by James Anson
Robert gathered from Agnes's remarks that she considered he was being mercenary, unsporting and acting like a tradesperson. Robert remained unmoved.
Then Jack came on. "Er, Robert, I'm sure we can come to some arrangement," he said. "You know Mike’s always been very easy-going in these things."
"I know," said Robert. "That's why I insisted you draw up a binding agreement. I wasn't having you and Agnes stitch him up. And tell her to stop coming the officers and gentlemen bit with me - I'm neither. I also want a decent salary for Mike while he's working at the Centre - and stop giving him the rubbish to teach. I know you've been paying him peanuts as he's family - and what you're raking in on profits. If you don't fancy doing that I'm sure he can find a decent job elsewhere, with his severance pay to tide him over."
After a few more moments of bargaining Robert reached what he considered to be a satisfactory settlement, which for the moment he'd keep to himself. Michael was inclined to resent interference in his affairs, even though Robert considered his interference was definitely called for at times. He also suggested that Millicent Glenbucket receive the fee instead of himself, reflecting that she probably had as hard a row to plough with Jamsie as he did with Michael at times. Jack agreed and he said he hoped to see them both on Boxing Day morning, Robert having firmly vetoed his Christmas Day being ruined.
"Everything all right then?" asked Michael as they finally set off for Highgreen Farm.
"Oh, I think so," said Robert. "I'd better pack my thermals for the old ruin. Any idea how many will be there? Jack was rather vague on that."
"Fifteen to twenty, I believe," said Michael. "Plus the family, of course. Then Agnes said people might be dropping in. Think she is hoping for Beaufort. Toby brought some of his schoolmates back with him - their parents live abroad."
"She would," said Robert. "Just as well they had the spare, wasn't it? I know Rodney was a mess, but - "
Lord Bourton's elder son had finally ended his entirely unsatisfactory existence some ten months previously by crashing a borrowed car at over a hundred miles an hour. His parents, though grieved, were hardly surprised and now pinned their hopes on the spare, the Honourable Thomas Fanshaw, a large, cheerful if dim youth, described accurately by his Uncle Mike as "not twelve to a shilling but a good lad on a horse", to which Robert had replied, "Correct, but that won't be noticeable in the company he'll be keeping."
"Why Toby?" Robert added as they drove along. "His name's Thomas, isn't it?"
"Oh," said Michael. "Seems they were out with the lad in his pram one day and saw a Punch and Judy show. Jack swears young Thomas was the spitting image of the dog. Anyway, they never liked the name. Just hoped Jack's old Uncle Thomas would leave the lad a packet. He didn't. Left it to his gondolier."
For some reason the remark convulsed Robert for the rest of the journey. "I don't believe you," he said finally. "Not that big red-faced guy in hunting pink in the hall?"
"Why do you think he went off to live in Italy?" asked Michael. "Was a great scandal in its day. And here we are," he added as they inched the car into the already jam-packed yard. They emerged to be greeted by Ashley and informed that the kitchen table had been extended by another two leaves to get everyone in, and they were just in time for pre-dinner drinks.
It was a magnificent meal, followed by a pudding tastefully engulfed in blue flames, followed by fruit, nuts and oranges and an orgy of cracker-pulling. Robert finally retired to sleep it off in the farm parlour, blissfully warm and awash with cats. He woke to find several were now using him as a mattress, some smelling strongly of rum sauce.
There was a sort of murmuring in the background. He pried open a sleepy eye and saw Michael sitting across the hearth reading Alice to a small, blue-eyed charmer on his knee. Robert enjoyed it too, till a cry of "Tea's up" was heard, upon which the moppet thanked Michael and departed at a gallop.
"Genesta, Fred's grand-daughter," said Michael. "She took fright at a video the brats were looking at. Fancy some tea?"
"No way," said Robert. "Save me a mince pie for later. I couldn't get another morsel down. Where do they put it all? Tell Jess I'll just have another nap."
He revived in time to enjoy a late mince pie and several glasses of mulled wine. "Of course," he remarked to Michael as they drove home, "we could ring up and say we've both come down with bubonic plague. Watch out, rumour says there's a speed trap along here."
