikes a pose. His shoulders are squared, stomach sucked in – though the thin line of blood does him no favours whatsoever. Everything is … well … pumped. It looks like a move that has worked for him many times before.

  ‘Wow!’ I say.

  He’s clearly excited by my reaction.

  Quickly, I scoop up all of his clothes. Bloodied jacket, shirt, trousers, shorts, the lot. I hand him his wallet, car keys and phone from the jacket pocket and reach behind me for the door key, which I slip out of the keyhole. ‘I’ll be back before you know it.’

  ‘Don’t be long,’ he says. ‘It’s chilly in here.’ He gives a mock shiver.

  ‘Oh, you’ll soon be hot under the collar,’ I whisper. ‘I can assure you.’

  He grins at me, leering. ‘Can’t wait.’

  Before I can think better of this, I quickly duck out of the door. As quietly as I can, I turn the key in the lock.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Melissa made her way out of the marquee and through the endless corridors of the manor house. Eventually she found the kitchens. She always knew where to find Martin. He’d be somewhere out of the cold, with his feet up, trying to find a spare sandwich and a cup of tea.

  Sure enough, when she pushed open a door marked ‘Staff’ only he was sitting in a well-worn armchair, fast asleep with a tattered copy of the Daily Mail folded on his chest. Melissa felt a sudden rush of affection for him.

  Martin had been with them all the time they’d been in London. He was a kind man. A few years older than her, possibly. He was grey-haired, though it wasn’t thinning, and a little soft round the middle. His black suit was rumpled and shiny with age. His tie was askew and Melissa resisted the urge to straighten it. He looked solid and dependable. Exactly the type of man he’d proved himself to be time and time again.

  ‘Martin.’ Gently she shook his arm.

  Their driver jolted himself awake. ‘Sorry, Mrs Harvey. Just having forty winks.’

  She wondered when he ever slept, other than a catnap in the car or a convenient chair. He was at their house every weekday morning at seven o’clock to collect Lance and was invariably still on duty when he brought him home late at night. That didn’t even include events like this, when he’d only be dismissed once they were ready for bed. Often he worked weekends. She was so wrapped up in her own issues that she didn’t know about Martin’s home life. Now she wondered if he had a family. If so, he must never see them.

  ‘That’s fine, Martin. I could do with a nap myself.’

  ‘Are you ready to leave?’

  ‘Could you bring the car around to the front of the manor, please? I’ll go and get Lance.’

  The chauffeur stood up. ‘Is he all right, Mrs Harvey?’

  She swallowed hard. ‘He’s in his usual state, Martin. I may need your help.’

  Martin was accustomed to this and just nodded.

  Melissa headed back to the marquee, collecting her coat from the cloakroom on the way. She slipped it on but the luxury of its sumptuous, soft folds failed to comfort her. She hated herself for it, but she needed Tyler now. Her heart ached for him. She needed his arms around her, his voice soothing her, whispering sweet nothings, telling her that he’d always be there for her and, for once in his life, actually meaning it.

  However, when she got back to the party, her heart leapt to her mouth. Lance wasn’t where she’d left him.

  Then, as she scanned the room in a panic, she realised that somehow he’d found his way on to the dance floor. He was making a drunken fool of himself, lurching about. Since his announcement of the SACKED programme, all the staff were avoiding him like the plague so he was dancing in an empty circle by himself.

  On the stage were the two half-naked ‘firemen’ who’d been wandering around with one of the employees collecting bow ties for charity. She’d done a good job and even Lance had given up his own neckwear. Now the three of them were doing a dance, something that even Melissa recognised had once been a big hit.

  ‘Let’s see Fossil Oil do it Gangnam style!’ the DJ shouted. ‘Whoop, whoop, whoop!’

  The firemen started going through some dance moves and everyone on the floor copied them. Including Lance.

  Melissa sighed to herself. This was all she needed. She’d never get him home at this rate. He loved to think of himself as a man of the people, even when the people made it blatantly obvious that they didn’t want him. She’d just have to wait until he was ready to leave. Which would invariably mean poor Martin sitting outside in the car for an eternity when he could have carried on with his nap.

  She found a chair away from the dizzying lights and sat down to wait. If there had been anything left in Lance’s bottle of bourbon, she may have been tempted to drink it.

