I live in Greenfield Bottom at the end of this mighty run. I heard the tinkling of the bell and saw a flash of red as Santa ran through my garden, then over the fence, across the field and into the door of Owain my neighbour from across the field. If all others had to guess, at least I knew I had seen Santa, and better still, I knew who he was. Lady J and Ysabel missed seeing him come but I knew they'd love to hear I'd seen him.
I made drinks and took a tray through to Julia's room and put it down. Then I crept through to Ysabel's room carefully carrying the cat and deposited him on her feet knowing that he'd pounce the minute her toes twitched. There was an earsplitting scream as Oscar attacked and I almost ran back to the drinks. I had to run as I knew she wouldn't be far behind me and she'd want to wriggle in between Julia and myself. But, if she got there first I'd be left perched on the very edge of the bed. I made it and she got there a close second, her stocking in hand. I passed the drinks out and the ritual began.
“You go first”.
“No, you go first”.
“Come on Daddy, you start”.
I opened the first of my gifts from the stocking which Julia produced from under the edge of her bed. “A new pair of black socks that will play Jingle Bells if I press a button. Wow, thank you Santa”, I said.
In turn the girls opened one each, Ysabel a scarf and Julia a book. We went on like this, in turn, until the stockings and our mugs were empty, by which time it was 7.30 am.
I couldn't help but remember my own childhood where at the bottom of the stocking was always a new penny, an apple and a tangerine. I suspect the fruit was there to stop me eating my selection box before breakfast. FAT CHANCE! I'd be eating sweets and reading my Eagle annual right up to breakfast.
“Right”, said Lady J with a clap of her hands. “Let's clear this away and have breakfast”.
Everything was piled up and put back into the stockings (or Santa sacks) ready for putting away later. The discarded wrapping paper was put into a carrier bag ready for recycling. Ysabel hugged us both and we all headed for the kitchen and the miniature packets of cereal, which was the least we could get away with. Lady J put the oven on (it didn't suit her) and in went a joint of beef ready for dinner. I turned on the radio to try and hide the clunking sound I could hear in the distance.
After breakfast we all trooped into the lounge where there were oohs and ahhs as the girls opened their gifts. When they saw me watching them they made me stop, and start opening my own gifts.
We all got things we wanted and things we didn't know we wanted until that minute. Each of us had one gift left at the bottom of the pile.
Lady J went first and opened hers to find a beautiful gold and opal ring I'd seen her admire recently. She smiled across at me and blew a kiss.
Ysabel opened hers to find a new stereo system for which she’d begged mercilessly for months. She still managed to appear surprised and again we got hugs.
I opened mine to find a new pocket watch with an intricate Celtic design inscribed on the front. I knew that I would want to wear this rather than keep it in my collection. I was a little overcome in truth but said nothing as I hugged them both.
Then I presented Ysabel with the clunk. She unwrapped the box carefully and there inside was a hamster and a ball. “Thelma Louise”, she said and promptly lifted it (him) out of the box through which he'd almost chewed and put him in the ball. The clunking sound became more obvious and extreme now as Thelma Louise banged into any furniture that was handy - skirting boards, chair legs, my feet, anything. Then the cat came in and you could see the calculation on his face... Mmmm lunch, prepacked for me.
He pounced, and as he did so, Thelma Louise put on a spurt so that the cat missed completely. He stopped dead in his tracks. Then with a look of disdain he promptly ignored the ball and started attacking all the discarded wrap, jumping in and out of the empty box, as if to say that's what he’d wanted all the time.
After the gift opening was finished we all went to get dressed. Ysabel then drifted off to be with friends until lunchtime. Lady J disappeared to the stables to take her horse the gift-wrapped swede and carrots we'd got, assured that he wouldn't know what they were.
I decided to check my computer messages.
Feeling bloated? asked one. Why not get rid of your Christmas excesses with colonic irrigation? Blimey, I thought, at least let me have some excesses before you ask a question like that. I haven't even eaten my Christmas dinner yet.
Another ad wanted to know if I needed to find God over the holidays. And here was I not even knowing He was lost.
I answered a variety of Happy Christmas messages from friends everywhere, and wished them the same.
At 10.30 am Lady J returned and we sat with a coffee to await our guests.
First to arrive was the Squadron Leader (Lady J's father), whose driving always made me think he was still flying and trying to avoid a Messerschmitt on his tail. He bore gifts of two tins of sweets for us and a large package to give to Ysabel when she returned. We gave him a shirt and jumper in RAF blue which was the only colour he ever seemed to wear.
Ysabel returned soon afterwards and he'd bought her the largest Care Bear I'd ever seen. She'd bought him some ‘Spitfire' cufflinks, and he was absolutely delighted.
Then we heard a roar. Julia and I looked at each other and smiled. Within moments, in through the open front door came Count Fraenkel, a family friend for so long that we considered him family, and treated him that badly too.
“Come and see my new baby”, he said to us, and obligingly we trooped out to view the newest sports car, his pride and joy.
It was really tiny and Julia said “This macro technology is all well and good, but where's the one for your other foot?”
“I'm gonna hit her in a minute”, I heard.
