12 Stocking Stuffers

by Beverly Barton

  ‘Nothing fazes me,’ he insisted. Then he looked at the tooth in his hand. ‘What am I supposed to do with this?’

  ‘Treasure it.’ She laughed. ‘You just paid a high price for it. I expect you’re ready for something to eat.’

  ‘I don’t know when I last ate,’ he admitted.

  ‘I do,’ she said, giving him a friendly smile. ‘Breakfast was a cup of black coffee. You meant to catch up at lunchtime, but you were caught between meetings so you made do with a sandwich.’

  ‘Am I that predictable?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I had a roll in the car on my way here.’

  ‘Oh, well, then. You don’t need the steak I got for you.’

  Suddenly he was ravenous. ‘Just try me.’

  She poured him some tea, very strong and heavily sugared, as he liked it, and he wandered into the next room. Like the rest of the house, it was decorated with paper chains and tinsel.

  It was an old house, full of a kind of shambling charm. The original fireplace was still there, although only a vase of artificial flowers adorned it now, and, out of sight, the chimney was blocked to keep out draughts.

  Beside it stood the tree. It was smaller and less impressive than the one in his office, and the fairy on the top looked wonky, as though she were clinging on for dear life. But the parcels around the base were all addressed to people and, when picked up, rattled reassuringly.

  Alex stood looking at it and suddenly the inner light shone again, showing him that this was a real tree, with real presents, for real people.

  He looked at some of the labels. There were gifts from Corinne to the children and from them to her, gifts from Jimmy to all of them, and from them to him. It occurred to him how often Jimmy’s name appeared.

  ‘Time for bed, kids,’ Corinne called. ‘There’s lots to do tomorrow.’

  ‘I want Daddy to put me to bed,’ Mitzi said at once.

  ‘All right,’ Alex said. To Bobby he added, ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I put myself to bed,’ the child said gruffly. ‘But you can look in, if you want.’

  ‘Fine.’

  His daughter bounded all over him and rode on his back down the hall to her bedroom, which turned out to be a shrine to horses. Horse pictures adorned the walls; horses leapt all over her duvet cover. Her slippers were shaped like horses and picture books about horses filled her shelves.

  Alex spoke without thinking. ‘Now I understand.’

  He meant the Marianne doll in the riding habit that she had mentioned to Santa earlier. With his little girl’s eyes on him he remembered, too late, that he was supposed to know nothing.

  ‘Now I understand what you’ve been doing recently,’ he improvised. ‘We’ll have lots to talk about tomorrow. Goodnight, pet.’

  He kissed her and departed hastily before he could make any more slips.

  Bobby’s bedroom was curiously unrevealing. There were no pictures on the wall, or books, beyond a few school books. Alex flicked through one of these.

  ‘Good marks,’ he observed. ‘You’re working hard, then?’

  Bobby nodded.

  ‘That’s good. Good.’ He was floundering. ‘Are you all right, son? All right here, I mean?’

  ‘Yes, it’s nice.’

  ‘Don’t you miss your old home?’

  Bobby hunted for the right words. ‘Places don’t really matter.’

  ‘No. People matter. Right?’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Well, I’m here now.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Alex searched his face. ‘You are glad, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes, of course I am.’

  He would have doubted it if it hadn’t been for their memory of the earlier conversation. How could all that have gone?

  Because now he knows it’s me.

  ‘Tomorrow’s a big day,’ he said cheerfully.

  ‘Yes.’

  It was becoming a disaster. He had resolved to act on what he’d learned from Bobby that evening, and use it to make this visit a triumph. That was the secret of success—good intelligence and knowing how to use it. But all his gains were slipping away.

  ‘Daddy—’

  ‘What is it?’ His voice betrayed his eagerness.

  ‘Tomorrow, will you ask Mitzi about the school play? She was ever so good in it.’

  The school play? The school play? His mind frantically tried to grapple with this. When had it been? Why hadn’t he known?

  ‘It was a pantomime—’ Bobby said, reading his face without trouble ‘—and Mitzi was an elf. She had two lines.’

  ‘Er—?’