"Ah yes," said Michael, slowing considerably. "And just where I thought he'd be, too. Bet he'll be busy. Don't think they'd believe bubonic plague. According to Ag's scenario we don't know each other and have been spending Christmas Day with our loved ones. She felt it was more convincing than saying here's my brother, he's got a title, and the writer chap who lives with him."
Robert decided not to contest the last statement, merely beaming affectionately at his companion, and saying, "And so we were with our loved ones."
Michael, slightly startled, put it down to the mulled wine, in proof of which Robert remained in a very mellow mood for the rest of the trip home, which was as well, as the only film they had not seen before on the box appeared to be a two-hour advert for helicopters.
"They are hitting a new low," said Robert. "Every year it's the same. They see if they can make it more memorably awful than last year, and succeed. What was Fred Stebbins going on about to me at dinner? Couldn't make it out with the din. Something about Old Jessup's wife."
"Oh, that," said Michael. "Well, they said she went off with a salesman, but he never would plough one end of the bottom field, and no-one ever saw her again. Fred thought you might like to put it in a book."
"Delightful," said Robert. "Can't think why I'd want to, unless I felt like a libel action. He is dead, is he?"
"Oh aye," said Michael. "About fifty years ago now."
* * * * *
Next morning found them packing for Old Hall.
"I'm wondering if I should pack coal, fire-lighters and an oil stove," said Robert. "I'm not risking hypothermia in that house: there's corridors no-one's been down since Victoria's Golden Jubilee."
"Surprised you're not taking your electric blanket," said Michael, being funny.
Robert brightened. "Just the job, and I hope it puts up his electricity bill, too."
Michael gave up trying to remember if all the rooms were equipped with electric points: a more important matter had gripped his attention. "I'm not sleeping on those wires," he said firmly.
"Of course you're not," said Robert. "I never sleep with men I don't know, and you might damage my blanket. Take a hot-water bottle with you if you want home comforts."
Michael turned outraged blue eyes on him. "Am I to understand I'm sleeping alone?" he inquired.
"Absolutely," said Robert. "There are the feelings of your sister's servants to be considered, there are children in the house, and it serves you right for mucking up my holiday."
Indignant protests followed Robert to the car as they crammed in a sack of cat litter, their evening clothes, Sam (still wearing his flea collar), Amos (complaining in his cat carrier) and Kasper. Robert looked askance at Michael's saddle, hunt jacket and boots, which were also crammed in and looked at Michael inquiringly.
"Just in case," said Michael blandly. "Someone might drop out."
They finally squeezed themselves in, Kasper on Robert's knee, twitching with excitement and Sam crouched in the back with the cat carrier.
"Pity you didn't have time to bath that dog," said Robert as they started off, pausing on the way to drop Kasper off at the farm for a few days' holiday with his relatives, and to hear all the gossip.
"Should leave Amos there too," said Michael. "A few days at the farm ratting would make a cat of him."
"No," said Robert. "He can't stand that rough lot and I'm not spending weeks combing all the plugs out of his fur afterwards. He'll enjoy the change. I've got his tray and plenty of tins of his favourite yuck."
They arrived via the tradesmen's entrance (the stable y
ard) as, while the Mercedes looked superb, its occupants did not, both wearing their travelling-with-dusty-animals-and-it-doesn't-matter-what-I-do-in-this clothes. Robert, with his hair on end and a harried expression, unloaded a yowling Amos while Michael hauled out the sack of cat litter. It started to rain heavily.
Michael stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled like a steam engine. The kitchen door flew open and Toby, Miranda and a heap of young people tumbled out. They all began fighting over who was going to carry Amos. Robert hung firmly on to the cat carrier as Michael restored order and shared out the luggage. Miranda displayed her new talent of blowing large pink gum bubbles; it was unappreciated.
"Charming," said Michael. "Let's get in before we all get soaked."
"Mother says to take you quietly up the backstairs," said Toby.
"Quietly?" said Robert as they clattered up the stairs. "You know, I feel like someone out of a Wodehouse novel. Hell's teeth, it's cold up here."