I chipped in with, “You know Michael, I'm told that if you save the original box, toys are so much more valuable”.
Michael scowled and said, “Such Philistines. She's a beauty and I get 56 miles to the gallon”.
“Michael, there's not room to get a gallon in this car - anywhere”, said Julia.
We went back indoors to make him a coffee. He gave Ysabel a new record and she gave her Uncle Michael a huge hug and presented him with a new book by an author he loves.
Julia got a new leather shoulder bag with a horse embossed on it. It was very nice and she loved it. I was given a walking stick he'd found for me which is Japanese from the Meiji period, a work of art.
He opened his gift from us which was a matching Victorian crown, double florin, half crown, florin and a groat all from 1887, which delighted him. I felt sorry I'd not bought him some model cars like the one parked outside.
Lady J disappeared to put the vegetables on and to see to lunch. Michael, the Squadron Leader and I all sat down to chat, while Ysabel went off to play her record. After a while I joined Julia in the kitchen to help carve the joint and put the potatoes and veg in serving dishes while she made the gravy and got the Yorkshire puddings out. “Don't forget to carve WITH the grain”, she told me as though I'd never carved before. I could tell she was nervous.
We called everyone to the dining room and took the food through. We all helped ourselves from the dishes and then pulled crackers so that we could all wear silly hats while we ate. The cat was looking longingly at the food so I went and got a saucer to put a little beef on for him. Impatient as ever, as soon as my back was turned he'd jumped on my chair and grabbed a slice of beef off my plate. I had no choice but to empty the saucer onto my plate. I got the better end of the deal as I'd broken up two slices for him.
Next came the Christmas pudding and brandy sauce, with a reminder from me that there were silver threepenny bits in the pudding and not to choke on them. Then came the gasp for air and the Squadron Leader’s face turned Air Force blue to match his clothes. Every year someone stops listening to me. I went behind him and applied a sudden jerk to his diaphragm. Out shot the blockage, pinged off the light fitting an
d caught Michael a glancing blow on the forehead. He jumped up without realising he'd tucked the tablecloth into the top of his trousers. The whole of the tablecloth came towards him turning over the brandy sauce jug on the way. He quickly released the cloth and as he did so, the brandy sauce took the opportunity to slide off the now vertical cloth straight onto his shoes.
The Squadron Leader was returning to his normal colour but still trying to force air into his lungs whilst Julia, Ysabel and I burst out laughing.
Michael removed his shoes and socks and went through to the bathroom to wash his feet and wipe the shoes down. I went and got him a pair of the most fluorescent socks I possessed to replace the damp ones.
Bloated, and almost ready to follow the advice on my computer message, I went through to the kitchen to start washing pots while the Squadron Leader, Ysabel and the Count retired through to the lounge. By the time we joined them the cat had taken the only seat left available to me. The Queen's speech came on at 3.00 pm and I intimated I was standing from respect. In truth it was more out of respect for his claws. After his disappointment with the hamster (which he probably thought was his lunch) I wasn't prepared to risk my luck with him.
A little later Julia and I laid out a small cold buffet with my famous beetroot jelly to complement the pickled onions. I'd made a fresh trifle to follow. We'd decided everyone could help themselves when ready and we settled for a game of Trivial Pursuit. The Squadron Leader left at 6.00 pm to start his journey home, and Ysabel went with him to be dropped off at a friend’s house. Battle began. We all share a competitive spirit and the race was on to get all our segments in the pie dish. I know absolutely nothing about sport so I knew that my orange segment would be hard to achieve. I thought that if I answered Bobby Charlton to every sport question, sooner or later it had to come up right. I did, it did. Thank you Bobby, you are a prince amongst men. The orange segment was mine and my dish was full. Julia and Michael needed only one slice apiece. Round I went and back again to the centre for my question. Each time, Julia and Michael ganged up and asked a sport question. Round and up again.
“Who won the world cup in 1966?” was the question.
“England!” I cried, waving my arms in the air to celebrate getting possibly the only sport question I could have answered.
“Damn”, I heard Michael say, “it's a sport question and I thought the hardest on the card. Sorry Julia”.
The day was mine. And though we cleared up soon afterwards and Michael rolled his skate in the direction of home, I went to bed a happy man.
What a wonderful Christmas.
Thursday January 2, 1992
Nightmare in Gay Paree, or How I became the Crow
The phone rang at 8.30 am. I'd been up and about for ages and had taken Lady J her coffee. She was in fact on the point of departing for the stables when she answered it. I knew who it was going to be the moment I heard it ring. No, not second sight, more the way an animal senses bad weather is on the way.
And yes, it was Sir Bertram (Bertie) Threadneedle of HM Government (which department I am only able to guess but I'm sure it ends in a 6). He said he'd be with me at 10.00 am. That gave me time to suggest Ysabel caught a bus into town and visit a friend. I gave her enough money for the two of them to see a film sometime during the day and to have a pizza or some such for lunch. She must have thought it was her birthday again - she did look askance at me.