  Lance was in full flow. He was jumping about as if he’d been electrocuted and was circling his arm above his head. He galloped across the floor and howled out, joining in with the other members of staff. ‘Whoop, whoop, whoop!’

  Then, before she knew what was happening, Lance staggered forward, clutching his arm. He fell to the floor, knocking into the Fossil Oil-logo ice sculpture as he did. The beautiful, frozen ammonite teetered gracefully and then tumbled from its plinth. It shattered on the dance floor in a thousand shards. All the staff jumped back.

  Amidst the ice, her husband cried out in pain. In a heartbeat, Melissa was out of her chair and dashing forward to him. Everyone stared at him, unmoving.

  She crouched on the floor next to him. Lance’s face had gone grey. ‘Are you all right, honey?’

  He was sweating, his face contorted with agony. He gasped, his mouth working soundlessly.

  ‘Help me,’ Melissa turned to the people behind her. ‘Help me, please.’

  Thankfully, after a moment’s hesitation, two burly men she didn’t know stepped forward.

  ‘Come on, Lance.’ Melissa slipped her arm around his shoulders and, between them, the men hoisted him up. ‘Let’s get you home, sweetheart.’

  With a heart-rending groan, he leaned on the men to support his weight.

  ‘You can do this,’ she said. ‘Martin has the car waiting.’

  ‘Let me catch my breath,’ he finally wheezed.

  So she and the two men guided him to the nearest chair and he slumped into it. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Thank you for helping me.’

  ‘Can we do anything else?’ one of them asked.

  ‘I can manage from here,’ she assured them and they faded back to the dance floor which, despite the emergency, had filled once more.

  Lance held his body, rocking it.

  ‘Are you in pain?’

  ‘Indigestion. Overdoing it.’ He drew in a sharp breath. ‘Not as young as I used to be.’

  ‘Can you get to the car? I could text Tyler, get him to help you.’

  Lance shook his head. ‘No, no. Don’t call Tyler.’ He looked up at her and his eyes were cloudy. ‘I can do this myself.’

  Part of her wanted to call the paramedics and the other part of her just wanted to get Lance out of here. The mood felt hostile now and it was clear that they’d overstayed their welcome.

  She gathered a chunk of the ice into a Merry Christmas One and All napkin and held it to his forehead, which seemed to sooth
e him. When some of his colour had returned, she said, ‘Shall we see if we can make it now?’

  He nodded and, with her help, pushed himself out of his chair. He paused to steady himself.

  ‘Martin’s waiting for us,’ she said. ‘Soon we’ll be home.’

  ‘What would I do without you, angel?’ he said.

  He leaned heavily on her and she supported him as slowly, laboriously, they made their way out of the marquee and into the corridors of the manor. It was a beautiful place and, in different circumstances, this might have been a great Christmas party.

  As she opened the front doors, the unwelcome chill of the night swept in. Swirling flakes of snow assailed them. The car was waiting at the bottom of the slippery steps and, when Martin saw them approaching, he jumped out in an instant and rushed to her aid.

  ‘Everything all right, Mrs Harvey?’

  Even Martin could see that Lance was worse than usual.

  ‘He’s not well, Martin. He collapsed on the dance floor.’

  ‘Let me help.’ The driver opened the car door and shouldered the bulk of Lance as they shoehorned him into the back of the car.

  ‘Do you want me to drive you straight to the nearest hospital?’ Martin asked. ‘I can find it on the satnav.’

  ‘Lance?’ Melissa tried to rouse him. ‘Shall we take you to the emergency room? Perhaps you should see a doctor?’

  ‘No,’ Lance said, his natural belligerence surfacing again. ‘No doctor. Just need to sleep.’

  She and Martin exchanged a worried glance.

  ‘I’ll do whatever you want me to, Mrs Harvey,’ Martin said.

  If they took Lance to a hospital against his wishes, he’d only cause a scene. What would a hospital say anyway? That he was a drunk. They both were painfully aware of that.

  ‘Thank you, Martin,’ she said. ‘But we’ll go straight home.’ If he didn’t improve she’d call a doctor or make him see one in the morning. They just had to get through the night.

  ‘No problem, Mrs Harvey.’

  Melissa got into the back of the car with Lance. She cradled his head on her lap and knew that in moments he’d be fast asleep and snoring. Panic over. Until the next time.