"We don't use this wing much," said Toby. "I expect it just needs airing."
"Airing!" said Robert. "More like about fifty miles of draught excluder. There's a gale blowing round my feet."
"This is your room, Mr March," said Toby. "Uncle Mike - oops! - Mr Faulkner, is at the end of the corridor. And this is the bathroom."
Robert peered into an apartment of vintage Victorian gloom. "God," he said reverently. "It does have hot water, I suppose?"
"Oh yes," said Toby. "Pa has had the oil-fired cracking away all week. If this doesn't come off we are all bound for Carey Street again, he says."
Robert looked round his room. Redecorated by someone in the early eighteen-nineties with indifferent taste, he decided. He opened the cat carrier. Amos sprang out, shivered, leapt on the bed and immediately curled up tightly, wrapping his tail round like a muffler and then burying his nose in it.
Robert wrapped the jacket he had taken off round him. "Don't worry, pet," he said.
"If it gets too awful I'll get a crick in my bad leg and we'll be off home. Now, let's see where I can settle your things."
He peered into the bedroom cupboard, which was large enough to conceal a body.
Two bodies, he decided. Think I'll give my villain this room. He could hear Michael talking and laughing with the housekeeper down the corridor. Drat him. Well, once more into the breach and all that stuff.
Robert combed his hair, looked in the mirror, combed it again and rechecked his appearance. Due to the excessively cold atmosphere in his room, he'd changed in a considerable hurry (in case icicles formed on his person) and was, as usual, dissatisfied with his appearance. But he couldn't stand the cold for another moment: his teeth were starting to chatter. He made his way to the large drawing-room, which to his relief was well-heated and had also, he noted, been redecorated. He settled against a wall heater to thaw out.
"Ah, there you are." Agnes swept down on him. "I'm so glad you could make it, Mr March. Everyone is looking forward to meeting you." (A sentiment that turned Robert's blood cold.) "Would you keep an eye on Mike?" she added sotto voce. "He's apt to be unreliable after his third brandy and he's already passed that."
Robert smiled sweetly. "As I haven't had the pleasure of meeting Michael, he is your problem, Lady Bourton," he remarked. "Oh, cocktails. How nice."
Miranda, well-scrubbed and holding a tray of startling coloured liquids, shook her head vigorously at him. "Not the green ones," she said. "They are foul. Try the pale pink one, that isn't bad. Toby and I have tried them all."
Robert had to agree it was different, whatever was in it.
"'Lo, Rob," said Lord Bourton, who was not entering into the spirit of the thing at all.
"Rum do, isn't it? She got the idea from that mad cousin of hers in Wicklow. Threw his place open and made a packet, they say. Can't think how. Dreadful place, ever been there? When we were there this rat died under the dining-room floor and - "
"Jack!" said his wife. "Come and talk to your guests, please."
Robert restrained a giggle and helped himself from the buffet provided. Michael appeared beside him, glass in one hand, plate in the other. While Michael had a definite gleam in his eye (Robert was reminded of the well-known saying 'When Irish eyes are smiling, get out of range') he wasn't yet at the pick-a-fight-with-anyone stage.
"You're doing fine," said Michael. "Nearly went off myself when Jack started on Cousin Gerard's place. Jack spent his honeymoon there. Always says it was the worst week of his life. His horse went lame on the second day, then he fractured his collar-bone and it rained all the time ... with him laid up and not a thing to do."
"Sad," said Robert. "Busy impressing everyone with your title, are you? Notice Jack's had this room done out. No wonder he pays you peanuts. And slow down, will you? No need to empty the cellar tonight."
Michael opened his mouth to reply in kind, then desisted as Agnes bore down on them.
"Mr March," she said, glaring at her brother, "I think you'd like to meet some of our guests before we go in for dinner. Michael, if you say anything I'll cripple you, God help me."
Robert toddled after her, restraining his mirth at Michael's expression, and met some of the guests. Pleasant bunch, he decided, and not keen on discussing his books, thank God. Several seemed more garden-minded, so he chatted happily on that. He was just wondering if something had happened in the kitchen when dinner was announced.