I'm almost sure that if Bertie thought he was early he'd have parked his car around a convenient corner just so that he could arrive exactly on time. I, on the other hand, had stationed Grizelda on the door and had asked her to start opening it just before he reached it. She brought him through to my study and went to bring in a tray of coffee she'd prepared. In the meantime, Bertie and I made idle chit chat about our respective Christmases, though I had a feeling he probably knew as much about mine as about his own, he was so well informed. Grizelda brought the coffees and we both thanked her. As soon as the door closed the chit chat ceased.
“David, I have a mission for you should you choose to accept it”. I waited for him to tell me and then self destruct after 10 seconds. It didn't happen so I asked him to carry on.
“David”, he said, “recently we’ve heard about a plot to assassinate Her Majesty. We know who her assassin was intended to be, but not the where or when. Two days ago this man had an accident in Paris when he went to the dentist. Too much gas during the questions, I'm afraid. We have no idea who hired him. We need you to take his place for a few days and see if you can find out. We must stop this person from getting news of the assassin's death and hiring someone else. His real name was Gilles Legume”.
“If you knew who the assassin was”, I asked, “why was he still out there for hire?”
“No one has ever been able to prove anything”, he answered. “You are roughly the same size and colouring as he was, even a similar age”, Bertie added. “I'm sure you can do this”.
“I'm grateful for your confidence in my ability”, I said without conviction.
He explained that I would need to be in Paris by the following day in case anyone should start to worry about the assassin's absence. It would not be his family as he had none. I would also need to live in his flat until I was contacted again by the contractor or until I found incriminating information in the flat. If I was contacted again, I would need to arrange a face to face meeting so that I could identify him later. This would not be the easiest task as Le Corvin, as the assassin was generally known, did not make a habit of meeting the people who hired him in order to prevent them from identifying him.
I agreed to do my best.
As usual Bertie gave me an open ticket, a large packet of cash and an envelope of notes on the subject to study on my journey. He also told me that anything of value I should happen to find would be mine to keep. He shook my hand and left.
When Lady J returned from the stables at lunchtime, I explained part of my mission and asked her if she'd take me to the airport that very afternoon so that I could make a start.
“Of course my dear”, she replied, “but you must promise to be very careful this time and I shall expect Chanel No 5 from Paris on your return”.
“Naturally, my dear”, I said, and went off to pack. A few minutes later, Julia came to tell me that lunch was ready, pulled everything out of my case and started again - neatly this time.
We enjoyed our lunch of cold meat and pickles with fresh country bread - apart from one incident where I stabbed at a pickle and it got away. It got away to Julia's side of the table, where she took it and ate it with a look of satisfaction. I took the last piece of bread in revenge. Only one raised eyebrow told me she'd noticed.
The run to the airport was fine and I'd left a note with Grizelda to let Ysabel know that I'd be home soon and would bring her a gift.
As Lady J dropped me and said goodbye, I checked my pocket for passport, tickets and cash. Everything was there. I was a little early but that was OK, as I was becoming used to standing around in airports.
I was about to wave to Julia when I noticed that I was in the wrong terminal.
“Julia”, I called, “this is the wrong terminal”.
“Never mind”, she answered through the open window of the car. “The right one is only 15 minutes away, just enough exercise to walk off my round of bread”. So saying, she closed the car window and with a last cheery wave, drove off.
The walk to the right terminal took me only 10 minutes so I still felt as though I'd won part of this round (this round of bread!!).
It was only a short hop to Charles de Gaulle airport. A little French customs officer glanced at my passport. “So, mi lor’, you are in la belle France. Pourquoi?”
“Pour plaisir, monsieur”, I replied.
“Zut alors”, he said, “there is much of plaisir to see. Do you look forward to the one thing?”
The Restoration of the Bourbons sprang to mind but I just replied, “The Louvre, Monsieur”.
“
Excellent, mi lor’, enjoy your stay”.
“Merci beaucoup”, I responded, just about reaching the end of my schoolboy French.
I gave the taxi driver the address I required and was taken on the worst white knuckle ride of my life, where right of way and consideration for human life were not a priority. Had I been able to, I think my last will and testament would have been written out there and then, but the swaying and swerving of the taxi would have prevented it. Eventually we arrived at the Rue de Poisson, and I just paid up and gave a tip that corresponded with my state of relief.
The flat was only on the first floor, but even so, I took the rickety old lift, as my knees were still knocking from the taxi ride. After what seemed like forever, the lift arrived at the first floor and I was at the door of the flat. Bertie had given me a set of keys and I started to try them. Luckily for me there were only three front door type keys and I got the right one third go. It turned out to be a very spacious flat with two bedrooms all the rooms having very high ceilings. I checked the phone and there were no messages.
One of the keys puzzled me. It looked as though it should fit a safe, and though I guessed professionals would have looked earlier, I decided to search the flat. I was on my second sweep and getting annoyed, when I noticed indentations in the main bedroom carpet from a bedside cabinet, and yet, although the cabinet was still in the room, it occupied a slightly different place. Knowing it could have been removed while cleaning had taken place, and not holding out great hopes, I decided to check. Moving the cabinet to one side, I noticed that the carpet was not tacked down at that point. I lifted it and saw a little square of floorboard.
The Queen's Envoy (The Barsetshire Diaries) Page 6