  ‘It was last week. You were abroad.’

  ‘Of course—yes—otherwise I’d have—’

  ‘Yeah, sure. You will remember to ask her, won’t you?’

  ‘Of course I will. Goodnight, son.’

  Corinne said her goodnights after him. As they passed in the corridor she said, ‘I’ve put you in that room at the end. Your things are in there.’

  He looked in before going downstairs. It was a small, neat room with a narrow bed.

  Alex thought about the other rooms. Presumably Corinne had the big room on the corner of the house, but where, he wondered, had she put Jimmy?

  CHAPTER THREE

  HE CAME down the stairs so quietly that Corinne didn’t hear him, and he had a moment to stand watching her as she worked in the kitchen.

  The steak smelled good, and suddenly he was transported back to the early days of their marriage, when steak had been a luxury. But somehow she had managed to wring the price out of the meagre housekeeping money they had.

  They had been partners—laughing at poverty, competing with each other in loving generosity, squabbling to give each other the last titbit. But that was long ago.

  The years had barely touched her, he thought. The slim, graceful figure that had once enchanted him was the same, two children later.

  She had been gorgeous at eighteen—beautiful, sexy, witty, knowing her own power over young men and enjoying it. They had all competed for her, but Alex had made sure that he was the one who won her.

  Her face had changed little, except that it was thinner, and the ready laughter no longer sprang to her eyes. They were still large, beautiful eyes but there was a sad caution there now.

  ‘It’s ready,’ she called, seeing him.

  Like every meal she had ever cooked him it was excellent—the wine perfectly chosen, the salad exactly as it should be.

  Their last meeting had been three months ago, and it had ended in a fierce quarrel. Since then there had been communication between lawyers, and the odd phone call that had left each of them resolved that it should be the last. Her invitation for Christmas had been delivered through a letter addressed to his office.

  ‘Thank you for letting me come,’ he said quietly.

  ‘I didn’t think you would. I was amazed that you actually turned up early. What happened? Did something more important fall through?’

  He winced.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said at once. ‘I didn’t mean it like that.’

  ‘There’s nothing more important than being with my family,’ he said emphatically.

  ‘It means the world to the children.’

  ‘What about you, Corinne?’

  ‘Never mind about me. This is their time.’

  ‘But I do mind about you. It’s ours too, isn’t it?’

  ‘Well, it’s a chance for us to be civilized with each other. We haven’t done much of that lately.’

  ‘And that’s all?’

  ‘Yes, that’s all. I’m not your wife any more—’

  ‘The hell you aren’t!’ he said with the swift anger that sometimes overtook him these days. ‘We’re not divorced yet, and maybe we never will be.’

  She regarded him with a quizzical air that was new to him. ‘You have to win every negotiation, don’t you? But you won’t win this one, Alex. So why don’t we just leave it there? I don’t want to spoi
l this holiday.’

  ‘Is there someone else?’

  The question jerked out of him abruptly, without finesse, tact or subtlety.

  She sat silent.

  ‘Tell me,’ he insisted.

  ‘No, there’s nobody else. I don’t want anyone else. That’s not why I left you.’

  ‘Just to get away from me, huh?’

  ‘If you care to put it that way—yes. But why must we put it that way or any way? It’s Christmas, Alex. Let it go.’

  ‘All right,’ he said hastily.

  As she set coffee before him she said, ‘How about you?’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Do you have someone else?’

  ‘Do you care?’ he growled.

  ‘If you can ask, so can I,’ she said lightly.

  ‘Except that you broke up this marriage. That hardly gives you a stake in the answer.’

  She shrugged. ‘You’re right. Do you want a drop of brandy in that?’

  ‘Thanks.’

  As she was pouring the brandy he said, ‘The answer’s no.’

  She didn’t answer directly, but she took his cup and carried it and her own into the next room, where the tree glowed.

  ‘Sit down and relax,’ she said. ‘You look dead on your feet.’

  He leaned back in an armchair, closing his eyes, desperately tired in a way that had nothing to do with work. Mercifully he felt the strain begin to drain away, leaving him as close to being relaxed as he ever came.