No doubt about it, thought Robert later, folding his napkin happily, the new cook was a treasure. Could make this weekend worthwhile. Agnes was busy describing the delights in store for her guests: the Hunt tomorrow, then a quiet day followed by a trip to Marple Hall where Lord Radstock, who was by chance married to her elder daughter Hermione, would be delighted to show them his steam engines and unrivalled collection of stuffed heads. As Michael had often remarked that Fred Radstock's ought to be up there with them, Robert had an opportunity for a quiet chuckle here.
They then retired to the library for coffee and entertainment which, as everyone was happily comatose after the meal, went well, apart from Agnes having at times hurriedly to clean up some droll but unsuitable stories attempted by her husband. It was gone midnight when they finally strolled bedward.
"Your brother-in-law can certainly tell a boring story," said Robert. "Wouldn't have been so bad if he didn't keep stopping to explain anything we might not have understood. Mind, his dirty ones weren't much better. I'd heard 'em all before anyway - from you. Visitors seem a decent bunch. Mrs Bledstow is president of the Camellia Club back in her home state. I'm going to arrange something for the non-hunting folk tomorrow. Don't see why they should be bored out of their minds while you're - " he paused " - I see you managed to get on the Hunt -galloping over hill and dale. I asked Ag; she said, Do what you like. I need to get the rooms tidied up."
Michael grinned. "Fred came down with sciatica, and as I have horse and gear to hand... Well, providential, as Jack said. Sure you don't fancy staying in my room? Could be a lot warmer."
"No," said Robert. "You got me into this, you can do without till New Year."
"Very well," said Michael. He turned into his room and saw with satisfaction that the fire was burning brightly and Sam was stretched out on the rug.
Michael popped his kettle on - being used to life in cold, damp English and Irish country houses he always came prepared - to make a nightcap before settling into bed with his book. Some time later he noticed his door was opening slowly; a strange chattering noise accompanied it. Robert appeared, scowling. He was wrapped in a blanket and clutching his clothes to him. He looked frozen, apart from his chattering teeth, and gave the appearance of some starving Victorian street-Arab, the effect heightened by the white Persian cat draped over one shoulder, mewing piteously, even though he was wearing a thick, custom-made fur coat. At the sight of the fire, Amos leapt down and settled on the rug next to Sam.
"I wasn't expecting you till New Year," said Michael.
"You have a fire," said Robert indignantly. "Did you know th
ere isn't one bloody power point on this landing? I've been up and down the corridor trying to find a room with one that wasn't colder than a morgue. Had to wait till they were all in bed. People would think I was crackers, creeping about peering into rooms. She put us up here deliberately! Go on, move your carcass over."
He clambered into bed. "Thank goodness," he said, plunging his feet down. They encountered the hot brick wrapped in flannel and he hurriedly stifled his shriek of agony.
"What the hell have you got in there?" asked Robert.
"My hot brick," said Michael proudly. "A pressie from Cook. All the kids have one too. Great, aren't they?"
Robert was wondering if his foot was permanently charred, but didn't feel like pulling it out in the cold to take a look.
"Staying then, are you?" asked Michael hopefully as his companion burrowed deeper into the bed.
"Forget it!" said Robert. "I'm not doing anything. With that brick in the bed - could cause a nasty injury."
"Just hoped," said Michael, reaching for his book again and a bar of Cadbury's Fruit and Nut.
"You're not reading now," said Robert. "I need to get some sleep. No wonder you're putting on weight, stuffing yourself in bed. Come on, let's have some."
Michael sighed, blew out his candle and passed over some chocolate. It wasn't his fault some of the silver paper was still adhering to the bar, causing Robert's teeth considerable discomfort till it was removed. Then Michael's cold hand impinged on a warm bit of his partner, causing another choked-off yelp.
"Shut up," said Michael. "Have 'em all in here to see if I'm molesting you."
"You can stop doing it right now," said Robert.
Chapter Fourteen
"Surprising how these bricks hold the heat," said Robert, early the next morning.
"Well, say something instead of lying there looking smug and sloppy." He poked Michael hard.