  ‘How did it go after I left the hospital?’ Corinne asked. ‘Did the children recognise you?’

  ‘No,’ he said slowly. ‘At least, they didn’t show it if they did.’

  ‘Mitzi would have shown it,’ Corinne said at once. ‘She’s got no subtlety, that little one. Her riding instructor says she has no nerves, but lots of nerve.’

  ‘Riding instructor?’ Alex queried. ‘She’s learning to ride too?’

  Corinne shook her head. ‘Just her. Bobby gave it up.’

  ‘Don’t tell me he was afraid?’ Alex said sharply.

  ‘No, not afraid. Bored. It just didn’t interest him, and there are other things he wants to do. But Mitzi is crazy about horses, so she does it instead.’

  He was silent, swallowing his disappointment. Corinne eyed him sympathetically.

  ‘Come out of the nineteenth century,’ she chided.

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘In those days you could have told Bobby what he had to be interested in, but not now. He doesn’t have to ride a horse just because you wanted to and couldn’t.’

  Alex’s father had mucked out stables for a racehorse trainer. Alex had grown up surrounded by beautiful animals, none of which he had been allowed to touch.

  ‘And it has to be your son who carries on your dream, doesn’t it?’ Corinne pursued. ‘Somehow a daughter isn’t the same. Pure nineteenth century.’

  ‘That’s nonsense,’ he growled.

  ‘No, it isn’t. It’s the way your mind works. But you ought to go and see Mitzi ride, see how good she is.’

  ‘All right, I will.’

  ‘You’d be proud of Mitzi. She’s a real natural. In fact, I think you ought to learn yourself.’

  ‘Me? Take riding lessons?’

  ‘Why not? You used to tell me how it was your dream when you were a boy. What’s the point of making all that money if you don’t spend some of it making your dreams come true?’

  It flashed across his mind that he was too busy earning it to enjoy spending it, but all he said was, ‘Sure, and let my six-year-old daughter make rings round me!’

  ‘Well, she’s bound to at first, because she’s had some practice and you’re just a beginner,’ Corinne said, ‘but I’m sure she’d make allowances for you.’

  He gave a reluctant grin at her teasing. Suddenly he remembered, ‘She says she wants a Marianne doll set, the one in the riding suit. What’s she talking about?’

  “‘Marianne” is the latest craze. It’s a doll that comes with its own lifestyle—ballgown, ballet tutu, riding habit.’

  ‘Where do I get one?’

  To his bewilderment Corinne rocked with laughter.

  ‘You don’t think I left it to the last minute, do you? It’s Christmas Eve tomorrow. People have been trampling each other to death in toy shops for the last two months. Don’t worry, I’ve got one tucked safely away. You can give it to her, if you like.’

  ‘Do you think I haven’t bought her a present?’

  ‘No, I think you’ve probably got her something very expensive. But what she wants is that doll, and if you give it to her you’ll be her hero.’

  ‘Thanks,’ he said gruffly. ‘I’d like that. And she also wants a necklace.’

  ‘I’ve got that too,’ she assured him.

  ‘Like I said earlier, you’re really well organised. I could do with a few like you in the firm.’

  ‘Funny, Jimmy says the same.’ Corinne laughed. ‘Only he says they need me in the army. It makes me wonder how the country has muddled along without me for so long.’

  Alex scowled. He didn’t want to talk, or even think, about Jimmy.

  ‘Anyway, Mitzi’s easy to understand,’ Corinne went on. ‘Bobby is more complicated, and it’s much harder to know what he’s thinking. Did he recognise you?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Alex said slowly. ‘I honestly don’t know. He didn’t say anything, but—Corinne he was just a few inches away from me. Surely he must have recognised his own father?’

  ‘It was a very complete disguise,’ she reminded him. ‘The wig and the hair and the padding. And he wasn’t expecting you to arrive today.’

  The words, And he hasn’t seen you for weeks, hung in the air.

  ‘Did he tell you what he wanted?’ Corinne asked. ‘I think I’ve got that covered too, but I’d be glad of any “insider tips” you picked up.’

  Oh sure, he thought, my son said he wanted me home for Christmas, like it was an impossible fantasy. He reckons he has a ‘sort of’ father, and he’s bracing himself for when I let him down.

  ‘Hey, there!’ Corinne was waving. ‘Anybody home?’

  ‘Sorry!’ he said, forcing himself to smile. ‘No, I didn’t get any inside information. You’ll have to tell me. What’s his big interest?’

  ‘Drawing, painting—anything to do with art.’

  ‘Doesn’t he like soccer or any sports?’

  ‘He watches them on television, but his interests are the quiet ones.’

  ‘Corinne, are you sure? He’s never said anything about drawing to me.’

  ‘Of course not. He knows you wouldn’t like it. But he’s passionate about drawing and painting since he discovered that he has a talent for it. He’s just getting deep into water-colours now, and if you gave him something connected with that he’d be thrilled. But I’ll bet you’ve bought him a pair of riding boots.’

  ‘Among other things,’ Alex growled. ‘I suppose you don’t want me to give them to him?’

  ‘That’s up to you.’

  ‘Sure!’ he snapped. ‘Like I’m going to dig my own grave by giving him something he doesn’t want, thus proving I’m the useless father that you claim! You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’

  Once in a blue moon Corinne lost her temper. She did so now—big time!

  ‘Don’t be stupid, Alex! I know it’s hard, but try not to be laughably, moronically stupid. If that’s what I wanted I wouldn’t be warning you now, would I?’

  ‘No,’ he said hastily. ‘Sorry. I didn’t—I just fly off the handle sometimes. I don’t mean to. I shouldn’t have said it.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. It’s the children who matter. Just try to see Bobby as he is, and not as “Alex Mead’s son.” How I’ve come to hate “Alex Mead’s son”!’

  ‘What the devil do you mean by that?’

  ‘He’s a character who’s hung around our home ever since Bobby was born. He has plenty of “boy’s interests.” He likes the “manly” spor
ts and anything that involves getting dirty. He’s got no time for art or music or thinking, and he’s the opposite to Bobby.

  ‘That boy has spent his life so far pretending to care for things that bore him rigid because that was the only way to get your attention. He knew ages ago that he didn’t fit the picture of your ideal son. In fact, the only person I know who does fit it is Mitzi.’

  He was silent, too shocked to speak.

  At last she got up and brought him another brandy.

  ‘Thanks. I need it.’

  When he’d revived his courage a little he managed to ask, ‘If I’m so hateful why does he bother to pretend?’

  ‘Because he adores you,’ Corinne said. ‘He worships you. He’d go through fire and water for you. Haven’t you got that through your thick skull yet?’

  She broke off and gave a sigh of frustration. ‘We’re quarrelling again.’

  ‘Yeah, well—’ He shrugged, sharing her frustration.

  He was saved from needing to say any more by the sound of his cellphone coming from the hall. He answered it with relief.

  It was Mark Dunsford, his assistant, as zealous about business as he was himself. Mark was jealous of Kath, who had been with Alex longer and had his total trust. He tried to compensate by giving himself to the job, body and soul, twenty-four hours a day, and making sure that his employer knew it.

  ‘I just wondered if you had any final instructions for me,’ he said now.

  ‘No way. It’s Christmas. Get off home to your family.’

  ‘I don’t have a family.’

  ‘Well, get off home, anyway. Or wherever you get off to.’

  ‘Wherever I am, I’ll be keeping an eye on things. I thought that you would be, too.’

  ‘Mark, lighten up. It’s Christmas. There’s nothing to keep an eye on.’

  ‘All right, but perhaps you’d better give me a contact number where you are. I know I can call the cellphone, but another number is always useful.’

  He hesitated. Nothing was likely to happen, but it was as well to be prepared.

  ‘OK. The phone number of this house is—’

  He stopped. Corinne had wandered out into the hall and was looking at him, her head on one side.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘This is a private number. I can’t give it out and I’d rather you didn’t contact me at all. In an emergency, use the cellphone, but it had better be life or death or there’ll be trouble. I’ll call you when I’m ready.’